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xomakara · 4 months ago

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Birthday Cake

SUMMARY | It's Mark's birthday and you have a very special surprise for him.

PAIRINGS | Mark x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idol!Mark, non-idol!Reader, established relationship, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (both male/female receiving/giving), praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, food play, messy cake sex??

RATING | Mature, NSFW, 18+

LENGTH | 4093 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | @k-vanity

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Firstly, I apologize if it sounds rushed and probably not one of my best works. I literally wrote this in like 3 hours lol. I still hope you all like this though lol. Secondly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARK. We all love you 💚

Mark Lee always considered himself a lucky man as he was surrounded by friends and loved ones who gathered for this dinner party for his birthday. Smiling from his seat, his hand was placed on your thigh, softly caressing. His eyes wandered over to yours. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.

You smiled and nodded. "Why wouldn't I be okay? My man's birthday is today."

"Good. You look so beautiful tonight, by the way."

"Thank you." You leaned in to kiss him. "And you look so handsome today."

"We get it. You both love each other." Johnny rolled his eyes jokingly. "Can we start the celebration already?"

You pulled back, a smile still on your lips. "Yeah. Let's celebrate."

Mark had planned a quiet and private party with the closest people in his life. As the night progressed, it turned into a rowdy one. Johnny and Yuta were playing a drinking game while Jungwoo, Jeno, Jaehyun, and Hendery were cheering them on. Ten was in the kitchen, preparing another batch of food with Doyoung. Taeyong was nowhere to be found, but he might've left with Kun since neither of them was here.

You and Mark watched them. You were sitting in his lap while his arms were around your waist.

"Having fun?" he whispered, placing a kiss on your neck.

"I am." You turned to him, arms around his neck. "Is the birthday boy having fun? Did he get all his presents?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I did. Although I'm still waiting for the best present."

"Oh really? What would that be?"

Mark looked into your eyes. "The most beautiful girl in the world."

"And who would that be?"

"It's you." He gave you a soft kiss on the lips.

"You're so cheesy." You giggled.

"You love it."

"Yeah, I do."

You were about to kiss him again until Johnny interrupted. "Hey, you two lovebirds! We're going to sing Happy Birthday now. Stop being gross and pay attention."

"We weren't doing anything." You called out, Mark laughing.

Johnny raised a brow at you, clearly not buying it. "Uh huh, sure. Get your horny asses over here."

Mark stood up with you in his arms, placing you on your feet before standing beside you.

"Okay, guys, gather around!" Yuta called out, waving the cake in his hands. "One... two..."

Everyone sang, their eyes glued on Mark. You looked over at him, a fond smile on your lips. He turned to look at you, his heart fluttering as your gaze met. After the song ended, he blew the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered. You went back to your seat beside Mark and held his hand. "So, what did you wish for?"

He shrugged. "It's a secret."

"You know I won't tell anyone."

"But you'd find out sooner or later."

"That's true."

Mark squeezed your hand. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

"But your friends—"

"They'll understand. I just want to be with you tonight."

"Okay." You nodded, a smile still on your lips.

Doyoung looked up from where he was standing. "You two better be responsible!"

You turned to him. "Don't worry. We're just going to hang out."

"Uh-huh, sure." Ten rolled his eyes.

"We're just going to hang out!"

Ten smirked, his eyes moving between you and Mark. "Dressed like that? I doubt it. Don't forget to use protection."

Your face heated up at his words. Mark only chuckled. "We're leaving."

"Take care, you two." Doyoung waved, watching you both leave.

As soon as the door closed, you took off your heels, sighing in relief. It was nice to feel the ground beneath your feet again.

"You could've worn comfortable shoes," Mark said.

"I wanted to look pretty for you."

"Baby, you always look pretty to me."

You smiled at his words, heart racing in your chest.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer. "Where do you wanna go?"

"My place? I got you a gift. And it's more of a private one."

"Okay, let's go."

You got a cab and went to your place. You fished your keys from your purse and opened the door, inviting Mark inside.

"Stay here, Mark." You said. "I'll be right back."

He nodded and went to the couch. Meanwhile, you went to your room and looked through your drawers, trying to find that sexy, crotchless lingerie you bought for special occasions. Mark didn't know that you own one. Hell, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Finally, you found it and you quickly changed, looking at yourself in the mirror. After putting on the lingerie, you fixed your hair and you threw your clothes back on so that he could unwrap you when you got to the bedroom.

You came back and smiled at him. "Do you have the present?" he asked.

"It's not a tangible gift."

He frowned. "Then what is it?"

You moved closer to him and sat in his lap. "It's a surprise."

Mark wrapped his arms around you. "Will I like it?"

"You will." You gave him a soft kiss.

His hands wandered to your waist. "Can I open it now?"

"Not yet." You laughed as you got off his lap and made your way to the kitchen. "Wait for me. I'll make it worth your while."

"You always do."

You came back with the cake and a candle. Mark was already waiting on the couch, smiling when he saw the cake in your hands. "Baby, we already blew the candles earlier with the guys."

"But that’s with the guys. Right now, it’s me.”

"Wow, baby, you're so thoughtful."

"Anything for the birthday boy."

Mark looked up at you, eyes twinkling. "Can I blow out the candles now?"

"Of course." You nodded. "Make a wish."

He blew the candles, the light from the flames flickering as it went out. At the same time, you were on your knees in front of him, your hand already massaging his growing bulge.

"I hope it's coming true," you said, looking up at him.

"It is." He nodded, leaning back against the couch. "It sure is."

Your hand rubbed the bulge, slowly unzipping his pants and taking his dick out. He was already hard.

"Already excited?" you asked, kissing the tip.

"It's my birthday. I should be excited."

You took him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. He placed his hand on the back of your head, gently encouraging you to continue.

"Fuck, baby," he moaned, his voice low.

You continued sucking, licking the underside and the tip, and swirling your tongue around. He was moaning loudly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Your hands were gripping the base of his shaft, jerking him off as your mouth worked him.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged. "Keep going."

He groaned your name as his grip tightened, pulling your hair. "Your mouth feels so good. So fucking amazing."

You felt his cum coating your tongue. You kept sucking until the very last drop. After that, you let him rest in your mouth, the sweet taste lingering. He looked down, a little surprised that his dick was still hard. You let him go, and it slipped out of your mouth.

You sat up, wiping the corners of your lips. "Didn't you like your gift?"

Mark smiled, pulling you towards him so that you were seated on his lap again. "I did, very much."

"Well, that was part one."

"What's part two?"

"Take off my clothes and see."

Mark obliged and removed your shirt, revealing the lace covering your breasts. "Oh? What else are you hiding? Wait... are you...?"

You smirked, your fingers fiddling with the hem of the tulle skirt. You raised it to reveal your dripping cunt in the panties that barely covered anything. "Part two, crotchless panties.”

His eyes widened at the sight, his hands automatically wandering to the bare skin of your legs. He stroked the insides, squeezing. Your thighs were a weak point for him, something that he used against you whenever he wanted something from you.

"Wait," he stopped. "Let's just go to your room. I wanna ravish you properly."

"Oh?" you raised a brow.

"It is part of my gift, right?"

"Part of it," you nodded.

"Okay." He looked up, gazing into your eyes. "Gimme more."

"Okay, birthday boy. Whatever you want." You giggled, playfully smirking. He carried you and rushed to your room. Laughter escaped your lips as Mark tossed you onto the bed. "Someone's eager to open their gift, isn't he?"

He looked you over hungrily, biting his bottom lip as his eyes fell to your breasts. "Because she looks so fucking hot."

You pressed your back against the headboard and spread your legs, offering yourself. Mark climbed into bed with you, kneeling on the mattress.

"Take what you want, Mark," you seductively told him.

His eyes darkened. He licked his lips and leaned towards you, capturing yours. He devoured your mouth, groaning as you opened up for him, letting him push his tongue past your lips.

After a few seconds of kissing, he pulled away and looked at you. "Hands on the headboard."

You did as told and reached behind you, latching on to the edge of the headboard, spreading your knees wide. Mark started trailing his lips and teeth across your neck. You shivered at the sensation, especially as his lips went lower and lower.

Mark squeezed your nipples between his fingers as he licked and kissed your skin. You gasped in surprise as he captured your right nipple between his teeth and tugged it. Your grip tightened and you whimpered, arching your back as he rolled the hardened nub between his teeth.

He then licked a trail downwards, placing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and between your breasts. When his tongue flicked over one nipple, you gasped, arching your back off the headboard and pushing your breasts into his mouth.

"Did you like that, baby girl?" he asked. His voice was muffled as his mouth was otherwise occupied.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, since you're enjoying this, I'll do more of it. But after I fuck that tight little pussy of yours."

"Thank you," you panted, feeling his tongue flicking your other nipple.

"God, you're so sexy."

Your eyes followed his head as he continued his way down your stomach, biting your lip as he licked all over the lace fabric. You'd bought it in dark blue because Mark complimented you in that shade of color before. It seemed he appreciated the gesture since he was practically worshipping your body in that outfit.

"Shit," you whispered, panting.

He hummed, sending a vibration down your core. Your back was arched, hands desperately gripping the wood behind your back, thighs trembling on each side of your lover's face.

"I bet you'd look so hot with cake frosting all over your tits," he spoke up, licking a line across your folds.

Your legs shook at his words, a soft moan escaping your lips. You felt him smirk against your core, clearly pleased with the reaction you gave him. "There is cake in the living room," you reminded him, your breathing was getting erratic.

Mark paused, eyes still focused between your legs. Then he looked at you with a smirk. "We'd have to change your sheets and shower afterwards."

"Worth it if it means you get to enjoy it on my body."

He growled as you wriggled underneath his gaze. The pressure of him being so close and yet so far away is driving you mad. You loved when Mark was gentle with you, but sometimes you also needed roughness.

"So, are you up for it or do you want to just fuck the shit out of me now?" you teased, leaning back against the pillows with a devilish smirk.

"Baby girl," he breathed, a predatory smile appearing on his face, "it'd be my fucking pleasure."

"Bring the fucking cake and decorate my body," you suggested, snarling playfully as you got rid of your bra and threw it somewhere.

He gave you a smug grin before he rushed out of the room and came back shortly with the cake in his hand, his finger dipping the frosting out. "Hmmm..." he purred, eyeing your body, "where do I start?"

"Wherever you want, birthday boy," you replied in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

A small mischievous grin appeared on his handsome face before he grabbed one breast and held your right nipple between two fingers as he applied the sugary substance over it. You squirm underneath his touch, goosebumps running along your skin as the chilling cream came into contact. He let go, looking pleased at the work he'd done before his eyes flicked to your face, checking to see if you were okay.

His voice sounded velvety as it reached your ears, "Do you want the other one to have the same amount, baby?"

"Mark," you gasped, swallowing down the lump of lust in your throat, "yeah, cover me with icing."

Mark's lips curled upward in satisfaction while his pupils dilated slightly from excitement, "Gladly, my love."

He grabbed another fistful and brought his hand down, starting his art, applying layer by layer in an attempt to replicate how beautiful his cake was. He then proceeded with applying frosting on your left breast while you moaned softly every time he touched the sensitive skin with the tip of his fingers. Once satisfied, he scooted closer and added final touches by using his tongue to give some details, making you squirm as it left a wet, sticky path across your chest. He blew on it, making you gasp for breath, your voice coming out as a mixture of whimpers and moans.

"This is fucking hot." Fingers still coated in icing, he brought them to your lips. "Suck," he demanded, watching with dark eyes as his fingers disappeared between your lips.

You obeyed and tasted the sweetness of the icing mixed with his masculine scent, feeling like you could come any moment, especially with the hungry look he gave you, eyes filled with lust and anticipation for the feast.

"Good, huh? Want me to continue?" he asked.

A soft moan escaped you. You were eager to have his mouth on your cunt.

"Answer me, darling."

Your eyes widened and you let out a strangled cry, "Yes."

"Such a slutty little thing for me, baby. What would people think, hmm, seeing you like this? All covered in sugary mess for my enjoyment? To consume you whole."

Your breathing came short and fast. You couldn't see anything other than Mark's heated gaze as your pussy twitched underneath his touch, his voice deep in your ear, coaxing more noises from deep within your gut as he used his tongue to circle around your icing covered nipple. He licked down to your stomach, circling his tongue around it, painting a picture for your senses. You felt yourself becoming wetter each time he dipped his tongue into your navel, the heat growing in the pit of your stomach, flames licking up your spine, begging him to touch your most sensitive parts.

"I'm going to devour you, darling," his low tone sent shivers running through every nerve ending, "all of you."

Your toes curled. A shiver ran down your spine.

"Yes, yes, please," you pleaded, voice husky. You wanted him more than anything. Wanted to feel every inch of his thick, delicious length in your pussy, spreading your walls wide open and filling you.

The room was silent except for your shallow breaths and Mark's heavy ones, both anticipating the moment he'd thrust inside you. Finally, he inched forward, hovering above you as he ran his tongue over your nipple once more, swirling the tip in slow circles before taking it completely between his teeth and giving a soft bite. Your hand slipped over his shoulder, fingertips digging into his shoulder blade as you arched towards him.

"Please..." your voice trembled as you felt yourself clench and tighten under his grip, preparing itself for what was to come.

Mark smiled into your chest, the smile stretching across his face until it became a full-on grin. He pulled back and slid his body down between your legs, taking his time to take every inch of you in before settling there, propped up between your thighs. His hand glided over your stomach and down to your mound, fingers pressing softly as they traveled between your legs. His palm lingered on top of your heat, fingers rubbing gently at the swollen skin as you shivered and squirmed, a light sweat coating your upper lip.

"Fuck, baby," Mark moaned. "You're so wet."

His fingers traced circles, leaving the combination of cake icing and your wetness trailing down the side of your leg. He dragged his lips down and his tongue swept against the inside of your thigh, leaving a slick trail of cake icing and saliva along the length of it, then up.

"Mark, please." you begged, desperately wanting him to end this torture and finally slide his cock in you, making you writhe against the soft mattress. You felt a warmth building deep in your belly as he moved his mouth closer to your pussy.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he crooned softly into your ear. "Tell me exactly what you'd like me to do right now and maybe I'll give it to you."

"Ughh, please!" you cried as his thumb brushed against your clit, causing sparks to shoot across your body and setting every nerve ending aflame.

Mark let out a low chuckle, enjoying every bit of it. You bucked upwards again as he moved his finger in circular motions around your opening before slipping the tip in. "Tell me more, I'll hear you loud and clear," he urged, his voice thick with lust as he added more fingers into your slick entrance, pushing deeper inside as you hissed out your pleasure.

"Take me, Mark. Please! Make me yours." You screamed. "I want you inside me so badly. Want to feel every inch of your amazing, perfect cock buried deep in my wet cunt," your nails dug into the mattress beneath you.

"You ask so nicely, but remember who's birthday is this. Say it." he cooed, his breath tickling the sensitive skin near the shell of your ear. He nipped the lobe, then ran his lips down your neck as his thumb rubbed the aching bud on the hood of your clit, sending fireworks along your spine.

"Y-your birthday." You stammered. "Please take me for your birthday."

His fingers reached lower. One last stroke with the pad of his thumb against your clit and your body was a trembling mess, walls squeezing, pulling, sucking around the two fingers pumping in and out. You were whimpering and groaning, lost to everything other than the movement of his fingers and his intense gaze focused directly on you.

"Please!" you sobbed, your pussy spasming around Mark's fingers and hips grinding helplessly up and down.

Mark withdrew them with a satisfied smirk on his face, cock so hard you could barely stand it as he pressed a thumb to the corner of your mouth, pushing a mix of icing and your juices into your mouth, which you eagerly swallowed down greedily.

"Fuck, I knew you could handle it, but damn, baby girl," Mark groaned, dragging a single digit along your slit, collecting your slick, watching intently as it clung to his fingers and dropped to the bed below. "That was one of the hottest things you've ever said to me."

Mark smeared the mix of icing and your liquids down his erection. He didn't bother to hide the pleasure he felt at the sensation, nor how hard he had become simply by teasing you and making you scream for release. And it showed.

"Ready?" he asked, the tip of his member already nudging your entrance.

"Yes." you gasped as your arousal began pooling. "Fuck me."

Mark didn't waste any time. Without a second thought, he pushed himself forward, sheathing his entire length inside your pussy in one smooth motion, moaning with satisfaction as his skin met yours. You arched up off the bed, the sweet smell of the cake still permeating your senses, mingling with Mark's scent, along with the unmistakable musk of sex.

Mark grabbed hold of your thighs, pushing them up, your legs on his shoulders. He pressed his head into the crook between your shoulder and neck and whispered to you, "Let's fill you up with my cake icing."

You moaned lowly, the sound almost inaudible over Mark's soft pants, as he slowly began rocking back and forth, the gentle movements turning into rougher strokes the longer he thrusts into you. It's not enough. Your body is tingling from the way he stretched your pussy out, and while it isn't the rough fucking you were hoping for, it's certainly an appetizer to the main event.

"Come on, Mark," you groaned, pressing down against him so that every thrust made him sink deeper and deeper, pushing you into the bed until his cock brushed up against that sweet spot deep inside of you. "Don't you want to take charge on your special day? Don't you want to show me who's in control here?"

Mark growled, the noise coming from the back of his throat sending vibrations down to where your skin met his. He pressed his lips together tightly as he struggled to retain his composure and composure be damned because now was his turn, time to show how good he could fuck when he was set to.

He didn't know if he could even wait to start but god help him if he didn't do something about how incredible his girlfriend looked right now, writhing beneath him, covered in icing and sex-messed hair stuck against her cheeks.

"Oh yeah, baby girl," Mark purred, lowering himself until his forehead pressed lightly against yours. "This is the best gift I could ever ask for." He nibbled lightly on your lower lip and whispered against it, "To have your pussy all nice and warm for me, letting me use you any way I like... I'm gonna wreck you, Y/N."

You moaned at the prospect and at how goddamn sexy he sounded when he was turned on.

"Make me cum," you rasped. "Use my pussy however you want and make me cum, please!"

"Your wish is my command." he grinned cheekily.

Mark's hips picked up pace, plunging harder and faster into you, filling you fully again and again.

You moaned as he slammed inside of you. Every time his pelvic bone struck yours was a sharp shock wave of pleasure flowing through you, making your brain swim. Your legs quivered at the contact; your heels dug into Mark's back and drew him forward, urging him to keep fucking you with that amazing dick.

You had never seen your boyfriend move this quickly before, the sound of his breathing and the loud groans you were hearing were all coming from inside your head. In and out. His thrusts were powerful. Hard and steady, almost machine-like as he buried his cock within you time after time.

And you loved every second of it.

Mark leaned forward, resting his weight on his palms, his face mere inches away from yours. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair before pulling you closer towards him and pressed his mouth onto yours.

As Mark broke the kiss, his breath hitched, body shuddering, cock spasming inside of you. Hot bursts of liquid shot deep inside, coating your cunt and filling it to the brim with semen. You held onto him tightly as his entire frame trembled with orgasm, trying to not collapse on you. He struggled to breathe while keeping his hands firmly anchored on either side of your head, locking his elbows so that he wouldn't fall over. He never broke his eye contact.

Finally, when both your orgasms had waned and you could think straight again, you began speaking, your voice sounding strained as it came out in short huffs. "You liked it that much huh?"

"Shit," he gasped between breaths, nodding as sweat ran down his face, dripping onto your chest.

"But..." His tongue flicked over your neck, licking the side before whispering hotly into your ear, "There's something I want a bit more."

Your breath hitched at his statement. "Hmmm?"

"A few more rounds for my birthday," Mark smiled playfully. "And then a bath before bed, babe."

#kvanity #nct #nct stories #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct smut #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct mark smut #mark lee #mark #mark x reader #happy birthday mark

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dailydigidraw · 5 months ago

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Patapata-monmon.png

This is 4651 x 4093 If you want to do a bg with it :3c

#Patamon #デジモン #digimon fanart #digimon #digital art #fanart #Thanks for the 50+ followers guys!#og patamon is close to 1000 notes #the power this bean holds...#i figured you guys might like it?#husband said 'do a sticker shit. ppl would buy them' but like #thats.... so much work....#so have this for free #rookie

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0xa770c804 · 27 days ago

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I made a picture of this train:

And then NS decided to attach another 3 trains to it:

Another picture of this last train:

So in total 4 NS ICM "Koploper" trains 4072, 4064, 4093, and 4057 forming one train at Utrecht central train station.

#trains #train #treinen #trein #nederlandse spoorwegen #railways #railway #utrecht #ICM #Koploper

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mudwerks · 9 months ago

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Marujita Diaz

Spanish postcard, no. 4093. Photo: Juan Gyenes / Cifesa. Collection: Marlene Pilaete.

#Marujita Diaz #vintage #film #music

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stevebattle · 2 months ago

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Smiley by Lee Hart (1980s). Smiley is a robot design that takes overclocking to the max, considerably speeding up the minute hands on a pair of clock motors. "Smiley was built in the mid-1980's. It uses just one IC (a 4093 quad 2-input gate) as its "brains". It drives two 1.5v clock motors. The wheels are driven by the minute hand of the clock mechanisms. It is powered with three small photovoltaic panels from old solar-powered calculators. It drives around seeking light, and positions itself under the brightest light source. [Whisker-wires in front and back, sense obstacles.]" - Lee Hart, in "Lee Hart's BASYS cars and ITSABOT" (sic), by Herb Johnson.

The idea of using cheap clock motors and gearboxes for robots has been taken up in plans for a latter day "Smiley."

#cybernetics #robot #1980s

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obetrolncocktails · 1 year ago

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Scarlett | Vampire!Danny Wagner X f!Reader | Part 1

Warnings: Stalking, Murder, witness of murder, heavy gore, intense depictions of murder/dying, smoking, alcohol consumption, gaslighting, compulsion/mind-control, magic, foreboding/uneasy tension.

Work Count: 4093

A/N: I've never written something quite this spooky, so I hope you guys enjoy! I present to you, Vampire Danny!

Summary: Danny' has spent fifteen-hundred years on the prowl, using and discarding thousands of bodies once they've served their purpose. There's no use to give feeder's personalities or learn about their lives. Since being turned, people hold little to no significance except to feed upon. It's the blood that matters. And, as much as he tried, animals never satiated his thirst. The truth is the truth. Humans always taste better. Be careful or you're next...

Her blood pounds through her veins, the sound of it in my ears like rushing water through a broken levee. I can sense her presence. Somewhere in this city, she lives innocently, unaware that I know of her, though I don’t know her name or her history. If you believe in destiny like I do, I listen to the ether and whatever draws me to my subjects.

She is vivacious. I can feel the energy licking over my body with naive vitality, and I know. I know that it’s her I must find, that I must possess.

My veins burn as if exposed to capsaicin, the throbbing ache launching me from this emptying parking garage to move deeper into the city to find you. To watch you. To want you. I take one last glance at the darkening cityscape before lowering myself into my corvette. The sky lunges into dusk, and I know that time is of the essence if I hope to find you tonight. I use my senses to pull me through the piling traffic. I take back roads, taking turns using my intuition to guess who you are, and where you may be spending time.

You’re young.

I can sense it easily in our connection. Good. The young ones are my favorite, and they taste the best, too. I feel my canines lowering as I fantasize about you, the sharp fangs scraping against the meat of my lower lip. I enjoy the sensation, feeling most like myself when I can let my mind wander, igniting my adopted instincts. I feel my eyes focusing harder now, my awareness intensely heightened.

I never liked the city lights. To me, they’ve always been one of the more annoying inventions since the Industrial Revolution. The one thing they do provide for me, though, is the distraction, especially in a big city like this one. It’s ironic really. You’d think ample lighting would keep darkness from invading, but it’s quite simple. Bad things happen to good people no matter what. It’s a vicious cycle, but even put more simply, it’s called strategy. I’ve known for fifteen-hundred years that with a keen sense for human nature and with just enough charisma, you can do almost anything and get anything and anyone you want. Marquee lights and logos pull gazes upward while I strike from behind. They never suspect me.

✠

“Scar, what are you waiting for? Get your ass in here, ” one of your best friends, Jordan, practically yanked you inside of the nightclub. Something in the air felt sinister, and though you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what it was, your attention was still drawn to the darkness beyond the brightly-lit sidewalk and entrance to the nightclub. A loud, muffled beat thrummed through your body as you stepped into the large room, deafening your ears to nearby voices. The room was equipped with fog machines that casted a thick, low-hanging blanket of smoke. Bright lasers sliced beams of light through the haziness from one end of the venue to the other. From where you stood, the room was electrified with what seemed like every color of the rainbow. Somehow, though, aside from the laser show, the room itself was not brightly lit. What seemed like hundreds of bodies touched, groped and danced on the floor as you waded through the narrowing walkway.

“Grab my hand!” Jordan shouted over the music. You weren’t quite sure what she had said, but you took her hand anyway, letting her direct you through the crowd toward the dance floor. So many people this close to you made you feel extremely claustrophobic, but you silently attempted to push the feelings aside in hopes that you’d reach a pocket of open space shortly. Then, the same feeling that previously flooded your body was back again–the feeling of something watching, as if you were its prey. No one would understand what you were experiencing, and hell, you felt stupid for being so paranoid. As your gaze flicked up toward the bar, a strike of energy surged through your body, searing your vision with blinding light. Every inch of your body felt like it was burning from the inside out until you opened your eyes.

And there he was.

A man stared at you. Into you. From where you stood, you were frozen in place, staring into his eyes while people jostled you about.

“Move!” A disgruntled man growled at you, shoving past.

“Sorry…” You muttered distantly to him in apology. The man who stared at you from the bar was incredibly handsome. So much so that his beauty seemed otherworldly–like if you dared to look away from him, you’d never experience that type of attraction again for as long as you lived. He sat with a confident stoicism that struck you as being out of place, as if he were a moving statue brought to life out of a world-famous art museum. He was tall and muscular, but not overtly so. His hooked nose was Romanesque, curved in an aquiline shape. His dark hair coiled neatly around his face, making him look more like a Roman God than some unassuming man in a club. His eyes were dark and sinister and as they swept over you, it felt as if he had stripped you bare and could see all of you at once–your entire life, your family, your aspirations, your deepest fears and greatest desires. You were pulled out of your trance when Jordan tugged on your hand.

“Hey! You’re in peoples’ way. We have to move in deeper–” she shouted, but you protested.

“Wait–” You spun to look back at the man through the cluster of moving people, and when you did, he was gone. You whipped your gaze around, trying to process where he could have gone so quickly, but when you saw no evidence of his presence or his exit, you forced your legs to move forward with Jordan toward the DJ.

“D-Did you see that?” You called after her. She turned her head toward you, but her face scrunched with confusion.

“What?” She yelled over the music.

“That man!” You said, rushing up closer to her. “He was staring at me.” Jordan shook her head and shrugged.

“Probably thought you were hot as fuck!” She grinned, her perfect teeth glowing purple under the blacklight overhead. You offered her a thin smile in exchange. “Maybe you should go talk to him!” She said, beginning to move with the music. She pulled you close so she wouldn’t have to shout anymore. “Rachel should be here soon. I’ll dance with her instead. You suck at it, anyway.” She smirked at you with a wink and released your hand. “Go! Have fun and be safe. Keep your phone on you at all times.”

The freedom to find the mysterious man felt exhilarating, and though you wouldn’t admit it to Jordan, his gaze filled you with fear, but also with unexplainable longing. “Okay,” you told her. “Are you sure?”

“Go! Get railed or something,” She chuckled. “Oh wait,” She paused, reaching into her bag. “Take these, just in case.” She reached for your hand and opened it, tucking in two condoms.

“Jordan!” You gasped with a wide grin.

“Have fun!” She winked, and filtered deeper into the crowd without you. A wave of anxiety rolled over you as soon as you were alone. The music continued to pound in your ears, and for a moment you felt quite inebriated though you hadn’t taken a single sip of alcohol yet.

✠

For hundreds of years now, I’ve been able to cloak myself within plain sight, only revealing my true identity when my subject is within seconds of death. Others that have known me more...intimately, have usually served as my feeders. I’ve had men and women in my bed throughout the last fifteen-hundred years, many of them truly incredible lovers, but unfortunately, they’ve all ended up dead. Turns out I have very poor impulse control. I’ve gone to mortal therapists, and they’ve all told me the same thing, besides being a psychopath of course, that I’m a narcissist. I beg to differ. I believe in hedonism. I desire the finest things in life, and being immortal just gives me more time to enjoy it all.

I make eye contact with you and know that I’ve ensnared you, though you aren’t aware of it just yet. Those beautiful bright eyes staring back at me like a deer in headlights. It’s not hard for me to return your gaze. I feel no anxiety, only determination. I shake the ice in my half-empty old fashioned and consider how the rest of my night will progress. Seems as I’m just getting started, I abandon my drink and hunt, knowing you won’t leave without finding me.

My eyes roam in and above the crowd, looking for loners–people with nowhere to be, and no one to wait for them back at home. I lock my gaze onto a young man who looks to be about my age. He’s wearing thick glasses, his hair slicked back awkwardly. He looks out of place and anxious. He holds his arms close to his body like he’s used to being viewed as an annoyance to others. Why is he here? I ask myself silently, but given that I don’t have any context, I choose to follow him instead. I like it that way. He’ll end up dead soon enough, either way. In the time being, I’ll write my own story of his life, knowing very well how it will end. I feel my fangs begin to scrape against my bottom lip, and I know that I must feed soon.

I follow the man further into the dark venue and realize he’s heading toward the bathroom. Perfect. I round the corners silently and trail him into the back, dimly-lit hallway. Back here, the noise is minimal, which makes it important to stay quiet. I’m quick, but the only way to stop people from screaming is to kill them, and I’m not interested in compelling an entire night club to forget everything. I watch as the bathroom door swings shut behind the guy, and, taking one quick look behind me for anyone watching, I disappear into the bathroom behind him, hoping I’ll get a lucky break by no one else being in any of the stalls.

Sure enough, he’s the only one inside. Standing at the urinal, he unzips his pants and relieves himself, and, being the gentleman I am, I let him finish as I pretend to use the urinal beside him. I do not look at him. I wait for him to zip up his pants and turn toward the sinks before I lunge for him, reaching to sink my teeth into his perfect neck, directly into his jugular.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts as I bite down, his hands darting upward to attempt to peel me from him, but he can’t. He is powerless under my grip. I siphon the blood from his veins quickly, feeling my body becoming revitalized with every passing second. He still manages to scream loudly, and, in the moment, I should have regretted being lazy and choosing to not compel him before feeding. I make eye contact with him through the reflection in the mirror as he looks up with horror. He’s realized that I’m all over him, my face and neck covered in his blood. He also knows that most likely, he will die. I can’t help but grin.

“If you keep screaming, you’ll be dead in the next thirty seconds,” I warn him. He doesn’t listen, of course. They never do.

“Fuck you!” He screeches, kicking against me with all of his might. They never learn, I tell myself. With a wicked grin, I reach just under his jawline with both hands, and mercifully, I throw my hands upward, decapitating him easily. It’s a shame. I watch his body fall to the floor, his face still wide-eyed with terror. His mouth still moves as I watch the life drain from his mortal eyes. Blood spurts everywhere, in every direction, and I lament over the waste of a meal. I drop the head to the tile floor, watching it roll away from me. The floor pools with delicious blood, and, if I didn’t have standards, I would have saved every drop for myself.

Someone is coming.

I turn slightly over my shoulder as I hear the hurried footsteps. Wiping my mouth with my forearm, I turn toward the door. And there she is.

As beautiful as any creature I’ve ever seen, I watch her eyes widen and her jaw drop as she takes in the scene in front of her. It’s actually quite comical to think about, and I wonder if she’s ever seen this amount of blood at one time. My hands are covered in it, my leather jacket practically dripping from crimson spatter.

“Oh my God! What the fuck!?” She screams at me, her face draining of all color. And just like that, she’s on the run, prey in the eyes of the hunter.

✠

You weren’t sure how your feet kept up with your body in the moment. All you could remember was seeing so much blood. The man that caused it all was the same man that was staring at you earlier from the bar. You knew better than to rush through the crowd again, knowing you’d get stuck on the way out. Instead, you booked it toward the employee only area and searched for a service entrance. You turned to peer over your shoulder far too many times, because you knew he’d be searching for you, and like the dead man in the bathroom, you knew that you’d be his next victim.

“There you are,” a man’s voice slithered into your ears as you landed on the pavement outside of the club. You realized instantly that you’d made a grave mistake by choosing this back exit. Now, no one would bear witness to your murder, and even worse, you doubted anyone could hear your screams over the noise of the club. He leaned casually against the brick wall of the building across from you. His face was shadowed in darkness. You froze in place, horrified to even ponder how he’d beaten you out of the building.

“I have a knife!” you warned. “Stay away from me!” In truth, you had nothing to defend yourself, but figured it was better to lie than to die.

“A knife?” He asked matter-of-factly, pushing himself off of the wall. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, placing it between his lips. “Want one?” He asked, tilting the box in your direction. You flinched, stepping back. He lifted one hand to his mouth to shield from the wind as he lit the end of the cigarette. You could see the drying blood on his hands. “And what exactly do you plan to do with that knife, darling?” He asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the cherry glowing bright red.“Surely not to stab me.” You stood in place, trembling from head to toe. You flitted your gaze from him over to each side, considering how to exit. “You poor thing,” he teased, his voice wafting through the air like velvet. His tongue clicked “You have no idea, do you, hm?” You watched as he took a step forward toward you, and you jumped back.

“Don’t!” You shouted at him.

“Don’t do what?” He asked slowly, cocking his eyebrow upward with curiosity. He was devastatingly beautiful, and though what you saw in the bathroom filled you with terror, something inside of you considered staying, even though your intuition should have told you better. “What are you scared of, little one? Why aren’t you running?” He asked with a knowing grin.

“I–I–” You stuttered, your eyes darting left to right as you considered where to go. “You’re gonna let me go?” You asked him, your fist bunching at your sides.

“Run along before I change my mind,” he responded matter-of-factly.

As quickly as you could, you sprinted down the dark alleyway away from him, the gravel crunching under your shoes as you ran. And then he was in front of you, smirking. When he opened his bloody mouth, you saw the fangs as they glimmered under the street lamps.

“Too slow,” he almost sang. You halted in place, and considered turning to run the other way, but as you spun on your heel, he launched forward, clawing at you with his arms outstretched. In his clenched fist, he caught your ponytail and looped it around his fingertips, yanking you backward, where you landed on your back. The force knocked the wind out of you, and your scalp ached from his grip.

“Don’t–” you begged quietly, your voice sounding foreign as it left your mouth. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, Darling,” the man said, lifting his gaze to look into your eyes. You watched as his pupils dilated, and then returned to their normal size. His gaze pierced through you as if altering your brain chemistry.

“You’ll forget everything that happened to you. You drank too much. No one touched you. You will go back to your friends, and you’ll forget what you saw in the bathroom. You’ll forget me once I finish feeding.” His hands gripped tightly around your body as he spoke. His face was crusted with dark blood, and even so, he possessed a haunting beauty that unsettled and awoke something that lay dormant in your soul for your entire life. Feeding. He said feeding. Before you could process, he lunged forward and pinned you against the earth. An unearthly shriek exploded from your lungs as his fangs sank into your neck. In a moment of inexplicable clarity, you felt every sense ignite, your entire body burning from the inside out with literal flames licking off of your skin, illuminating the dark and grimy alleyway. Your scream morphed into a deafening howl that made even your ears ring. The roar that left your body initiated a moment of pure power and supernatural defense. In a moment that seemed to last a lifetime, you felt your entire being morph into something otherworldly, siphoning all of the energy in the atmosphere to harness this incredible, volatile power. Your captor hissed and yelped from the burns searing his body, yet he still hauled himself on top of you. An incredible calmness overrode your terror, and with simple instinct, you lifted your hand to your side, and closed your eyes, manifesting the man’s image in your head. The scene played out in your mind before it happened, and once you were satisfied, you opened your eyes, your powers having run their course, ripping his body off of yours and leaving him floating high in mid-air in the middle of the alleyway.

His eyes widened in surprise, but not necessarily from fear. They had shifted from a deep shade of chocolate brown to that of molten gold, his hair spiraling around his head in glorious display. He was terrifying, yet inarguably captivating; and yet, you were the one with power now. In one motion across your own throat with the tips of your fingers, you manifested that you’d slit his throat, and, just like before, you watched as your power took hold and echoed the command upon his neck, slicing one deep, fatal gash from one ear to the other. You watched the blood messily pour from the gash, spilling onto his clothes, down his arms, off of his body and onto the pavement below, painting it bright crimson. You watched with relaxed determination as he began to gurgle and choke on the blood, his eyes becoming half-lidded with weariness, his body beginning to convulse and seize where he hung. Power filled your body with dignified confidence, and in the moment, you didn’t worry once about the blood. You wanted him dead. Annihilated into dust.

Looking down at your hands, your mind began to return to that of human instinct. Your sudden lack of compassion had disturbed you as the power leached from your grasp. You’d grown up having powers—you knew you had them, but it had been years since they’d appeared, and even so, you’d never been capable of harnessing this much energy before. It hadn’t been unusual for you to be able to make certain objects float, or make things move on their own. You’d kept this gift to yourself all of these years, never revealing the truth to anyone. This instance, however, was something very new, and, without a single drop of alcohol in your system, you knew two things were true. You were sober and that this was very, very real, and the man hanging in the air above you was most definitely not human.

You lifted your gaze up at him, half-expecting him to be dead. And when you did, he opened his eyes, smirked, and then laughed. You watched as he spat the blood dismissively at the ground before he straightened easily and stopped trembling from feigning death and began to cackle as if he’d seen something incredibly amusing. When you made eye contact with him, he grinned widely, his teeth painted deep maroon as blood dripped out of his mouth and off of his chin. His fangs glinted off of what little light was expressed from the street lamp on the path behind the club.

“Wow,” he finally said, scoffing. “I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as fuck wasn’t that,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Color me impressed!” You watched in horrified confusion, speechless as to how the man hanging in front of you could still talk, let alone breathe. Peering down at your hands, you silently questioned how you were able to defend yourself from him.

“What are you?” You asked him maliciously, balling your fists at your side. You watched as he casually crossed his arms across his chest.

“I could ask the same thing about you, sweetheart.” He smirked widely, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you a witch?” He asked.

“I–I don’t know,” you answered defensively. “What are you?” You asked again, venom laced between every word. He huffed a chuckle through his nose.

“You haven't figured it out yet? I took you as being much smarter than that, Scarlett.” Your attention snapped upward as he said your name for the first time.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” You asked him, practically hissing as you spoke.

“Was it a secret?” He asked, his lips turning upward in a smug expression.

“Who the fuck are you!?” You shouted lifting your arm in front of you, ready to will your power back in place.

“I’m Danny. Daniel if I’m in trouble,” he answered simply. “Friends call me Danny.” He spoke as if he’d sat down for a cup of coffee with you. How could someone so malicious and evil be so careless? You let silence drift for a few moments. “Let me walk you through it, Darling,” he sighed. “Can you let me down first?”

“No!” You answered immediately.

“Do I still scare you?” He asked. “It’s the fangs, isn’t it?” You watched as he opened his mouth, noticing the prominent canines that protruded into sharp points at either side. Then suddenly, they morphed back into normal, human shape. “And the blood?” He asked. “You can use your witch powers to clean it off, can’t you?”

“You’re a fucking murderer,” you hissed through your teeth, squeezing your hands into fists at your side. “I’m not doing shit for you. I should call the police.”

“Honey, if you wanted an aftershow, you really should have just asked. I’m hungry anyway, and, while I was about to feast on you, I don’t prefer witch blood.”

“I’m not a witch,” you spat at him. He chuckled menacingly.

“And I’m not a fucking vampire.”

With as much power as you could muster, you closed your eyes and imagined him being slammed into the earth. Hard. You turned and prepared to walk away before opening your eyes and letting it be done, hearing a loud thud on the ground behind you. Something in you had shifted, the terror morphing quickly into amusement, a wide grin plastered across your face as you walked away from him, listening to the moans and groans that escaped from his body as he picked himself up from the pavement.

End of Part 1.

Taglist: @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @astreamofcolors, @sammysobaby, @gretavanfreakmadie, @weneedsomehealing123, @sarahstardust7, @strawberryblondeee, @squirreledelman,@madneedshelp, @watchingover-hypegirl, @llightmyllovee, @moralmorbid, @gretavangroupie, @jordie-gvf-admin, @brujamagik, @gretasmokerising, @ascendingtothestarsasone, @mama-likes72, @gold-mines-melting, @myownparadise96, @sanguinebats @sulkyrie, @mackalah, @interstellar-shores, @jakekiszkasmommy, @laneygvf, @overtheehillsandfarawayy, @takenbythemadness, @joshskittytickler21, @jaketlove, @gretasfallingsky, @starshine-gvf, @itsdannysworld, @lipstickitty, @scoreofinfantryvines, @capturethechaos, @tripthelightfatality @hippievanfleet @demolitionndann @thetroublegetssoloud71, @malany-gvf, @gvfmarge, @idontlikelizards, @dont-go-home-without-me, @ace-harrington, @jjwasneverhere, @writingcold @starcatcherry @cherrybugbaby @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fanfic #Danny Wagner #Danny Wagner fanfic #danny wagner x reader #gvf #danny gvf #gretavanfleet #danny wagner gvf #danny wagner fic #Danny Wagner gvf #vampire Danny wagner #daniel wagner #Danny Wagner angst

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 8 months ago

Text

Brothers

Maybe one where Roman or Remus have a very bad anxiety attack/spiral & the other helps them outta it and comforts them? Just some h/c creativitwins. – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

Read on Ao3

Warnings: hypothermia, remus has abandonment issues

Pairings: none

Word Count: 4093

In the Imagination, where one brother is as warm as the fire burning evermore in the hearth, another may be trapped in the freezing gales. They come as a pair: do not separate them.

The metal screeches and whines as it buckles under the force of the crash. Remus tightens his grip over his mouth, squeezing himself further into the corner. The walls shudder and shake as the low groan of the machinery resets. He presses the shaking fingers of his free hand to the burning cold metal wall and inches forward. His breath freezes in his mustache. She risks a glance over his shoulder.

No shadows, no nothing, he’s still undetected in this frozen hellhole. He grits his teeth against the bitter chill and inches forward.

Slam!

Another crash of whining screeching metal and the reverberation smashes into his ribs. The force of inhaling the cold air so sharply makes his lungs burn and his throat weep. How long has he been here? How far has he come?

How close is he to getting out?

It’s so cold. It’s so fucking cold. He covers his mouth with the end of his sleeve just for a second, just to get the itching burning freezing sensation off of his face and the moment he takes it away, the steam from his breath has already frozen. He grits his teeth and keeps going, edging through the massive sprawling halls in the hopes that he’s just moving somewhere.

Would it kill this place to have any fucking signage at all? Even just a set of emergency lights being like ‘hey, in the event that it’s brutally fucking cold and you need to get out before you turn into a living ice cube, head this way?’ Hell, Remus would even take flashing disco rave lights over the cold indifference of the flickering buzzing fluorescent things embedded in the ceiling.

Slam!

Remus jumps and hisses at the protest of his aching muscles. Can’t fucking slow down. Can’t stop moving. Stopping means giving in to the cold.

Dread creeps steadily up his spine as he keeps moving through the endless bleak hallways. What if he’s trapped in here forever? It’s so cold, he knows he’ll die if he stays here too long. he’s already been here too long, he needs to get out of here yesterday, and the slamming sounds like it’s getting closer, but that’s impossible. It’s impossible because it’s coming from behind him, always behind him, and it’s still getting closer. Is it moving? It can’t be moving, something that big, that dangerous, moving that quickly, that’s—how—how could it be doing that?

Slam!

Finally, finally, he sees a fucking door. A big one, a big sliding door like garages have. He sprints for it—or at least, he tries to, but his legs have long ago iced over and trying to make his knees bend and unbend is like pulling them through frozen tar. He stumbles and slams into the wall, grunting in pain, but he lands close enough to the buttons to jam his thumb into the one that says ‘OPEN.’

With a hissing grinding screech, the door slides upwards, closing a wave of freezing snow through the now gaping opening. Remus winces, huddling behind the corner of the wall, squinting to peer out through the mess. Concrete pillars loom out of the storm, but nothing else.

He risks a glance behind him.

Slam!

No time to waste. He ducks through the door and winces as it immediately begins to slide shut. Frantically he scrabbles for something to prop it open, for a control panel on this side, but there’s nothing but burning cold metal and unyielding concrete and the door shuts with a resounding thud that’s quickly lost in the gale of the storm.

Alright. Well, he’s out here now. This is fine. This is fine. He definitely won’t die quicker out here. He definitely won’t die more painfully out here. He definitely knows all of the bad things that could be out here, that could be lurking behind the white clouds, that he might not even be able to hear over the rush of the howling winds. Speaking of those, his ears hurt almost immediately and his head is already aching from the sheer force of the wind smacking his eardrums. He rushes for the closest pillar, trying to huddle behind it out of the wind, but the wind is coming from everywhere and there's no relief from being pressed up against the freezing concrete. He glances behind him for the door but it's already disappeared in the blinding snow.

Forward it is.

Despite the fact that he knows it won’t do anything, he keeps going from pillar to pillar, just to have something to hold onto as the icy winds race around. Surely, surely has has to be close to something, something else that will get him out of the wind for even a moment, something he can just rest up against for a second.

Pillar after pillar after pillar after pillar and everything in Remus shuts down except for the parts that have to move his body and the repeating words of next one, next one, next one, next one…

He has no brain left to remember that there can be an infinite amount of next ones.

Be it mercy, spite, or sheer boredom, the pillars come to an abrupt halt at the edge of a vast, flat plain. The concrete under his feet drops off onto an icy white ground that stretches out as far as he can see—which isn’t that much through all the wind and snow. Still, just as he did with the door, he hangs back for a moment, clinging to the pillar, glancing over his shoulder at the shadows of the others behind him. Could he go back? Plead for some entry back into the freezing building with the grinding and smashing machinery? Or should he venture into this unknown freezing nothingness where the wind and snow could strip his flesh from his bones?

From the distance behind him, he hears a great shuddering groan and yeah, no, that’s his cue to get the fuck out.

He steps onto the ice and starts to trudge away from the pillars. They disappear in a swirling rush of ice and snow and he hunches around himself, just to keep going. Just keep going, just keep going. Where is he going? Where did he come from? What was in that building? What were the pillars for? Why was it so cold? Why is it so cold? Why is he here? What did he do? Why does the world hate him? Why can’t he be better? Why can’t they just tell him what to do to make all of this stop?

He loses himself in the snow.

After crunching through countless hours of mind-numbing limping, he glances up and sees a dark smudge on the horizon. He squints through the gale but can’t see anything more. He keeps going, having to shield his eyes and face every once in a while before looking back up just to make sure he wasn’t imagining the smudge. But it grows larger and larger and larger still, until he can make out a tree line slowly approaching from the horizon.

He doesn’t even have the energy to be excited about it. He just keeps trudging forward. The wind bites into his exposed flesh everywhere it can, sinking icy fangs into the cracking skin on his hands, his face, his ears. His head is splitting—or it should be, with all the cold wind rushing past, why can’t he feel his head hurting? He tries to raise a hand to paw weakly at his head but his fingers just slide off uselessly. He doesn’t even have the energy to panic.

From the distance, he hears the thud, thud, thud of massive footsteps.

He looks up.

Coming from the snow, he sees a hulking dark mass coalescing in front of him. Paws the size of his torso, a head that looms several feet above him, eyes that pierce through the wrath of the storm.

The wolf comes to a stop in front of him, steam billowing from its mouth and nose.

Remus stumbles forward, one of his useless heads making to stretch up to his nose, but his arm refuses to raise. A soft and frightened keen leaves his throat as his legs buckle into the snow. His head feels fuzzy. It’s so cold. It’s so cold.

The wolf’s maw opens, teeth the size of Remus’s arm, and leans down to close his jaws around him.

At first, he attributes the fact that he can’t feel the pain from how cold he is, only to feel a different rush of wind as he’s lifted up into the air. He manages to open one eye enough to see the movement of the paws as the wolf carries him through the storm. He lets his head flop the other way and comes alarmingly close to one of those giant piercing eyes. The wolf huffs as quietly as he can with him in his mouth and keeps moving, getting closer and closer to the tree line. His warm breath is the worst thing Remus has ever felt and he never wants it to go away, ever, and he slips into a half-conscious daze as the wolf makes it to the forest proper.

Out of the worst of the wind, the sounds of the wolf become more distinct. Twigs and branches alike snap as he picks his way through the trees, his massive head swinging back and forth to safeguard the precious cargo in his teeth. A hysterical part of Remus wants to cuddle one of the teeth, just to have something to hold onto. But his arms are still refusing to work and his hands burn every time he even thinks about moving them to get warm, so he just whimpers and lets the wolf carry him through the trees.

It suddenly occurs to him how funny this is. He’s being carried by a wolf. He’s in the wolf’s mouth. He’s in a snowy forest and a wolf is carrying him in his mouth like he’s a chew toy and he’s all cold like a piece of ice. Hysterical giggles start to bubble up out of his throat, each one falling like an ice cube and shattering against the ground as the wolf walks on. Babbles and snatches of what might be words start to slide from his blue-bruised lips.

“Wolf,” he mumbles, “forest, cold…stopping for me…stopping, stopping…carry me…carriage me…couldn’t stop, could not stop…stop for me…carriage held me…”

He’s not sure how much time passes but slowly, he realizes that the air isn’t biting into him anymore. The wind isn’t rushing past him anymore. The wolf’s paws aren’t crunching into the ice anymore. He doesn’t have the strength to turn his head and see where they are. The wolf lets out a soft growl and begins to lower him.

“Oh, what’s this?” He hears another voice. Who is that? “Did you bring me something to—Remus?”

The wolf growls again, firmer this time, and he hears the pitter-patter of footsteps and something touches his shoulder.

“Re? Re, can you hear me? Fuck, you’re freezing—“

Roman? Is that Roman? Remus tries to roll over a little bit, just to see him, and Roman’s face swims into view.

”Ro…”

“Oh, Re,” Roman says breathlessly, arms around him, “what have you done this time, huh?”

“It was cold.”

“I’m sure it was, you’re like a little ice cube.” Roman slides his arm under Remus’s knees and picks him up like he doesn’t weigh anything. “Come on, let’s get you all warmed up.”

Over his shoulder, Remus sees the wolf lie down and put his head on his paws. He lifts his useless fingers in a pitiful attempt at a wave and the wolf huffs.

”Come on, Re,” Roman murmurs, carrying him inside the—cabin, they’re in a cabin, the wolf brought him to a cabin— “we’re gonna get you all warmed up, okay?”

“Cold,” Remus gasps, “so cold—“

“I know, Re, I know. Come on, I’ve got you now.”

The warm air hits him like a live wire, suddenly he’s shivering and twitching so much Roman has to tighten his grip just to keep a hold of him. Pain lances through his limbs and he whimpers, trying to hide in the lea of Roman as they move through the cabin.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Roman keeps murmuring as they make it to the bathroom, “I’ve got you now, I’ll take care of you.”

He lets out another noise when Roman starts to lower him, but it morphs into confusion when he comes to rest on something…soft? Roman kneels down next to him.

“We need to get these wet clothes off,” he says softly, “can I help?”

Well, considering Remus’s hands are about as helpful as a jackhammer for a migraine, he nods and Roman begins to dreadfully peel him out of his frozen clothes. Some part of his brain registers that this should be funny, shouldn’t it? Roman peeling him out of his clothes? But what makes it so terribly unfunny is that it hurts. It just hurts. It’s cold and then it isn’t as cold but then that starts to burn and so he wants the cold back but he doesn’t want the cold back because the cold hurts and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore, he just want it to stop, make it stop, make it stop—

“Shh, shh,” Roman keeps whispering as Remus jerks and whines, “I know, I know, I’m right here…”

Even the warm air from the bathroom is too much; He’s still shivering like crazy which is…probably a good thing, because that means he still can shiver, but still, his muscles are protesting every time he jerks and shudders. Roman just hushes him again, patting the—towel, it’s a towel, that’s what Remus is sitting on.

“Hey, come on, lie down for me, okay? I’m gonna go get some blankets and warming packs and we’ll get you all warmed up, okay?”

Remus latches onto his sleeve when he tries to stand up. “D-don’t go. Don’t l-leave me.”

“I’m just going next door, I promise—“ Remus whines— “you’ll watch me the whole time, okay?”

But Remus just clings onto his, still whimpering and shaking and Roman closes his eyes for a long moment.

Shuffling comes from the other room and the door is nudged open by a still-large-for-a-normal-wolf-but-much-smaller-than-it-was nose as the wolf carefully deposits blankets and warm packs into the bathroom. Roman murmurs his thanks as he sets about getting Remus sitting upright against his own chest, pressing the warm packs carefully against his chest and neck.

“We can’t warm you up too fast,” he whispers as Remus shudders, “we have to be careful, okay?”

“Warm…”

“Yeah, buddy, you can be warm now.” Roman adjusts his hold to make them more comfortable. “What were you doing that got you so freezing?”

Remus shakes his head, turning to rest his cheek against Roman’s shoulder. “Warehouse. Office building. Giant. Cold.”

“You—you were in a warehouse? Or an office building? What were you doing in there?”

“Hallways. There were so many hallways. Big thing. Slam. Sounded close. Had to go.”

“You were in an office building with a lot of hallways, and there was a big thing slamming into something close to you?” Remus nods. “Okay, do you know what it was?”

He shakes his head, whimpering at the shock of pain in his fingers. “Had to go.”

“Okay, okay,” Roman soothes, turning his head and blowing warm air over the spot behind Remus’s ear, “you had to go. Where did you go?”

“Big door. Outside. Concrete pillars.” Remus shivers again. “Snow. So much snow.”

“Is that where the wolf found you?” Remus nods. “Okay. I’m glad he found you.”

“Is he…still there?”

“I don’t think he wanted to stay that size, I think he’s gone back to waiting outside for us. But he’s still there.”

Another pained whimper leaves his lips and Roman tightens his grip a little, rocking them back and forth. As he starts to come back to himself, he looks around the bathroom. The walls and floor are made of a soft gray stone, a bathtub right across from them and a shower tucked against the far wall. Behind him, he can see the shadows of the sink and cabinets. A basket sits at the base. He’s sitting on a peach towel with a blanket draped haphazardly over him. Roman’s ice packs are a dark blue.

“How are you doing,” Roman murmurs after another moment, “you feeling a little better?”

“Mm.” Remus tries to flex his hand and winces. “Hurts.”

“I know, bud. That’s probably a good sign, though, yeah?”

“Mmpf.”

Roman chuckles and nuzzles his head against Remus’s. “We’re gonna get you a little warmer here first, then we can move you to a bed and get you all bundled up. do you think you can drink something?”

“Cold?”

“No, I’ll get you some warm water. That’ll help.”

“Not hot chocolate?”

Roman laughs again. “No, Remus, we have to be careful, okay? Once you get a little bit warmer, then we’ll see.”

Remus pouts, not that Roman can see it, but lets himself be snuggled back against Roman’s chest. Roman reaches over to switch out the warm pack, the brief absence leaving Remus oddly bereft before another one comes to replace it.

“Can I close my eyes?”

Roman sighs. “If I were Logan, I’d be able to tell you if it was okay if you fell asleep, but I don’t know.”

“I said close my eyes, not fall asleep.” There’s a telling moment of silence. “…fine.”

“Come on, you want to stay awake for your hot chocolate, don’t you?”

“That’s cheating.”

Roman laughs and gives him another gentle squeeze. “Come on, Re, you’re doing great. You can do it.”

Remus grumbles half-heartedly, but Roman’s right. The cold is slowly giving him his body back, even though the pain has yet to fully abate and he’s still fucking freezing. But Roman has him, he’s inside now, and he’s actually safe.

Something twinges in his chest.

After a while Roman pronounces him safe enough to move and coaxes him to sit up. He quickly wraps another blanket over his shoulders so none of his warmth escapes and ruffles Remus’s hair.

“I’m gonna go get you some warm water, okay?”

Remus mumbles some form of acquiescence and Roman smiles, getting up and walking out to the rest of the cabin. Remus hears a sink turn on and the sound of a cup being filled, and after another moment, Roman returns with a mug and a straw sticking out of it.

“Slowly, now,” he says and he couches down and holds the straw up to Remus’s lips, “take your time, okay?”

The warm water feels fucking great as Remus drinks it. It pools in the core of him and he can just imagine it’s like a hot spring, making him thaw from the inside out. Which was probably the point. Would be better if it was hot chocolate, though.

“Patience, Re.”

“Doesn’t a hot chocolate spring sound great, though?”

“We can work on that when you’re not a little Remus ice cube.”

“We’re literally the same age.”

But Roman makes him drink the warm water and sit there for a little longer until he can at least move around without feeling like his limbs are about to shatter off. Then he’s picked up, swaddled in blankets, and carried off through the cabin.

“Since when are you this strong?”

Roman just laughs at him. “You haven’t been paying attention then, hm?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman laughs again. “Don’t laugh at me, Roro, answer me!”

Roman does not, in fact, answer him, but he does put him down on a fucking huge bed. It’s literally half the size of the bathroom they were just in, covered with blankets and furs and pillow and Remus is letting out a soft noise before he can stop himself.

“It’s okay,” Roman says softly, pulling back the covers and coaxing him under everything, “there, that’s better, isn’t it? You feel okay?”

Remus is most definitely not okay, because now he’s in this big warm bed with all these blankets piled on top of him and it’s the most comforting warm weight he could possible imagine and it’s all soft and cozy and it smells like pine and cinnamon spice and he’s with Roman and he’s safe and he’s still so so cold but he might be able to be warm now and he’s crying and sobbing and shivering.

“Oh, Re,” he hears Roman murmur, and then warm hands are bushing tears from his cheeks and ruffling his hair, “hey, hey, shh, shh, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe now.”

‘Wan’—wan’—wan’ you,” Remus gasps out, “come—please—please!”

Roman pulls away and he lets out a broken whine but then the bed is dipping and the blankets are shifting and warmsoftsolidsafereal Roman is sliding in next to him and opening his arm and Remus wraps himself around him like a Kraken.

“Fuck, Re, you’re still freezing.” Roman pulls him close and lets him curl up under his chin. “You come here, I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I was so scared,” Remus sobs out, “it was so cold, I was so scared, so scared—“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay—“

‘“There was nothing! There was no one, it was just—just so cold and so grey and everything hurt and—and—“

“Hush, Re, shh, shh, shh…”

“—it’s gonna keep happening, everyone’s just gonna l-leave and I’m gonna be on my own and cold and it’s gonna come smash me apart ‘cause you won’t—won’t want me anymore and I’m so cold, I’m so cold, don’t leave me there!”

Roman goes quiet. His grip never wavers even for a second, Remus still sobbing and clinging to him like a wet cat. He can feel Roman’s chest shudder under him and then a warm mouth presses against his ear.

“I’ll never leave you there, you hear me? Never. You’re my brother. I’ve lost you too many times already. You’re fucking stuck with me, okay?” He presses a fierce kiss to Remus’s head. “I’ll come get you every time if I have to.”

“I’m so scared, Ro,” Remus whimpers, “I’m so scared.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you can be scared, I’ll be here to help.”

The thing in his chest unspools ever further and he just collapses into a heap of tears in Roman’s arm. The bed is warm and his brother is here and that’s all he needs to worry about right now.

“Hey,” Roman murmurs into the quiet room, “you okay?”

His head hurts from being cold and from crying, his chest feels like he’s run a marathon through a frozen tundra, and his body aches like nothing he’s ever felt before.

But he smiles weakly and nods, nuzzling his head under Roman’s chin.

“Can I have my hot chocolate now?”

Roman chuckles warmly. “Tell you what. Let me get you some more hot water, you have a little nap, and then when you wake up, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

“Can I have a warm shower too?”

“And a warm shower too.” He ruffles Remus’s hair. “Now go to sleep, you menace.”

“Your face is a menace.”

“See, that’s how we know you’re tired, because you’re resorting to the ‘your face’ jokes.”

“Your face is a your face joke.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Your face doesn’t make sense—ah! Hey!” Remus yelps as Roman tickles up his back. “No, no, no!”

”Are we done with the ‘your face’ jokes?”

“Your face is—eep!”

“Are we?”

“Yes! Yes, okay! I’m done, I’m done!” Roman chuckles and rubs firmly at Remus’s back to soothe any phantom tingles. “How am I the menace?”

“‘Cause you’re my brother and those are the rules.”

Remus grumbles but doesn’t pull away. Roman keeps running his fingers up and down his back, humming slightly.

“Shh, Re. Go to sleep now, okay? Hot chocolate and warm shower when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“…promise you won’t leave?”

Roman tightens his grip and tucks their heads together. “I promise that too.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #roman sanders

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elliemarchetti · 5 months ago

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The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition (Part 5)

Posting on Tumblr too because this fic's sister is already there.

Reading The Queen of the Quills - Blackinnon Edition will not be mandatory to understand the developments of James and Lily's story, but some details could be shared, therefore, for anyone wishing to fully enjoy the experience, I will leave this series' masterlist here.

This was @athenasparrow's gift for @jilymicrofics ' Exchange 2024, but if you like it and are willingly to reblog, it would be super appreciated since stories like this require quite some time and effort🥰

Taglist (if anyone wants to be added, please DM me or comment and I'll gladly add you!): @thaisthedreamer

Plot: James Potter, London's most evasive bachelor, an impertinent libertine, has decided to get married. He has also already chosen his wife, the debutante Lily Evans, a self-confident young woman who has not the slightest intention of being seduced by such a man. A Bridgerton inspired Regency AU.

Words: 4093

Mrs. Potter’s musicale proved to be a decidedly musical affair (not, this author assures you, always the norm for musicales). The guest performer was none other than Maria Rosso, an Italian soprano from the all-witch choir known as Spellbound who made their debut in London two years ago and has returned after a brief stint on the Vienna stage. With thick, sable hair and flashing dark eyes, Miss Rosso proved as lovely in form as she did in voice, and more than one, or it would be better to say more than a dozen, of society’s so-called gentleman found it difficult indeed to remove their eyes from her person, even after the performance had concluded.

The Queen of the Quills, May 17, 1813

Lily felt the exact moment he walked in the room. She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with a heightened awareness of the excruciatingly handsome wizard, she couldn’t imagine that every woman didn’t notice him immediately, and furthermore, he arrived late – not very, but still enough he had to try to be quiet as he slipped into a chair at the front next to Mrs. Evans – still she noticed him before her own mother and sister did, and it rendered her unable to even breathe. He didn’t look her way, but several candles had been snuffed, leaving the room bathed in a dim, romantic glow, so the shadows must’ve obscured her face and the way she tried to keep her eyes on Miss Rosso throughout the performance, even if the woman couldn’t take hers off of Mr. Potter, and for some reasons, it didn’t improve her disposition. She should’ve rejoiced in the fact, it was just another piece of proof he was every bit the licentious rake she’d always known him to be, but she wasn’t feeling smug, or vindicated, she was just heavily, uncomfortably disappointed, so much so she felt herself slump slightly in her chair.

When the performance was done, she couldn’t help but notice how the soprano, after graciously accepting her applause, brazenly approached her suitor and offered him one of those seductive smiles, the sort Lily would never learn to do even if she had a thousand opera singers trying to teach her. There was no mistaking what she meant with that act, and he must’ve realized too, because he threw her a mysterious look and actually tucked an errant lock of her raven hair behind her ear.

Lily shivered in disgust. For Merlin’s beard, the man didn’t even need to chase women, they practically dropped at his feet and whispered sweet nothing in his ears! Maybe she praised him, or maybe she outwardly offered herself, because he leaned down enough to kiss her neck.

“Lily?” hissed her mother, decidedly irritated. “Stop watching Mr. Potter.”

“I wasn’t… well, all right, I was, but did you see him?” she whispered urgently. “He’s shameless.”

She looked back over at him, still flirting with Maria Rosso, no care in the world about who might see.

“I’m sure his behaviour isn’t any of our business,” replied Elizabeth, lips pursed into a tight line. “He has been kind in delivering the invitations to the musicale himself, but I’m certain he wants nothing to do with you after that fiasco in Hyde Park.”

If the situation had been different, Lily would have argued that it wasn't her fault that his dog had pushed her into the water and he jumped in to save her when she was already swimming toward the shore, but she didn't have the energy to argue right now, so she sagged her shoulders and followed her family as they greeted their lovely hostess. Mrs. Potter had fair hair and light eyes, and she was rather petite to have mothered such a large son, so Lily decided her late husband must’ve been a tall man.

“Mrs. Evans,” she said warmly, “what a delight to see you again. I so enjoyed our meeting at the last ball and I must say I’m very glad you decided to accept my invitation.”

“We wouldn’t dream of spending the evening elsewhere,” her mother rejoined. “And may I present you my daughters? The older one is Petunia, and the younger one is Lily.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, and I would like to introduce you to Mr and Mrs. McKinnon’s daughter, Marlene,” she said, motioning to a young lady at her side. For some reason, Lily was convinced she had already met her, but maybe she was just a classmate she had passed a couple of times in the corridors at Hogwarts. After all, Londoners were used to minding their own business there too, and she had no doubt that someone so beautiful and seemingly delicate was constantly surrounded by flocks of other adoring young women. Anyway, Lily smiled warmly at the girl, who looked to be about the same age as her, even though the similarities between them ended here: her blonde hair were a perfectly styled field of lovely golden wheat and her face was angular, a rather sharp contrast with Lily’s roundness.

“Is this your first season?” she asked, already friendly.

Both Lily and Petunia nodded.

“How lucky!” she exclaimed. “I attended a few parties last year and may I say they were a bit… boring? Everything was so new the first time, but by the end of spring I already remembered everyone’s name. This way, I thought I could get an excellent match, but as you may see by yourself, I’m still unmarried.”

As Marlene spoke, Mrs. Evans glanced at her son, who kept flirting madly with the Italian opera singer, and frowned.

Lily felt something very uneasy in her stomach: according to recent issues of The Queen of the Quills, Mrs. Evans was on a mission to get her son married off, and while he didn’t seem the sort of man to bend to his mother’s will, or anyone’s, for the matter, she had a feeling the woman would be able to exert quite a bit of pressure is she so chose. Maybe that was why he was so intent on courting her.

After a few more moments of polite chatter, the Evans left Mrs. Potter to greet the rest of her guests and were soon accosted by Mrs. Bones, who, as the mother of three daughters, two still unmarried, always had a lot to say to Elizabeth – she had long declared herself on a first-name basis with the Evans – although that day her gaze was firmly focused on Lily, who immediately began to assess possible escape routes.

“What a surprise to see you there!” boomed the stout woman, leaving her interlocutor puzzled. “Gossip said you were ill.”

“Don’t worry, it was nothing that serious,” Lily retorted, with a weak smile. How Amelia had managed to become a pleasant person to have around with a family like hers Lily just couldn't explain.

“From what I heard, you contracted it in a rather serious way,” Mrs. Bones added, brows rising a good half inch. It was evident she knew, maybe she was even at the scene, but there was really no need to talk about it at the Potter’s.

“A way of little consequence, as you can see,” Lily countered firmly, although she was finding it difficult not to growl at the meddlesome woman.

Mrs. Bones opened her mouth, a sharp intake of breath telling she was preparing to launch into a lengthy monologue on the topic of the importance of good deportment, or good manners, or good breeding, but her youngest promptly interrupted her, offering to fetch lemonade for everyone.

“Lily, would you be so kind as to help me?” she asked, turning to the one she set out to save. “Unfortunately, I still don’t have enough hands to carry all those glasses.”

Lily tried not to appear too eager to accept, but everyone must’ve noticed their urgency to flee from how quickly they walked away, dodging those present with skill.

“Thank you,” she murmured to her saviour once they reached the lemonade stand and grabbed four glasses, for everyone except Petunia, who said she wasn’t thirsty.

“I know how my mother can be, I’m usually her favourite victim, so since I could avoid you what would’ve sounded like a lecture from an almost stranger, I took advantage of it. I’m sure somehow she would’ve found the opportunity to insert me into the conversation just to define me an impertinent social failure,” replied the other, and although a part of Lily wanted to pity her for that cruel fate – no mother should behave like that with her daughter – another part told her not to do so, because the girl needed an ally, not yet another young lady looking at her like a hopeless cause.

“Can we go back for a glass for ourselves?” asked Amelia as soon as they reunited with their families, and her mother nodded in a matter that told Lily everyone must know her youngest wasn’t her favourite.

“Why don’t we go out for a bit of fresh air? Since we’re together, we don’t need a chaperone,” suggested the redhead, who wanted a little more space to investigate on what the wizarding society really thought of Mr. Potter. Was he a hypocrite? A scoundrel? Or even a liar? Had he by chance deluded women and then abandoned them without any prospect? Did he have bastards? She didn't know why she cared so much, after all he probably believed her a menace to society, or he wouldn’t have acted as he was doing with Miss Rosso, still she needed to know if it was the norm or just a game to get back at her. So she asked, rather forward, as she and her friend sank into a cushioned bench about ten yards from the music room. They remained there for several minutes, more than pleased with the comfortable intimacy of their gossip, until they heard one particular voice rise slightly above the low rumble of the crowd, followed by decidedly musical laughter. After a shared look of realization, they hitched up their skirts by a few inches to save themselves from tripping and ducked into the doorway next to the bench, hoping Mr. Potter and his paramour would walk on by, and they could scoot back into the music room and laugh about their little adventure. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, they realized they were in some sort of office, with walls lined with books, although not enough to be a library, the place dominated by a massive oak desk with papers laid on top of it in neat piles. Clearly the place was lived, not just for show, and as curiosity got the better of them, they wandered toward the desk, Lily running her fingers along the wooden rim. The air still smelled faintly of ink, and maybe the slightest hint of pipe smoke. All in all, she decided, it was a lovely room, comfortable and practical, a place a person could spend hours in lost in lazy contemplation, but just as she was about to lean back against the desk, savouring the quiet solitude exuding from the place, she heard and awful sound. The doorknob clicked, and with a frantic gasp, Amelia disappeared, leaving her with no other option than dive under the desk, squeezing herself into the empty cube of space and thanking the heavens that it was completely solid rather than the short that rested on four spindly legs. Barely breathing, she listened, cursing herself for not taking Apparition class seriously.

“I had heard this would be the year we would finally see the notorious Mr. Potter fall into the parson’s mousetrap,” came a lilting feminine voice. Lily bit her lip, recognizing the Italian accent.

“And where did you hear that?” came James’ unmistakable voice, followed by another awful click of the doorknob that made Lily shut her eyes in agony. She was trapped in the office with a pair of lovers. Life simply couldn’t get any worse than this, unless she was discovered, though it didn’t make her feel much better about her present predicament.

“It’s all over town,” Maria replied. “Everyone is saying you have decided to settle down and choose a bride.”

There was a silence, but Lily could swear she could hear him shrug: “It’s probably past time.”

“You are breaking my heart, did you know?” she asked, making Lily nearly gag.

“Now, my sweet signorina, we both know that your heart is impervious to any of my machinations,” Mr. Potter murmured, and Lily pictured him as close as they were before, his lips nearly on her skin, because next came a rustling sound, which she took to be Maria pulling coyly away to state she wasn’t inclined for a dalliance.

“I don’t look for marriage, of course, that would be most foolish, but when I next choose a protector, it shall be for, shall we say, the long term,” she added, low and husky.

“I fail to see the problem.”

“Your future wife may not.”

“The only reason to give up one’s mistress is if one happens to love one’s wife,” Mr. Potter chuckled. “And as I don’t intend to choose a wife with whom I might fall in love, I see no reason to deny myself the pleasure of a lovely woman like you.”

Lily tried to imagine the reaction of the couple if she jumped out of her hiding place, screaming like a madwoman, asking what made him think she was the right match if that was his plan from the start. It nearly made her laugh, and at the same time she wanted to cry, because there was no way she could make the entrance she wished to make when she was squatting like a frog with her hands wrapped around her ankles. A few unintelligible sounds distracted her from her fantasies, and she dearly prayed they weren’t a prelude to something considerably more intimate. After a moment, though, Mr. Potter’s voice emerged clearly, asking to the singer if she cared for something to drink. Maria murmured her assent, and James’ forceful stride echoed along the floor, growing closer and closer, until he came into view, his athletic frame displayed to surprising benefit from her vantage point on the floor. If he just kept his face to the window as he poured, she might escape detection, but if he turned so much as halfway she would be as good as dead, for she had no doubt he would kill her. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn’t tried last week at the Serpentine.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out, when Mr. Potter clinked the tumblers slightly together as he set them down before pouring two fingers of amber liquid into each glass.

“Perfect,” he answered, although he sounded vaguely distracted, like a dog sniffing the air around in search of his prey. Maybe that was why Lily froze and stopped breathing completely, eyes wide and unblinking, as he started to hum slightly to himself and his body slowly began to turn.

Keep walking, she screamed in her head, keep walking to your lover and don’t look back.

But it didn't go that way, and she watched with complete and utter horror as his eyes scanned her starting from her shoes and pinned her where she was.

__________________

James knew quite well why he’d brought Maria Rosso back to his study. Surely no warm-blooded man could be immune to the charm of her lush body and her intoxicating voice, and he knew from experience that her touch was equally potent, but even as he took in that silky sable hair and those full, pouting lips, even as his muscles tightened at the memory of other full, pouting parts of her body, he knew he was using her. He felt no guilt in that regard – she was using him as well, and she would at least be compensated for it, whereas he would be out several jewels, a quarterly allowance, and the rent on a fashionable townhouse in a fashionable part of town – no, if he felt uneasy and frustrated, if he felt like he wanted to put his damned fist though a brick wall, it was because he was using Maria to banish the nightmare that Lily Evans was from his mind. He never wanted to wake up hard and tortured again, knowing she was the cause, he just wanted to drown himself in another woman until the very memory of his recurring dream dissolved and faded into nothingness, because Merlin knew he was never going to act on that particular erotic fantasy because he shouldn’t like her like that. The though of making love to her, and not just bedding her, made him break out in a cold sweat, even as it swirled a ripple of desire right through his gut. Bloody hell, the woman must’ve bewitched him, there could be no other explanation for the dream, and besides, even now he could swear he could smell her. It was that maddening combination of lilies and soap, that beguiling scent that had washed over him while they were in Hyde Park.

“Is everything all right?” Maria called out.

“Perfect,” James said, voice sounding tight to his own ears. He began to hum, something he’d always done to relax, and he turned, even started to take a step forward, because after all Miss Rosso was waiting for him, but the damned scent followed him and his foot hesitated in midair, his step forward proved to be a small one instead of his usual long stride, and he kept turning, his nose instinctively twisting his eyes toward where he knew there couldn’t be lilies until he saw her under his desk, crouching like a frog. It was a wonder he didn’t drop the whiskey as their eyes met, and he saw hers widen with panic and fright.

Good, he thought savagely. What the hell was she doing here? Wasn’t making a scene after he doused himself in the filthy water of the Serpentine to rescue her enough for her bloodthirsty spirit? Did she need to spy on him as well?

“Maria,” he said smoothly, moving forward toward the desk until he was nearly stepping on Lily’s hand. “I have suddenly remembered an urgent matter of business that must be dealt with immediately.”

“This very night?” she asked, quite dubious.

“I’m afraid so. Allow me to walk you to the door,” he said, and although the singer’s eyes were curious, she still took his arm and forgave him for his rudeness for not taking her back to the music room.

“I am a grown woman, I believe I can manage the short distance,” she laughed, a low, sultry sound that should’ve seduced him. “And furthermore, I suspect there isn’t a woman alive who could deny you forgiveness with that smile.”

“You are of a rare kind, Maria Rosso,” he replied, hoping she couldn’t feel how far his head was from this conversation. Not too much physically, since Lily was just a few steps away, but metaphorically…

“But not, apparently, rare enough,” she murmured before floating out, finally giving James the possibility to shut the door with a decisive click, turn the key and pocked it. At the sound, Lily crawled out of her hiding place, leaning on the edge of the desk for support, apparently unable to start the much-needed explanation she had to give about her presence.

“Well?” he asked, breaking the bubble of silence.

“It was an accident!” she exclaimed. “I was sitting in the hall and I heard you coming. I was just trying to avoid you and your lover, to spare the embarrassment to everyone...”

“So you decided to invade my private office?” he asked, suspicious.

“I didn’t know it was your office. I…” she started, but was unable to finish her sentence, probably intimidated by his deliberate proximity. He could swear he was hearing the frantic beating of her heart coming from beneath the bodice.

“I think perhaps you did know this was my office,” he murmured, letting his forefinger trail down the side of her cheek. “Perhaps you didn’t seek to avoid me at all, on the contrary, you desired something else, something more… insane?”

Lily swallowed convulsively, long past the point of trying to maintain her composure.

“What do you say to that?” he asked, his finger sliding along her jawline.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t have uttered a word if her life had depended on it. He wore no gloves, he removed them during his interrupted tryst with Maria, and the touch of his skin against her was so powerful it seemed to control her body, for she breathed when he paused, stopped when he moved. He had no doubt their hearts were beating in time as his breath kissed her lips, and he smiled, victorious, when she deleted the little distance still separating them. It was evident she was an innocent who wouldn’t know what it was like to have a man so near the heat of his body seeped through her clothes, who wouldn’t recognize the first prickles of desire, nor would she understand that slow, swirling heat in the core of her being, but it was there, he could see it in her face with only one look of his experienced eyes.

James told himself that if she hadn’t kissed him, he would’ve stopped right there, left her bothered and breathless, but he knew he was lying, he knew the moment there had been barely an inch between their faces back in her house and he resisted the pull to give in to her beguiling scent only because the footman might’ve saw them. But right now, there was no chaperone, they were in the privacy of his study, her mother was probably immersed in conversation and the prickles of desire he’d meant to spark within her suddenly ignited him, sending a warm claw of need to the very tips of his toes. Although her kiss had been chaste, and rather desperate, the fingers he’d been trailing along her cheek to torture her suddenly became a hand that cupped the back of her head, and his lips took hers in an explosion of desire, making her gasp against his mouth, something he took advantage of to slide his tongue between them. She was pliant in his arms, so James pressed his suit further by allowing one of his hands to slide down her back and cup the gentle curve of her derriere.

It was madness, he knew he should stop and he damned well shouldn’t have started, but his body was racing with need and he felt so good he had no intention of letting her go. It was like when he was younger, with no care in the world, and his father was still alive, ready to rule the family and gift him with the chance to mess up without consequences a little more, and at the same time he found she possessed something that suited him like no woman ever had before. Something about her was just right, maybe her smell, or maybe the way she felt in his arms, and he knew that if he stripped off all of her clothes and took her there on the carpet on the floor of his study, she would fit underneath him, around him, just right. A low, triumphant growl emerged from James’ mouth as he moved it to her slender neck and further down, in the expanse of skin usually hidden by the bodice he moved slightly, enough to not expose her right away but still more than decency allowed. With ragged and fast breath, he pinned her to his desk, crazed, frantic, leaving small red marks wherever he sucked, regardless of the consequences.

“Do you still hate me?” he asked, and when she slightly shook her head, he cupped one of her breasts, covering it entirely with his hand. Just as he was plotting the best course back to her lips, he heard the perfectly awful sound of Sirius’ voice outside the door.

“James!” he shouted. “I know you’re here and your mother does too. She needs your assistance and asked me to tell you to stop fucking Miss Rosso.”

Miss Evans, blissfully unaware of how close she’d come to having been pleasured utterly senseless, threw a horrified look to the door.

“One of these days,” James muttered, “I’m going to have to kill him.”

#jily #lily evans #james potter #marlene mckinnon #amelia bones #petunia evans #sirius black #regency au #bridgerton au #the queen of the quills

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