#which robe should we dress him in today?

[m--bloop]

[forteafy]

A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Charles Leclerc is a husband. 

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you. 

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition. 

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this ­house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week. 

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection. 

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration. 

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days? 

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it. 

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home. 

The ­third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door. 

He had come back to the house. 

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation. 

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage. 

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery. 

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television. 

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get. 

Charles Leclerc is an actor. 

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions. 

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual. 

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later. 

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves. 

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.  

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him. 

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan. 

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile. 

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment. 

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist. 

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.” 

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child. 

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari. 

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions. 

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago. 

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

 You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter. 

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection. 

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you. 

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.” 

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you. 

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely. 

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser. 

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment. 

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you. 

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment. 

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home. 

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth. 

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs. 

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes. 

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier. 

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend. 

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life. 

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion. 

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment. 

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles. 

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew. 

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter. 

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city. 

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel. 

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp. 

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him. 

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in. 

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage. 

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival. 

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning. 

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company. 

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care. 

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home. 

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment. 

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes. 

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning. 

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please. 

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning. 

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening. 

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today. 

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker. 

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it? 

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house. 

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite. 

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun. 

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing. 

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married. 

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you. 

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side. 

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist. 

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember. 

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you. 

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter. 

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty. 

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt. 

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message. 

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone. 

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case. 

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line. 

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger. 

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack. 

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired. 

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut. 

Charles Leclerc is an investigator. 

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on? 

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to. 

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?” 

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information. 

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay. 

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband. 

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk. 

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position. 

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you. 

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband. 

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries. 

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate. 

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all. 

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello. 

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it. 

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear. 

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long. 

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are. 

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand. 

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response. 

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay. 

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity. 

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in. 

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.  

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a��miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line. 

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition. 

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort. 

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands. 

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport. 

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what. 

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything. 

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago. 

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have. 

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long? 

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head. 

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it. 

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen. 

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find. 

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you. 

[sweetismyaddiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

SUCROSE

Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love

Word account: 1199

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, friends to lovers

A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like, and comment. I am accepting suggestions for the next parts (should I already tell about the nicknames?). Please be nice. The Gif is not mine. Credits to the oner

Chapter 1: Derek Morgan, next door

Y/N’s Point of View

The water ran warm against my skin, a relaxing shower was all I needed after one very busy day serving and cleaning, which was not the worst part of the job, the worst part certainly was the clients themselves.

I had a playlist on to help me relax, thank god I had the day off and would go just to the night shift today, so it is a study and cleaning house day. But a noise interfire my peace day. Noises that come from outside.

In the corridor someone knocked on a door calling a name, Spencer’s name… I finished my bath, put on my robe and with my towel dried a little of my hair just taking the exes of the water then brushing it. I came out just in time to see someone kicking down my door and entering my apartment holding a gun.

“What are you doing?”

The man is a black big man, he looks around and then to me still holding his gun pointing it to me.

“Where is Spencer Reid?”

“Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment? Why did you break my door?”

The last sentence was a scream, I can’t believe that a random dude broke my door for no reason. Can’t he see numbers?

“I am SSA Derek Morgan. Now, where is Reid?”

Morgan, the name rings in my ears. Spencer talked about him so many times. Apparently they are friends and coworkers, he can break Spencer’s door, not my door!

“Spencer’s door is the other one.” I point to the one just across the hall. “But relax big man, you do not need to break another door, I have the key, just wait in here and let me put some clothes on. Do not let anyone into my apartment. And put that gun down. Jesus”

Is this a thing? You have to be handsome to join the FBI? After putting a light dress and getting the key I get back to my living room, where that delight for tired eyes wait, he remains stoic, rigid, so tense. Should I be worried?

Knocking soft on the door and calling his name I warne Spencer that me and Morgan are coming in. No response, and the place is immaculate, everything in the right place.

“He must be asleep, he has been very tired those couple weeks. I am going to check his room.”

“By yourself?”

“Yeah. What? There is something I should know? He is contagious? A zombie? No? Ok, so I am totally fine going by myself.”

I walk slowly into his room, it is dark and quiet.

“Sugarpout? Spence?”

A peaceful breathing is heard when closer to the bed, he is involved in his blankets, is the sights of heaven, my heart gets warm seeing Spencer resting peacefully.

I sit at the bed and run my hand delicately in his soft hair before resetting it in his forehead checking his temperature, he moves a little moaning in protest.

“Shh… it's me Sugarpout, it is ok, you can keep sleeping”

Is a very quiet whisper as I place a tender kiss to his forehead leaving my boy there, his hand landing on top of mine making me smile, as quiet as I entered his bedroom is as I live.

Just at the room door, Derek looks at us, I just make a signal to him to keep quiet and we are back to Spencer’s living room.

“So… you seemed troubled. There is something I should know? Is something wrong with Spencer?”

“Why do you have his keys?”

“Cause I live just across the hall?”

Who does he think he is to interrogate me?

“Serious? That 's why? Common, hot stuff, Reid didn't make a move on that gorgeous woman? Man, he really doesn't have material… or does he?”

Flirtatious Morgan, Reid said he was just like that, all charming. Just bark, don’t bite. Well… I don’t think girls would mind if he bites them, I recognize good stuff when I see it.

“Changing subject that quickly? What are you avoiding agent?”

He just looked at me, no verbal answer, heavy shoulders unmatched with the flirt smile on his face… for a profiler he isn't that good in hiding emotions.

“Seriously” a puff of air came out of me. “Is everything okay with him?”

“Yes, Reid is fine. I… was just worried, we had a hard case and he wasn’t answering the phone…”

“I believe you”

“So… why the keys?”

“I live very close, we are friends and I am his food stealer”

 I blinked at the man with a dirty smile in my face mixed with my sweet traces.

“Food stealer?”

“He is out, I need something, I enter his apartment, I grab what I need, and then I come back to my place. Simple”

“Are you confessing a crime to an FBI agent?”

“A crime against another agent. And the other agent is very aware of what I do in his hose”

“Sorry about the door”

“It’s okay, it is nice to know Sugarpout have friend that really care about him”

It is impossible not to smile, I care so much about the genius boy. Knowing other people also care about him warmes my insides, it is really good to know he is well protected in the field.

“Sugarpout?”

My eyes almost fall out of my face. Shit! It is a private nickname.

“Don’t. Do not, ever, ever, talk about it to anyone, It is private, and especial, so please…”

“Okay, a secret. Someday you will tell me?”

“Maybe”

Derek Morgan lives his card with me. He waited about 30 minutes talking to me, but it seemed Spencer wouldn't wake up so soon, so Derek decided to go home, but promised to pay for my door. In my opinion it was the very minimum he could do, but them we have a talk, and his caring by Spencer was more than enough for me to forget about my broken door.

“Sugar?”

“Hey, Sugarpout, did you sleep well?”

I smile going to start to prepare something for him to eat.

“How long have I sleeped?”

“Something around two hours, you needed it. Morgan passed by, and broke my door”

“He what?”

“Broke my door. He was knocking, no one opened, then he kicked in. But surprise, surprise. It was the wrong door.”

“Sorry”

“It is not your fault, and he is going to pay for the repair, he was just worried because you didn’t answer the phone, and the last case was hard. I assume you basically blacked out from exhaustion so I decided to let you sleep.”

The toast is ready as is the coffee, the black coffee with tons of sugar.

“Here you go Sugarpout, you need to eat, and then you should call your people. I am not asking about the case. Just a reminder that you can talk about anything with me anytime, I am just one door away.”

I kiss his head, before going back to my place. I could tell he needed a moment alone to call his friends, especially Derek after what I vaguely told him.

---------------------------------------------------------

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

[littlemissmiller]

His Good Girl 🎀

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: you’re famous in the capitol, everyone wants you or to be you, but only coriolanus get to have you. the night you and him take your relationship public, his jealousy and possessive nature overcomes him. he decides to make it clear who you belong to.

Warning: 18+ smut, praise kink, dom!snow, sub!reader, fingering, p in v, oral (f receiving), cum play, hickeys, possessiveness, jealously, porn with a plot

Word count: 5.1k

A/N: hello again :D! wow back to back posts look at me go. so i was struggling to figure out what i was going write next and didn’t expect to post again so soon until like next week, but i stumbled across this in my notes app last night after i published my billy the kid fic and here we are. so enjoy! im not sure what to write about next still. may drop a pedro fic next who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so anyways here is another dark!coryo for ya ❣︎

Artwork

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

Snow found you sitting by the window in his bedroom, gazing out upon the pedestrians as they walk by.

You hadn’t heard him come in and aren’t alerted to his presence until the door closes behind him. You startle and whip your head around. He stands still behind you, his head cocked to the side slightly as he examines you, with a devilish grin on his face. His eyes trail up and down your body. You weren’t expecting him to be home yet, so he had found you in your silk, pink robe embroidered with small white roses. You were clearly fresh out of the shower and about to change into something suitable for the evening and dinner later that night.

“You’re home!” You exclaim

“Is that ok?” Coriolanus asked knowing that the question was completely rhetorical. As if he could only come to his own home whenever you felt it was suitable.

“I just wasn’t expecting you home so early. At least not for two more hours. I was hoping to be all ready for you.” You explain

All ready for him. Coriolanus liked how submissive that sounded. He likes when you were obedient and perfect for him. Especially the last few months as you and him took your relationship further. By now, he has expected you to be at his apartment by the time Coriolanus had gotten home from the University. Given your schedule, he knew he wasn’t keeping you from anything or taking you away from anything either. So where else would you have to go except come to his apartment. And you did.

“I can see. What are you wearing tonight?” Coriolanus asks

Excitedly, you bounce up and rush over to the wardrobe where your dress is hanging up. In your hurry, your robe reveals a part of your bare thighs which Coriolanus takes note of and enjoys the subtle view of your body. You open one of the doors and reveal a pink dress hanging on the back of the door. It’s silk like your robe and Coriolanus already knows that the moment you have it on, he’ll want to tear it off you.

“It’s the one you said you liked the other day at the shop so I sent in an order and had it sent here today.”

Coriolanus thought to himself as he takes a few strides towards you. Good. You are sending things to his apartment. As it should be.

“Just as beautiful as the girl wearing it.” He smiles and walks over behind you.

He grabs your shoulders and his lips give your neck a firm kiss, directly on your pulse. You take the dress from the inside of the door and reveal the mirror attached to the inside of the wardrobe. You hold it up to you, imagining what it will look like on you tonight. You catch Coriolanus’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes are piercing through your soul as usual, but there was now a cloud of lust swirling in them. His hands snake towards your waist. He slithers them under your robe and rests them just above your hips. You pretend to not care or notice his actions, but the growing heat in between your legs wants you to give in to him. You tame your labored breathing as you smooth the dress out in front of your body.

“And what will you be wearing, my love?” You ask

“I picked out an all black suit this week. I’ll make sure to adorn a white rose now that I’ve seen this.” He states taking a piece of the pink fabric in between his thumb and fore finger “and you’ll put one in your hair, just in case people forget who you belong to.”

“Well I was already planning on wearing the black diamond necklace you gave me. The one with your initials carved on the back.” You respond touching the center of your chest where the necklace would lay. “Or perhaps I should wear the black lace choker…the once with the gem?”

One of Coriolanus’s hands travels up to your neck. As beautiful as the choker was, the thought of you wearing the black necklace with his initials around your neck seems perfect for tonight. It would tell everyone at that dinner that you were undoubtedly his. Yes, it was perfect.

“The necklace will look nice on you tonight. Wear it.” He whispers in your ear, tugging at it slightly with his teeth. You gasp, finally breaking and giving in slightly. The hand, not wrapped around your throat, travels up and down your thigh.

“Whatever you want.” You whisper back trying to hold back a moan as Coriolanus places a light kiss to your jawline. His hand holds your face up to look at him as he does. It’s hypnotic to watch and he knows it.

“If you behave tonight, you’ll be sure to be rewarded.” He reminds you

You hang the dress back up and he spins you around. He dips in and gives you a proper kiss on the lips. He pulls back soon and mumbles against your lips

“Understand?”You nod your head. He tuts at you and squeezes your hips.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

The two of you finish getting ready. Coriolanus takes his own shower while you attend to your hair and makeup. Thankfully, being around Tigris meant she was always helping to style you. She had taught you what makeup and hairstyle looks best with certain outfits or styles of dress. So for tonight a soft, baby doll look. And your hair, Tigris decides to put half of it up, tying it in place, then setting it with a white rose, just as Coriolanus asked. You take a look at yourself in the mirror. You’re stunning. Sexy and yet elegant. Your makeup was perfect too. You had a faint tint of red blush on your cheeks and nose, your lips were glossy and plump like a ripe plum. You batted your eyes, now long and defined with mascara and smile at yourself.

When Coriolanus finally sees you as you exit his vanity closet, he’s stuck in place. Temptation washing over him. Tigris spun you around, showing you off to him. She left the room, leaving the two of you alone to finish getting ready. You attach your earrings and finally adorn the necklace. You put on a pair of strappy pink heels and find your purse.

“Ready?” You ask admiring how handsome Coriolanus looks in his suit.

Coriolanus steps towards you, closely examining you as he does. His mouth curves into a half grin. As if he is pleased by the sight in front of him. The dress hugs your body beautifully and the half slit up your thigh is tempting. He grips his hands around your waist.

“I am. You look incredible my dove.” He remarks placing a kiss on your forehead

“As do you. Almost perfect.”

“Almost?” he inquires

You nod your head and walk over to the side table next to his bed. Coriolanus takes note and how the dress falls on your hips and how they sway gracefully, yet subtly from side to side. You pick a rose from the vase on the table. You open the drawer and pull out a safety pin and walk back to him. You stand in front of him and look up at him as you pin the white rose to his lapel. You show off the back of your hair. He touched the rose in your hair and smiled. You turn back to him, wrap your arms around his neck, and whisper into his ear.

“Now you are ready.”

You and Coriolanus leave the house, enter the car, and give the driver the directions. Tonight was to be a “private dinner”, however it was truly anything but. The guest list was to be consisted mostly of Panem’s up and coming young politicians from the senior class at the University. Around thirty students, each permitted to bring a guest. It wasn’t anything too special, but rumors of Coriolanus Snow seeing someone had become rather out of hand. So what made tonight special for the pair of them was the public nature in which they were officially announcing their relationship.

Up until now you and him have tried to keep things a secret to avoid attention from the news, given you are a prominent member in The Capitol. Especially your family. Your father had helped create a new weapon manufacturing business after the war and had been regularly contracted by The Capitol to create weapons in the last few years. He had become good friends and business associates with Strabo Plinth. It gave your family status and you some newfound fame. In turn it would help give Coriolanus some as well. But Coriolanus had you in his life for much more than just that. Having you as his own. His girl. It felt thrilling.

Thrilling to know that only he got to have you. It was no secret that your looks were talked about often. Simply because you were so beautiful with a beloved last name. A name almost impossible to escape given your father’s philanthropy as well as service to The Capitol. So the fact that Snow got to have you. Out of all the other wealthy and famous girls, you were the most desirable. The most popular and loved.

Coriolanus rubs your semi-exposed thigh and watches you watch the city pass by.

“Are you nervous my dove?” he asks

You look over at him and smile. You shake your head.

“Not at all.”

Despite this being a private dinner, he was sure that, by the time they left, word of their romantic relationship would get out and the press will try and snap a picture of them. A type of attention Coriolanus hadn’t received in a while and wasn’t sure how he would react this time around. Your attitude towards this evening however, put him a little more at ease.

“Are you?” You follow up

“Slightly. Not ready for all the attention that we will probably get after tonight.”

You look at him sympathetically and squeeze the hand that is rubbing your thigh.

“It will be fine” You reassure him

He looks at you with a new found sense of confidence. He squeezes her thigh as she continues to grip his hand.

The driver arrives to the mansion where the dinner is held. The house of the Dean of Political Science. Coriolanus steps out, rushes to your side and opens the door. He extends his hand and you take it. Both your arrivals change the dynamic of the party. You move through the crowd towards a group of Coriolanus’s classmates. The polite nods, chatter, and occasional laughs turn into head turns, double takes and whispers as you walk past people. Coriolanus looks at you as you walk. You seem unbothered by the attention and loop your arm around his elbow. Once you make it to your table, his classmates greet him.

“Ah Coriolanus! Good to see you!” Festus Creed exclaims

“You as well Festus.”

“And might I say it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Festus follows up extending his hand to you. You take it and greet him.

“Nice to meet you”

Coriolanus officially introduces you and Festus to each other. You then turn to smile at a few of Coriolanus’s classmates hanging around, but they stay back as to not intrude on your boyfriend’s conversation. They whisper to one another. You couldn’t tell if they were talking about you though. What you couldn’t tell was if it was good or bad. Coriolanus knew however. The sneering looks and childish giggles of Livia Cardew and Clemensia Dovecote were looks that he was all too familiar with. Coriolanus looks at you. You seem to have slipped into a polite conversation with Festus, who by the sound of it seems to be a fan. You indulge his enthusiasm. Coriolanus nods at you and walks over to investigate the conversation between Clemensia and Livia’s conversation. As he approaches they seem too caught up to notice him.

“I mean the matching roses. So cheesy.” Clemensia snickers

“And the matching colors. Like give me a break.” Livia follows up

“Also what is that. A night gown? She looks like a whor-“ Clemensia starts

“Clemensia. Livia. How are you two this evening?” Coriolanus asks firmly, cutting her off

“Oh Coriolanus!” Clemenisa startles “Good to see you.” She says, suspicious of if he had overheard their conversation.

“Anything the matter?” He asks

“No. Why would something be wrong?” Livia asks

“I hope there wouldn’t be.” He states in a somewhat threatening manner

“So your date. What a surprise.” Clemensia sneers not at all intimidated by Coriolanus’s stern manner

Coriolanus starts to feel a strong wave of protection over you, with a slight tinge of possession. He looks at Clemensia with a threatening look masked in curiosity.

“How so? I thought there was rumors of us floating around am I wrong?” He asks

“There were, just interesting to see them be confirmed. Happy for you.” She smiles “Seems like you’re not the only one who is infatuated by her.” She snickers

Coriolanus whips his head around to see that a crowd has gathered around you. A few more of the male students in addition to Festus. They ogle you and subtly fight for your attention. Coriolanus finds himself slowly filling up with rage. He forces a smile to Livia and Clemensia, excuses himself, and walks over to you. You watch him as he walks over. He moves to stand behind you, placing both his hands on your shoulders. He dips down to kiss your cheek and you smile.

“Making friends” he jokes trying to hide his anger

“Apparently” you whisper back

As you and Festus continue the conversation and Coriolanus tries to contain himself. He rubs your shoulders. He’s fuming with anger at Clemensia and Livia. And at the other men trying to steal your attention. Part of that is his fault for walking away from you. Letting them have access to your attention. Still, how dare they. And how dare anybody try to insult you. He wouldn’t stand for it. The evening continues and Coriolanus keeps you close to him for the remainder of the dinner. He watches the people around you. The group of boys from before seem to keep their distance now that Coriolanus refuses to leave your side. He also keeps a close eye on Clemensia and Livia. He wants to teach them a lesson for their gossip and wants to gouge that group of boys eyes’ out.

He tries to temper his anger, but his paranoia seems to continually get the best of him. Maybe you’ll leave him for one of them. Get bored, think taking the relationship public like this is too much. Maybe you do think the matching roses are cheesy and think he’s silly for suggesting it. He glances around at the numerous eyes looking at you. He tries to convince himself that every man looking in your general direction isn’t looking at you but he can’t help but notice how their eyes seem to linger. They way they gawk at you disgusts him.

You and him leave, making sure not to linger after dinner is served. Coriolanus is anxious to leave, practically rushing you out of the mansion and into the car. There is an awkward silence on the way back to his apartment and you try to talk to him, but he just shakes his head and whispers firmly “I’ll explain when we get back.”

His mood seems to escalate as the car approaches the apartment. When it arrives he rushes out in a hurry and you thank the driver before trailing behind him.

“Coryo? What’s wrong.” You ask

“Just get inside” he huffs

You walk past him into his apartment and he follows you. He shuts the door and lets out deep breath in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” You ask again

“I can’t stand how people treat you?” He huffs

“What do you mean?”

“The way they talk, the way they look at you.” He explains. He walk over to a chair in the kitchen and flops himself down. His chest rises rapidly as he looks down at the floor. He tries to control his breathing, but the thought of how that group of boys looked at you, plays in his mind. And he can still hear the obnoxious giggles of Clemensia and Livia.

“And you think that I care? That’s how it always is for me.” You sigh with a laugh

Coriolanus still feels upset however and his body language doesn’t change. He’s still fuming.

“What about the attention from all the boys tonight. Do you care about them?” He perks up

“Is that what’s truly bothering you?” You ask stepping closer behind his chair.

“Partly.”

“And what else?” You ask standing behind, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“A few of my other classmates. I caught them gossiping about us.” He confesses

“Hmm. They are probably just jealous.”

He doesn’t respond as he tries to calm himself down.

“I just want to put them all in their place. Show them they shouldn’t mess with us.”

You start to massage his shoulders and he begins to lean back into the chair and relax. You move your hands up towards his neck and continue to massage him. “And tell me what would you do to them?” You ask.

“I want to sew those girls mouth shut. And tear those boys eyes out.”

“Mmm. Maybe you can find something special for them in Dr. Gaul’s lab” you whisper as you feel Coriolanus sink further into your touch. You run your hands up and down his chest. “Or turn them into avoxes. So they never speak again.”

“And those boys?” Coriolanus asks

“Well if you’re upset at them then you’ll have to put a price on everyone’s head who looks at me like that.”

“I just don’t want them getting ideas” he replies

You giggle and continue rubbing his chest.

“Well they’ll think what they want. Not much I can do there. But it doesn’t matter because they’ll never have me. It’s a game to them. And they’ll never win. They will always lose.” You pause to kiss his cheek “And Snow always lands on top right?” You whisper kissing his earlobe and the side of his jaw. He groans and leans his head back in response. You cup the side of his face and rub his cheek. He turns his head and kisses the inside of your palm.

“You’re the only one who gets to touch me. To have me. Only you. No one else gets that right except you.” You whisper

“Am I?” He asks

“Mhmm” you nod

“Show me”

Coriolanus grips your wrist. He pulls your hand off his face and tugs at it, signaling that he want you to come in front of him. You walk around and stand in front of him briefly. He looks at you lustfully and spreads his legs. You stand in between them and grin at him. He rubs your hand as you slide onto his lap. As you sit, you guide his hand to your thigh and under your dress, slowly guiding him.

“See. Only you.”

He inches up and down your thigh. His fingertips graze the inside, making the heat that has begun to bubble up in between your legs more apparent. You move your hips against his crotch and feel his semi-hard cock aching to be free from the confines of his pants. You lean in and kiss him. He kisses you back and snakes his hand further up your thigh. He brushes his fingertips across your core and feels how wet and hot you have become. He lets out a breathy moan, breaking the kiss.

“Is this only for me too?” He mutters. You nod your head and he snakes two fingers under your panties. He starts to lightly rub at your clit. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“So then I can’t be blamed for wondering eyes now can I?” You whisper back

“No, but they will pay. All of them.” He mouths at your jawline and down to your neck. You tilt your head back, giving him better access. He sinks into your neck, with the goal of marking you up. To show everyone that you belong to him. He sucks and bites on your skin, turing the flesh into fresh black and blue bruises. You whimper at the sensation as you melt into his chest.

“Coryo” you whisper

His free hand begins to grope your breasts over the dress and he moves his hand back down your thigh. He swings your legs over his lap and shifts on his seat. He picks you up unexpectedly and you gasp in surprise. You cling to him. He takes you to his bedroom and tosses you on the bed. You gather yourself and scoot back, as he strips himself of his sports coat. He unbuttons his shirt halfway down, then eagerly, he pulls at your ankles. You yelp and he slides you towards him. He smirks at the look of awe on your face. He could tell you were hungry for him. Not just that, but you seem mesmerized by him. Coriolanus couldn’t tell if it was because of the way your eyes were filled with need or that his clear possessiveness over you had you wondering about what was in store for you. He ran his hands up your thighs, pushing your dress up past your hips. He kneels down and his fingers trace the lining of your panties. You jerk your hips slightly and he takes the opportunity to slide them off your legs. You bite your lower lip in an attempt to hold back your moans, but they stifle out as little whimpers that go straight to Coriolanus’s cock.

“So needy for me.” He smirks

He kisses the inside of your thigh and grazes his teeth over the spot he kissed. He begins to leave the same marks he put on your neck. You can’t help but love how much he’s marking you. You know it’s only because he’s frustrated and wants everyone to know not to mess with you. You whine in frustration, needing Coriolanus to touch you.

“Please Coryo. I want you so bad”

He gives you a devilish grin and squeezes your thighs. “Mmm keep begging pretty girl.”

“I need you. Please just touch me.” You whine

He begins kissing your thigh again, all the way up until he reaches your core. You shutter at the feeling as his lips press against your clit. He moves you closer to him and you rest your legs on his shoulders. You reach for his blonde hair, running your fingers through it. He restrains his actions, only pressing light kisses on and around your clit.

“Coryo please…please.” You beg again

“Mmm that’s it.” He moans

He dives in His mouth fully devouring your pussy. He mouths at your clit and you instinctively squeeze your thighs around his face. He presses your legs apart and devours you even more. He sucks and nibbles at your sensitive bud, taking in the pleasure that is spread across your face. Coriolanus likes having this control over you. He likes hearing the small, soft whines that escape your lips and he loves how you beg for him. How you need him. It makes his ego swell in his chest. He knows you’re addicted to him. He knows that he makes you feel so good. He laps up your wetness and runs his tongue along your folds. It makes your hips buck, causing him to put a stern hand on your stomach.

“Take it baby girl. Try to stay still.” He murmurs against you

You nod your head as he gives kitten licks to your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces the sensation with his fingers. He watches you carefully as your face contorts. He doesn’t hold back as he pumps his fingers into you. You look even more beautiful for him like this. Willing and submissive to his touch. You’re perfect, pretty face scrunched up in pleasure. He drinks you in as he runs his tongue up your thigh. You jerk your hips and he pushes your body back down on the bed. You’re throbbing at this point, so hypnotized under him. He crawls back up to you. His tongue licks a long stripe up your neck, just as he did to your thigh.

“So desperate. Are you gonna be good for me?”

You nod your head, which lands you a firm slap to the meat of your thigh.

“Speak up princess.” He warns

“Yes Coriolanus, I’ll be good for you.”

He strokes the side of your face, his knuckles brush up against your cheek. His hand moves to grip your chin and under your jaw. He forces you to look into his sinful gaze. He leans in and clashes his mouth with yours. He fights to dominate the kiss and you let him. He sits you up as you continue to kiss him. He unzips the back of your dress and it slides down your shoulders. In the same motion, Coriolanus unhooks your bra. He brushes your straps from your shoulders and pulls the rest of the dress from your body. You lay there, completely bare for him. You feel vulnerable, especially given his clothes are still on. You feel like his prey.

“So beautiful like this.” He states rubbing your thighs. He sits up on his knees, towering over you. He begins to explore your body with his hands. He moves them up to kneed and cup your breasts. His fingers gently massage your nipples as he pulls at them. You wince at his actions, squirming under his touch.

“Coryo please I need more…” you beg, your tone sounding desperate and whiny

He smirks. He leans down close to you and gives you a few chase kisses to your neck and up to your ear.

“I like how you sound when you beg. So pretty.”

He tugs at your earlobe with is teeth, causing you to shutter. The action of it going straight to your throbbing core. He rubs his fingers through your slit, humming to himself. He removes them, causing you to whine. He unbuttons the rest of his shirt, revealing his perfectly toned chest. He then unzips his pants and steps out of them. At this point his cock is hard and ready under his briefs. He rubs himself through his underwear as he gazes down at you.

“Touch yourself.” He commands and you obey

Your fingers dragging through your folds slowly as you look back up at him, mouth agape.

“There you go. Good girl.”

“Coryo” you whisper. He smirks at you and pulls his briefs down and his cock springs forward. This isn’t your first time with Coriolanus. Still, every time you got nervous and he could tell. Your fingers slow down and you think about having to take him in you.

“What’s wrong my pet?”

“Just you’re so big Coryo.”

He gives you another smirk “Yeah, but you can take it right? You always take me so well.” He growls, slithering his hand around your neck.

He kisses you as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides in slowly. At first it’s painful and he keeps his eyes focused on your face to get a read on how you feel. You temper your breathing and try to fixate on how handsome the face staring back at you is. He pushes into more until he reaches the hilt and his hips meet yours. You sigh in relief as the pain replaces with pleasure. You moan and he captures your lips. He dominates you. His lips move fast with yours. He’s clearly just as hungry for you as you are needy for him. His tongue swirls around with yours and he starts to move his hips. You moan again and he breaks the kiss. He looks down at the spot where you both connect and shutters. His gaze returns to yours.

“See. Look how well you take me. Just like you always do. So good for me.”

You nod your head in agreement and wince. He picks up his pace, thrusting deeper and deeper each time. His cock drags in and out of your pussy with ease now, the pain totally subsided. You nod in agreement, but that doesn’t satisfy Coriolanus. He needs to hear you say how much you like it. How much you crave this feeling he gives you. A feeling only he can give you.

“Talk to me. Use that pretty mouth of yours.”

“You feel so good.” You start hesitantly

“More.” He demands

“Mmhm Coryo you fill me up so well. Better than anyone else.” You moan

“The best you’ve ever had?”

“Mhmm.” You moan

In response he grabs your chin and forces you to look into his eyes.

“Use. Your. Words” he demands,, pumping into you harder with each word.

“Yes Coryo, you’re the best I ever had. And you’re the only one I want ooh…” you whine

“Good girl.” He grits through his teeth, giving you more of himself. He hit deeper and deeper, his lust fully overtaking him. He kisses you harshly, pinching and massaging your cheeks. “Only I get to have you like this. You understand?”

“Yes Coryo. I understand.” You mewl

He nods against your mouth. You feel your buildup coming, tense in your stomach, waiting to release. With a few final thrusts, you come around his cock. Your hips buck up, legs shaking, cunt throbbing as he fucks you through your euphoria. Soon enough he’s finishing inside you, stuffing warm ropes of white cum down your hole. You float down from the feeling that he gave you and temper your breathing. He pulls out, admiring as his cum drips out of you. He gets greedy, taking his index finger and pushing it back into you. You moan as he fingers you

“My sweet girl. I hope you know who is here for you. I’ll always watch over you. I’ll never let anyone disrespect you again.”

He pulls his hand away and traces his fingers over your neck, where he had previously sucked and marked you up. He smirked to himself. He puts his finger in your mouth. You suck yours and his collective cum off it and he coos at you.

“I get you all to myself. How fortunate for us both then hmm.

“Mhmm.” You nod, too fucked out to properly respond. As much as Coriolanus wanted you to speak, but he could see how spent you are. He kisses her cheek and settled into the bed next to her.

“Good girl.” He said letting his word be the last.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Artwork

[russellsppttemplates]

A little hope (Part 2) (Lando Norris)

In which Lando realises he learnt a few things in school, and yet the only way to learn about you is hoping you'll have him by your side

Note: english is not my first language. This is part two of A little hope, which got a lot of love, so thank you for that 😊 hopefully you enjoy this ending! Thank you so much for the love on that piece ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions a couple's fight, self deprecation moments, body image insecurity, signs and symptoms of anxiety, online hate comments, sickness, curse words, allusions to smut

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

Somatic or not, your stomach was not handling any food. The minute you ate something, you were sure to bring if up a few moments later since you had arrived home, "for fuck's sake", you groaned, resting your head on your forearm on the edge of the toilet, taking a deep breath.

When you felt strong enough, you walked back to your bed, noticing the clock was reading six in the morning already. Rolling to the other side, you hoped you'd be able to sleep it off, but when your alarm rung, you felt even worse than before.

Getting your phone again along with your glasses, you opened the Team's group chat, writing a quick text to let them know that you didn't feel well and you wouldn't be able to join them today and that you would try your best to get ahead on the projects you could work on remotely. A few minutes later, Tara and Max texted back.

Tara TQ

I'm sorry to hear that, Y/N, I hope you feel better soon! Don't worry about anything else other than getting better! 💚

Max

Feel better soon, Y/N! Don't worry about work, we've got it!

A good while later you woke up again, feeling slightly better, you had enough energy to eat some plain crackers and drink some tea, feeling that it was actually settling in your stomach for the first time in the last couple of hours.

Taking in the stride, you went to the bathroom, hoping a shower would clean the night sweats away and give you a little boost. Just in case, you supported yourself on the wall, keeping close to it just in case your legs faltered while you let the water cascade down your hair to your back and legs, washing your hair quickly and rinsing your body wash from your skin. You wrapped your fluffy robe around your body and a towell for your hair, laying in bed to rest a little.

Skipping your usual routine, you dressed in some comfy clothes, a hoodie you had stolen from Lando and some plaid pyjama pants, inhaling the comforting scent. That was something you should think about, it wasn't fair to leave Lando waiting for you, and you needed to sort it out.

As if on cue, your doorbell rang, leaving you to think it was the mailman with a package for your neighbours as you would often take it for them whenever they weren't home.

"Hi! Are you Y/N Y/L/N?", a guy that looked a few years older than you checked, "yes, that's me", you squinted, "I have this, it was ordered for you. Enjoy it!", he said as he handed you a takeout bag.

Thanking him, you closed the door, seeing a little note attached to the bag.

This is a little something to help you get better soon. There's some chicken soup, pasta when you feel up to it, something sweet and some tea bags.

Love you, Lando 🤍

Smiling at the little note, your heart squeezed as you realised that the subject shouldn't go past this week.

While you heated up the soup, you grabbed your phone, opening your conversation with Lando so you could thank him.

I just got the takeout bag, thank you. I'm slowly coming back to feeling better, it's probably some forty-eight hour bug and my body telling me to slow down.

I think we should talk soon, whenever you have the time, tough. There's no rush!

I love you ✨️

"So, today we're taking over the stream!", Lando announced to the camera, smiling and waving as the chat went wild.

"We are just going to game, I think, as there has been a change of plans and we don't really know how to follow up to what we had planned to do", Max referred to the planned stream for Quadrant. The original idea came from the fans as they wanted to get to know the behind the scenes of the team, and just for luck, this week was for Graphic Design.

"We're making do with what we have, and as soon as we're able, we'll do the behind the scenes for all the graphic designing things that go on at Quadrant!", Lando smiled sympathetically, the memory of you fond as your message sparked his hope, and the chat didn't seem to mind it too much.

I was hoping to see Y/N and Lando call me single in eighteen different languages, but I really do miss her

I take it she didn't even bother to show up, she's learnt her lesson I guess

Wasn't Y/N supposed to join them?

You can tell by Lando's face that he misses her, they're so cute together

It looks better like this, honestly

Imagine having to call your boyfriend to tell him that you can't show up to work

She probably doesn't even work, Lando has someone doing the job while she sits still and looks pretty

What do you mean? She doesn't even look pretty ??

Maybe she's ill or had something else to do? Can't you people be a little bit more empathetic and kind for once?

Max noticed how his bestfriend's attention was on the chat, looking at the same flood of comments he did before clearing his throat, "so, do we feel like racing or are we leaning towards another game?", he interjected, pulling Lando away from the screen slightly, "you choose, I'm not fancying anything particular. Only that I know that I'll beat you at anything", he chuckled.

Once they ended the stream, Lando tidied the room a little bit as Max switched the equipment off, "is that what you were talking about the other day? About Y/N?", he questioned.

"Yes. We have been talking to the platform managers, but they haven't restricted everything apparently", Max said, knowing better than to not tell him the truth.

"Who do they think they are to say things like that about someone they don't know? I get that I receive such things because I'm out there, but Y/N is barely a public person! She doesn't deserve that!", Lando huffed.

"Have you guys talked about it yet?", he questioned, having noticed that Lando hadn't texted you in the group chat but that he had a spring up in his step that afternoon.

"She texted me today, actually. We've been keeping to ourselves, we weren't in the right mind to discuss what needs to be discussed until now", he smiled, "I'm still unsure of going to see her today or tomorrow, since she's sick I don't want to bother her too much, and I could use someone else's perspective because I have a funny way with words and I don't want to get it wrong because I'm not a book worm and seem almost illiterate on any good day", he admitted.

"That's good, mate! Start going then, we're thinking out loud", Max encouraged, happy to see friend in high spirits. Because he had known him for so long, Max knew how different this relationship was from his past ones. They weren't bad or wrong, and they helped shape Lando into who he is and how he behaves. The way he cared about Y/N was different and Max couldn't find it in him and lie about the fact that he thought the young woman was it.

"Like you said, it's the fact that she's lost her name because of who she dates. All of a sudden, none of her achievements are valuable, worthy or even acknowledged because she's my girlfriend. Our relationship had nothing to do with her employment - hell, I only met her because she applied, otherwise Goodness knows where I would've met the love of my life - and, and I've been doing this thing where I just call her my girlfriend and I now understand that can be discrediting of her, like I just see her as my girlfriend. But the more I think about it, the more I realise I do it out of genuine pride of her. Look at me! I'm a muppet and I drive around in circles in the weekends, and she! That woman, this woman!", he showed him his lockscreen, a picture of the two of you, "she is the most talented person I've met and I'm so proud that I'm hers and she's mine!".

"I think you're underestimating yourself a little, but you've also played above your game", he chuckled, "and about the comments?", he wondered. Even though it wasn't your biggest concern, he knew one person could only muster up so much before letting it get to them.

"Like you said, we'll work with the platforms, if we have her permission we can also put out a statement about it. With her or anyone on the team, we don't tolerate offense", Lando said, "I want to make this as safe as possible, and the fact that it took her for us to notice it is a learning curve".

"Now you just need to be concise about it", Max tapped his back, "I'm sure she loves that babble situation of yours, thinks it's cute and all, but explain well enough", he smirked.

Like he thought, when he texted you to know how you were feeling, he got your reply awhile later saying that you were feeling better and the nap you had was helpful, and then another one saying he could swing by the next day if he wanted to.

Hoping the night made you feel better, Lando texted you the time he was planning to join you, scheduling his training session for the late morning so he could have a good lunch after his shower and get his plans started. You weren't swooned by big dates or big gestures, but rather small meaningful heartfelt things, so he stopped by the pharmacy to pick up some medication to restock your stash and your favourite chocolate.

"Hey, love", you smiled as you opened the door, seeing an equally smiling Lando, "come in, come in", you nudged as he stepped forward, eyes meeting a silently giving consent for a kiss on the cheek.

Silently, Lando left his trainers by the door, walking hand in hand with you to the living room, "are you feeling back to 100%?", he questioned as you sat down on the sofa, on your sides so you could face eachother while his hand played with yours still.

"Yes. I'm glad it's Saturday and I don't have to take any more days, and I can rest up without feeling guilty. And you, how have you been?", you wondered back, not knowing if he wanted to jump straight in the topic.

"I've been well. I was a little worried when you said you were sick, but now I'm better knowing that you're doing well... and that you're ready to tall about us", he blushed, eyes looking into yours.

"I want to thank you for waiting and understanding, and I want to apologise if in this mean time something I did hurt you or made you feel like you weren't welcomed in my life", you gulped, "I'm not used to feeling so little - fuck, I've never been called that - and I spiralled out to the point where I could only think that, through no fault of your own or my own, I'd lose my identity. I'd be Lando's girlfriend, and not Y/N, and I freaked out a little", you explained.

"You had your reasons, love. I'm just glad and thankful that you feel comfortable to tell me how you feel", Lando comforted, bringing your hand up to his lips as he kissed the soft skin.

"I didn't know you felt that way. Maybe I didn't see it or didn't want to see it, the way people were talking about you - and that is something we are going to figure out once for all - but I missed it. Whenever I say you're my girlfriend, it's not because that's just who you are. It's the fact that I'm incredibly proud of you, than I can't believe your my girlfriend and I just say it because I like to show you off, too!

"I learned so much stuff in school despite what I may appear to know, subtracting and multiplying with decimals, all of the capital cities, even though I'm still shit at them, yet, no one taught me how to prepare for this, for you, for how I feel about you. And I'm so proud of you that I tell it to everyone that you're my girlfriend, not because you're just that, but because I love you and you're so amazing", he exhaled out. Even though he had his usually silly tone, there was deep seriousness in his words still.

"You're confident, I love that about you, and to know that indirectly I was the person to put a dent in that makes me wonder if you should stick around me, because I don't want to ever hurt you. And maybe this is selfish, but I don't want to live without you. Now that I've known what it is like to have you in my life, to be yours, I don't want anyone else", he gulped at his own admission. Throughout the years, he learnt about vulnerability and came to terms with his own. Right now, it was bare for anyone to see.

"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you weren't your own person, and I'm sorry if I did anything to hurt you or disrespect you", he sighed, seeing your watery eyes, "no tears, baby, I can't stand to see you cry", he whispered, cleaning the stray tear that made it's way down your cheek.

"I love you, Lando. I'm the luckiest girl to be able to see you for you, no titles or sponsorships, just you, around your friends and family, see your vulnerability, and I'm the luckiest because I get to be loved by you. So many people around you love you, and I get to be one of those you love back", you scooted closer to him, hands cupping his cheek before you kissed his lips.

"I always want you to be honest with me, baby. Anything you need to tell me, we will fix it, I know we will. I love how you always cry when Boo and Sulley hug for the last time in Monsters Inc. no matter how much times you've seen it, because you always let me know how you feel, and I want that for us. I'll show you how I feel too, and you can nag me when I don't. You're it, Y/N, no one else", he stated, "things people are saying about you are not okay, but Max and I, and the media team, too, are working on something".

"I don't care about who you've dated before, genuinely. But the fact that I'm bombarded everyday with comments regarding my body or my job from people who don't have any knowledge and only want to hurt, it's hard", you admitted, keeping your promise of showing him how you felt.

"You shouldn't because I don't either. I'm with you, and I plan to be with you for as long as you'll have me. I love you, I love your body, I love your personality and everything that you are", he said, getting up as he pulled you with him.

"Up", Lando said as he tapped your hip, helping you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, "where are you taking me?", you giggled, your hands coming to the nape of his neck and fiddling with his curls, "I'm taking you to the bed, and I'm going to love on you for the next couple of hours. We are going to have slow and soft sex, love making if you will, just to show you how much I love you and how much you mean to me".

[sweetbunpura]

Rollo wasn't always a Gumiho.

He was once a kannushi of a small shrine, responsible for keeping it maintained and clean.

It was a simple, yet tedious life and he was content with it.

Until, one day, a young woman came to the shrine. She was a foreigner, that much was clear, from the style of her dress to the tone of her skin to the strange sharpness of her eyes. She was an enigma. And Rollo was instantly captivated by her.

She told him that she had come from very far away and was visiting some relatives in a nearby village. She had come to the shrine to pray for their health and for her safe passage home.

"Though..I didn't expect a handsome man such as yourself to be the priest here," She giggled, keen smile half-hidden behind her hand.

Rollo flushed faintly.

Her laugh was a pretty sound, like the tinkling bells of a Kagura suzu.

It wasn't everyday the shrine was met with as beautiful a visitor as this.

Rollo cleared his throat.

"If I may be so bold..May I have your name?"

The woman grinned widely.

"Yue."

They talked for a long while after that, so long in fact by the time the woman had turned away to finish her prayers the sun was half-way set upon the horizon.

Had Rollo not had shrine duties to attend to, he would have eagerly offered to walk her back to the village. Thus, with a heavy heart and a lump in his throat, he could only grant a farewell and a wish for safe travels back to her homeland.

He did not expect to see her there at the shrine again the following morning.

"Were you not supposed to begin your journey home today?" He queried with a raised brow.

"I was," Yue answered, her sharp eyes glimmering and her lips quirked, "I changed my mind."

And so it was. Yue would appear at the shrine at dawn and follow and chat with Rollo as he went about his day and duty til nightfall.

Months went by.

Summer fell to Fall which froze to Winter.

The two grew closer.

The New Year came and went.

Winter melted into spring.

And the sharpness gradually seemed to fade from Yue's eyes.

Then, one night, under a full and heavy moon, she kissed him.

"I love you." She murmured, softly, hesitantly, as if the words themselves were as fragile as glass.

Rollo's gaze was tender. He kissed her knuckles, then her palm.

"And I you."

And there, beneath Tsukuyomi's gaze, they fell into each other's warmth, a flurried embrace of intense passion and supreme adoration.

A few weeks after, they were wed.

A few weeks after that, Yue found she was with child.

The eight months that followed were some of the happiest Rollo could remember, watching his love's belly swell with life that they had created together.

I should have lasted forever.

But.

It ended.

Slit apart like a knife across the throat.

Hunters from a far off land came.

They were searching for a creature Rollo had never heard of before.

A Gumiho. A flesh-eating monster that seduced men, ate their hearts, and stole their souls.

Yue paled. Rollo's brows furrowed.

"My love? What's wrong-?"

"We need to leave." Yue said coldly.

But it was too late to try and escape.

Her fate was sealed the moment Rollo had let them inside their home.

The very moment they laid eyes on her-

Arrows were fired. Knives were drawn. Swords unsheathed.

Yelling. Screaming.

Claws unfurled. Fangs bared. A flurry of fur and tails unvieled.

It was over in an instant, in a blink.

Blood and viscera covered the floor and walls of their home.

The Hunters were dead.

And Yue was dying.

A sword pierce her abdomen. Arrows punctured her chest.

"Yue-!"

Rollo collapsed beside her, his white robes stained red.

How does he fix this? He was no healer and the closest doctor was miles away how-

"I was so close..."

Rollo paused.

"What?"

He gently drew her close.

Yue gazed up at him with stuttering, blood-choked breaths.

"I was-" She coughed, "I was almost human...I was almost-"

Tears dripped down her cheeks.

"I haven't eaten anyone for almost two years..Just two more months..Just two more and I would have..."

Her smile was soft.

Her eyes were even softer, but they were fading, fast.

"You deserve to have a human wife, not a monster..."

Rollo cupped her cheek and thumbed away a tear.

A quivering black tail grasped his wrist.

"I love you," he kissed her forehead, "I don't care if you're a monster. I love you. I.. I'm going to save you. I'm going to save our child. I'll-"

Tears slipped and fell down Yue's cheeks.

They were not her own.

"You know it's too late for us, Rollo."

Rollo let out a gutted noise at that.

Shaking hands met his face.

Lips that he was so intimately familiar with met his own.

And something spherical and warm was pushed past his lips.

"Take it." His wife, his love, his world, whispered between breaths.

Tongues met. The sphere was pressed against the opening of his throat. He instinctively swallowed before he could think.

"That way...a part of me....a part of us....will always be with you...."

That night, Gumiho Yue died, along with her unborn child.

And on that same night, Gumiho Rollo was born.

And the world...

...Would burn for it.

(and, not too long after, a tiny black fox spirit opened her eyes. And her name...was Yuu.)

Where one life ends, another begins.

Yuu adjusts the hat on her head, nodding to passerby's as she enters what remains of a town. Normally, she wouldn't try and mettle in the affairs of humans, but this Gumiho had attacked one of their own recently. While Malleus could handle his own, he talked about the pure rage he felt from it and Yuu, who has the uncanny ability to purify most of the anger driven spirits, is tasked with handling it.

She climbs the steps up the shrine and pauses outside of the torii. Yuu doesn't need to step any further to feel the pressure of the anger.

"You in there, Gumiho?"

Silence.

"Alright, don't answer." She passes through and climbs the remainder of the stairs, stopping every so often to pick up a few stones.

Before hitting the main area, she pauses once again and juggles the stones in her hands. The Gumiho's hiding and with a sigh, Yuu, flicks a stone towards the corner of the shrine. The yelp she hears brings a smile on her face.

"Quit ignoring me."

A pair of forest green eyes glare at her form the darkness licking at the edges of the building.

"The dragon fled and now a kitsune takes his place?" The Gumiho's voice is soft as they step out from the shadows. "You hardly look like a threat."

The Gumiho's a man, tall and thin, with deep eyebags. He's still wounded from his fight with Malleus as his clothes are torn and a angry red wound can be seen on his side. His hair is short and gray, matching the ears and his multiple tails. Something in Yuu's heart lurches as she stares at him.

"Have we met before?"

"I've never seen you before in my life."

"Okay jeez." Yuu's own tails flick out behind her. "What's your name?"

"My name is of little importance to you."

"Humor me, jackass."

His eyes move off to the side before returning to her. "Flamme... Rollo Flamme."

"Flamme... Well, my name's Yuu-" She looked at his now frozen form. "Hello?"

"Yue?"

"No, Yuu."

Rollo's fur fluffed up as his eyes narrowed, ears laying flat against his head as he bares his teeth. "Have the gods not taken enough from me!? And now they send a common kitsune to mock me?!"

"Common?" Yuu bares her own teeth and cracks her knuckles. "I'll show you common."

[shadowtriovibes]

dance in a storm in my best dress

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3K

Summary: by request: "I have a fun idea! How about Sebastian and f!mc are "just friends" until one day she asks him to help her try on/give his opinion on some new dresses, and desire and spice ensue??"

"Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow," the shopkeeper says. "I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly." While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options. "Have you even put one on yet?" you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. "Merlin's beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!"

“Thank you for coming with me,” you say softly, shyly tucking your face a bit deeper into your oversized scarf as you avoid snow swirling around you.

It’s not an intense blizzard by any means, but nevertheless you appreciate that Sebastian had agreed to trudge down to Hogsmeade with you that afternoon when he could have spent the day with a dreadfully boring book by the fire in his common room, which is typically how he spends any free time he has as a seventh-year N.E.W.T.s student.

“Of course,” he says easily. “It’s about time I came up for air, so to speak.”

Despite the ongoing pressure of your final year of school, it had felt like all of Hogwarts had been abuzz about the upcoming holiday ball for what felt like weeks. Even you and your treasured trio of Slytherins had made plans to go together, and your daydreams of twirling across an enchanted dance floor in a fabulous gown had helped get you through some of the most arduous study sessions you’ve ever experienced.

With your end-of-term exams having concluded the day before, there was now only one thing standing in the way of you blowing off some steam at the ball with your best friend.

You need a dress.

Poppy had been the one to inform you that Mr. Hill had specially ordered some lovely fabrics from London as soon as he’d caught wind of an upcoming formal occasion. While it’s certainly too late to have anything custom made, you hoped you’d be able to find something in his shop that would suit you with a few minor alterations.

You’d invited Sebastian to join you on your shopping trip primarily for moral support, as the two of you were going to the ball together as friends.

(Anne had been quick to claim Ominis as her date so that she wouldn’t have to take her own brother, and you and Sebastian had been equally loath to bother asking anyone else.)

However, you suspect you may also need some help physically donning the dresses. You may not know much about what’s in fashion these days, but hearing some of your classmates boast about precisely how many garment layers they’d be wearing had nearly made your head spin.

“Do you have your dress robes?” you press him skeptically. “Anne said you were procrastinating.”

“Yes, nosy,” he laughs. “Ominis made me pick some out last weekend, and Mr. Hill should have them in for me by now.”

“Good,” you say primly. “You’ll have to try them on while we’re there and make sure they fit.”

“This is now my second trek into Hogsmeade for this silly ball,” he points out with a cheeky grin. “I hope it’s going to be as enjoyable as you lot are saying it’ll be.”

“It will,” you insist. “We all need something like this, something that’s just… joyful, I suppose.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you with a tender smile.

“Fair point,” he agrees. “Right as usual, you are.”

“You’re still surprised after all this time?” you tease him, bumping your shoulder against his while he laughs.

When the two of you walk into Gladrags, Augustus Hill perks up excitedly and slips out from behind the ornate counter.

“Ah! Just the young witch and wizard I was hoping to see today,” he crows. “Come in, come in! I dare say, it’s awfully frigid today.”

You hang up your cloaks while Mr. Hill rustles up a tray of tea for the both of you. Ever since that troll encounter years ago, the Gladrags shopkeeper has always had a soft spot for you and Sebastian, which often results in the two of you feeling downright spoiled every time you visit him.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” you say as you accept the warm mug he offers.

“Mister Sallow,” he says as he hands Sebastian his tea. “Your dress robes came in just this morning! Why don’t I send you off with young Otto to try it on and mark up any alterations?”

You glance warily at Sebastian, reluctant to split from him as you do your shopping.

As though he’d read your mind, Mr. Hill laughs and insists, “He won’t be kept long, my dear! Fitting a young man’s dress robes is a much simpler task than that which you have on your hands, I should expect.”

“Why don’t you just pick out some things to try while Otto works his magic?” Sebastian teases. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Once you agree, Mr. Hill sends Sebastian to the backroom while you sip your tea and discuss some of your preferences with the kindly shopkeeper. You admit to not being very knowledgeable about fashion, but you have some colors in mind that you think may suit you – as well as very strict expectations on how much range of motion you want to maintain.

“I need to be able to breathe,” you insist, glancing hesitantly at some of the impossibly small corsets in the window display.

Peering over his spectacles with a wise smile, he answers, “I think that can be arranged.”

He then begins to show you the collection of remaining dresses he has in stock. As the premier clothier for the majority of your fellow witches at Hogwarts, he doesn’t have an unlimited supply this close to the ball, but his selections don’t disappoint.

“This blue color is quite pretty,” you sigh, gingerly inspecting the sleeve of one of the dresses he offers.

“I suspected you might like that one,” he says brightly. “Let us pull it for now and select a few more for you to try on, hmm?”

You end up also selecting a red gown with a smart-looking cape that would show off your house colors brilliantly and a crisply white evening dress with delicate golden embroidery around the bottom of the skirt.

“This should do for a start,” Mr. Hill says.

“Really? No green?” Sebastian asks from behind you.

When you turn to remind him pointlessly that you aren’t actually a Slytherin, your words fail you.

He looked utterly dashing in his dress robes. At first glance, he appeared to be wearing what looked like a Muggle tuxedo, but the extra-long tails and high collar gave away that it was most certainly wizarding apparel. His jacket and pants were both inky black – so dark that they appeared to even darken the room around him, or maybe you had just lost focus of everything that wasn’t him.

Of course, having been expertly fitted by Otto, Sebastian’s robes seem to cling to every inch of him. The waistcoat makes his waist look exceptionally narrow, or perhaps it’s that his chest looks so broad. His shoulders appear to be broader as well underneath his jacket, and while the long tails might appear to shorten other men, on Sebastian they merely elevate the length of his legs.

He slips on a pair of white gloves that Otto hands him and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek. He looks like a proper gentleman dressed like this, you think – not at all like the haphazardly-robed young man you’re used to seeing.

“Ah! Excellent,” Mr. Hill says with a clap, breaking your trance. “A perfect fit.”

“How do I look?” Sebastian asks you teasingly.

“B-brilliant,” you stammer. “It, um. Fits. You’re fit – I mean, it fits very well.”

“Of course, we’ll charm the waistcoat to whatever color you’d like to match your dress, once you’ve made your selection,” Mr. Hill explains as he gestures to the garment. “Or simply leave it white.”

“Of course we’ll match,” Sebastian says easily. “But getting this one to make a selection isn’t going to be easy.”

You scoff and turn back around to the rack of dresses to hide your persistent blush.

“Go on and change back into your robes, Mister Sallow,” the shopkeeper says. “I suspect we’ll be inquiring about your opinion shortly.”

While Sebastian returns to the back, Mr. Hill summons a modesty screen around the rack of dresses you’d pulled and waits patiently while you slip out of your school robes and wrestle your way into that first dress – the periwinkle blue. There are so many layers that it takes you at least ten minutes to even put on your crinoline, which Mr. Hill assures you he’ll let you keep on for all three options.

“Have you even put one on yet?” you hear Sebastian call out when he returns. “Merlin’s beard, you’ll take on a den of trolls by yourself but you’re bested by today’s fashion trends!”

“Come and help me then!” you whine.

“Er – is that alright?” Sebastian asks Mr. Hill.

“Of course!” he exclaims. “He’s your date, it would be unchivalrous not to assist you.”

That’s when you realize that Mr. Hill probably thinks you and Sebastian are properly dating, but for reasons you don’t want to admit to yourself just yet, you don’t correct him.

You could also sorely use some help as well.

“Mind the petticoat,” you mumble as he ducks behind the screen.

You’re both quiet as Sebastian helps carefully bundle up the skirt of the dress and drape it over your upright arms, slowly working it down your body so that it doesn’t catch on any of the boning in your corset. Once the skirt gracefully pours down over your petticoat, you gently smooth the bodice and turn around so he can lace up the strings crossing your back.

“Too tight?” he asks softly.

“N-no,” you murmur. “You can even do them a bit tighter, actually.”

You gasp softly when he pulls on the strings and cinches your waist tighter, and Sebastian pauses for a beat, but you don’t instruct him to loosen it.

Once he fumblingly ties the strings together at the small of your back, he mumbles, “All set.”

He offers you a hand to steady you while you shuffle out from behind the screen. Mr. Hill immediately laves praise onto the dress, and while you agree that it is quite lovely, a glance in the mirror reveals that periwinkle blue just isn’t a color in which you shine.

“No matter,” the shopkeeper insists. “Onto the red, shall we?”

Sebastian again helps you slide the dress off up over your head and replace it with the red one, this time lacing you tightly from the start. There’s a delicate cape that goes with this one, so you turn around to face him so he can drape it over your shoulders and tie the small silk ribbons that sit just at your collarbones.

“Ought to be plenty warm in this one,” he jokes halfheartedly, trying and failing to resist the urge to sneak glances at your décolletage.

“Is the cape a bit…?” you ask quietly, wrinkling your nose. “Is it too much?”

“What?” he asks dumbly. “O-oh, no, I – I think you look great. It’s a great dress, really.”

You’re nearly as red as the dress when you emerge for a second time, and once again Mr. Hill thinks you look like “a buxom Beauxbatons beauty from the boulevards of Paris.” However, regardless of your house pride, if you’re going to be blushing like this all evening at the ball – and the odds on that are significant – you know you simply can’t go with red.

“I have one more to try on,” you tell Sebastian softly. “It’s that white one, just there.”

You notice Sebastian’s gaze linger on the ornate embroidery, a pleased look passing over his face.

“It’s stunning,” he tells you. “Shall we get it on you?”

You merely nod, not trusting yourself with words at the moment.

The moment Sebastian helps you slip into the white dress, you know you have a winner. As if imbued with magic (and perhaps it is indeed), the white silk shimmers almost like the fresh snow outside the shop window. However, instead of feeling like a proper ice princess, you feel warm all over – especially where Sebastian’s hands mindlessly reach out to trace the fine embroidered patterns on your bodice.

“You look…” he exhales. “You just need to see, come on.”

He walks you out for the last time and even Mr. Hill refrains from commenting until you twirl in front of the mirror, your skirt gracefully lifting and falling with your movement.

“...I look beautiful,” you whisper. “Oh, Mr. Hill, it’s just lovely.”

“This is the one,” Sebastian insists. “You have to pick this one, it’s hardly even a choice.”

“Your companion is correct!” Mr. Hill crows. “My dear, it’s as if that gown was made precisely for you.”

Otto comes by to charm a few simple adjustments into the fabric of the dress and you watch yourself in the mirror with wide eyes as it molds itself to your body. Now it looks just like one of those custom dresses in the illustrations that the girls in your year pour over in the shopping pages at the back of the Daily Prophet.

“I think we’re done here,” Sebastian says quietly, his eyes still fixed on that one embroidered seam at your waist where your bodice meets your skirt.

“Of course,” Mr. Hill agrees. “Let’s get you out of that crinoline so I can send you two lovebirds on your way for a nice Butterbeer or two!”

As he babbles on about how it’s just like the last time the two of you came into his shop together, you meet Sebastian’s gaze and realize both of you are steadfastly refusing to correct the man. You know that you’re blushing, but seeing him blush just as fiercely is quite revealing.

After you pay Mr. Hill and make plans for Otto to deliver the dress to the castle once the storm lets up, you and Sebastian wordlessly trudge down to Sirona’s lively pub. There you manage to snag a small booth in one of the far corners – one that you’re well aware is a popular spot for snogging.

“So…” he says softly. “Lovebirds, are we now?”

“Don’t start,” you warn him. “You know how Augustus is, it’s usually just better to let him talk than spend all afternoon trying to correct him.”

“You didn’t even try,” he observes.

You counter, “Nor did you.”

Just then Sirona drops off your drinks and Sebastian forfeits his turn in your verbal duel by taking a pointedly long sip.

Then you forfeit your own turn when you get too distracted by the bit of Butterbeer foam on his upper lip to offer anything remotely witty.

“Well, regardless,” Sebastian eventually murmurs. “You did look beautiful in that dress.”

“Thank you,” you say. “And you were very handsome in your robes.”

“Proper fit, one might say,” he retorts.

The cheek, honestly.

“Sebastian,” you say quietly. “I need you to be honest with me about something.”

“Go on,” he says, taking another long sip while you consider your words.

Slowly, you ask him, “Since we met… have you ever once thought about us being more than just friends?”

“Have I ever once thought about it?” he repeats. “Of course I have. Countless times, probably”

“Then why haven’t you ever said anything?” you ask, staring deep into your mug to avoid having to meet his eyes.

You flinch slightly when Sebastian reaches across the table and plucks one of your hands off your mug. He laces his fingers with yours and pulls you closer, and the noise in the room seems to dwindle to a whisper as he meets your gaze.

“Between you and me, you’ve always been the brave one,” he tells you earnestly. “And I’d rather have only friendship with you than ask for too much and lose you entirely. Believe it or not I have learned when to stop.”

You smile ruefully at the reminder of just how much Sebastian has grown since you chose to give him the chance to do so.

He drags his thumb across yours. “So, if you want to be brave, I’ll be brave with you.”

You exhale shakily before you finally confess, “Of course I want to, Seb.”

You’re nearly in his lap at this point, and there’s absolutely no way the conversation you’re having could be interpreted as merely friendly by any onlookers. So, you think, why not be brave?

When you kiss him, the first thing you notice is that he tastes like the caramelly richness of the Butterbeer you’d both been drinking. But then it melts away and it’s just him, just Sebastian. He’s wonderfully warm, and underneath the initial sweetness he tastes a bit like the fluxweed stem he mindlessly chews on while he studies to help him focus.

His nose slots against yours as he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, and you wonder what he’s noticing about you.

But a moment later, the feeling of his warm hand on your thigh immediately makes you lose your train of thought.

“Seb,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to press your forehead to his.

“Let’s go back to the castle,” he blurts out eagerly.

You fondly roll your eyes and let him steal another kiss before you push him back with a gentle hand on his chest.

“I believe you just said something about having learned when to stop?” you tease him.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he says cheekily.

“You’re just going to have to be patient, Mister Sallow,” you insist as you reach for your drink. “I thought I saw quite the gentleman in you today. I don’t suppose you could act like him until after the ball?”

“I could,” he offers. “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Tell you what,” you bargain, leaning in close. “If you can be a perfect gentleman from now until the ball, I’ll let you help me put my dress on, and then afterward I’ll let you take it off.” 

You hear him loudly swallow and take a deep breath before he holds out a hand for you to shake and breathes, “You have yourself a deal, love.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

New World (8)

Itachi Uchiha x Reader Fluff

Summary: The world War has met its end and Itachi has returned to his village. He questions whether he should set down his roots here when he meets a stranger. Or rather, a stranger is forced upon him by fate.

Warnings: horny babygirls

Word Count: Your girls got horny writing this. I can't remember the last time I gushed like this. ALso Every fanfic reader/writers nightmare in one chapter

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"What the hell is this?" You whisper to yourself, standing alone in the dressing room with the most intricate Sakura painting on the paper walls, lit up by the lanterns kept in two corners. The night robe you have been given has too much flare. The fabric of the red night dress is soft to the touch and breathable. But the robe that comes over it has practically been doused in fur not letting any cold air pass through. But the reason behind your cussing has less to do with that warm robe than with the fact that your underwear is nowhere to be seen. The night dress does run down to your knees but the thought of not being in your panties and having to sleep in the enemy territory for the night makes you uncomfortable. Not to mention the constant dreadful feeling of being watched by Toge from some corner of this village. With one stretched sigh, you leave the dressing room. The bedroom awaits you with a bed decorated with the local pink rose petals and towel swans.

A little thread inside you snaps on inhaling the overpowering smell of the roses and incense. You stomp to the corner of the bed, take the white bedsheet, pull out all four corners to wrap the roses inside them and throw them outside the huge window overlooking the village before closing it shut.

Just once you want to take an easy breath on this mission. Just once. And that too seems hard to get. Especially with him around, your inner voice whispers. You do not want your thoughts to go that way, but this little devil inside you smirks and struts towards some extraordinarily shady corners in your mind. Quiet, you tell your inner voice, he makes me feel safe, shushing it as if it has spoken something outrageous. Safe enough for you to imagine yourself all over his skin. She whispers the last few words with a stressed honey-filled whisper of a moan. And with that, that image of his naked torso in the hot springs flashes in front of your eyes. Your teeth involuntarily biting down on your lips to get a hold of the reality before those outrageously defined thoughts go too far. The sliding of your bedroom door jolts you awake from your fantasy world and makes you turn around to see the familiar tall figure bow down a little to enter the room without hitting his head on the door frame.

"I brought blankets," Itachi declares with the heavy elk fur blankets looking like they weigh nothing to the man. Itachi is wearing a black fur robe which appears to be his night gown. His chest is bare and so are his ankles. His hair is loose and wet from a fresh wash and you are starting to regret having dark back alleys in your mind. The room now starts to feel small in his presence; a presence which feels positively heavy. Keeping the blankets on the bed, he moves his hand to run back those wet strands away from his face. "I feel like we should ask the village Chief to hold their...uh...ritual...ceremony...what all they call it...today-tonight. Right now." Your staggered voice is not helping your case as your eyes run up from his elbows to his arms, drawing some sketchy scenes inside your head. "Do not push yourself, Y/N-san. You need to rest." It's not your fault. It's not your fault. A voice keeps repeating that inside your head. It's the way he says your name. You do not realise when your body is flushed, sweat droplets form at your temples and the back of your neck. Itachi pauses momentarily beside the bed while you blink blankly at him. He looks at you for a second before moving again. "Let me check for any traps in the room." You nod and press yourself close to the window and out of his way. As he takes careful feline steps along the length of the room, your eyes focus on his fingers brushing against the oakwood dresser kept by the wall, your throat takes an unpreventable gulp. The source of light in this room is the oil lamps burning in the corners to give this room a pinkish hue, thanks to the Sakura theme. The only light brighter than that is the golden hues of the bonfire lit on the temple grounds across the hill. He touches the wall to discover anything unusual, his steps bringing him closer to you. His dominant hand wraps itself around the jug of alcohol to raise it closer to his face and your eyes cannot help but follow the nimble pale fingers morphing into an abstract art of popping veins down the wrist. His lips touch the jug, taking in a sip that glides down his throat. The soft golden fiery hues lighting up his features just enough in the dark are not helping your conscience in her dark alley. At all. His brows furrow momentarily, making you wonder if something is wrong with the drink. And the next second he is choking on it, his hand nearly slipping the jug and a decent bit of that alcohol spilling on his robe.

"Itachi-san! Are you okay?" You quickly grab the hand towels on the dresser behind you and dash towards him; that is what you think you do till his hand rises to make you pause right where you have been standing. Itachi coughs a bit before clearing his throat. His back straightens up and he nods. "I'm fine. The drink is...well, I've tasted better." Of course, you have. You still stand in your spot, but your hand stretches to hand him a towel. He takes it to wipe his mouth before his wet robe takes up his attention. A huge sigh leaves his lungs. "Pardon me," he declares in a low hum as his fingers undo the knot on his robe and his shoulders flex themselves to let the fabric glide off his back. Your breath is caught in your throat till you realise he is wearing white trousers underneath. Itachi folds the fabric when something catches his eye. Watching him step away from you and towards the bed sinks your heart. He stops at the edge of the bed and gets on his knees. Itachi wastes no time being on all fours and crawling just a few inches underneath the space, looking for something. On the other hand, you are glaring at his other arm that acts as his anchor, his robe between his fingers; the fingers gripping the fabric till he has found what he is looking for. And when he comes back to sit on his knees, you exhale a little, grabbing onto the window sill as your legs cross over each other and you try your best to look away from the pink-shaded abs teasing you from the distance. His hand has brought out a red cloth from underneath the bed. The cloth shines with a silken finish in his hands as he twists the fabric in one hand, wrapping it up neatly. "Don't touch this," he announces, tucking the fabric in his trouser's back pocket. "Yes, sir," you whisper without realising. And immediately regretting it. Itachi must have not heard it, for he gets up and walks past you to the other side of the room, leaving you to ravel in his natural redolence. The lone table at the other end of the room is graced by his hands on either side, curious if it can be pulled away from the wall. His arms are flexing, and so are the muscles on his back as he tries to pull the table towards him, his hips feeling the tethered force of the measle piece of furniture, forcing a low grunt to escape. Your left hand is clawing its nails into the window frame while your right thumb is being bit under your teeth with all your might. Get out of that alley, you are panting at your conscience. Please. Please. Please! The table is torn from the wall and thrown into the paper wall covering the dressing room. The remaining wood in the indents of the wall reveals two black bricks. The former assassin quickly picks one in each hand and turns to walk towards you. "Open the window," he commands in a low tone. You religiously move your hands to open the latches. Even before you are done pushing the window frames out, you feel his arms come over from behind you and throw out the bricks from either side. You turn around, calculating the proximity between you and his chest. While he is busy frowning out the window at what was possibly an attempt to poison you two, your eyes go up to land on his jaw, studying the skin, the texture, the turns; a little too well. The sound of splintering wood brings you out of the trance. Itachi's bare hands have broken the frame of the window behind you and instead of tending to the wound where a splinter has gashed through the skin of his hand, he is looking at you with the intensity of a thousand suns. Only this time you are concentrating on his wound. "You're hurt-" "I need to go," Itachi declares, taking the ripped frame with him and walking out of the door, leaving you confused. Lustful and confused.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

"You go in. I'll survey the surroundings here," Kakashi announces, disappearing into the night before Itachi can say anything about being handed the elk fur blankets. You are the only person present in the wing at this moment and he has his senses on high alert. Higher than usual. I do not trust the men here, he justifies in his internal monologue, pausing his quiet steps outside the door as he is flashed with memories of his bare chest in the hot springs. His mind has paused all the calculations now. It is purely curious now. And with that intention, he enters the room, declaring his presence. Keeping the blankets on the bed, he moves his wet hair away from his face to appear a little decent in front of you. "I feel like we should ask the village Chief to hold their...uh...ritual...ceremony...what all they call it...today-tonight. Right now." 

He can hear you. Loud and clear. But his mind is showing him his exposed arm pressing onto a thigh. He pauses. Must be some third-grade trickery by the village assassins, he thinks to himself. "Do not push yourself, Y/N-san. You need to rest." It's not your fault, he can hear the words being whispered somewhere. It's not your fault, they are echoing. With a voice too familiar to him these days. It's the way he says your name. It's you. It's your voice. And accompanied by your voice are flashes of sweat droplets running down from your temples, travelling your jaw to hurry down your neck. Itachi pauses, questioning how you are doing that. You are not, he answers the question himself and looks at you for a second to grasp any traces of Gen Jutsu around you. "Let me check for any traps in the room," he announces before moving to the nearest wall. When he brushes his fingers against the oakwood dresser, the flash comes again. This time, not as hazy as before. His fingers seem to be running over a bare abdomen, creating ripples of goosebumps. This time he can feel the skin under his fingertips and a familiar aroma in his nostrils. He moves his hand away from the table to the wall, investigating for anything out of the ordinary; that is, apart from the twisted psych attacks- if one can call them that. He can hear your heart beat faster as the distance between you closes. He pauses at the table between you two, reaching for the jug of alcohol kept on the table. The flashes come again when he raises the jug to his mouth. This time, his hand is gripping a neck, bringing it closer to him. He can smell that aroma again, this time the touch is heated and the neck is flushed. And his lips- which were reaching for the alcohol mere seconds ago- are kissing yours. When the kiss has deepened to the point of you moaning and his tongue wanting to taste your mouth, he realises the twisted reality, surprising himself into choking on the drink and spilling some onto his robe.

He hears you worry, making him raise his hand to stop you from coming any closer. "I'm fine," he coughs, apologising for his ungentlemanly behaviour. He takes the towel you offer, not able to get that image out of his mind. Itachi's instincts are riled up, his mind working ten steps ahead, ready to test the waters all the while making sure he does not cross any lines. He begs your pardon as he gets out of the wet robe. There is that aroma again. Your scent. Covering him all over. If it's the scent then there has to be- His thoughts trail off as he finally finds what he is looking for. He walks to the side of the bed and gets on his knees, to reach for the red fabric resting under the bed space. The talisman. Just when he grabs it, flashes of him gripping the silk sheets on the bed run through his mind. But that is not all. He can see his naked back clear as day, even that moles, and he can see you laying between him and the sheets looking up at him with a want. He is panting for breaths, and so are you. He can feel the drops of sweat run down his chest while he is devouring the view of your breasts glistening. Even as he comes back to sit on his knees, he can feel his hand run the length of your thighs, with your legs wrapped around his waist. The flash disappears, but the sensations remain in his mind. He seems to know what is going on but does not say. His hands work on folding the fabric and keeping it somewhere away from you. "Don't touch this," he declares as he puts the fabric in his pocket. "Yes sir," he can hear the microscopic stagger of your heated exhale in that whisper and the fog of that flash bring the sensation of a hand run over his butt. His mind curses. He does not remember the last time he cursed like this. Or that last time he felt so...filthy. But rip it in the bud, he grows internally to himself before getting up and walking to the last place that seemed suspicious- the table lodged into the wall on the other side of the room. He grabs the edges on either side to move it away from the wall, wanting the flashes to stop. To stop or else... The frustration shows externally when a grunt escapes him at the failed pull. And so it comes again.

This time you are on the table, your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails digging into his back. His flawless butt is exposed to the room as it jiggles with him sloppily rutting into you with the familiar grunts, bringing periodic coarse moans out of you. Please. He hears your voice. And he can see your face. He can see your body moving every time he pushes into you. Your eyes are tearing up. Your mouth is open wide at the edge of pleasure. Please, you beg again, this time urgently. Itachi feels his pace rush as if his body is running on your commands. Please! That moan of yours is turning into a growl as your head falls back at the peak of your climax. And before he can reach his, the table is torn away from the wall to be thrown away, bringing him back to his reality. And there they are, resting in the nook hidden in the wall- black brick-shaped gemstones. They are still hot when Itachi grabs them and orders you to open the window. Just as your hands have pushed the panes away, he throws the stones out, down the hill. He only breathes once he has heard them crash into pieces against the rocks underneath, resting one hand on the window frame. But they come again. This time with the touch of your fingers on his jaw, lazily running down his neck before he feels your teeth dig into his skin right where his jaw meets his neck. He snaps. At least that is what he thinks he did. It is the window frame that has been snapped instead. And all he can do is look at you; your eyes with no unadulterated intentions behind them as they worry about the blood that is not yours. "I need to go." He knows if he stays a second longer, he might do something there will be no coming back from. Rushing out the door bare-chested, he is already running into Kakashi in the corridor. For the first time in his life, Itachi seems the situation- that heavily involves him- requires an explanation.  "There's-" "Geisha's Opals inside? From the smell I could guess there were two stones." Kakashi seems to have figured it out. "I waking the chief up to prepare the ritual." Itachi nods. He wants to say something more but all he can do is inhale a lungful. "She doesn't realise her thoughts are more graphic than the latest volume of my favourite Icha Icha Paradise novels," Kakashi exhales, visibly tired. "You could see them-" "The burned Opals along with a rose incense are powerful aphrodisiacs," Kakashi explains with his hands as if he was having a casual conversation with his colleague, "combine that with her empath skills, she created an atomic flash of...well..." he gestures vaguely at everything and then at Itachi. "Dress up, let's just get this over with," Kakashi admits before disappearing into the night again, leaving Itachi to make peace with the fact that the Konoha village's Silver Fang saw everything. Every. Single. Flash.

[ravencoloredroses]

Experiment

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Az is gone on a mission and two people from the past decide to pay the reader a visit to do some experiments…..

Warnings: fire, blood, swearing

Word Count: 4,258

A/N: Here’s my first Az fic! This one’s really angsty with a hint of fluff. Thanks for reading!!! I hope you like it! <3

—————————————————————————

The morning sunshine wakes me up before my alarm. I roll over to my mate's side of bed to snuggle into his warmth, but I only find a cold and empty spot. He’s gone. Well, not gone, he’s out on a mission. Has been for a while.

Something about making sure the Autumn Court is sticking to our agreement, at least that’s what I remember him telling me. That was 2 weeks ago, Az has been gone for 2 whole weeks.

I know not to worry, he’s literally the spymaster of the Night Court. But he’s also my best friend, my mate, and every second he’s not with me I don’t feel like myself.

Our family has been trying to cheer me up, it’s not really working but I still appreciate it. Feyre took me to a painting class, which I was actually really excited for! That was before the instructor told us to paint what we envision our future to look like, then I wasn’t so excited.

He’s never been away this long before, and if he was sent on a longer mission, he took me with him. This one I wasn’t allowed to come along, Azriel said so himself. I tried not to feel upset that he didn’t want me there, because I know he’s doing it to protect me. The Autumn Court is not exactly the safest place right now, especially for the mate of the Night Court’s spymaster.

With a grunt I roll out of bed, not interested in facing this day at all. I stumble over to the bathroom and try not to look at myself in the mirror. I know I look awful. It’s hard enough to get out of bed most days, let alone take care of myself.

Turning on the water in the bathtub, I let it burn my skin before turning it colder. Washing myself with his soaps has always been a comfort for me. Surrounding myself with things that smell of him is the only reason I survive when he’s gone. The bond between us has been gray since he left. I know that he has to close it when he leaves, but it still hurts every time I look at it.

Once the water has gone cold and my fingers start to prune is when I decide to get out. I reach over and grab his robe, it drags on the floor as I wrap it around myself. Getting dressed in our closet, I pick out an actual outfit instead of just something of Azriel’s to sleep in. The plan today is to try to leave the house and go grocery shopping. I’ve been struggling to make things to eat with whatever scraps we have lying around.

Azriel and I live on the outskirts of Velaris, away from most people. We picked this house for privacy, but that also means that most stores are like 20 miles away. That’s fine when you have an Illyrian mate with huge wings, but when he’s not here I have to walk into town.

Finally picking out a decent outfit, black leggings and a huge oversized cream sweater. It was a gift Azriel got from Mor a couple Starfall’s ago, but she bought it without looking for wing holes, now it’s mine. It doesn’t smell like him though, so I walk over to our dresser, grab his cologne and spritz a little of it on me.

Next I move onto my hair, or should I say rats nest. Ripping out a few chunks as I struggle to brush it, I quickly braid it back out of my face. Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I head out of the house to finally find something to eat.

About 20 minutes into my walk I hear a pair of footsteps behind me. Trying to nonchalantly look and see who it is, I see a hooded figure about 10 feet behind me. I break out into a jog, attempting to put some distance between us and I hear their footsteps pick up the pace with me.

As I’m rounding a corner, another hooded figure comes out in front of me. I stop dead in my tracks, nowhere to go. “Don’t try anything stupid.” The one in front of me says. “This will all be over soon.”

I’m about to respond when a white powder is thrown over me. Faebane. Screaming out to Rhys in my mind, hoping, praying, that he can hear me. The last thing I remember was being picked up in someone’s arms and them saying, “Not so strong without your spymaster, aren’t you?”

Then everything went black.

— —

I’m jolted awake by a bucket of water splashing on me. I try to move my arms, but soon realize that they are tied together so tight I can’t move a muscle. “Thank you for joining us, my dear.” My captor says. I pry my eyes open and look at my surroundings.

I’m in some kind of basement, a cell, the only door I see is behind a wall of metal bars. My hair is yanked to force my head up, and I see the person's face for the first time.

“Well aren’t you pretty, looks like our step brother has done something right for once.” Step brother? Are these… Azriel’s step brothers?

“What do you want?” I spit out trying not to show how scared I am. These are the people who put Azriel in the most excruciating pain he’s ever been in, the people who caused the scars on his hands.

Out of the corner of my eye I see another person walk into the light. When I can finally see both faces, the one gripping my hair throws me back down on the ground. ”What do we want?” The one in the back laughs. “We want to do a little experiment.” With every word they speak I can feel my heartbeat growing faster. I’m realizing that there’s no getting out of this situation without being hurt.

“You see, when we found out our little brother had a mate, we wanted to put that bond between you to the test. So we came up with a plan: wait for Azriel to leave for a mission, capture you, and then do our experiment here. Only problem was that your special Highlord placed wards on your house so we had to wait until you left the house. And for whatever reason, you decided to stay inside for two weeks, only leaving while accompanied by your Highlady.”

“Today is finally the day brother,” He says, looking over to the other one. “Let’s say that step one is completed, and move on to step two.” He looks at me again while the other brother leaves the room.

“Now, here’s where you come in. I’m sure Azriel has told you of our first experiment with him about 500 years or so ago.” He brings over a chair and sits down in front of me. “Well we’re going to recreate that today, but with a twist.” The other brother comes back with a bucket and a book of matches.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try once again to call out to Rhys for help, but the faebane must not be out of my system yet. With Az gone they rarely check on me, so they won’t notice I’m missing. Fabulous.

“Oh sweetie, don’t be scared! Your precious mate went through this exact same thing. Now, we could make this quick, but we really don’t want to. I understand you’re not fully High Fae, so I am interested to see how your healing properties work. Let’s begin shall we?” He gestures over to the brother holding the bucket to come over.

My heart is now beating so loud, I bet they can hear it. Running out of options, I try the only thing I can think of. Begging. “Please. You don’t want to do this. If- if I die, Azriel will hunt you down and torture you for years before he kills you.”

They both laugh. The one with the bucket sets it down in front of me and I can smell what’s in it. Gasoline. He grabs my chin so I look up at him. “That’s a lot of confidence you have in him. Who’s to say he’ll ever find your body? We plan on keeping you here for our… uses… for a while, my dear.” He lets go of my chin roughly and reaches behind him to grab his knife.

“First thing to go is gonna be these awful clothes.” He says as he uses his knife to cut away at my sweater, leaving me in just a bra from the waist up. I can feel cuts on my chest drip with blood, he wasn’t careful with cutting it off. “Alright, now that that’s taken care of, let’s get started.”

Now I’m terrified. I never got to say goodbye to my family, never got to say goodbye to Az. “Wh-what kind of experiment are you gonna do?” I try stalling.

“We wanna see if your mating bond will transfer your pain over to Azriel. And then if he has the power to figure out your location from the bond as well. Since Azriel has been through our first experiment, he should recognize the pain you feel.” He stays standing up and pushing his chair away.

“W-well with the faebane in my system, the b-bond won’t feel anything. N-not until it w-wears off.” I struggle to get out, shaking because of the freezing temperatures. The brothers look at each other.

“I thought you didn’t use that much?”

“I didn’t!”

“I can still smell it on her! Now we have to wait even longer!” They argue back and forth. “Okay, we’ll be back in about an hour. Let’s hope it wears off by then.” He says as they both leave, locking the door behind them.

I feel tears start to pool in my eyes, and as they fall down my face they freeze on my cold skin. Trying to think of what Az would do in this situation, I realize he was in this situation. Granted he was a boy, but still, he’s been tortured by these same people and couldn’t escape. So why should I even bother trying. I’m still thinking of a plan as I feel my eyes grow heavy and my heart beat unnaturally slow. Then everything goes black, again.

— —

Azriel’s POV

Finally finished with my mission, I make a mental note to beat the shit out of Rhys. ‘It’s a simple mission, shouldn’t take too long’ he said to me, what a lie that was. What should have only been 3 to 4 days turned into 2 weeks. Flying back home from Autumn I only want one thing, my mate. She’s all I could think about while I was gone.

I reach the front steps of our house and open up my end of our bond. Normally, she would feel me and come running down to meet me outside. Maybe she’s asleep.

I unlock the door and my shadows go searching the house. They come flying back informing me that she’s not here.

Deciding that she must be out with Feyre, I head over to the House of Wind to debrief with Rhys and Cassian. Walking in I see Feyre, Nesta and Mor playing with Nyx on the floor in the living room. “Hey Az! You’re back!” Feyre jumps up to greet me. “Where’s y/n?” She asks.

“I thought she was with you?” I replied. “I was just at our house and she wasn’t there. I figured she’d be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Az, but I haven’t seen her since last week.” Mor says standing up.

“Last week? Have any of you seen her since then?” I ask the room. Just then Rhys and Cassian come walking in.

“Hey brother, welcome back. Wanna head to the office to debrief with us?”

“Have you guys seen y/n recently?” Feyre asks her mate.

“No. I haven’t seen her in a while actually. Why? Is everything okay?”

“She wasn’t at our house just now and I came here because this is where I thought she would be. I opened up my end of the bond again but hers is still closed.” I say, now pacing the room.

“Az, I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she’s just out shopping or something. Why don’t we come to the office, I’m sure she’ll turn up before we’re done.” Rhys stops my pacing with a hand on my shoulder. “Come on brother, let’s go discuss your mission.”

Deciding that he’s probably right and that she’s probably just shopping, I follow my brothers into Rhys’ office to debrief them on my mission.

— —

Reader’s POV

Once again I’m woken up by water thrown on my face. It stings when it gets into the cuts littering my body which have somehow multiplied since I was last awake. “Welcome back, darling.” One of the brothers says. “Hopefully your system is all clear of faebane, so we can begin our experiment.” The second brother comes up behind him holding the bucket and match book again. He stands in front of me with an evil grin on his face. “This may hurt a little.” He laughs and then pours the bucket of gasoline all over my hands. My heart rate picks up as he now holds up a match.

“Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything.” I plead. They don’t even respond, they just light the match.

I’ve felt pain before in my life, but nothing has ever compared to this. I watch the match fall onto my hands in slow motion and the only thing I can do is scream. I try to put out the fire, but I’m fully strapped to a chair now and I can’t move anywhere. The pain is getting so unbearable, I feel my skin melting away. I hear the metal bars slam shut as the brothers move to the other side of the cage to watch. I’m crying out for mercy, for Azriel, for Rhys, for anybody.

“No one’s gonna help you honey!”

“Looks like your mating bond doesn’t do shit!”

They laugh as I scream louder and louder. Praying to anyone who will listen, wishing that this ends soon.

— —

Azriel’s POV

Sitting in Rhys’ office, I get a weird feeling in my chest. I try my best to ignore it, but a few moments later I feel an excruciating pain in my hands. Screaming out for it to stop, Rhys and Cassian both come rushing over.

“Az! Az! What is it? What’s wrong?” Rhys asks, standing over me.

“My- my hands!” I cry out. I lift up my hands to show them and see that there’s nothing on them, nothing causing the pain.

“What? What’s wrong with your hands??” Cassian tries to keep me from collapsing. I can’t respond because another wave of pain courses through me, this time in my chest. I feel y/n’s side of the mating bond open and I immediately fall down on the ground. The familiar pain in my hands tells me everything I need to know. Somehow, someway, someone is hurting my mate in the same way I was. And I know exactly who that someone is.

“Az, she’s reaching out to me! I don’t think she can hear me, but she’s talking to me.” Rhys says, leaning over beside me. “Can you tell where she is? All I can see is a cell, I- I can’t see anything else.”

The only thing I can do is nod my head in response as I shoot up and fly out the open window. Not caring if my brothers are following me, although I’m sure they are. My only thought is to get to my y/n, now.

— —

Reader’s POV

Just as the fire is about to die out, one of the brothers comes back in the room and dumps more gasoline on my hands, igniting the fire once again. He retreats back behind the bars as I scream my head off. Any hope of being saved has gone out the window. No one probably even knows I’m missing, let alone looking to find me. I’ve opened my end of our bond in hopes Az can feel me, but I can’t even tell if his side is open or not.

Just when I’m about to give into the urge to let go, I hear a blast against the wall of the cell. I struggle to see through my tears, but I can see 3 winged figures coming in from the hole in the wall. I feel a cooling presence creep up to my hands and extinguish the flame. When I can finally look up again, I see two of the new winged males taking away my captors and the third winged male comes over to me slowly.

“Please, help me.” I whisper to the mystery male. “I don’t wanna die.” He comes closer and unties the straps holding me down then lifts me into his arms. As he holds me I immediately know who it is. “Az? I-Is that you?”

“It’s me little dove, just hold on, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here, just don’t close your eyes. Keep looking at me, don’t stop looking at me.” He says while soothing my hair back. I didn’t even realize we started flying until I felt the wind against my burns. “Az, I-It hurts so bad.”

“I know, I know it does. You’re gonna be alright, love. You just gotta hold on a little while longer, okay? We’re almost there.” His voice sounds hoarse like he’s been screaming as well. He picks up speed and the gust of wind makes my hands burn even worse. It gets harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

“I love you, Azriel.” I say, as the world goes black.

— —

“She should be awake by now, something’s wrong.”

“Az, she’s fine, just give her some time. She’ll wake up soon”

I hear muffled voices say around me. Without even opening my eyes, I know where I am. Home. I can feel my hands are in bandages, so tight I can’t move them. I hear a door close and then somebody sits down next to me.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I-I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I promised to keep you safe and then this happens. I just want you to be okay, please just be okay.” Azriel whispers. I can tell he’s crying now and all I want to do is hold him. I realize that his end of the bond is now wide open, so I send a rush of the love I feel for him down. I hear him gasp. “Y/N? Y/N can you hear me?” He asks.

I struggle to open my eyes, but I finally do. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the lighting, and then I see him. My mate, looking like he hasn’t left my side since I’ve been here. “Hey.” I managed to say. He places my face between his hands and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispers. “I’m so, so, so sorry that this happened to you, my love. I will do everything I can to make it right.” He leans back and looks into my eyes.

“I love you so fucking much too. I’m sorry that I gave up-“

“No. Do not say you’re sorry. Never say you’re sorry. Never.” He cuts me off.

“How long was I out?” I change the subject, arguing right now doesn’t feel like the best idea.

“Five days. I’ve been here the whole time.” He says. I move over a little bit to make room for him to be on the bed next to me. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please. I just need you to hold me.” I plead.

He slowly leans over to lay down beside me. “You know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.” He laughs as he pulls me into his arms. I bring my bandaged hands between us so I can snuggle into his chest more. He gently grabs one and places a kiss on my bandaged knuckles.

I bury my head into his neck and he places his chin on the crown of my head. “Madja says that she may be able to remove some of the scars with a tonic.” I take a second to think.

“Do you want me to try it? I know how you feel about your hands, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

“Look at me.” He pulls back and lifts my chin up so our eyes meet. “You could never make me uncomfortable. I will always be here for you, for as long as you want me around.” He gently presses his lips to mine in a loving and tender kiss. After we pull away, I sink back down into his chest and fall asleep. I’m finally right where I belong.

— —

I walk into Madja’s clinic with Az right behind me. It’s been about 3 days since I woke up and I’m tired of these bandages.

“Hello!” Madja greets us. “Okay, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Az helps me hop up onto the counter and then stands next to me. He places a hand on my knee and comfortingly smooths my skin with his thumb. As she cuts away the wrapping, Azriel freezes. I look over at him to avoid seeing my hands. When all the bandages are off, his eyes start welling with tears.

“Well my dear, it looks a little worse than I would have hoped. It should be mostly healed by now.” Madja examines my hands.

My eyes widen at her words and I slowly look down. I can barely even recognize my own hands. The skin has been completely melted off and has been taken down to the muscle. Pus and blood are oozing out and even my fingerprints are gone. Gasping, I look back up to Azriel and find him already looking at me.

“Is there anything you can do?” He asks Madja. She gives a sigh and rummages around in the cabinets behind her. I didn’t even realize I was crying until Az wiped my tears away. He places a kiss into my hair and wraps an arm around my waist.

Madja returns with a glass bottle in her hand. “The only thing I can think of is this.” She says holding up the bottle. “It’s a little strong so it will be painful to apply, but it will help it heal faster.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and look up to Az. “Whatever you wanna do, little dove. Whatever you wanna do.” He says rubbing circles on my back.

I sigh heavily and nod to Madja. She gives me a sympathetic smile back and gently grabs my wrist to pull it closer to her. I squeeze my eyes shut as I anticipate the pain. The first drop onto my hands causes me to flinch away and scream.

“Y/N, I need you to stay still for me to be able to do this. Azriel you might have to hold her down.” Madja looks up at him. He places a kiss on my forehead and reaches over to grasp my wrists.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He cries. I bite down on my scream when she pours the liquid again. I put my head down on Az’s arm that stretched in front of me.

“Make it stop! Please stop! I-I can’t take it anymore!” I cry out.

“I know, I’m so sorry. She’s almost done. You can do this.”

After what feels like a lifetime, Madja finishes and wraps my hands back up. When she leaves, Az pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you, Az. I-I don’t know what I would do without you.” I move to kiss his cheek, but he backs up.

“This happened to you because of me. You’re in pain because of me!”

“Hey, don’t say that. That’s not true-“

“It is y/n. It is true. This only happened because of us, because of who you are to me.” He yells.

“Azriel. Come over here.” He slowly walks to stand between my knees. I put my arms around his waist and he does the same. “I love you. This is not your fault. It’s not my fault, it’s not Rhys’ fault. Your step brothers are at fault. This happened because of them, because of their sick and twisted minds. Don’t you ever blame yourself for this. Ever.”

He sighs and kisses my head. After a while of silently embracing each other, I ask the question that’s been on my mind since I woke up. “What happened to them?” I feel him stiffen around me.

“They’re still alive, for now. Rhys and Cas put them in my chamber in Hewn City. I wanted to wait to see what you wanted me to do.” He starts to smooth a comforting hand up and down my back. I place a kiss onto his collarbone in thanks and pull back to see his face.

“Well, I told them that you would ‘torture them for years before you kill them’ so… make them suffer… for as long as possible.”

He smirks down at me and places his lips on mine.

“That’s my mate.”

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is suitor!

(773 words.)

Sirius stares at his own reflection in the mirror, wishing, for once, that he could switch his emotions off like the rest of his family. He doesn't really want to look at himself in his dress robes. It just reminds him of what he's about to do, the life laid out in front of him, which he really doesn't want to think about. Every time he remembers the suitor at the end of the aisle, the marriage his parents have decided he needs, their desperation to 'fix him', he feels nauseous.

That thought just sends him down a rabbit hole, the ghost of a memory of amber eyes, a slightly crooked smile, and an embrace that felt like home being all he has left. Well, that and the knowledge that the only man he's ever loved probably hates him. Sometimes he wonders what his life could have been if he'd just... run. Gotten away from the hellish life that the Black family have left him with.

"Sirius." Regulus' voice drags him out of his thoughts, turning to face his little brother.

"Oh. Hi." He doesn't mean for his voice to sound so... hollow, so dejected. Still, he does his best to offer Regulus a smile. "How come you're not in your seat? We're starting soon. Mum'll flip her shit."

He expected Regulus to roll his eyes, maybe smile slightly if he's in a decent mood, but his expression doesn't falter. There's a slight furrow in his brow, the only sign that he's concerned.

"Sirius, you can't do this," He says slowly, stepping inside the small room and shutting the door behind him. The words stun Sirius, freezing him for a moment.

"What? Reggie, what d'you mean-"

"You're not getting married today. You shouldn't," He insists, which does nothing but confuse Sirius.

"Reg, I don't really think I have a choice, here. Where's this coming from?"

"...I ran into Remus." The admission sends Sirius' heart into overdrive, a wave of dizziness hitting him. It's like someone has stolen the breath from his lungs, memories attacking him from every angle.

"What?" The word comes out slightly breathless, shock overwhelming him.

"He asked about you. He loves you, Sirius, it was obvious."

"But I- I abandoned-"

"No, you didn't, and he knows you didn't. He was just happy to hear that you were alive. Sirius, you can't keep living like this. We both know it."

Realistically, Sirius knows this. He knows that he won't be able to take it much longer in his family, but he's been able to shove it to the back of his mind. He made it his goal to distract his family from Regulus, and it's been enough to keep him going.

Hearing his little brother telling him he's making a mistake makes everything feel much more real.

"Reg, what are you saying?" He asks carefully.

"I'm saying you need to leave. Today. Now, if you can." Just as Sirius opens his mouth to ask where the fuck he would go, Regulus stops him. "Here," He pulls a scrap of parchment out of the pocket of his dress robes, surging forward and shoving it into Sirius' hand. "James and Remus' addresses are both on here, I got them off Remus. He should know you're coming. You need to go."

"Reggie, I can't-"

"Yes, you can! You have to!" His tone leaves minimal room for argument, but Regulus isn't even going to let him try. "I know why you've stayed as long as you have, and you're a bloody idiot for it. I'll be okay, Sirius."

"Then you can leave with me," He says desperately, reaching out to grasp his brother's hand. Regulus just shakes his head.

"I can't. One of us needs to stay here, and it sure to fuck isn't going to be you. Just... go and find Remus, okay? Please."

Sirius meets his brother's eyes, startled to find that his face is softened, almost pleading with Sirius. He's giving Sirius a way out. One that he's not going to find again, and he's not taking no for an answer.

Remus' face comes full force back to the front of his mind. Vaguely, he wonders if he looks the same. If he's gotten any new scars, if he would still look at Sirius in that same way that made him weak at the knees, that he conjures when he can't sleep, when he needs comfort.

"Go, Sirius. You deserve to be happy," Regulus' voice urges him. It's the one that cracks his resolve. The desperation in his brother's voice is breaking him.

He needs to go.

Remus is waiting for him.

[yanderesimp2000]

yan Adam x fem reader chap 6/6 "the end?"

Finale? kinda I might do a spinoff to this series in the future but the reader is pregnant because you people kept asking for it

CHAP 1

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderesimp2000/745338401920860160/extreme-yandere-adam-x-fem-reader-chap-15-start?source=share

CHAP 2

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderesimp2000/745426251094818816/extreme-yandere-adam-x-fem-listener-chap-25?source=share

CHAP 3

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderesimp2000/745572611124232192/yan-adam-x-fem-reader-chap-35-someone-else-dares?source=share

CHAP 4

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderesimp2000/745703396615520256/yandere-adam-x-fem-reader-chapter-46-this-is?source=share

CHAP 5

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderesimp2000/746049756622716928/extreme-yan-adam-x-fem-reader-chap-56-look-at?source=share

TWS ,HEAVILY BRAINWASHED READER, Adam being Adam,possessiveness, Inceliness

Tags, Marriage proposal , snuggles, fluff, Travel, I tried way to hard on heaven world building

BTW this takes place in a universe where Adam won in S1 EP 8

You just finished making lunch from Adam he was laughing about something while he ate something about Lucifer's face when he killed his "precious daughter" you heard story's about what Lucifer did and you were glad he was suffering "serves that scum right" was what you thought Adam then finished his food and said "y'know what we should do today, We should go to the Empathy borough there lots of fun shit to do their and... I got a surprise for you" he teased

your face lit up you were excited to finally be able to go out somewhere after the "incident" Adam was very very controlling and made sure you were either locked in a room or in his sight at all times Adam cackled and said " that means I get to dress you up again my little doll" he then gently picked you up and walked you over to the closet where he started to look at dresses before finding one a red dress that was elegant but also soft and gentle it was perfect for you. You quickly put it on and it was perfect you looked amazing adam chuckled and said "thats it hottie" before slapping your ass

Adam started to put on his robe that he wore everywhere and then said "y'know we should fly to the transport system it would be nice to get out of the house" usually Adam would just use his high ranking angel magic to teleport but I guess he wanted to fly to the transport station which was who low ranking angels got from borough to borough heavens boroughs are HUGE most of these boroughs were about the sizes of the rings of hell so flying is not that feasible for traveling long distances but the transit station was a 7 minute flight from Adams house

Adam then grabbed your hand kissed you on the cheeks and said "ready to go hot-tits" you nodded your head before starting to guide you to the door before you two left to go to the transit port

the Virtue borough was the most well known of the 17 boroughs it was the most populated and home to all of the important stuff like the seraphim, the elder angels, the arch angels, the saints and much more. the Virtue borough has huge Golden skyscrapers and marble road you would think it would have a lot to do but no it was pretty boring "even the angels here are boring " Adam said you couldn't argue because unlike the other 16 species of angels virtue angels have no species wide ability that they all have. Adam tells you that you are a humility angels you trust him because your life before that was a blur and why would he lie to you, as you flew to the block were the transport station was Adam said "your gonna love this surprised I'm so fuckin pumped to see your reaction" his joy was plasterd all over him he was practically shaking as you two entered the transport station

The transport station was exactly what you would expect from a VERY high class area of heaven golden lots of guards and very fast lines you and Adam got on the teleportation pad leading to the Empathy ring you two chatted and waited for about 2 minutes before a voice on the intercome said "Virtue station 17 departing to Empathy station 3" and suddenly the doors closed before you all started to be teleported to the empathy ring

you guys quickly arrived at the empathy ring in around 3 minutes which was VERY LONG because Empathy is on the far west of heaven and virtue is on the East-central part their about 13 boroughs in-between the two borough. Only the humility and sacrifice boroughs are east of the Virtue borough so you were far far from home so that meant new customs to get used to

when you got out the station the first thing you noticed about empathy was how different it was The borough is Literally a group of 1160 small densely packed floating islands that are connected via bridge and instead of having the same white and gold color scheme of the virtue and other central and east boroughs the empathy borough was made of emeralds and has a dark blue-green color the entire borough looked like a rain forest and you loved it and another interesting thing about the empathy ring was their people they looked aquatic even though they didn't need to be underwater to survive. the diffrence between empathy and the seaside borough is that the seaside borough usually get no rain while its always almost wet in the empathy ring but not rainy just wet

Adam looked around seeming unfazed before laughing at how amazed you are "what are you so shocked about theirs nothing extraordinary about this place it just a little different" he mocked. You quickly agreed with him and said "yeah theirs nothing special about this place" you don't know why but when he said that you immediately agreed with him Adam then said "now I wanna show you all the cool shit to do here" before Grabbing you and flying couple streets down till you get to a restaurant that he always talked about

You two walked in and the waiter there looked shocked but said "oh oh my sir it is a pleasure to be in your presence" before bowing Adam just looked annoyed and said "you didn't have to do all that but it was still fucking sweet I just want a table for 2 in my usual seat" the waiter got up quickly and said "oh right this way sir" before Before raising his arms and quickly one of the display little Lakes where some koi and other fish were turned into a staircase of water you were at first a little scared but Adam quickly put his foot on it and he could stand it was strange you are just shocked he started walking and said "come on babe what the fuck are you waiting for get up here" before taking your hand and you to start to walk up this is the first time you've seen the power of these angels and it was very surprising you thought they just lived with water you didn't know they could control them but after all there was a lot of things you didn't remember that's why I needed him right?

The waiter walked you to what he said was his favorite see it it was a wonderful seat overlooking one of the many gorgeous parks of the empathy Borough you two sat down and he said "man this place is even better than when I last came don't know why I didn't take you here sooner just it's a long way but that's no excuse I'm fucking sorry babe I deprived you" you just said sad that you made him feel bad " it's okay don't be sad we would have gone here eventually so why Rush" "Yeah you're right" Adam said then saying "let's just enjoy The View" the view was gorgeous it was facing right next to one of them thousands of parks inside the empathy Borough this one had waterfalls and wonderful Greenery you two are sat next to each other so you cozied into him "awwwww how precious" Adam teased before putting his hand on your head you were disappointed when the waiter interrupted your moment to ask what your drink order would be you ordered what you thought would be good the dragon fruit smoothie Adams are they ordered something non-alcoholic instead " aww is wittle baby too scared to get drunk that's okay" he teased then saying his order " I'll have the white vodka with fruit juice and three shots of strawberry syrup" the way to seemed to be anxious why though why would he be anxious around Adam the gracious first man "o-o-o-ok sir right away" he stuttered before scurrying off somewhere 

You and Adam went back to looking at the wonderful view of the park his wings seemed to snuggle around you since you cleaned his feathers they've been really soft almost like a blanket so you didn't try and complain not like you were going to anyways but it was just nice to be wrapped around the big blanket like feathers Adam seem to pull his wings closer to him also pulling you closer to him as he started to pet your back and said "you're all mine you know that I'll protect you and keep you safe and make sure you don't see or think anything dangerous" it's really the least I could do as a decent husband you're nodded and ran your hands through his feathers seeming to make sure that was nothing stuck in between them and if there was anything you would pluck them out because you didn't want him to have dirty feathers it just urked you Adam chuckled and said ' that feels nice you really are perfect" he kept petting you and even going down to your wings even though they were slightly smaller because of what happened he's still said they were cute and adorable and it was even better that you couldn't fly so you couldn't try and do anything "rash"

You then saw the waiter  come over with your drinks he put them down on your guys table and said "enjoy" in that same anxious tone before scurrying off somewhere again " what's his problem" Adam Scoffed " I only banished three of the waiters here to hell it wasn't my fault they will be until slow and they were heaven born anyway so nobody really cared" he said with a slight sadistic undertone you two then kept looking around at the park " I wish this moment would never end" you said so Adam knew you were happy " me too... because this drink is fucking delicious" Adam said as he asked you what you wanted to order " I think the Tropical salad would be delightful" you said Adam was shocked and said "ugh diet food I'm gonna get the marinated Teriyaki ribs extra ribs" he mocked before calling over the waiter and placing the order " you better be quick or you know what happeneds" in a cruel the threatening way but that's just because he wants his food not because he's evil or anything it's their fault is what you thought he waiter then scurried off again and you two kept looking out at the park as he cuddling you ever so gently it was like the fluffiest down pillow " keep doing that babe its adorable" Adam whispered into your ear making you flustered which adam just found even more adorable "I love you and you're all flustered like that it's so hot" Adam teased you just giggled enjoying his teasing you like that when I talk to you like that you found it attractive for some reason but it's best not to question it right? The waiter then came rushing in with your food the plate the atoms ribs are serve one is bigger than you and you think the ribs were around half your size your salad was a bit more modest but you're still big it was served in a nice wooden Bowl it was filled with colorful fruits they didn't even know existed along with crumbly cheese pieces of crispy bread and very fresh vegetables the waiter then left in the same anxious pace as last time 

You and Adam continue to eat your food it was delicious and he seemed to love it too " told you this place would be delicious they make these ribs so good I just can't eat thousands of them at a time you know what I'm feeling " you're nodding along listening intently but not knowing what to say Adam seem to be very passionate about this place "I swear this place ever goes out of business I'll kill everybody who helped to make it out of business the tax  the people who chose to shut it down and the owners for not telling me that it's shutting down " once you to finish your food Adam just picked you up and flew out of the window " don't worry I'm allowed to eat here for free they  love me here "

He then landed with you at the same park you guys were overlooking it was beautiful there was a wonderful draping trees and all sorts of colors and the path you are on was there for thousands of years this park was one of the oldest in heaven so you could see all the old landmarks that were there since the times of the elder  angels " pretty soon we're going to be at that place where I have a surprise for you" Adam said as you two continue to walk

 The park was better than anything you've ever seen there were traditional old monuments there from the era before Humanity was created it depicted beautiful Elder angels and the entire shrine was grown with vines but strangely it felt like it was meant to be that way it matched the aesthetic of the green Lush empathy ring Adam then chirped in and said  "I'm so pumped to show you my surprise your gonna  love it you're going to be like wow Adam you're so great I love you that's fuck" you blushed slightly trying to hide it you are so excited to see what a surprise was it's like Adam was a genius the setting the ambiance there was light roses everywhere and Lush flowers to compliment it it was a perfect place to  visit especially on a nice spring day you and Adam eventually got to a small area where nobody was right by one of the hundreds of lakes in this park he lifted up a vine to show a small area not for you too that was beautiful flowers it was a little cave basically made of flowers and it was right by the water he sat down in motion due to sit next to him " well I know what technically "married " but I don't feel like I made it official you feel me so will you spend the rest of your life with me " Adam then pulled out a beautiful ring it was everything you could have imagined that had a beautiful rose gemstone on it complimented with the wonderful gold exterior " yes yes yes Adam I will " you said before leaning and giving them a big hug he hugged you too and said " I knew you would say that sorry for not proposing earlier I was scared you would get overwhelmed or some shit like that women are strange and sensitive like that " he said before continuing to hug you you to stayed like that hugging each other just enjoying each other's company until Adam finally said " let's go home babe we can prepare for the wedding " before I picked you up and you too flew into the distance

[ghostchems]

„passionate kissing, pressed up against a wall“ with Terzo please 🤭

Ugh, all those promts sound so good, I had a hard time deciding with one I should ask for

yesss!! here we are :) about 600 words, mdni please!

“Papa, I am very sorry but your request is — well, it’s ridiculous.” Your voice is measured and strong despite having to break the news. Terzo glares at you from behind his grand desk, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. You stand your ground, your hands clutching your clipboard. “Sister Imperator would have to approve the changes to your touring budget but I am confident she will agree with my assessment of it being too expensive and unnecessary.”

A frustrated growl rips from his throat as he abruptly stands up, eyes never leaving yours. It’s clear he’s in a mood today, which is extremely unnerving. He is a perfectionist but he is known to be more uplifting and easy-going compared to previous Papas and you had never seen him quite like this before. You want to shrink into yourself but you don’t, unwilling to show weakness to him. Terzo is still dressed in his papal robes but his mitre is gone, his raven hair messier than usual.

“Sibling — I am Papa. I should get what I want.” He hisses at you and moves with disturbing speed, suddenly right in front of you. You press your clipboard to your chest as he closes in on you, backing you into the nearby wall. Your legs feel like they’re going to give out just by the way he’s inspecting you. Terzo’s hand darts out and grabs you by the throat which forces you to finally give in, a hushed whimper pushing past your lips.

“I do get what I want.” He bares his teeth at you with a low snarl. Terzo’s grip is firm but he doesn’t squeeze and his thumb starts to drift along your jaw. “Will you get me what I want, sibling?” You part your lips, a soft sigh falling from them but before you’re able to respond he crushes his mouth against yours. Your clipboard drops from your hands and you move them to press against his chest, his body trapping you against the wall.

He flicks his tongue, licking his way into your mouth as you groan quietly. His grip on your throat tightens and you manage a soft squeak. Your brain is short circuiting with all thoughts of the tour budget gone and replaced with the shock and honor that Papa is kissing you. Terzo tilts your head back even further, his hand moving from your neck to grip your chin as the new angle deepens the kiss.

You start to wobble, your legs feeling weak and he’s quick to loop his free hand around your back to steady you. He presses his chest against yours and you move your hands to the back of his neck, fingers starting to toy with his hair. Terzo pulls away for only a moment so that the two of you can catch your breath before he leans in again, this time his pillowy lips sucking at your bottom lip. You moan for him, your nails scratching at the nape of his neck.

He releases your lip and kisses at the corner of your mouth, then lowering himself to plant another kiss just below your earlobe. It gives you goosebumps and you give another quiet moan.

“You will communicate my wishes to Imperator, si? And you will tell her that my request is necessary.” He growls into your ear and you feel it rumble up in his chest.

“Y-yes, Papa.”

“Va bene.” Terzo nips at your earlobe. “Now, there is something else that I want — will you help me, tesoro?” He settles himself between your legs and you can feel his hardness pressing into you. You whimper in response, his mouth already trailing hot kisses down your neck.

You would do anything he asked.

[eastwindmlk]

Look! Something happened here and idk. It got away from me. Anyway for @jilytoberfest day 24 we revisit Bigger Fish. Prompt: 🎶Then I know everything is gonna be fine, Because you are mine🎶 -You Shine from Carrie - The Musical

Word count: 3.606... yeah I know.

Waking up in a small boutique hotel on Paris’ Place de la Bastille on the day of your wedding should feel like waking up in a dream. Lily knew that. Still, she sat up in the Egyptian cotton sheets, bleary-eyed and hard-hearted.

Everything should have been dreamy, from the French breakfast waiting for her on her balcony with a view of the courtyard and the muffled uproar from the square rising over the building. To the incredibly fluffy tear-stained pillows she’d cried herself to sleep on and all because of one man.

James Potter, who had ran back into her life at the eleventh hour like they were in some sort of soap opera. Where he returned just in time to confess his love for her and steal her away to the future they were always meant to have.

He almost did. Showing up at the airport, begging her to not do it. The only difference was that she wasn’t the heroine. She wasn’t going to blow all of this off just because he swanned in at a ta-da nick of time to swoop her off her feet. That was not who Lily Evans was.

Lily Evans was sensible and steady, she went through school and dated the footie captain and when he eventually broke her heart, like everyone said he would, she moved on. She found a dependable, unremarkable colleague who brought her coffee and complimented her hair even if he never noticed when she cut it.

He wasn’t a big fish and that is what made him right. Right?

She gripped the edges of her goose feather duvet and peered into the glaring sun, wondering if maybe she was making a mistake. Her eyes lifted to the clock, it was a little before eight and the make-up and hair team would be there in half an hour. Which should be long enough to warm up her cold feet.

Lily took a quick shower, getting dressed in her wedding lingerie and a silk robe before settling herself on the balcony. She was intent on enjoying the view, the sun, the breakfast and staunchly ignored the humdrum of the touristy city below her. Just as she was ignoring the doubt swirling in her chest.

All she had to do was get through today – and the rest of her life – wondering what would have happened had she been brave enough not to board that plane.

She was sipping her morning coffee when the door to her room burst open, the hot drink dripping onto her fingers. It was at this moment that Lily regretted giving the front desk permission to let her mother in.

“Lilykins! Darling! Are you alright?” She asked and without looking Lily could tell that she was frazzled and red-faced. “Are you not bothered by all the ruckus? The receptionist said that ‘ze are protesting ze new work low but ze won’t burn down anyzing ‘ere’,” her mother scoffed and Lily suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at her mother’s abysmal imitation of the French accent.

The bride-to-be turned her torso to offer her mother a sympathetic smile. “You know that sounds awfully mean when you do that right?”

“Do what?”

“The accent,” Lily pointed out, her lips pressing into a thin smile.

Her mother sighed dramatically, her whole torso rising and falling with it. “Don’t be so soft, Lilykins. I am sure they know I don’t mean it that way,” she said, her forehead wrinkling while she gestured vaguely around herself before plopping down on the edge of the bed. Seemingly to catch her breath.

“Oh I don’t know, the French aren’t renowned for their sense of humour,” she pointed out now just trying to get a rise out of her mother. A little thing to distract herself from the restlessness that still brewed in her chest like a storm at sea.

Ruth Evans tutted and shot her daughter a playful glare before letting her expression soften. “It’s a nice room,” she started trying to make small talk. Her mother hated small talk.

“Just spit it out, Mother,” Lily huffed, not wanting to pussyfoot around whatever her mother had to say. She felt like, today of all days, she was entitled to an expedited process. She simply did not have it in her to take her mother’s delicate sensibilities into account today.

Ruth’s lips pursed while she levelled her youngest daughter with a disapproving look that bounced right off of her. “Don’t call me ‘mother’ in that tone,” she sniffed and shifted in her seat before coming right out with it. “I was just… See. I heard that a certain someone might be back in town.”

Lily grimaced and placed her coffee back on the cast iron table, the thought of consuming anything suddenly making her feel ill. “He is, not that it is of any consequence to me,” she dismissed as blasé as she could manage while her heart threatened to burst from her chest and tattle on her.

“Right, of course, it isn’t. I just- It made me wonder how you’re feeling about all of this,” she said while she gestured around her vaguely in an attempt to indicate the whole situation. Or, at least, that is what Lily assumed she meant.

She turned fully in her seat and away from the food and the view to look her mother squarely in the face. That was the plan, but she could only drop her eyes to her hands when she answered her. “It’s beautiful. Every girl dreams of getting married in Paris.” Her voice sounded distant and tight, very much unlike her. Even more so, very much unlike how you’d want any bride to sound on her wedding day.

There was a moment of silence, patient and expecting. There was something extremely unsettling about it. Her mother was never silent, not like this. It made the words she did not want to say rise to her lips nearly instantly. Her secrets fought their way up her throat to see which one was going to fill the emptiness her mother’s silence left.

Lily nearly confessed to what happened at the airport when she was saved by a knock on the door. Her mother stood up in a flurry to open up for the beauty team. Which, hopefully, meant that her mother would let the situation rest for the sake of keeping up appearances.

After all, she would probably die of embarrassment if these total strangers knew there was trouble in paradise.

For a glorious thirty minutes while she was poked with brushes and having her hair pulled and twisted in every which direction, Lily enjoyed her mother’s chatter on how the venue was coming along. Ruth didn’t like small talk unless it would earn her praise.

The end of her peacetime was rung in by Petunia stomping into the room, her blonde hair in her signature, braided twist - which had made an appearance at every formal event after she’d perfected it at age sixteen. - the aubergine maid-of-honour dress still on its garment bag. Lily had no time to ask her if she wanted to use the large en-suite bathroom to change before her sister’s shrill shriek rang through the room. “Seriously, Lily! The airport!”

If her face had not been slathered in foundation a quarter inch thick, she might have flushed. The redhead just wasn’t sure if it was in shame or frustration. “Did something happen at the airport?” her mother chimed in and it was like watching the spark that started the great fire catch.

“You haven’t told her?”

“Tuney,” she cautioned and hoped that a withering look was just as powerful through a reflection.

Not that they had often worked on her sister, who barrelled on with her usual amount of consideration for her younger sibling. Next to none. “The Potter boy showed up at the gate,” she informed their mother, her nose turned up to drive home her superior tone.

Ruth gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth in shock. “Lily Josephine Evan! Why did you not tell me?” The use of her full name made Lily cringe even at age twenty-eight.

‘Because of that reaction’ Lily thought to herself, but she wouldn’t say that now. “I didn’t think it mattered much,” she lied and closed her eyes to let the make-up artist apply another layer of powder and hoped she was done now.

“No? I would think that the other man showing up means quite a lot,” Petunia’s snide remark burned away the remaining cringe and her glare turned deadly.

Her perfectly painted lips disappeared into a thin line when she turned around to look at her sister. It was their mother that interjected. “Petunia!”

“Well, I don’t have some fancy man show up at my gate, begging me to marry him instead,” she said with an indignant sniff and an upturned nose. “’S all I’m saying. “

That is when she started to regret flying with the airline her sister worked for, even if the tickets had been free. The gossip train was clearly very effective and she would not be surprised to see that her sister was a little too well-informed on things.

The news shocked their mother into silence for just long enough that her sister could shoot Lily a look, Superior and satisfied with ruing a perfectly peaceful morning. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her mother’s voice trembled with emotion and she almost worried that she was going to burst into tears. Grateful that she’d already done her make-up and would not want to ruin it with tears.

“Because I knew you’d make a big deal out of it all when it really isn’t,” Lily pointed out, her voice gentler now. Mindful of her mother’s fraying nerves.

“Well, what did you tell him?”

“I am here, am I not?” she answered, her toe pushing up her sock and hoped the answer was enough to soothe her mother.

Ruth sighed in relief, her smile appearing from behind the clouds. Another crisis averted. “That you are and you will be such a beautiful bride,” she cooed, her hands clasped together. “I’ll go get changed. Petunia, help your sister into her dress. It’s almost time,” she said with more enthusiasm than she thought she could muster for her own wedding.

Lily stood, facing the mirror while her sister laced her into the bodice of her white gown and while she felt like she looked like a princess with the Tudor-style bodice and the puffed skirt. She was Cinderella on her way to the ball, all she was missing was her glass slippers.

“What are those?” Petunia’s disgust was evident in her voice when Lily lifted her skirt to slip into her low-heeled slippers.

Her eyes travelled down to look at pastel blue, fluffy socks she’d worn from the moment she stepped out of the shower. “My something blue?” Lily replied, her tone questioning while her sister yanked the warm socks off her feet.

Her sister tutted, not unlike what their mother had done before. “You’re so strange sometimes,” Petunia complained while she fuzzed over Lily’s veil for a moment. “All done. Now smile, this is the happiest day of your life.”

The words echoed in her mind. The happiest day of her life. Lily knew it ought to be, but all she could focus on were the clouds that had rolled in earlier, the restless sea that roiled in her chest. She forced the corners of her lips up into a smile and was grateful that Petunia did not care if it reached her eyes or not.

Lily told herself that she was just nervous, this was a big day for everyone involved. It was only natural to feel a little nauseous. Especially when your mother reappears in the room and just so happens to also be dressed in white.

“Mother,” she started and the words stuck in her throat when Ruth looked up at her. “Mum,” she tried again, tempering her tone. “Why are you wearing white?”

Her mother laughed, her fingers caressing the string of pearls that she wore on every important occasion. “I’m not wearing white, darling. This is crème,” she said defensively, tracing her fingers along the taffeta silk fabric that had a similar sheen to that of her wedding dress.

Despite feeling like she should be offended by her mother’s actions, she couldn’t help but also be grateful for the distraction it offered. The more she could focus on this, the less she would think about her doubts.

More importantly, she won’t think about him.

By the time Lily made her way across the hotel lobby on her way out, the protest had indeed moved on without as much as a rubbish bin lit on fire. It was all that her mother talked about on the way to the venue, more distractions.

Lily’s storm seemed to finally break while she stood waiting in the wings as the stragglers filed in minutes before the start of the ceremony. Her hands were wringing in front of her nervously when Petunia grabbed her shoulders. “Breathe, Lily,” she commanded sternly and took a few deep breaths with her until she was satisfied. “Remember to smile when you see him.”

Her eyebrows brew together at the remark she blinked at her sister before asking. “Who?”

“Your fiancee, Lily. I know you’re nervous but smile for him when you see him, he won’t know the difference from when you feel better after the ceremony,” she explained and pushed a stray lock of hair back into her up-do before lowering the blusher over her face. “Happiest day of your life,” Petunia reminded her once more and handed her the bouquet of flowers. She scowled at the Baby’s Breath she’d explicitly said she hadn’t wanted.

So, this is where her mother chose to be traditional then. It was fine, she supposed.

Lily wrapped her hands around the ribbon-bound stems while she rocked from her heels to her toes a couple of times, hoping that the chapel was warmer than this side room. If only she could have kept her socks on. It wasn’t like anyone would notice.

All thoughts of socks faded to the background when their father opened the door, right on cue. The first notes of Pachelbel’s canon started to float their way. This was it. The start of the rest of her life.

John Evans was the opposite of his flighty and erratic wife. He was solid and calm, a rock that Lily would cling onto all the way down the path of pink petals. Like her sister before him, her father took a deep breath with him and pointed to his cheek. Smile.

Lily clutched her father’s arm and the storm had run its course when she clutched onto his arm. She knew her father would not lead her wrong, he only wanted what was best for her. This was what was best for her. A steady, dependable man and a quiet life.

She’d almost convinced herself of that as she slowly walked down the aisle with a smile on her face. When her eyes were drawn to someone sitting in the fourth row, almost all the way in the back. Dark hair and grey eyes. Sirius Black, one of the only mutual friends of her and James she still felt close enough to to invite to the wedding.

She’d thought that seeing him there would make her happy. Perhaps it would have if he’d looked happy for her, but his face was blank, only the hint of a smile and a nod sent her way when they locked eyes.

This was not approval, this was surrender. The smile on her face turned apologetic before she rend her eyes away from him and back to the front, the future waiting for her.

A future that was already suffocating her. The idea of a white picket fence and charity bake sales weighed down on her chest like a tonne of bricks. Lily dug her fingers into her father’s arm and hoped he would notice her panic, he would get her out of this.

Before John could look at her, they were at the end of the aisle. Her hand was placed in a limp, sweaty palm. All she wanted to do was pull her hand back and run, but instead, she froze in the realisation that the moment of quiet, of acceptance, had only been the eye of the storm.

Her body moved when it was prompted to by her groom. They stood, face-to-face when the priest started the traditional opening words. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to…” The rest of the words were drowned out by the blood rushing through her ears, and the pounding in her throat.

Lily knew that the priest would be reading a passage from 1 John 4 that they’d agreed on and she couldn’t help but see the passage in a different light now. While she knew it spoke of God’s sacrifice, she related to that more now than ever that he was promising her life to a man she was not certain of.

The whole church was silent, leaving her to drown in her waves of panic when she heard the rattling of the door. Something tugged inside of her and it took her concentrating on the words being said to not turn around. To not be hopeful.

Lily’d had her chance yesterday at the airport. It would be too much to ask for another one. Everyone knew that the words that would follow were just for tradition’s sake, no one ever actually spoke up. She kept her eyes on their hands while she grimaced her way through the silence that would undoubtedly follow the priest’s words.“Before we proceed with the vows, should anyone here present know of any reason why these two should not be married? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

One heartbeat and there was a quiet cough, a shuffle and Lily’s breath caught in her chest. Would her rescue come from an unexpected place? A murmur started to rise through the guests and the door rattled again. But no one spoke up.

The priest drew in a deep breath to continue the ceremony when two things happened at the same time. Someone cleared their throat from her side of the church and the door crashed open, the rush of relief nearly bringing her to her knees when she heard an echo from the day before.

“Stop!” James’ voice echoed through the decorated columns of the church sounding breathless and desperate as he had at the gate.

Lily only took a moment to take in the shock on the priest’s face before turning to face him, just like everyone else. Everyone but Sirius and James were still in their seats, craning to see the man slowly making his way down the aisle towards them.

“I will not hold my peace,” James said, loud and clear this time and before Lily knew it her hands were in his. “Lily, please,” he pleaded literally dropping to his knees in front of her.

The whole church was collectively holding their breaths and Lily could feel the tension mounting. She knew she should turn him away, it would be the right thing to do. “James,” she choked out while she looked down at him but the words wouldn’t come.

“I know that this is a little too late, but I cannot let you go without making damn sure that you know how much I love you,” he spoke so evenly, so sure of himself. Like he had rehearsed the words over and over again. “I have been an idiot for ever letting you go. I should have asked you to marry me before uni but we were young and I thought I would have you forever because I could not imagine sharing my life with anyone but you.”

Lily rolled her eyes at him and received an apologetic smile in return. When she pulled her hands back from his, he didn’t resist. He did not drop his hands either, waiting expectantly while she pushed the veil back to uncover her face and placed her hands back in his.

“I love you, Lily Evans. I always have and I always will.” James paused to cast a quick glance at the groom beside her, still processing the shock. “If you truly, in the depths of your heart have no love left for me then I will step back. Resign myself to having the one constant person in my life being Benjy bloody Fenwick.”

She giggled, actually, giggled at that. Lily knew it was inappropriate but she couldn’t hold it back. He’d always had that effect on her. His smile was dazzling and yet anchored her in this bonkers moment. This impossible, larger-than-life moment.

It was just so… James. Her James. Who, even after all these years, she loved so much that she could burst. Even standing here, dressed in white to promise herself to another man, she couldn’t help but love him, to admit that she’d hoped he’d swoop in and save her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

“This is not the time or place, I am very well aware of that. Still, I need to ask one last time. Marry me instead?”

Lily felt her lips move before her mind even had time to properly process the words, tears spilling down her cheeks. The guests reacted before she realized herself that she, in a well of emotion, said yes.

[angelsvoice1love]

Unknown (pt 1)

Y/n: Really, Conrad? You asked, as he threw his energy drink on the man's car.

Conrad: Yes. He parked on a disabled parking, and he wasn't at all. So, this is what he gets.

Y/n: Well, if he's breaking the law...then I guess it's only fair. You replied, smiling at him.

After a while of running around, and treating patients a mother with a little girl came running in yelling and asking for help.

Since you are a 2nd year resident, you ran up to the mother and the daughter. You started listening to her breathing, it was slow and sounded steady. Suddenly, she started seizing. After you gave her a shot to stop the seizing, the girl was lying calm.

Y/n: Ma'am, does your daughter have a history of seizures?

Girls mom: N...no. Never.

Conrad: Mind telling me, what happened today?

Girls mom: She was...uh...she said she had a headache and she also had a fever. But I thought she was just getting a flu.

Conrad: Any other symptoms, that we should know about?

Girls mom: Yes...she...she said that she had a tummy ache too and uh...um...vomited twice.

Y/n: Your call Dr Hawkins. You said, looking over at him since he was assigned to your case.

Conrad: Run tests, MRI, X-ray, and Labs.

Nodding, you made notes of the tests that needed to be done, and got on it right away.

"Few hours later"

Y/n: CONRAD! you yelled, down the hallway, as you ran to him.

Slipping in the process, Conrad caught you in his arms preventing you from falling.

Conrad: Woah. Are you okay? He asked, as he pulled you up.

Y/n: Um...yeah. Thank you. You replied, as you swallowed. The...the test came in. Little Anita, has swelling on the brain as shown here on the MRI, X-ray shows that her chest is normal and her blood shows that she has a few divisionsies in her blood.

Conrad: Okay. I'll consult with the neurosurgeon, ask what he thinks we should do. In the mean time, I want you to give her some vitamin c, vitamin e and calcium. Also make sure she stays hydrated.

Y/n: Anything else?

Conrad: Let's just hear what Dr Cooper says before we do anything else.

Nodding, you turned around to leave, when you were stopped by Conrad speaking.

Conrad: Note, be careful on the floor, we wouldn't want you falling now would we?

Y/n: You'd be worth falling for. You said, which caused you and Conrad to laugh.

Conrad: That was a horrible pun.

Y/n: Sometimes, you just got to make one.

After a long shift, a little girl that was in the clear you could finally go home.

Once you got home you took a shower, washed your hair and once you were done you dried your hair and got dressed in your pj's.

There was a knock on the door which made you frown, then suddenly the door opened to reveal Conrad.

Y/n: Conrad? What are you doing here? You asked, as you grabbed the black silk robe next to you.

Conrad: This. He gave a simple answer as he kissed you.

Y/n: Conrad, what are we doing? You asked, as you placed your forehead on his, and your hands on his chest. What about Nic?

Conrad: Shh. Don't talk. He said, as he kissed you again.

Without hesitating, you kissed him back as he undid the robe making it fall open. With ease he brushed it off your shoulders, as his hands moved to your waist. Moving his hand up on your waist trying to remove your shirt, he asked you to jump and you did.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, and arms around his neck you giggled as he kissed your neck. Moving your hair to the other side, you you connected your lips as he laid you down gently.

Conrad removed his jacket, shirt and pants leaving him in his underwear.

Hovering over you Conrad, smiled as he kissed your nose and forehead before looking at your pj's.

Conrad: These are beautiful, fortunately I get to take this off. He said, causing you both to laugh.

He gently, pulled down the side of the strap kissing your shoulder then your collarbone. Conrad moved his hand to your leg, as he rubbed your leg.

He then kissed your neck, your hand moved to his hair, as you pulled his to your lips.

Y/n: No foreplay, Conrad.

Conrad: That eager I see. Alright then, no foreplay. He connected your lips as he moved to take off your clothes.

"Next morning"

Y/n: Morning. You said, shifting to your side as you looked at Conrad.

Conrad: Morning. He replied, laying on his stomach looking at you. You know, there's still some time before, we go to work.

Y/n: What are you getting at Conrad.

Conrad: You know what I mean. He smirked, as he attacked you with kisses.

After a while, Conrad fell beside you on his back and you both were breathing heavily as you both looked at the ceiling.

Conrad: That was fun.

Y/n: Yeah...fun. But...should that have happened? You asked, looking at him.

Conrad: What? Why are you asking that? He questioned, as he sat up.

Y/n: I...i don't know. You said, sitting up holding the covers to your chest. I just...im not sure what happened last night or this morning...i don't know the meaning behind it.

Conrad: I don't know either. All I know is I couldn't wait anymore to be with you. We can talk about this, work it out.

Y/n: How about dinner?

Conrad: Tonight, after shift?

Y/n: Takeout. It'll be better, since we'll both be tired.

Conrad: Deal. He said, as he kissed your cheek. Before I leave, you should know all 6 times were amazing. He Siad, making you blush crazy.

As Conrad, finished getting dressed you kept looking at him and smiling as he come by to give you another passion filled kiss before leaving.

It was official, you were involved in something with Conrad that you didn't even know how it will end up in the end of it all.

Question was, how would it end with everyone around at the hospital and anyone can find out.

[cadotoast]

Chapter 3- And So it Begins

Word count: 3.8k

Minors DNI

The living quarters that have been given to you is almost too much to take in. Much nicer than the small little room in the cottage you and your father share, your place in the guest quarters of the palace is opulent and fine.

Rich-colored quilts and blankets adorn the four-poster bed that dominates the room, the royal blue curtains matching the drapes at the windows, and the soft rug on the floor. The room itself is almost as large as your whole cottage, with the Garderobe attached adding even more living area.

"Does this meet your needs, my lady?" You turn around from your gawking at the room to address the man behind you. Ser John, along with the other members of the King’s Men, had been given special orders today to escort the arriving prospects to their rooms. Which means that upon your hesitant arrival to the palace, the dashing knight took your trembling hand into the crook of his elbow, and led you to your room.

"It's... A lot." You say with a smile. "I am not used to such finery." You're painfully aware of the drab nature of your dress, though it's one of your best. "It's wonderful though. I can see myself being very comfortable here. Thank you for escorting me, Ser John."

You watch as the knight stoops into a low bow, one hand at his chest. "It is my honor. There will always be a guard outside your door, so if you have any need, just speak with him. All of the palace guards are good men, and will not hesitate to help you." He straightens, glancing to your face.

You try in earnest to wipe the nervous uncertainty from your features, but the way Ser John's eyes soften, you can tell you're unsuccessful.

"The prince is a good man." He says, voice soft. "As his personal guard, I spend a lot of time with him. He has things to learn, as do all young folk, but his heart is good. He will treat you well, should you win his hand."

"Thank you for the encouragement, Ser." Your voice is soft. "I would be a liar if I said that I am not anxious for this." The silence that falls is contemplative, and you sigh, fixing your gaze on one of the lamps mounted on the wall. "Common born girls are not meant to live in places."

"Common born you may be, but you have a gentle spirit." Ser John counters. "And in the eyes of many, the heart of a woman is more valuable than her lineage." Another bow to you, and then he straightens and turns for the door. "I must take my leave now. Rest well, Lady."

And then he is gone.

Pursing your lips, you turn to gaze out the window, at the sun setting in the distance. Dinner will be announced soon, and all of the ladies in attendance will be expected to arrive on time, in appropriate dress.

Dress... the thought makes your stomach turn, and you twist hesitantly to gaze at the door that leads to the wardrobe.

Several weeks ago, mere days after the announcement of the selection, a royal seamstress had shown up at your door to take your measurements. When you had asked why, she merely stated that prospects for the prince must be dressed accordingly. You had tried to decline, saying that you had no money for fine things like robes and gowns, but the seamstress had cut you off, stating merely that all expenses for the time you will be at the palace will be covered by the royal treasury.

You open the door to the wardrobe, gasping at the arrangement of clothing you find there. Finery of all sorts, fit for a queen. Riding robes, sweeping gowns, sleepwear of silk and velvet. What a waste... You think of all the people in the village who simply struggle to make it day to day. And here you are with a new wardrobe, and a purse of gold on your side table, an allowance courtesy of the crown if you desired anything not currently provided.

A knock at the door draws your attention from the opulence as three handmaidens enter the room. "Hello lady," one of them announces. "We are here to assist you in getting ready for dinner."

You don't bother protesting as they go about getting you ready. A bath is drawn with warm water, and they scrub you clean, your cheeks burning at being unclothed in front of them. They brush out your hair and towel you dry, settling you down in front of a vanity, in a silk robe, while they paint your face and pin your tresses up in a fashionable style. You glance around the room from your spot at the vanity, having little else to do while they keep you still on the padded bench.

The walls are smooth grey stone, adorned with oil lamps and tapestries. All of the furniture is of a dark, cherry-colored wood, which is complimented by the room's blue color theme. A small bookshelf is even provided, with reading materials, and baskets of fabric, yarn, parchment, quills and ink. The selection process is expected to take several months at the very least, and when you're not entertaining the prince or socializing, you will need something to keep yourself busy.

I wonder if the kitchens will let me do any baking... You muse to yourself as rouge is added to your cheeks and coal to your eyelids. The woman that gazes back at you in the mirror is still you, but an accentuated version. Her curves are swathed in a pale violet gown, a tight corset adorning her waist and bust. Glittering jewels dangle from her wrists and neck, accentuating the colors of her eyes. You watch as she gazes back at you, a regal picture, if not a bit wan.

The handmaids, you learn, are the ones who will be assigned to you during your stay. They introduce themselves as Emma, Colette, and Avice. They are all slightly older than you, and all married, you find out. Emma has a young son that her mother helps take care of while Emma herself is working at the palace. Emma is fair-skinned with bright red hair that is tucked into a bonnet. Colette's skin is a honey color, with her dark hair braided down her back. Avice's chestnut hair is cropped short, almost like a boy's, but playful eyes dance as she shapes your hair with skilled, olive-toned hands.

"Well now you look right as rain!" Avice exclaims, grinning. "All that's left is some lip paint and some scent behind the ears and on the wrists and you'll be ready!"

You resist the urge to lick your lips at the foreign sensation, and the scent of lilac and rose tickles your nose, but once you are on your feet, slipping on a matching pair of slippers, you can't deny that you make an ethereal picture.

"You're going to steal his breath away," Emma says, grinning. "Maybe he will give you the place of honor at the first dinner by his side!"

"Oh I hope not," you fret, twisting a silver ring that adorns your middle finger. "I don't think I would like having so many eyes on me for the first day."

"It will happen eventually, Lady," Colette's the one to speak this time. "His highness will be expected to spend personal time with each prospect in the view of his lords and ladies, to vague her worth as a member of his court and family."

"Eventually, yes." You agree, nodding your head. "But hopefully not tonight."

The handmaids guide you outside of your room, and you gaze down the hallway where a few of the other women who have been selected are emerging from their own quarters. There are four other rooms within your line of sight, the others must be elsewhere in the guest wing.

Your guard acts as your escort, leading you from your rooms and away from where your handmaidens will certainly be preparing your bed for sleep later this evening. The guard extends his arm to you, and just like with Ser John, you place your hand in the crook of his elbow and allow yourself to be led through the palace.

The foyer leading into the great hall is filled with warm torchlight and cheerful chatter. You can hear the sounds of lords and ladies of the palace settling at the tables provided.

The prospects for the prince filter in one by one. Thankfully, Jenny is one of the first to arrive, wearing a splendid wine-colored gown. She gives you a nervous smile, moving to your side as she looks you over.

"That color is pretty on you," she remarks.

"As does that color for you." You reply. "I think that the seamstresses picked out styles and colors that are supposed to be flattering to each of us, make all of us the most... appealing."

Jenny makes a face, and you can't help but giggle.

You both settle near the wall, watching as the other prospects enter the foyer.

Ami Orund is the next to arrive, an ebony-skinned lady with curly black hair. Her satin gown is of bright yellow, which enunciates her sunny personality. She gives you and Jenny a bright smile and a curtsy when she sees you both.

Joan Bavant is a mouse of a girl, small and slim. Even her face is a little pointed. Her long, fawn-colored hair is curled in ringlets and piled in a crown on her head. She wears an ivory dress layered with tulle.

Ysoria Rainecourt is paler than what seems natural, with dark brown hair and eyes that are almost black. She wears a black gown that clings to her generous figure.

Natalie Perry is a rather plain looking girl, on the plump side. But her olive skin and bright grey eyes seem to glow, and she carries herself with a grace that you envy. Her gown is of a fabric that makes her appear as if she has been deluged in quicksilver.

Sabine Vauville looks as if she could be a knight herself, tall and broad, with a stern face. Her face looks as if it is a bit squashed, but she carries with her an air of authority that makes you shiver slightly. Her cherry-red gown flows out at her hips, turning her would-be awkward height into elegance.

Lydia Gueron is swathed in a pink dress that brings out the blue of her eyes and the pale straw color of her hair. She seems on the shyer side, hiding in the shadows.

Floretia Eveque wears a sky-blue dress that stands in contrast to her brown skin. Her eyes are a startling shade of green.

Cyrila Tirel, the last to arrive, wears an emerald dress that sweeps the floor and compliments her honeyed skin and hazel eyes perfectly.

"Ladies! Your attention, please." The steward calls for attention, and you and the gathered women turn towards the noise. "You will each be introduced one at a time. Please enter when your name is called, curtsy to the prince, and then take your place at the table at the right, you will see your name on a place card. Once all of you are introduced and seated, the meal will begin."

There's a murmuring among the girls, and you and Jenny share an anxious look.

One by one, each girl is called into the great hall. You grimace at Jenny as your name is called before hers, and you gather your skirts in one hand as you enter the hall, a pink blush rising to your cheeks.

Several of the girls are already seated, having already presented themselves. You're conscious of the gazes of the knights, the royals, and the guests invited to this feast. To the side, you see the knights you'd acquainted yourself with at the fair. Ser Kyle gives you a reassuring smile, and Ser John gives you a solemn nod. Ser MacTavish steals ser Simon's wine goblet and raises it in the air in a toast.

Facing the dais, you curtsy low, dipping your head reverently to the prince and his family. When you straighten, Prince Aldous gives you an approving nod, and you take that as your cue to find your seat. You find your name between the place cards of Sabine and Ami. With Jenny's card being directly in front of you. With a careful gathering of your skirts, you sit in the chair as gracefully as possible, given the weakness in your knees.

When your table partners are seated, you give them each a gentle smile, Jenny included. Natalie is the final lady to be presented, and at last all of you have been presented formally to the prince, his family, and their court.

The king raises a hand, and servants with arms full of food and pitchers of wine appear, seemingly out of nowhere. You give a gracious smile to the serving woman who fills your goblet, and to the squire who sets a large platter of toasted meats in front of you and your table mates. You watch as servants present the high table and the royals with the choicest of the foods on golden platters, curiously observing as the king chooses food for himself and his queen, and then after the prince has selected, the plate is passed to the other nobles and guests of honor along the dais.

"Have you ever seen something so succulent?" Jenny asks you across the table. A tender piece of fowl settles on her plate, and you grin at her as you watch her practically salivate.

"It certainly is fine food," you agree as you serve yourself some of the bird in front of you, as well as a few spoonfuls of gravy. "I only wish I could share this with my Da."

"You're not used to such food, are you?" Ami looks at you from the corner of her eye. A blush floods your cheeks, but you shake your head.

"Jenny and I are common born from the local village below the castle. It's often that we worry about when our next meal is going to come from."

"Our parents will hardly recognize us when we are so plump from all of this good food!" Jenny giggles, nibbling on a roll.

"I'm... surprised." To your diagonal, Lydia peers at you. "I wouldn't have expected Prince Aldous to select those he knew to be common born."

You recall Ser John's words from earlier.

"Perhaps the prince is concerned with more than Lineage," you take a bite of the savory meal marveling at the use of the spices. "It's possible he has different characteristics in mind for his bride."

Despite the disparity in social class between you and your neighbors, conversation flows easily, and you're pleased enough that none of them seem particularly malicious. A smidge of doubt lingers though, recalling that nobles and commoners alike can be two-faced when they are trying to get what they want

"As far as I can tell," Sabine gives you a shrewd look. "yourself and lady Jennifer here seem to be the only ones of us who didn't want to be selected." The statement carries a weighted implication.

You push your food around your plate as you carefully formulate an answer. "This certainly was not what I had in mind when I imagined my future."

"I'm not sure I want to marry for anything else other than love," Jenny adds with a small smile, "it's hard to believe I could love a stranger."

"Isn't the goal of this whole ordeal for us to fall in love with him, and to make him fall in love with us?" Lydia leans forward, sipping on her wine.

"I suppose," Jenny shrugs, the shoulders of her dress slipping slightly to reveal her collar bones. She fidgets with the fabric and pulls it back up into place. "I can't help but feel like some sort of breeding stock. A mare for a stallion."

Conversation begins to quiet as a minstrel enters the room, a lute in hand. You turn your attention to the entertainment as the minstrel begins to sing and dance, the crowd joining in with the local folk tunes. Looking around at the people around you, you're struck by how similar you all are. Despite class and rank and social status, you're all human. All can enjoy a minstrel's song.

~~

You sigh in relief as you slip your shoes off, your handmaids already at your elbows to assist you in disrobing. After a late evening of entertainment, speeches, formality, and superb food, you're nearly dead on your feet. And this whole debacle hasn't even truly begun.

"Tomorrow starts the courting process, exciting isn't it?" Emma hands you some silk bedclothes, which you slip into as Colette removes the pins from your hair. You marvel at the satiny feel on your skin.

"Exciting is one word for it," your voice sounds a little weary. Avice comes up to you with a wash rag and begins to wipe your face. "I'm out of my depth."

"I am sure you will do splendidly."

With an exhausted sigh, you settle into the bed. It's almost too soft, compared to your little straw mattress back home.

"I feel like I'm being swallowed," you admit with a rueful grin. Your handmaids chuckle, before curtsying to you and exiting the room.

All around you is dark, swathed with the glow of the oil lamp on your bedside table. The curtains are drawn against the night, shutters not being needed as this room has glass-paned windows. The soft light casts shadows along the stone walls, depicting imaginary monsters of bedtime stories told to you long ago.

A pang of lonning fills you. Homesickness. You can't recall a time you've not returned home to your little cottage to sleep in your room. You can't remember a time not being able to whisper a goodnight to your father, even as he lay sleeping in his chair by the cold hearth. He would always try to wait for you to come home from whichever tavern job you'd managed to snag. He wasn't always successful at staying awake. But you always kissed his forehead and told him goodnight.

Tears prick at your eyes, and you swallow the stinging lump filling your throat. With a sniffle, you roll over, letting your tears well over your lids and fall to the pillow below you.

~~

The morning dawns bright and clear, a shaft of sunlight pushing through the gap in the curtains falls across your bed. A soft rusling of fabric rouses you from your troubled slumber, and you blink blearily.

"Good morning, Lady," Colette smiles at you, her kind gaze taking in your swollen eyes and puffy face. "Breakfast is at the next bell, we are here to get you ready."

The first round of courting begins today.

You practice patience with your handmaids as the fuss over you, dressing you in a frilly, cornflower-blue gown fitting for the end of summer. You look radiant with the flowers that have been woven into your hair and secured with pins. The face paint applied is lighter than last night's, giving you a healthy glow without being overbearing.

To your pleasant surprise, Jonas is waiting for you when you exit your room. His hair is freshly cut, and he gives you a warm smile. "Good morning, sister mine." His gaze flits over your outfit. "Finery looks beautiful on you."

"I feel like a goose dressed for a feast," you joke, taking his arm.

"You look for for a prince," his hand squeezes yours gently. "As much as we jest about His Highness, he is a good man. If you were to choose each other, it would be a good match for you."

This surprises you, to say the least. "You're giving your blessing?"

"As much as I can, I suppose." Jonas' boots make a soft thudding noise on the carpeted stairs leading down to the foyer. "Passing on Da's blessing too. He wishes you well."

That pang of homesickness returns, and you sigh, moving a lock of hair out of your face. "It's only been a day, and I already miss him."

"It is quite a change, isn't it?" His hands are warm and reassuring. "But I have every confidence that you will do just splendidly."

Unlike dinner last night, breakfast is a less formal affair, with people trickling in the great hall little by little. No great announcements or speeches this morning, it seems. No place cards, either.

Longing for some familiarity, you settle yourself in the same seat you'd been in last night, using the moment to scan the hall.

Much less crowded than before, there are still the knights and the court, but most of the noble guests from last night are gone, in lieu of the less formal meal.

"This is a little nicer, isn't it?" Your perusing is interrupted by an unexpected voice.

"Your highness!" You nearly knock your chair to the floor in shock. Prince Aldous looks splendid in a tunic of jade, belted at the waist by a gold chain. He gives you a smile, even as you curtsy to him.

"I take it the lack of formalities is more to your taste," Prince Aldous continues. "Would you care to join me for breakfast?"

You blink, startled, but then dip your head in a nod. "It would be my honor."

You're grateful for his guiding hand up to the dais, as your knees tremble slightly. Jenny, who has just entered the hall, gapes at you, a delighted grin on her face.

Prince Aldous pulls out a chair for you, and you sit with a smile. "Thank you, Your Highness."

"Please, just call me Aldous." He settles next to you, giving you a wry smile. "Royal I may be, but all of the honorifics and protocol get grating after a while."

"I can only imagine." You nod a little. "Thank you for inviting me your--" you clear your throat. "Aldous."

"It's my pleasure. You look beautiful, by the way. The seamstress has done well with your clothes. I was jealous you couldn't sit with me last night."

"Already chosing favorites?" You can't help but giggle. "I'm sure you will say that to all of the girls."

Aldous doesn't get a chance to respond as servants arrive with platters of fruit, pitchers of juice, and bowls of hot oats with honey and nuts. He serves you from one of the platters set on the table, and you thank him with a smile.

Perhaps this won't be so bad after all.

Tag list:

@adnauseum11 @the-californicationist @strawberrygato @marierg

[sailtomarina]

Delicate

“I am perfectly fine and capable of returning to work!”

Draco frowned as he picked up the clipboard and reviewed the patient sheet, which revealed that, yes, his ears had not deceived him. Hermione Granger was on the premises. As if anyone could mistake that shrill voice for someone else. As if anyone else would consider a mild concussion, broken wrist, and several abrasions inconsequential in the face of an open work case.

He rotated his shoulders and cracked his neck before stepping into the room.

“Miss Granger.”

She went mute, mouth hanging open and eyes wide in astonishment at the sight of Draco Malfoy dressed in light green healer robes, a St. Mungo’s badge with his credentials pinned to his chest. If he had known his presence was all it would take to silence her, he would’ve entered sooner.

“It appears you have several injuries stemming from moderate to mild, but I’d still like to do a few scans of my own. Will that be alright with you?” Draco kept his voice as professional as possible in the soothing tone all staff had been trained to use. Rather than calm her, his voice seemed to snap her back to life, as she stiffened her back and squared her shoulders in what might have been preparation to attack. He would have none of that.

The instant she opened her mouth, Draco whipped up one hand to insert a tongue depressor while the other waved a wand for the first diagnostic scan. He didn’t really need to see down her throat, but the tool served its purpose in keeping her indignation at bay for a few moments longer. His spell confirmed the patient sheet’s findings.

“Mild concussion confirmed.”

He removed the depressor and moved the wand downward slowly, muttering his second spell. She dutifully shut her mouth and allowed him to continue uninterrupted.

“Broken wrist confirmed. A few sprained finger joints, as well.”

Draco took a step back and ran a final scan far larger and more detailed than the previous. Hermione’s eyes darted back and forth over the information from where she sat, but kept her silence. Other than the broken and sprained injuries which pulsated a warm orange, most of the findings were a solid green indicating good health and a promising recovery.

He dismissed the scan with a flick and leveled her with his most reassuring smile. “Good news, Miss Granger. Everything looks to be in good order and we’ll have you all fixed up  in today’s visit. I do recommend keeping you here overnight for observation due to the concussion, but then you should be ready to return home tomorrow morning after a final check up.”

Her initial relief as the start of his speech transformed into surprise, then quickly to alarm. “Wait, you want me to stay here overnight?”

“That is what I recommend, yes,” he affirmed.

“Whatever for? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I assure you I can just as easily Floo here if I do feel any continued side effects.” The speed and volume at which she spoke increased exponentially as she blurted out the words seemingly without taking a single breath. Draco watched in fascination as her loose hair seemed to grow in size with her agitation.

“Do you live alone?” He scanned her sheet looking for any mention of a partner or family member upon check in.

“Excuse me?” she gasped. “I hardly see how that is any of your business, Malfoy! I’m not some delicate flower in need of a partner or guardian–”

She was apoplectic, shrugging off the hands of his fellow healers as they mended her surface injuries. She spat the words out in a perfect imitation of her familiar, whom he now remembered storming the castle when they were students as if the fluffy beast owned it.

He inserted his explanation in the middle of her tirade with practiced precision. “Please do not take offense at my question. I was merely making the same inquiry we make for similar cases. If you take a turn for the worse while asleep, you will likely be unable to ask for help.”

She fumed silently, unable to argue with his logic.

“So I ask again: do you live alone? Do you have anyone who can attend to you tonight?” He half expected her to name one of her infamous friends, or perhaps one of the string of hopeful suitors reported about in The Prophet. He motioned to his coworkers to continue treating her injuries.

“Yes, I live alone. No, there is no one available to watch me tonight.” She bit out the words with venom, and Draco had the sudden instinct to put up a shield. With her fingers and wrist now mended, she gripped the flat sheet over her lap fiercely. “I’d still feel more comfortable in my home, unless–” Her eyes darted around at the others in the room, before returning to his, chewing at her lip with enough force to make it bleed.

“Give us the room, please.” At his curt command, the others immediately left.

The only unfinished task was her head injury, and he stepped forward slowly with his palms held out in a placating manner. “I’m going to treat your concussion now, and you’ll feel a bit of a strange tingle, nothing to worry about.”

She watched him as he stepped into her space, only shutting her eyes once his fingers gently tilted her chin upward as if preparing for a kiss. He obliged her.

The softest brush of skin to skin, then a nibble to her bottom lip, and she parted them willingly to allow him entrance. She tasted like coffee and cinnamon and just a hint of chocolate. His free hand slowly rotated his wand where it pointed at her temple, as if he regularly snogged and treated his patients simultaneously. He knew the spell worked when she gasped at the telltale tingle.

“See? All better now.” He pulled back with a smirk fighting its way forward, an expression he usually suppressed while at work.

Her eyes opened and she blinked a few times to clear away the daze. “Is this how you treat all your patients?”

“Only my favorite ones.”

She snorted at his quick response. “Since when am I a favorite of yours?”

“I don’t take just any witch home overnight for a shag and then make her breakfast the next morning.”

“So is this hospital stay your attempt at a second date?” Hermione stared at him in that piercing way of hers. 

Draco was transported back to their recent reunion after several years of just missing one another at public functions and spaces. It was her eyes and that mouth of hers that reeled him in as an adult just as strongly as they had irritated him as a child. Going head to head with her about her work in the Ministry had turned him on far more than any of his arranged dates with Narcissa-approved socialites. Several drinks and arguments later, they stumbled through the Floo straight into his flat where clothes were stripped off and all misgivings about their past and present were shoved into a dark corner to be worried about another day. He still had dreams about the way she breathed his name every time she climaxed, and wished the nail marks she had left on his back would magically reappear.

“Technically, we still have yet to schedule a first date, unless you always include one-night stands. Also, I fail to see how keeping you bedside company in a hospital qualifies as a date.”

She fixated on the second part of his sentencing, ignoring the comment on one-night stands. “You’ll stay with me here?”

“I was planning on it unless you’d prefer otherwise. I might even be convinced to sneak you something better than the standard hospital fare of gruel and green peas,” he teased. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am quite well liked here.”

She studied him with obvious interest. “Alright then. I will stay, and you will keep me company, and then we will see where we go from there.” She held her hand out like she meant to shake on some kind of business deal.

He instead brought her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the knuckles. Hermione’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before her mask of cool professionalism dropped into place once more. Draco fully intended to rip that facade off of her so forcefully, she’d forget to ever use one with him again.

But until then…

“Miss Granger, if you’d please follow me.”

WC 1443