With her inescapable, undeniable genetic inheritance, Fleur does not exactly walk through life not expecting people to like her. Men especially love talking about how much they like her, while looking through her and only seeing the quarter Veela underneath her skin.
It's not that she's bitter at it, but she is more careful. It has been a longtime goal, hope of hers to only find people who saw more than just the pretty French girl persona.
She hopes to Circe that Bill is one of those people, because the truth is that when he wraps his arm around her as they walk, it sends a pleased wave of heat through her, and she is reminded that she's been denying herself this particular detail: she wants him. Gods, does she want him.
She ventures a glance up at his profile as they walk, and steels herself for this part. When they've ventured far enough into the forest, and pass a big tree, she acts on it. She slips out of his grasp, and moves in front of him to stop him in his path, and brings one hand up to his chest.
"Here," she says, and walks him backwards until he's pressed against the tree trunk. "Here is good." She won't do it without permission, though the way she asks it is to push herself to her tiptoes, chest to chest, and cup his face with one hand tenderly, stopping with her lips a breath away from his. It's up to him to either close the gap, or let her down gently - she knows which one she's hoping for.
la plus belle
It's not that she's bitter at it, but she is more careful. It has been a longtime goal, hope of hers to only find people who saw more than just the pretty French girl persona.
She hopes to Circe that Bill is one of those people, because the truth is that when he wraps his arm around her as they walk, it sends a pleased wave of heat through her, and she is reminded that she's been denying herself this particular detail: she wants him. Gods, does she want him.
She ventures a glance up at his profile as they walk, and steels herself for this part. When they've ventured far enough into the forest, and pass a big tree, she acts on it. She slips out of his grasp, and moves in front of him to stop him in his path, and brings one hand up to his chest.
"Here," she says, and walks him backwards until he's pressed against the tree trunk. "Here is good." She won't do it without permission, though the way she asks it is to push herself to her tiptoes, chest to chest, and cup his face with one hand tenderly, stopping with her lips a breath away from his. It's up to him to either close the gap, or let her down gently - she knows which one she's hoping for.