𝕮𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖊 𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝕴𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

The Suit Pt. I | C.S.

[Fluff/Minor Smut]

You adjusted your earring in the mirror, nerves fluttering low in your stomach. Today was important — not only were your best friends, Alissa and Doyle, getting married, but it was the first time in a long while you and Cobie would be out together at such a formal event. Together, as wives. It still made your heart skip every time you thought about it.

From the bedroom, you heard the faint rustle of fabric. A little thud. Then Cobie's voice, soft and musical, drifting down the hallway.
"I'm almost ready, my love," she called.

You smiled to yourself and straightened your dress, a soft silk number Cobie had picked for you weeks ago, insisting that the dark green brought out your eyes. She was probably still fighting with the buttons of whatever outfit she had chosen; she had been oddly secretive about it all week.

When you heard her footsteps approach, you turned toward the door—and then froze.

Cobie stood framed by the doorway, dressed in the sharpest black suit you had ever seen. The fabric hugged her tall frame like it had been tailored with sinful intentions. A white dress shirt, crisp and open just enough at the collar to be distracting, peeked from underneath the jacket. She wore no tie, and her brown hair spilled over her shoulders in loose, deliberate waves, softening the clean, severe lines of the suit.

You stared.

You couldn't move, couldn't speak. Your heart stuttered once, then launched into a gallop. Your gaze drank her in from head to toe—the polished black shoes, the fitted pants that clung to her hips and thighs, the tailored jacket that emphasized the slender strength of her arms. Her hands were tucked casually into her pockets, her mouth curved in the smallest, most infuriatingly confident smirk.

And her eyes—God, her eyes. That glint in them, knowing exactly what she was doing to you, how wrecked you were standing there like a fool, unable to string two coherent thoughts together.

Two minutes passed, maybe more. You didn't blink. You couldn't.

Cobie tilted her head slightly, amusement flickering across her face. "Are you going to say something, or just keep staring at me like I'm dessert?"

You swallowed thickly. Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "You... you look..."

Words failed you. Everything inside you coiled tight and warm, a fire lit beneath your skin. You took a step forward without realizing it, drawn to her like a moth to flame.

"You like it?" she teased, pulling her hands from her pockets and smoothing her palms over her jacket. The motion made your brain short-circuit.

"Like it?" you echoed dumbly. You shook your head once, trying to clear it. "Cobie, you look—" You cut yourself off, took another step closer. "You look fucking unreal."

Cobie's smile widened. She sauntered toward you, the measured sway of her hips sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body. When she was close enough that you could smell her perfume—something subtle and spicy that curled into your senses and made your knees weak—she reached out and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"I wanted to look good for you," she murmured, voice low and velvety.

"You do," you breathed, the words barely more than air. "You look... you look better than good. You're—" You shook your head helplessly. "You're going to kill me."

She laughed, low and throaty, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. You shivered under the light touch, your fingers twitching at your sides with the effort it took not to grab her and forget all about the wedding.