#soft-close glides and hinges

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ in his warmth ✦ sim jaeyun

there's just something in the air when jake comes home all sweaty and tired –  honey-glazed skin and messy hair – there was definitely a storm brewing up inside…

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — sim jaeyun x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — fluff, then suddenly suggestive, and then ACTUALLY seggs soooo there's that, m!reader really wanna get that because who DOESNT, fun, y'all wanted this okay PART 2 !!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — I AM SIM JAEYUN DEPRIVED … I NEED HIM … minors or people who dont like male reader stuff LOOK AWAY DNI BYEEEE

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.8k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ looking for my main masterlist? — here's the legacy one!

The door clicks open with a tired sigh, hinges groaning as Jake shuffles inside.

You see it before he even speaks—the exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. His shoulders are slumped, the proud line of his spine bowed under the weight of a long practice, his movements slow, deliberate, like every step is an effort. Sweat glistens on his temple, his golden skin flushed, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead in messy strands.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just drops his bag with a dull thud, toes off his shoes, and stands there for a moment, swaying slightly, as if he’s too tired to decide what to do next.

Your chest tightens.

You know this version of him—the quiet, drained Jake who gives everything until there’s nothing left. The one who pushes too hard, runs too long, forgets to stop. The one who needs to be reminded that he doesn’t always have to be strong.

So you don’t speak. Just open your arms.

And he comes to you like a man collapsing into an oasis.

His weight settles against you, warm and heavy, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck. His breath gusts against your skin, uneven at first, then deepening as he finally lets himself relax.

You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the faint shiver running through him as your hands glide up his back, soothing, possessive.

“Tired,” he murmurs, voice thick, muffled against you.

You hum in response, fingers tracing the notches of his spine, the damp fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin. He smells like salt and exertion, like the sharp tang of effort and the faint sweetness of his cologne, worn thin by hours of movement.

You press your lips to his temple—just a quiet reassurance. I’ve got you.

He sighs, melting further into you.

Then, after a long moment, his fingers tighten in your shirt.

“Jake?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just shifts slightly, his breath hitching, like he’s wrestling with something. Then, softer than you’ve ever heard him, almost hesitant—

“Wanna feel you.”

Your pulse stutters.

“F-feel? Like what—?” You asked, not with hesitation, but just surprise. After all, he was tired.

“Like … you know,” Jake mumbled. “Inside …”

It’s not the words themselves—it’s the way he says them. Not demanding, not teasing, just… raw. Needy in a way that isn’t about lust, but about connection. Like he needs to be close, to be filled, to be yours in the most intimate way possible.

For a second, you just hold him, letting the request settle between you.

"Okay just…" You glanced around, the urgency in the air thickening between you both—hungry, impatient. The bedroom was too far, and the floor was too hard. "Let’s at least get to the couch."

Jake exhaled through his nose, lips pressing together in a fleeting pout—so close, he was so close to having you, and the delay was torture. But he nodded, fingers tightening in the fabric of your shirt as you guided him backward.

His steps were unsteady, his body already thrumming with anticipation, his mind dizzy with these selfish thoughts of you.

The couch welcomed you both, soft and familiar, but Jake barely registered it—all he could think about was you, you beneath him, your hands on him, your heat pressed against his.

The moment you sat, he was moving, shifting, his body surging forward before he could think better of it. He launched himself onto your lap, his weight crashing into you with a needy urgency, his thighs bracketing yours, his chest pressed flush against yours.

You chuckled, low and warm, and his stomach twisted. God, he loved that sound. Loved knowing he could pull it from you.

Your hands slid down, gripping his hips—steady, grounding—and Jake’s breath hitched. His fingers fumbled at your waistband, clumsy with desperation, trembling with the sheer want curling hot and insistent in his gut. He needed you now, needed to feel you, needed you inside him so badly his skin prickled with it.

"Fuck—" His fingers slipped, betraying him, and he let out a frustrated whine.

"Here," you murmured, voice rough and indulgent, and your fingers covered his, helping, guiding, freeing yourself for him.

The first brush of skin against skin sent a shiver racing down his spine. Yours. He was yours, and the thought alone made his pulse stutter.

He licked his lips, fingers flexing against your shoulders as he lifted himself just enough—just enough to press the head of your cock against his entrance, just enough to make his breath come in shallow, uneven bursts.

Then he sank.

Slow. Agonizingly slow.

Because he wanted to feel it. Wanted to savor the stretch, the burn, the way you filled him so perfectly, so completely. He bit his lip, lashes fluttering, throat working around a silent moan as he took you in inch by inch, his body adjusting, his muscles clenching around you as if to keep you there forever.

And then—then—when you were buried deep inside him, when he could feel you in his bones, he stilled.

His breath left him in a shaky exhale, his fingers digging into your shoulders like you were the only thing tethering him to this world. His lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes—glazed, half-lidded—locked onto yours.

Yours.

All yours.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not moving, not rushing—just feeling.

His breath steadies. His weight settles. His forehead drops back to your shoulder.

“There,” he whispers, voice rough. “Just like that.”

And for a long, quiet moment, that’s all there is—the two of you, tangled together, breathing in sync.

No words. No demands.

Just this.

There’s no rush. No frantic rocking, no desperate chase for friction—just the two of you locked together, his body snug around yours, so warm and so right. His arms loop around your shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on.

His forehead rests against your collarbone, lips brushing your skin in lazy, open-mouthed kisses—not quite intentional, just the slow drag of his mouth as he nuzzles closer, drunk on your warmth.

“M-missed you,” he stutters, voice thick and sleep-soft, like the words are spilling out without his permission.

His hips shift in tiny, unconscious circles, barely enough to be called movement, just the faintest roll of his pelvis as his body seeks more of you. His rim flutters around your cock in quiet, involuntary pulses, each little clench pulling a low groan from your throat.

Jake whimpers in response, pressing even closer, chest to chest, like he wants to crawl inside your chest and stay there.

You tighten your grip on him, one hand splayed between his shoulder blades, the other cupping the nape of his neck. His skin is fever-hot under your palms, damp with sweat and trembling faintly with the effort of holding himself up. But he doesn’t pull away—just sinks deeper, his breath hitching as he adjusts to the stretch, the fullness of you.

“S’good,” he mumbles, words slurring together, voice wrecked already. “Just… just needed to feel all of you.”

It’s not about the sex. Never really was. It’s the way he breathes when you’re inside him—like his lungs finally remember how to work. Like he can only relax when there’s no space left between you, when he can feel your heartbeat against his own.

You stroke his back, tracing the damp lines of his spine, the ridges of muscle gone soft with exhaustion.

He melts further, boneless and pliant, his weight a perfect, grounding pressure in your lap. Time blurs—minutes or hours, it doesn’t matter. Not when Jake is like this, soft and sweet and yours, his body a living prayer against yours.

He shifts again, just slightly, and you feel the way his thighs tremble, the way his hole tightens around you as he chases the sensation—not for release, just for the feeling, the proof that you’re here, that he’s not alone.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Don’t—don’t pull out. Not yet.”

As if you could.

You press a kiss to his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth—gentle, reverent. He sighs, blissed-out and hazy, lips parting under yours without demand, letting you take what you need. His fingers thread into your hair, not guiding, just holding, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You could stay like this forever: sticky with sweat, slow and heavy, senses full of him in every way that matters. And from the way he clings to you—like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored—you think maybe he could too.

You keep him close, your hands moving in slow, soothing strokes down his relaxed back, feeling the way his body gradually loosens in your hold—like a knot unraveling, like tension bleeding out of him with every exhale. His breathing evens out, warm puffs against your neck, his fingers still tangled loosely in your shirt, still holding on, even now, even when he’s too exhausted to do anything but melt into you.

He’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The thought lodges in your chest, sharp and tender.

“You’re okay,” you murmur, lips brushing his temple, your voice so low it’s almost a rumble against his skin. “Just relax.”

Jake makes another soft, drowsy noise—half-sigh, half-whimper—his hips rolling in the faintest, laziest grind. It’s not deliberate, not really; just instinct, that part of him that needs you, that craves the proof of your presence deep inside him. His rim flutters weakly around your cock, and you bite back a groan, your fingers flexing against his back.

You could move. You could snap your hips up and chase your own pleasure, could fuck into that tight heat until he’s sobbing your name.

But this isn’t about that.

This is about the way Jake clings to you like you’re the only solid thing in his world. About the way his body opens for you so easily, so trustingly, like he was made to take you, like there’s no version of him that exists without your hands on him.

This is about love, slow and syrupy and aching in its sweetness.

“Love you,” he mumbles, barely audible, his voice thick with sleep, with you.

Your chest tightens. You press another kiss to his skin—his temple, the slope of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth—your hands sliding down to cup the curve of his rear, holding him steady against you.

“Love you more.”

Jake huffs a tired laugh, nuzzling into your shoulder. “Nuh-uh.”

You smile, but don’t argue—just let your fingers drift between his legs, brushing feather-light over where you’re joined. The barest touch sends a jolt through Jake, his rim fluttering around your cock, achingly sensitive.

Oh fuck.

He shudders, a quiet whine escaping him, his hips twitching forward like he can’t help it. The friction is electric, overwhelming—your cock still buried deep inside him, your fingers teasing the stretched, tender rim around it. His body pulses with it, every nerve alight.

"S’too much," he slurs, voice thick, wrecked.

But he doesn’t pull away. Couldn’t if he tried.

Instead, he presses closer, his body yielding, opening up even more, like he’s made for this, made for you. His cock twitches where it’s trapped between your stomachs, already leaking, already so fucking desperate for more.

He’s always been like this—so responsive, so easy, falling apart under the barest touch.

And you know it.

Your fingers trace his rim again, slow, deliberate, and Jake whimpers, his thighs trembling. He can feel everything—the way his body grips you, the way your cock twitches inside him, the way your fingers tease just enough to make his breath hitch.

"Want me to fill you up?"

The question is low, rough, and Jake’s stomach tightens.

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

He nods, barely lifting his head, his lashes fluttering as he meets your gaze. His eyes are half-lidded, dazed, his lips parted around shaky breaths.

"Please."

The word is wrecked, raw with want.

You don’t make him wait.

But you don’t rush, either.

You roll your hips up, just once, slow and deep, and Jake gasps, his fingers digging into your shoulders. The drag of your cock inside him is maddening, the pressure building, building—

And then you do it again.

Fuck.

Jake’s mouth falls open, a silent moan caught in his throat. He can feel it—the way your cock pulses inside him, the way your grip on his hip tightens, possessive, needy.

He’s so full.

So yours.

And when you finally spill inside him, hot and thick, he shudders, his body clenching around you, milking every last drop like he can’t bear to let you go. A weak little moan slips past his lips, his cock twitching between you, untouched but so fucking close—

"Fuck," he breathes, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

Because this?

This is everything.

“There you go,” you murmur, rubbing his back as he slumps against you, completely spent. “All yours.”

He hums, already halfway to sleep, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. “M’yours,” he agrees, voice slurred.

And God, the way that settles in your ribs—like sunlight, like something too big to even name.

You kiss his forehead, holding him close as his breathing evens out, as his body goes slack and heavy in your arms. He’s out within seconds—warm, sated, and utterly content, still full of you in the best way.

And you? You don’t move. Not yet.

You’ll let him sleep just like this—sticky and sweet, your cum dripping lazily from his well-used hole, your cock still buried inside him, because Jake has always been clingy in the best way, and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

Because this?

This is home.

EN—D

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — okay … bottom jake agenda .. ESPECIALLY THAT FUCKING DELICIOUS EDIT OF HIM BITING AND SITTING AND BEING ALL CUTIE PATOOTIE FUCKKKKKKKK okay sorry guys i … im unhinged … asjfgiaa

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 3

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, humor, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, fluffier, SB being a nice and kind human, rewrite of a S3 scene, drinking, lots of daddy issues to unpack here 😂

Word Count: 7.3k

Posted on Patreon March 14, 2025

A/N: This is where the word count slowly began to crawl upwards from this point on. I never had the patience for descriptions, but I tried challenging myself more with it recently. Hopefully, you'll get the feeling and vibe of the mansion I was going for. Might I have overdone it a little? Maybe. But I hope you still enjoy the picture I was trying to paint here ☺️ ✨ Chapter title comes from Dinner at Eight (1933)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 3: I'm Going To Be a Lady If It Kills Me

The thick, plush leather seats of the Cadillac provided you with warmth, the heater working on overdrive to fend off the chill outside. As you passed through the rolling countryside of fancy suburbs, your gaze drifted out the window, snow swirling around the vehicle. Streetlights with icicles cast a warm, yellow glow on the road, the snow piling up in drifts around the edges.

The car glided past grand stone homes with icy window panes and leafless trees stretching heavenward before the sight of the biggest mansion on the street came into view. You had a feeling this was the place and swallowed thickly.

Jesus fuck, were you going to the mansion of the fucking Count of Monte Christo?

The wrought-iron gates then swung open on creaking hinges, framed by soaring stone pillars at the entrance, and opened to a long, imposing driveway. The mansion itself was a monument to another era with its stately presence, every inch of the house whispering of wealth and distinction. The façade was a patchwork of sandstone and intricate brickwork, crowned with arched, ornate windows. Much like its inhabitants, the mansion stood like a silent sentinel – stoic, intimidating, and cold against the winter’s breath.

Ben had remained quiet the whole drive, letting you enjoy the view in peace. But as the Cadillac came to a stop, he rounded the front of the car and hopped to your side, the soft crunch of his boots mingling with the low hum of the wind as he opened the door for you.

The soft glow of antique lanterns by the mansion’s entrance flickered in the breeze and beckoned you to step closer as you followed him to the stunningly carved, mahogany front door with slightly tarnished brass handles.

Patiently, he held the door open for you, gauging your reaction as you stood frozen on the snowy ground of the stone porch and blinked inside the dark and looming foyer. A smile flashed on his lips at your hesitance. “You coming in or what?”

“Uh-huh, I think so…”

With that, you stepped inside, and as the solid front door closed behind you, you could feel the panic rise in your chest again. Oh God, what had you done? This felt like a big fucking mistake – like saying yes to a dinner invitation at Hannibal Lecter’s place.

I always thought if I were to kill you, I would have to do it in some dramatic fashion, but then I thought, no, I’ll simply tear your head off and bury it under the house.

Shit, you hoped you got to keep your head as an eerie shiver ran down your spine.

Your worn sneakers were contrastingly planted on the sparkling marble floors as your eyes darted around the entrance, a grand staircase sweeping up to the second floor. You heard the soft crackle of fire on the hearth, the scents of wood polish and winter flowers in vases wafting through the air.

The scene was one of old money, long-established class. There was nothing hasty or modern about it. Everything spoke of a life built not just on wealth, but on tradition – on the quiet, assured certainty that the past would never be forgotten, and the future, no matter how uncertain, would always be shaped by the grandness of what had come before.

And granted, it explained a few things about the grumpy fossil you’d come to know. Mostly why he felt so out of place all the time – because he fucking was.

You still stood rooted to the spot, your breath coming in shallow bursts as your mind raced. Ben – your future captor, the one you’d been trying to escape for what felt like forever – was now playing the gracious host in his historical mansion like nothing was wrong. The fire crackled behind you like a ticking bomb, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy tension running through your veins. You forced yourself to exhale, but the air felt thick, as though the house itself was holding its breath – watching you.

Ben’s footsteps echoed in the grand foyer as he moved to the fireplace, pushing logs into place. His broad back turned toward you as he crouched, adjusting the fire, the warmth from the flames briefly dispelling some of the chill that had settled in your bones. But you couldn’t shake the unease twisting in your gut.

He hadn’t spoken yet, but you knew he was watching you through the corner of his eye, waiting for something – waiting for you to either make a run for it, or for the mask to slip and show that you weren’t as calm as you seemed.

But you had to keep your secret. You couldn’t risk him knowing the truth. You were just a stranger to him, and as far as Ben knew, you’d stumbled out of thin air – no past, no future, no real identity.

“Well,” he said finally, breaking the quiet with that low, measured tone of his, “I’m assuming you’re here for more than just the weather. You’ve got a lot on your mind, sweetheart?”

His words, though polite, were edged with something you couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe? You couldn’t tell, but you weren’t about to let him pry too much.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice almost too sharp, betraying your nerves. “I just need a minute to... adjust.”

Ben gave you a long, considering look, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he could see past the walls you were building. It felt like he was evaluating you, weighing every tiny shift in your expression. You weren’t sure how much you were giving away, but you didn’t like it.

“Well, uhm, whatever you’re running from, you’re safe here,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than was comfortable.

“Like I said, I’m not gonna stay long. I’ll leave by tomorrow morning. I don’t wanna be a burden,” you replied cordially. Admittedly, you could care less if you burdened him with your visit, but there were other, more important, variables in play you had to consider.

By now, you knew he’d remember you for sure. There was no way around it, but until you had figured out how to leave again, you were stuck with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The timeline was fragile – too fragile – and the longer you stayed, the more at risk it was.

However, you knew you could fix it somehow. Not only would you have to get your powers magically working again, but you’d also have to travel back to the starting point a few hours ago when you arrived in this era and stop yourself from running into Ben in the first place. The current version of you would cease to exist, but your other past version could easily return to her own time.

Yes, a fucking simple, straightforward plan without any complications in sight. Time travel is so fucking easy…

Ben’s lips then quirked upward in that faint, knowing smile again. “A burden? You’re hardly a burden, sweetheart. I know this might all seem a bit... overwhelming. That’s part of the charm, I suppose. You can’t come from something like this and not carry a little weight with you… But you’re welcome here. Make yourself comfortable, alright?”

You still didn’t trust the kindness in his voice. It sounded too practiced, like a well-rehearsed speech. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or just trying to play the role of the gracious host.

“I-, uh, I appreciate that. Thank you,” you managed, still on edge, but unable to ignore the pull of the fire’s warmth – and his.

Ben’s eyes softened, just a little, but there was still that sharpness to them, like he could see straight through your act. He then waved toward the stairs with a calm gesture of his hand. “If you’d like, I’ll show you to your room. We can talk more once you’ve had a chance to settle. And maybe we can–” He paused, considering his next words carefully. Then, as if dismissing it, he finished, “Maybe we can talk about what brought you here.”

You knew what he meant. He was fucking fishing. Trying to draw you out. Trying to find out just who you were. But it was too dangerous. You couldn’t slip up – not when you still had no idea what kind of game he was playing.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice low as you forced a smile. Be like Grace, Betty and Sheila. “I think I’d like that.”

You hoped it didn’t sound too much like a lie because it was. And if you weren’t careful, it might just be your downfall.

Ben didn’t seem to notice the tension in your tone. With another smile, he turned and led you up the steps and down a long hallway, his footsteps steady and confident as they echoed in the hollow quiet, but there was an undercurrent to his pace – like he wanted to fill the silence but didn’t quite know how.

You followed reluctantly, already planning your next move in your head. You weren’t sure what this was yet. But you knew you had to stay one step ahead, or risk losing everything.

The sprawling mansion stretched out before you like a labyrinth, every hallway and every door telling a story of old wealth and expectations you had no interest in. The walls were lined with portraits, some regal, some faintly haunting, of men and women whose lives seemed to stretch back centuries, all looking down upon you with a silent, judgmental gaze.

The floor beneath your feet was cool as you moved deeper into the heart of the house. The atmosphere of the home – the heavy silence, the grand, dark walls – it was all too much. Too much for someone like you.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to belong here.

When you reached a door at the end of the corridor, Ben stopped and spun toward you, his face softening ever so slightly. “This is your room,” he said, his tone quieter now, more distant.

As he pushed open the door, the soft light from the hallway revealed a large, opulent space – dark wood furniture, a large bed covered in thick velvet curtains, a plush rug beneath your feet, and a tall bookshelf that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. It was a room designed for someone to feel both grand and small at once.

You nodded, stepping inside, and the weight of history seemed to settle on your shoulders the moment you crossed the threshold.

Ben kept his distance, not entering with you, but he waited in the doorway, watching you. “If you want to take a bath, there’s one through there,” he said, gesturing toward a door on the far wall.

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll-... I’ll be fine.”

Ben’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer before he turned, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Take your time,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. Then, without another word, he stepped back, leaving you alone in the vast silence of the room.

You watched him leave, the door falling into its lock behind him. The room felt suffocating now that you were finally alone. You walked over to the bed, running your hand over the fabric. This wasn’t your life. You didn’t belong here. And yet, for the first time in a while, you couldn’t ignore the tug of something real, the world you’d come from slowly starting to fade away.

It had happened before. The longer you had stayed in a time that wasn’t yours, the more twisted it had become, as if your brain was being reprogrammed by the universe itself.

Make yourself comfortable. 

You tried to shake it off. You weren’t supposed to get attached. Not now. Not ever.

You let out a slow breath, the tension of the day settling heavily on your shoulders. The bath sounded like a welcome escape, something to clear your mind.

It wasn’t just the layers of grime from the world you’d left behind that you wanted to wash off. No, it was the overwhelming weight of the timeline – of Ben – pressing down on you. You had to focus, think, plan. Your mission hadn’t changed, but the idea of him being so close, of having to act like this wasn’t a carefully calculated, life-or-death game of chess – it made your skin crawl.

After a few minutes, you made your way to the bathroom at last. The tub was a luxurious affair, deep and wide, its marble sides shimmering in the soft light of the room. You sank into it, the hot water enveloping you like a warm embrace. For a moment, you just allowed yourself to breathe, to let the noise in your mind quiet.

Home…

Still nothing. Your powers were refusing to entertain you. Sometimes, you thought they had a mind of their own – like the Time Lords themselves had possessed you and only used you as their tool whenever they pleased.

Your thoughts then drifted back to Ben – the guy you hated in your future, but who seemed like something altogether different now. Here, he wasn’t the monster you’d come to despise. He was kind, helpful, almost… charming. It unsettled you. How could someone be so different in two time periods?

When you finally rose from the bath, the water only lukewarm at this point, the weight of your decisions felt heavier than before. The towel around you, though soft, didn’t help. It only served to remind you that you had no real clothes here. Nothing was yours. You stared at yourself in the mirror, the reflection of a stranger in a foreign time. You didn’t want to put your old clothes back on after your refreshing and clean bath. They were wet, cold, and dirtied with mud.

Shit…

Reluctantly, you stepped into the hallway, unsure of how to ask, but the need to find something – anything – took over. It wasn’t like you could just wander around in a towel, although you were sure your host would probably appreciate the sight.

“Uhm, Ben?” you called softly, your tone a little shakier than you'd intended.

A few moments passed before his voice answered from down the hall, a bit too loud, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Yeah?”

“I-, uh, I don’t have... anything to wear,” you said quietly and swallowed, your gaze drifting to your bare feet on the floorboards.

There was a long pause before he appeared in the doorway, his face flushed. “Right. Well, I-... I can get you something,” he said. His eyes flicked to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again, the awkwardness hanging between you like a palpable thing that you could reach out and touch with your fingers. “I–” His voice dropped lower as he turned away for a second, his hand on the doorframe. He then gave a brief chuckle, almost self-conscious. “I don’t usually keep spare clothes for, uh, guests. But I’m sure I can find something that fits you. One second.”

You felt tethered to the ground as he disappeared down the hall, unsure whether to laugh or fucking scream. He came back a few moments later with a shirt and pants, an outfit clearly meant for a man, and you were pretty sure they were his own. The fit would be loose, but better than nothing.

“Here,” he said, offering it to you. His gaze lingered on you a second longer than was probably polite before he turned away again, his cheeks tinged pink.

Yeah, you had to get rid of the towel. You didn’t want to give him any ideas – or more, for that matter. He’d already seen you naked various times in the future. You knew privacy was an alien concept to that man.

“I’ll be in my father’s study downstairs if you need anything. If you want, you-, uh, you can meet me there.”

“Sure.” You nodded hesitantly and took the clothes, retreating into the guest room to change and debating whether or not to take him up on his invitation.

Did you really want to spend more time with this man?

But this particular timeline was already ruined. You’d have to fix it anyway, so why not take this opportunity to get to know the man behind the beast? You would finally know what made the monster tick like a bomb.

When you emerged, clad in Ben’s clothes – his white button-down shirt hanging loosely over your frame, the sleeves rolling up your arms as if you were drowning in it – you tried to ignore the strange flutter in your stomach. You couldn’t think about how the fabric smelled faintly of him – a new, alluring scent that didn’t reek of reefer and junk food.

The study was tucked into a quieter part of the house, one where the oppressive silence of the halls seemed to thin out a little. It was a warmly lit, intimate room filled with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, leather-bound volumes with forgotten stories. A fire burned quietly in the hearth, the crackling of the flames mixing with the soft ticking of a grandfather clock. Framed portraits lined the walls, and the weight of decades of family history hung like dust in the air.

Naturally, Ben was already behind the bar when you entered, mixing a drink with careful precision – a trait he shared with his older version.

Manhattan, you realized and remembered the story he had told Butcher once.

“Used to sneak my dad's Manhattans when I was a kid.” 

Ben didn’t look up when you entered. “I wasn’t sure you’d take me up on my offer,” he said, the deep baritone voice low and almost reflective, not quite like his earlier confidence. “I thought you might prefer to be alone.”

You shifted on your feet, unsure of how to approach him, but the pull of curiosity had led you here. The air smelled of whiskey, mahogany, and something more elusive – faded dreams, maybe?

The moment his piercingly green eyes met yours, his expression shifted – like something had clicked, but not in the way you expected. His gaze lingered on you again, wandering down your frame, his mouth slightly open, as if caught off guard. You’d seen a version of that look before many times, but this was… different.

“You-, uh, you look...” He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how close you were. “Different. But... good. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling exposed as you tugged nervously on your too-long sleeves. Had you just entered the fucking lion’s den?

Strangely, though, you began to feel more at ease, the longer you were around him.

“Maybe I should wear your clothes more often,” you quipped teasingly. If aggressive rudeness hadn’t worked to deter him, maybe forwardness would. A guy like him probably enjoyed the chase more than the prey.

Ben offered a tentative smile, his cheeks haunted by a blush. “Right, uhm... You want a drink? I can make you one, you know... to relax.”

And the eerie feeling is back…

You hid the goosebumps in the nape of your neck behind a polite smile. Relaxing wasn’t something you would ever do around this guy.

“I’m good.” You shook your head and cautiously strolled through the study, taking note of every framed picture and trinket in the room.

Ben shrugged, taking a sip from his tumbler before setting it down, the amber liquid catching in the light. “You sure? It’s not the best, but it’ll do. It’s a Manhattan. My father’s favorite. Thought I’d try to get it right for once.”

“You don’t have to get it right for him,” you said without thinking, the talk with Butcher from that night trickling back into your mind.

Ben’s eyes flickered with something close to surprise, but the smile never left his face. He swirled his glass absently, looking out the window as the wind howled outside. “Maybe not. But I keep trying anyway...”

“It's all bullshit,” Soldier Boy had scoffed after telling Butcher the plot line of the autobiographical movie Vought had produced for him – The Soldier Boy Story.

“Blimey, you don’t say?” Butcher hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in the ancient supe’s nostalgic trivia facts. You had been aware the Brit had only been entertaining him till he’d gotten what he wanted – Homelander served crispy on a stick.

You hadn’t cared much about the men’s chit-chatting either, just listening quietly in the corner as you’d sulked on Annie’s desk, wishing you could be with the others. But technically, you’d been Butcher’s personal pet, and he had threatened you rather quickly once you’d taken Hughie’s side. You’d been stuck with those two idiots since then, thinking how Homelander would probably kill you later that night because of them.

“Actually, my father owned half the steel mills in the state,” Soldier Boy had continued then, settling down on the worn, leather armrest of the couch. “I went to boarding school. Got kicked out of boarding school. Because I was a fuck-up. But he made sure I knew it.”

“Use the belt, did he?” Butcher had asked, certainty swinging in his voice. You knew he had a pretty fucked-up childhood, too. In fact, everyone on the team had one, including you.

“Never laid a hand on me,” Soldier Boy had replied, the ignorance seemingly tormenting him more. Emotional scars, you had guessed. “He couldn't be bothered. Said I was a disappointment. Not good enough to carry his name.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

It had slipped out of your mouth before you had realized what you’d said. Butcher had only smirked at you, probably agreeing, but Soldier Boy’s head had turned to you, blinking in surprise. His green eyes then had slightly narrowed at you in curiosity, a smile of amusement slowly rising on his lips

“Ha, I imagine that would’ve probably gone over well…” He had snorted into his drink. “I went to his golf buddies in the War Department instead, and they got me into Dr. Vought's Compound V trials. I became a superhero. Strongest man alive. Fucking ticker tape parades when I came home.”

“And what did the old man say then?” Butcher had asked, but you both had known where the story was headed.

“Ah.” The supe had chuckled lowly and raised his tumbler, but there had been resentment and pain brimming in his dark green eyes. “He said I took a shortcut. That a real man wouldn't have cheated.”

“Did you kill him?”

Again, Soldier Boy had seemed greatly amused by your question, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. “No.” He shook his head, smacking his lips. “Would you kill your parents? You told me they were assholes.”

Before you could reply, Butcher had answered for you: “Our little Y/N here doesn’t kill people. She did, however, drop off her lovely parents in England of 1349.”

Soldier Boy had arched his brow at you. “What’s in England in 1349?”

You had shrugged coolly and snatched the drink from his hands, taking a sip. Your nose had scrunched in disgust as the liquor had burned down your throat, hearing Soldier Boy’s laugh at your reaction before you’d handed the drink back to him.

“The Bubonic Plague,” you had replied with a Machiavellian smile. “Sure, not as fun as Butcher’s ass cancer, but it’s been close to 700 years now. I’m guessing they’re dead.”

“You two have a funny way of dealing with family,” Soldier Boy had noted and taken another sip of his drink.

“Says the guy who’s been on a vengeful murder spree of everyone who’s ever wronged him for the past weeks,” you’d countered.

“Hmm, I suppose you do have a point there, sweetheart,” he’d said and sent you a sly smile. “Too bad your powers are gone. Could’ve dropped off my old man there, too.”

“Tell you what – if I ever get them back, I’ll put him on the list,” you’d said, smirking.

“Oy, look at you two becoming bloody friends,” Butcher had huffed in annoyance.

But Soldier Boy had only smiled, his green eyes never leaving you. “You’ve done a lot of these little adventures?”

“Yeah, kinda. Mostly, just the fun stuff, you know? 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s…” you’d shared.

“I do know.” He’d chuckled cheekily into his glass as he drank. You’d figured as much from his various stories. “Although, I missed the 90s and most of the 80s… Anything before the 60s? You ever met me, sweetheart?”

“Uh, no, never. Kinda stayed where the fun was,” you’d sassed and wiggled your eyebrows. “‘Sides, wouldn’t you remember me if I’d met you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve slept with a lot of fucking women over the decades, sweetheart. They kind of all blend together,” he had quipped, smirking.

“Nah, you’d remember me,” you’d said, returning his little smirk.

That had probably been the only time you’d ever flirted with him – and it had been solely out of fun, not that you’d actually been serious. You’d just figured he was about to have a showdown with his own offspring – better send him in with a winning mindset.

“Care to prove that cute little theory?” His smirk had then turned lopsided and teasing – hungry.

“I don’t,” you’d said and folded your arms, but the coquettish smile never disappeared from your lips. Then, something had popped into your mind. “Wait… You know, I think I did see you once, though.”

“Huh, really?”

“Yeah, caught half of the speech you gave at Woodstock. People really hated it.” You’d grinned. “Then I saw you fuck Grace Slick behind a tent. Was kinda jealous.”

A smug smirk had widened on his lips then. “Jealous, hm?”

You’d snorted a laugh, expecting he’d react that way. “Yeah, but of you, not of Grace Slick. Fucking someone from Jefferson Airplane? Pretty fucking cool, dude.”

“Meh, she was alright.” He’d shrugged and downed the last of his drink.

“Oy, are you lot about done now?” Butcher had sighed exhaustively, having made himself comfortable at his desk.

“What about you, asshole?” Soldier Boy had thrown the Brit a raised look at the interruption. “You got kids?”

“It's complicated,” Butcher had muttered into his whiskey glass.

“I always assumed I had a few out there,” Soldier Boy had then melancholically drifted off. “Somewhere. I always wanted ‘em. ‘Cause I thought I could do it better than my father did.”

“Homelander ain't yours. Not really.” Butcher had then proceeded to list all the ways Vought had essentially bred a fucking lab rat.

But when the Brit was finished, Soldier Boy’s eyes had found you instead. “What d’you think, sweetheart? You fucking agree?”

Granted, even if you had disagreed, one pointed look from Butcher had told you: You didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yeah, kinda…” you’d replied carefully, your brow knitting in thought. “I mean, I disagree with killing him–,” Butcher’s look was morphing to a glare, “–but I think you should… disable him, you know? Just turn him into a pathetically suffering human. For a guy like that, his own mind is probably worse than death.”

“Admittedly, that does sound funnier,” Soldier Boy had (somewhat) agreed with you, but you’d considered psychological torture over death a win.

“Well, you do what you want there, guv. But I’m killing this cunt as soon as he’s bloody capeless,” Butcher had announced with a dark chuckle.

Sighing, you’d glanced back at Soldier Boy. “You like movies, right? You’ve seen Frankenstein?”

“I think I did before you, sweetheart.” He’d smiled in amusement.

“It’s not a competition,” you’d retorted playfully. “Anyways, just look at it this way, okay? You donated a... pinky finger to Frankenstein’s monster, but just because Dr. Frankenstein yelled, ‘It’s alive! It’s alive!’ doesn’t mean it should be. You wanna be a hero, right?”

“I am a fucking hero,” he’d huffed, a bit offended.

“Then slay the fucking dragon and save the panicked villagers,” you’d said with an astute grin.

Thoughtfully, the supe had pursed his lips, then nodded. Butcher had seemed pleased, too, judging by the devilish smirk he threw your way.

“‘Sides, I still look young. Guess I can always have more kids.” Soldier’s Boy’s eyes had then slowly raked over your body, his teeth tugging at the plush pad of his lower lip, hiding a suggestive smirk underneath.

“Barking up the wrong tree here, Romeo,” you had gently declined his silent proposal. “But yeah, generally speaking, I guess that’s the spirit…”

And God, you had hoped the guy would never procreate in the future.

“I’ll do it,” Soldier Boy had then told Butcher, getting up from his seat.

“Alright, let’s pack up, lads.” Butcher had keenly rubbed his palms together. He’d been antsy all day, waiting for this.

“Leave her here, though,” Soldier Boy had said, which had surprised both you and Butcher. His voice had been casual, almost cold. He had then thrown you a dismissive look. “Her powers aren’t working. She’s useless, anyways. She’ll just be in the fucking way.”

Butcher had seemed suspicious by this, lifting a brow at the supe. “And since when do you care about collateral, mate?”

A quick beat of hesitance had passed before Soldier Boy’s signature smirk reappeared. “Well, maybe I’d still like to fuck her after I win.”

Butcher had only rolled his eyes at that and given a nod before eagerly thundering ahead, leaving you alone with the supe. As Soldier Boy’s shoulder had brushed yours, he’d used the opportunity to lean closer.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he’d whispered devilishly into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin, a ripple of chill sweeping over you. “You can show me how much you wanna thank me when I get back.”

He’d winked at you and then disappeared after Butcher. 

As your mind drifted back from the past to the… well, past, you watched Ben by the window and wondered again what had happened to him. Soldier Boy had shown you traces of the kindness you’d witnessed in the younger version in front of you – at least in the beginning.

But maybe that was just the fucking Stockholm syndrome talking…

After all, as time went by, Soldier Boy had become crueler, rougher, and more vile toward you. It even seemed like the more he got to know you, the more he started to hate you.

Would that happen with his younger counterpart as well?

“So, uh, you said you enlisted today? Are you going to fight on the frontlines?” you asked and masked your curiosity with slight worry for his wellbeing as you finally broke the silence.

Ben’s head turned to you with raised brows as though you had just ripped him from deep thought. “Uh, we’ll see. I went to my father’s golf buddies in the War Department. They said they’d find something for me. Maybe an officer position.”

“Huh.” Your brow creased slightly, tongue poking your cheek. “Well, uh, good luck.”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks. Hope it makes the old man finally proud, you know?” he said, his voice low and raspy, as if testing the waters of what he could share with you.

“Why do you wanna make your father proud so badly you’re willing to risk your life?” you asked as you settled into the leather armchair by the bookshelves.

“Well, that’s what a man does, right?” he replied with a hint of amusement.

“Being stupid?”

Ben tilted his head at you, a smile playing across his lips. He scoffed a chuckle. “You’re different, you know? Not like the girls I meet… not like anyone I’ve met, really.” His tone shifted, curiosity mingling with something more personal. The playboy mask was slipping slightly. He seemed interested, not just in you, but in the enigma you were presenting.

By that, you figured that wasn’t what Grace, Betty, and Sheila would’ve said. Being a lady was fucking hard.

“Well, maybe it’s just me," he continued, his voice carrying a subtle edge now. "Guess I’m used to people being… a little easier to figure out. But you–,” he paused, frowning slightly, “–you’re not like that. It’s almost like... you don’t care what I think.”

You leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, trying to read the change in his tone, the way his posture had shifted subtly. “Maybe that’s because I don’t,” you said with a puckish twinkle in your eyes. “Or maybe it’s because you’re so predictable, I already know what you think.”

You didn’t, though. You knew what Soldier Boy thought, but his younger version was harder to read, your own bias of the man you knew well from the future fighting against your present judgment.

His brows shot up at that, the surprise flickering in his eyes again, but he quickly masked it with a short, dry laugh. “Predictable? Oh, I’m full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“Are you?” you challenged, your gaze steady. “Then why the same old routine? The drink, the smile, the way you try to act like you don’t care but it’s clear you do.”

There was a long moment of silence between you two, broken only by the wind that howled louder outside, as if urging him to respond, but Ben seemed to hesitate, looking at you like you’d just shown him a piece of himself he didn’t quite know how to handle.

You shifted in your seat, the leather creaking under you as you scanned the room again. The portraits on the walls, the old books, the reminders of everything he was supposed to live up to – it all felt a little suffocating. For a brief second, you almost felt a pang of empathy.

Finally, he let out a low breath, leaning his hip against the bar with a sigh as he picked up his tumbler and swirled it in his hand again. “Maybe I just wanted to get you to loosen up,” he said and took a sip from his drink, deflecting, masking. “Doesn’t seem to be working, though.”

“You really think making your dad proud will fix something?” you asked instead of taking his bait, keeping your tone casual, even though you weren’t sure why you were poking at that particular wound. Maybe you were just trying to see if he’d crack.

Ben’s green eyes darkened, a flicker of something almost painful crossing his face before he quickly concealed it with a shrug. “It’s all I know how to do. People like me... we don’t get to decide how things go. We just follow the script.”

Ah. No wonder he’d been Vought’s perfect superhero puppet for so long. He’d been used to the theatrics from the start.

“And if the script’s broken?” You raised an eyebrow, studying him. The honesty of the conversation strangely kept you going. “You’re just gonna keep following it blindly?”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “What else am I supposed to do?” he asked, the words coming out rougher than he'd intended. “I don’t get to choose what’s in my blood, what I’m born into. I don’t have the luxury of throwing it all away. My father wants me to be this… perfect son. The dutiful heir.”

“And you’re not?” Arching an eyebrow, you rose from your seat and sauntered to the bar. You snatched the half-empty tumbler in front of him and drank from it. The moment the glass touched your lips, you could taste the sharp burn of alcohol, but there was a sweetness to it too. You didn’t drink often, but tonight seemed like a necessary exception.

Besides, you’d already seen him drink from it, so you were sure the Bill Cosby fanboy wasn’t trying to drug you.

Slightly amused, he lifted an eyebrow at you. “You know, if you want a drink, my offer still stands. I can make you one.”

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. “I’m good with yours. Thank you.”

A subtle smile crossed his lips at your response, his cheeks warming in the glow of the fire. “You know, my father thinks I’m a disappointment – the black sheep. He thinks I’m not good enough for his legacy. He-, uh, he wants me to marry someone from a prestigious family. Thinks it’s good for business.”

“Grace,” you realized quietly. “So, this is like an arranged thing?”

“Yeah,” he said and poured himself another drink since you had stolen his. “You’d be surprised how well you can tolerate a person when it’s part of the plan.”

You thought about Crimson Countess and the highly publicized relationship they’d led. You knew he’d cheated on her multiple times, too. You recognized a pattern. His father, Vought… Had he ever known a different life?

“Why do you keep going along with it?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, the warmth of the drink making you bolder. “I mean, you already cheated on her, right? Doesn’t seem like you care that much what your father wants, after all.”

He chuckled lightly, scratching his throat. “Well, I don’t remember actually proposing, so I don’t see the issue. I mean, hell, I barely can stand her,” he replied, his lips quirking into a dry smile. “Guess I’m not really the marrying type.” His gaze then lifted from his glass on the bar to you. “What about you, sweetheart? You got a husband? Fiancé? Someone you’re running away from?”

“Uh, no, nothing like that. I’m kinda on my own. Lone wolf, you know?” you replied and hoped it was enough.

Ben let out a soft laugh at that, shaking his head as if the idea of a woman all on her own was utterly ridiculous. You knew you were a mystery to him, one he seemed too eager to unravel. You didn’t like it, but you couldn’t deny how it tempted you.

“Alright, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he relented, smiling assuringly. His tongue swiped over his plump upper lip. “Just tell me something. One true, personal thing about you.”

You paused for a while, considering your options. Your lips briefly flashed with a smile, then you met his eyes. “Today’s my birthday.”

Technically, it was in June in your own time, but to you, it was still true. Loophole.

“Huh.” He seemed pleased with the information, giving you a soft smile. “Well, happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Ben left it at that. He didn’t ask more questions. Didn’t ask who you were exactly, where you came from, what you were doing here, or why you were running around lost on your birthday.

“So, uhm, if you don’t want any of this, why not walk away?” You couldn’t help but press a little, steering him away from his own curiosity about you. The tension between you two was thick enough that it almost felt like a game now – tit for tat. “Why are you doing all of this for a guy who never saw you as more than a name on a list?”

Ben’s forest green eyes darkened again, his jaw clenching. “I’m not like you,” he snapped, more harshly than you expected. “I don’t get to make choices like that.”

The sudden defensiveness was raw, and you could feel it in the air, in the way the light from the fire cast long shadows across his freckled face. For a moment, the version of Ben you saw felt less like the charming man you’d met and more like the soldier he was becoming – the one you knew. Someone trapped in a cycle they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried.

Or in Soldier Boy’s case, not trying at all.

There was an uncomfortable pause after that, the kind of silence that felt like a bridge too far to cross. Ben glanced out the window again, the wind howling louder, rattling the glass. You could feel the distance he was trying to keep – he was trying to be strong, to act like he wasn’t letting the high expectations weigh him down. But it was there, in everything he said – and everything he didn’t say.

When he turned back to you, an apologetic smile tugged at his lips. He cleared his throat, slipping back into his designated role. “I-, uh, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Swallowing, you shook your head and met his gaze. “No, I-, uh, I crossed a line. I’m sorry,” you said. “You’re right. It’s not my place.”

Contemplatively, he bit his lips, the study falling back into the night’s silence. “You know, I guess I do it because I’m supposed to,” he suddenly answered your question, his green eyes avoiding yours like they were the midday sun. “It’s easier to pretend that I don’t care, you know? I mean, what else can I do?”

You found his eyes, your own heart strangely heavy with understanding. “Maybe you don’t have to be what he wants. Maybe you just have to be yourself,” you said, keeping your voice soft.

Perhaps, you weren’t in a position to offer advice – or give him any, for that matter, the protection of the timeline still in the back of your mind. But you couldn’t control it, your own curiosity getting in the way. You had begun to play the dangerous game every woman on this earth, no matter what time, liked to play: What if he could change? What if you could fix him?

“Maybe you could try something else. Something that’s just... yours.”

Ben looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words hanging between you like a challenge he wasn’t sure he could accept. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he seemed to consider it, before he let out a breath through his nose, a small, almost bitter smile on his lips.

“Yeah, maybe…” For a fleeting moment, his brick façade cracked, and you saw something softer, more vulnerable. He looked at you, an unreadable expression in his piercing green eyes – something between exhaustion and the remnants of defiance. “I’m not sure who that even is anymore,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I’m too far gone for that.”

You didn’t know what to say, but you could see he was fighting to be someone he wasn’t, and it made you want to reach across the distance.

Your hand tentatively clasped his forearm that rested upon the mahogany bar top. You could feel him tense under your unexpected touch, his lips parting, confused green eyes flickering to the spot where your fingers brushed his skin before they landed back on your face.

“I don’t think you are,” you said, your voice only a soft whisper that was almost drowned out by the crackling fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

The moment was fragile, suspended in the air between you. Your heart hammered against your ribs. But it was gone in an instant, as Ben pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt and downed the last of his drink, clearing his throat.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly distant again – guarded. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

You nodded, not sure what to say as you held your breath. You didn’t want to leave, but the tension in the room was too much to ignore. There was a line you couldn’t and wouldn’t cross.

As you reached the door, he gave you a half-smile, almost apologetically. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Goodnight, Ben,” you said, and for a heartbeat, it felt like you were saying goodbye to something you didn’t quite understand yet. 

▶️ Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow's Another Day

Something tells me there's something else burning and not just the fires on the infinite hearths 👀🔥 (And yes, there's a fireplace in almost every room lmao)

Coming Up:

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ‘breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[sleepylaing]

Énouement

You are something hot on my eternally cold hands. You are the spring morning sun, while I am the fall raindrops dripping down the glass. You are something loving on my eternally cold self. You are something important on the infinitely insignificant me. You are everything, and I've never had much,

which is probably why I want you so deeply.

a/n: it's a fem!reader (disguised as a student furin) × suo. there's definitely a backstory here that hasn't been written yet and I'm not sure anyone wants it written at all. so this is just my OC and her interactions with others. let me know if you want a part two or something. and please don't take it too seriously

ch. 1 — Adronitis.

The classroom door swings open, almost flying off its hinges. Many of the students are distracted from their work and turn to hear Enomoto's booming voice. A silent Kusumi walks to his right and only a grumpy Kaji reluctantly follows.

“All right, you brats, listen up! You're going to clean up the town today, got it?”

A rumble of angry voices spreads through the classroom. “Again? But we cleaned up a few days ago,” someone says, and the rest of the class agrees.

“Shut up, you bastards! Are you men or what? I want every garbage can shining and the streets clean! Kaji will check it personally, won't he, Kaji?”, Enomoto turns to the uninvolved Ren, whose look was anything but interested. He catches his eye, stubbornly for a few seconds, then sighs hopelessly, looks around the classroom with a heavy gaze, and nods in agreement. Enomoto grins contentedly and rests his arms at his sides.

“Mop in hand and get to work! Tsugeura, Sugishita, help us with the heavy stuff, Kiryu, get the brooms, Sakura, you take care of the garbage collection, Nirei, please supervise, the rest of you help those I just named,” the vice captain says, but then his gaze glides over the students until it stops on two specific figures.

“Akashi, stop snoozing and leave Suo alone!” he shouts indignantly, and everyone hurries to turn in the direction of his stern gaze. “Just because you haven't gotten a punch for your insolence yet, doesn't mean you should! You'll soon be glued to each other. Hey, Suo, do something!”

You didn't move an inch and continued to snuggle into Suo's neck. You felt warm, comfortable and good. You didn't want to leave.

But apparently your senpais had other plans for your sweet, long-awaited sleep.

You frowned, picking up Enomoto's familiar timbre through the haze of rapidly slipping sleep. Something about cleaning, mops, and Kaji-kun again. The usual.

Your eyes are still closed. You don't want to get up. Suo's skin was soft — softer than any pillow you've ever laid on, his neck was nice to snuggle against, and he always smelled good: some kind of tea you didn't know the name of, the subtle scent of his cologne, and a little bit of shampoo. It was the perfect place to take a nap, especially when Hayato didn't seem to show his displeasure at temporarily serving as your pillow and held you almost weightlessly, allowing you to lean almost entirely against him.

“It's okay, Enomoto-senpai,” Suo says with an angelic smile as Enomoto's disgruntled look slowly starts to burn you alive. “It's just that Akashi-kun is a bit tired. Don't worry, we'll be right over. I'll personally make sure that he does all the work.”

Suo's expression definitely sounded reliable and convincing enough for the vice captain to calm down a bit and stand behind you. You snorted mentally. Of course Suo's voice would make sense against such an unreliable you. Anyway, you're grateful for the extra minutes of sleep.

Your peace doesn't last long, though.

As Tsugeura walks past you, he grabs your shoulders and tries to pull you away from Suo, whose serene smile fades for a moment. “Akashi-kun, get up now! You'll sleep through everything. I still want to compete with you in paper throwing, but I can't if you're still lying on Suo-kun like that!”

As a tough guy, obviously one of the strongest in the class, he manages to lift you up almost effortlessly, but you're not so easy either: you cling to Suo with a deadly grip and don't want to let go, and you moo long and protesting:

“Noooo... Tsugeura-chan, let go...”, sleepily, unintelligibly, you burn Suo's ear, and finally you struggle to open your eyes. The first thing you see is someone else's red lobe, but you don't dwell on it. “I promise I'll throw papers with you, just don't torture me.”

“What a drama,” Kiryu comments sarcastically as he walks past you.

“Akashi-kun always has a hard time getting up. Especially if he slept on Suo-san before,” Nirei says, thinking he's softening the situation, but in fact it's the opposite, encouraging Tsugeura to pull you down even harder.

“Hup!” he shouts, and in the next moment, you're already standing unsteadily on your feet. Your hands are still frozen in the air, clutching at the emptiness.

At this moment, Hayato finally raises his voice.

“Thank you, Tsugeura-kun, but enough,” he says, and his tone is impeccably warm as always, but you can detect a hint of irritation in it. “We'll take it from here.”

Taiga looks at him for a while, then at you. After he has decided something, he calms down and nods in agreement. “Well, I'll go then, senpais are waiting for me. Akashi-kun, I'll meet you at the dumpster.”

“Thank you Tsugeura-chan, you're such a gentleman. This is a great place to meet.”

“You know why, don't make me look ridiculous!”

“I had no idea,” you smile sweetly at him, and he, accepting the challenge, smiles back broadly as he leaves the classroom.

Suddenly, you turn around from the strange chill at the back of your neck to find a motionless Suo staring at the door. You can't remember ever seeing him stare at anyone or anything like that, but he thaws out after a few seconds anyway. The clinging gaze returns to you.

Suo's smile is infinitely gentle, but you can't help but feel that something is wrong with it.

“Shall we go?” he asks and you nod in agreement.

***

“You're more distracted than usual today,” Suo observes as you yawn again, not even bothering to cover your mouth with the palm of your hand. You've fallen behind the others, so he leans over to you and asks quietly: “Working late again, Hoshi-kun?”

You squint at him. As always, awfully smart.

You never told him that you work nights, too.

That's okay. It wasn't really a big secret. Especially from Suo.

You moo in agreement, lower your head and kick a pebble under your feet boredly. Suo's interested look eats away at your cheek like acid. He's obviously waiting for you to continue. Waiting for you to tell him more. You don't understand why he's so interested, but you give in and answer him calmly.

“I've had to work more lately, but I can't go out during the week because of school. I had to go out at night. So now I sleep when our teacher blinks, when my desk decides to be a little softer than a rock, and when you sit next to me.”

Suo's ruby eye flashes with pleasure at your last words. You don't see it. Too engrossed in the candy store sign with the announcement: 45% off Tuesdays and Thursdays. Too bad it's Friday, you mentally sigh.

“Did I satisfy your curiosity, Suo-chan?” you turn to him. You try again to understand why he was so interested, but trying to understand Hayato Suo is almost like trying to learn every language in the world in one day.

He's an enigma. But who says you're better?

“As much as it raised new questions in me.”

“Оh. Really?” you answer sarcastically. Your short ponytail had become quite disheveled during your nap, so that the blonde strands now fall over your eyes. You wrinkle your nose slightly, but keep your hands warm in your jacket pockets.

“Yeah.”

Someone's warm fingers gently touch your forehead. They tuck disheveled strands behind your ear with precise, careful movements. Hayato's fingers linger on your cheek longer than they should.

He does it quietly, naturally, and you say nothing, content to let the hair stay out of your face.

“Why do you need money so badly, Hoshi-kun?”

The question hits you like a bucket of boiling water down your throat and another bucket of ice water on your head.

“Don't all humans need it?” you laugh softly at the end. “I'm just thinking about my future, Suo-chan. I want to save for college.”

The lie falls from your lips as easily as hundreds of others before it.

The heaviness in your chest wraps itself around another layer. Another one of hundreds of others.

And even if Suo catches you at it, he doesn't say anything.

“You can tell me. I want you to know that I'll always listen to you, Hoshi-kun.”

No, I can't.

I can't tell anyone, no matter how much I want to.

“I will, Suo-chan. You don't have to worry.”

You both know that you are lying again.

Suo lets you do it, smiling brightly.

You don't want to admit — not even to yourself — that your heart trembles as you see his smile. Like he understands. Like he doesn't judge.

Like he really cares.

You find the strength to smile back weakly.

next chapter →

[misted-dream]

♟️ between heaven and hell ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ bodyguard!winwin x fem!reader ➛ part of the mad city series | go to district V

content | smut, sprinkle of angst, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love but not really, forced proximity, a little bit of miscommunication, yn is mentioned to be shorter than winwin, slow burn?, winwin is kinda a dick at first

warnings | fingering, profanity, mentions of food, mentions of a shooting

word count | 18k

synopsis | being born into a repulsive fortune, your life is threatened more often than not. you’ve grown less and less affected by it throughout the years. however, as the day where you take on your father’s much coveted title looms nearer and nearer, more frequent and dangerous threats draw in. with all the money in the world, is it enough to buy trust?

note | ln stands for last name since yn is addressed by her last name quite a bit in this. the ending is a little bit rushed, pls excuse that and ignore the fact that this basically takes place in a week. what is pacing, idk.

tags @90s-belladonna thank you for supporting me!

a smattering of rain hits against the arched window pane of the library, filling the room with a soft pitter-patter. usually, from where you are seated, you can look directly into the well-kept and always blossoming garden. now, it’s too dark for you to make out anything but the slightest silhouette of your father’s treasured magnolia tree.

“miss ln?”

you direct your attention away from the book in your hands, and towards the library entrance that you had your back to.

“your father would like to speak with you.”

this late? you thought.

“thank you, priscilla,” you smile and your housemaid dismisses herself with a gentle nod. you glide your extended legs off of the couch and set down your book next to you on the velvet material of the sofa. sliding on your slippers, you make your way out of the library, softly close the door behind you, and amble along the long hallways and down the staircase leading to your father’s office.

you knock twice on the thick wooden doors painted in a pristine white. "come in," your father calls out. you apply pressure to the metal handle, cold to the touch, and the hinges creak slightly.

you greet your father, sat in his usual spot in the middle of the office with a floor-to-ceiling window to his back. then, something else catches your attention. a tall, backlit figure stands broadly next to your father. the room is illuminated by the moonlight and a gold accented lamp in the far corner, barely enough light to see 3 feet out in front of you clearly.

“yn,” your father addresses you faintly. you instinctively go to pull out one of the two leather seats tucked under the large, hand-carved wooden desk, its’ surface littered with documents and fountain pens. as you take a seat, your father begins, “as you know, your succession is planned for a little over a week, if all goes well. taking into account the latest incident, i have decided to take preventative measures to ensure no more dangers come to you during the lead-up.” your father pauses, his palm opens to gesture towards the man standing beside him. “this will be your new personal guard,” the man steps forward, “dong sicheng.”

confusion evidently sits upon your face. you want to flat out ask, ‘why do i need a bodyguard?’ but you bite back your tongue, trying to come up with a more eloquent and precise prod.

the man doesn’t reach his hand out, as you would expect, to introduce himself. he simply voices, “miss ln,” with a curt nod of his head.

you pull your eyes away from your new bodyguard, you still can’t make out too much of what he looks like. “father, i already have personal guards,” you state matter of factly.

“of course,” your father leans back into his chair. “but none of them are with you 24/7. sicheng will be, ensuring no harm comes your way.”

unbelievable. on the surface, it seems like he truly wants you under protection, but you understand your father’s schemes; you understand your father more than anyone else. what he’s really saying is that he has hired this man—dong sicheng—so that you will be put on his watchlist.

your father smiles a gentle smile. “but,” at the very first sound of a protest, the corners of his mouth begins to droop, “if this is about last time—”

with a firm shake of his head, your father cuts you off. “this isn’t negotiable, yn.”

normally, when you would argue things to be your way, your father would at least hear what you have to say. so, to be cut off so bluntly... a pang of helplessness strikes you square in the chest, and your eyes divert towards your new guard.

“i recommend you use your time to get adjusted to this change,” with that, your father dismisses the both of you out of his office.

you shuffle out into the cold, sterile hallways. marble pillars line the walls with ornate sconces attached upon them, each bearing a flickering candle. besides just hearing the firm footsteps of someone else tailing right behind you, you can also feel an almost omniscient presence shadowing you. swiftly, you spin around on your heels only to be met eye level with someone's chest. your guard's. you have to angle your head upwards so that you can look into his eyes; he seems to purposefully ignore your gaze, staring straight at one of the pillars opposite him.

he's undeniably gorgeous. the hallways are more lit up than your father's study, allowing you to examine every detail of your guard's face.

you wait a few seconds before breaking the silence, "are you not going to say anything?"

he drops his focus onto you. coldly, he replies, "that's not what i'm paid to do, miss." he lets his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, before returning to look at nothing.

he can tell that you're clearly annoyed by his response, but he makes no show of it. you continue, "if you're not even going to look at me, how are you going to protect me?"

"is there something i need to protect you from in your own home, miss ln?"

he knows. at least he's alluding to knowing about your last little incident. you curse yourself for being careless in your head. if you hadn't caused a ruckus when you snuck home a few nights ago, you wouldn't have this bizarrely handsome, yet callous man looming over you until your father sees a reason to think otherwise.

"no, i suppose not."

you turn around once more, facing the rest of the hallway. an archway leads to a stately staircase at the end of the corridor. you walk down the hall, trying to dismiss the delayed footsteps behind you, and enter through the archway. the staircase spirals upwards into the corridor connecting the bedrooms; yours and your father's. of course, there are other rooms upstairs, such as the library, the games room, other rooms that you don't concern yourself with too much. a grand piano sits in the centre of the spiralling staircase, its' glossy surface lit up by the moonshine flooding inside through the domed skylight.

you proceed up the stairs, not expecting your bodyguard to follow you up, but he does.

you pause, and look back around for the second time now in the span of less than 10 minutes.

"there aren't guest rooms upstairs," you point out flatly.

he responds, meeting your coldness with his own but only 10 times more intensified, "i won't be requiring one."

puzzled, you ask, "you're not going to be sleeping in my room, are you?" half jokingly, half serious.

"miss ln," he takes one step up on the staircase so that he's at the same level as you, forcing you to tilt your head upwards at him. the heels of his shoes echo loudly on impact against the quartz steps. "there are boundaries i must follow in my duties. so whilst i won't be requiring my own room, i also know not to overstep into your privacy." he scans your face, looking for any hint of understanding. then, he adds plainly, "i will be guarding your bedroom door outside. you can rest assured."

you can feel a sly smirk creeping up onto your face, "shame. here i was thinking that you would follow me everywhere. speaking of," you make an exaggerated movement out of looking down at the watch on your wrist. "i should better shower; it's getting late."

sicheng's face is unfazed but still, you simper, looking pleased with yourself.

he stalks behind you wordlessly as you make the rest of your way up to your bedroom. and sure enough, he stops and stands outside to the right of your door.

"you can't be serious," the thought in your head slips out through your lips.

he doesn't look back. "i'm afraid your father is a vey serious man, miss ln."

how does father expect this man to stand outside of your room all night long? assuming he doesn't sleep, given the 24/7 hour-ness as mentioned in your father's spiel, how will he even have to energy to do his job?

you study the profile of his back for a few seconds before pushing your door closer to the frame, not completely shutting it.

your bedroom connects to an en suite bathroom. to say it's grand is underplaying the extent of luxury which you live in. the room is unnecessarily spacious with marble counters and a tall ceiling with intricately moulded details. a round bathtub sits in the centre, integrated directly into a gazebo-like fixture. a golden chandelier hangs overhead the bathtub, softly lighting up the room, creating a warm atmosphere. to the right side of the tub, facing across from the mirror and the sink, stands a shower area enclosed by frosted glass doors.

you reach for your zipper on the nape of your neck. you slide your thumb underneath the metal tab and begin to pull it down between your fingers. it budges an inch or two before it gets caught onto the fabric of your dress. "ugh," you vocalise. forcibly, you attempt to get the zipper unstuck, tugging and tugging but it won't shift.

you can only think of one solution.

"uh," you call out loud enough so that your bodyguard outside is sure to hear you. you're not quite sure how you should address him; calling him by his name feels weirdly a bit too intimate.

putting you out of your misery, he responds, "yes?" from outside in the halls.

"could you... come in?"

there's a break before he answers back to you. "i'm afraid that's unbecoming of me unless there's an emergency, miss ln."

you roll your eyes, despite knowing he's not there to see. "there is an emergency. will you come in now?"

"...are you decent?" he seems to contemplate his words carefully.

"god, you're frustrating," you blurt out, "yes, i'm decent- who do you think i am?"

there's a brief pause in time before you hear footsteps step into your bedroom. you can see him stop in front of your bathroom doorway in your peripheral.

you look over at him, standing tall and poised with his hands clasped in front of him. "what's the emergency, miss?"

turning your back against him, you sweep your hair over your shoulders, baring your zipper. "i can't get this unstuck."

he doesn't take any steps towards you, "and you needed me to come in for this?"

your patience grows thinner and thinner by the second. "if i could've got it myself, i wouldn't have called for you, would i?"

with this, he takes one... two... and three steps. just three steps before he's in reach of you. you can feel a warmth draw closer to you. turning your head towards your shoulder, you can see him standing behind you in the mirror. without knowing, you hold your breath. he goes to pull gingerly with one hand on the back neckline of your dress, the other trying to unwedge the fabric jammed underneath the zipper. he frees the tab and smoothly, he unzips you down to the middle of your back, stopping himself from releasing the zip all the way down. immediately, he drops his head and removes his hands from your dress while simultaneously taking a large step back from you.

"if that's all, i will leave you to rest for tonight, miss ln." his head is still angled downwards, eyes glued to the bathroom tiling.

you mutter, "thank you," finally taking in a breath again.

he nods, and begins to step backwards out of the bathroom. before he disappears completely from your field of vision, he is stopped by your expulsion of an 'um.'

without a word, he waits for what you have next to say. turning around to face him, he lifts his head and meets your eyes, still as emotionless as they were when you two were on the stairs.

"goodnight, sicheng."

you can see his chest rise, and fall before he speaks again. "goodnight, miss ln."

there's gentle thumping at the door but you can't be sure. your head and senses are foggy from sleep. your eyelids remain shut, trying to phase out the knocking.

"miss ln?"

for a brief moment, you don't recognise the voice calling out for your name. it is much deeper than the normal voice of your housemaid. your eyes open to a squint to see the morning sun rays surging into your room through the mesh veil of your curtains. another part of the garden can be seen through the windows to the right of your bed.

"miss ln?" sicheng calls out again.

"yes?" groggily, you answer as you push yourself up, propping your back against the cushioned headboard.

"your housemaid informs me that you have errands to run today."

your head snaps, remembering what today is. the gala.

he continues speaking, "i tried to send some of my men to help carry out your errands for you instead, but i was told to get your permission."

you manoeuvre out of your bed, tossing the throw blanket off of you. heading directly for the double doors, you swing them open to find dong sicheng standing right outside with his arms behind him, his head bowed. the sudden movement causes him to jolt his head upwards.

"no, i'll go," you scan him quickly up and down. he's dressed in the exact same outfit as last night, hair still combed over only a bit more disheveled. you want to ask if he really stood outside of your room while you slept throughout the whole night, but you know what he will say. your father never made promises he can't follow up on, mainly because it was never him personally who fulfilled his promises.

sicheng, looking caught offguard for the first time quickly steels his face back again into his trademark stoicness. "then, i shall accompany you." he gives your get-up one swift look down, then back up. "i'm ready whenever you are."

feeling only slightly annoyed at his gesture, you close the door on him and go to get dressed.

...

sicheng sits next to you in the car. the driver in front seems to pay no attention to his presence. you glance over, trying to make your staring not as conspicuous, but to no avail. his posture is perfectly upright and his hair looks more groomed than when he was stood outside your bedroom door.

"do i look to your standard, miss ln?" it's only when he finishes asking his question that he meets your gaze. it's clear in that moment that he didn't expect an answer to his rhetorical question.

feeling only slightly embarrassed, you lower you eyebrows at him, "do you remember last night when you said you don't get paid to talk?" feigning curiosity with your head tilted to the side.

the slightest smile breaks on his face. "very well," eyes diverting away from you and onto the road out in front through the windshield.

the rest of the ride is silent, which your chauffeur took as a sign to turn on the radio. the first piece that blares out ever so softly is liebestraum no. 3.

the car then comes to a halt in front of a private wine bar. sicheng opens his door and holds onto the handle as he waits for you to shuffle out behind him. then, he shuts it and waves the driver off to a direction. you readjust your outfit from having been sat down.

carefully, you traipse your way towards the entrance of the wine bar, being deliberate to not place a heel down in between the crevices of the cobblestone that lined the courtyard.

"i'm surprised you haven't voiced your displeasure for me going out of the house, yet," you remark, "surely, my father told you i was not to be let out."

for having been against the idea of having a bodyguard just yesterday, you seem to have grown rather used to having sicheng around you rather quickly. you can only hope that he doesn't pick up on this.

"not to be let out without protection, yes."

he's quick on the draw. you pause right in front of the heavy mahogany door, the top of it curved inwards to a sharp point. your eyes gloss over the coffee brown grain pattern before you place a palm onto it and push inwards.

...

it's been a few hours since you've arrived back home from the wine bar, having picked out the perfect gift for the gala host tonight. sunset falls upon the horizon and that's your cue to start getting ready.

you've always had a habit of putting on your makeup by yourself as opposed to having someone else do it for you. however, that habit doesn't carry over to styling your hair.

you're sat in front of a full length mirror, a baroque style detailing frames the entirety of it. priscilla, one of the housemaids who's similar in age to you, stands behind you, attentively pinning the hair in the back of your head into a detailed updo. you look at your dress in the mirror. the square neckline makes space for your freshwater pearl necklace that glows softly against your skin.

"and... all done," priscilla announces.

you turn your head in the mirror to get a better view of her work, "it's a beautiful job." you stand from your seat, catching her eyes in the reflection, "thank you."

she smiles brightly, her youth glints in her eyes. "here," she looks to the side to grab a pair of long silk gloves, holding it out to you. you pull them over your left hand all the way up to your elbow, then your right, struggling a little over the bandage wrapped around your palm.

after tucking your purse in between your arm and your ribs, you're ready to head out.

sicheng is already in the foyer, waiting for you. when your heels first click against the quartz stairs, his eyes darts toward you at the top of the spiralled staircase. you delicately place a hand on the iron banister and as you make your way down the steps, you glide your gloved palm along the railing.

sicheng watches your every action.

when you reach the bottom of the staircase, you shake your head gently to push back the strands of hairs that had fell in front of your face.

"how do i look?" you ask with a teasing smile.

you can see sicheng's lips part faintly, only for him to clear his throat right after. "as you do normally, miss ln." he subtly straightens his posture and pushes his shoulders back. "after you," he gestures towards the front door.

...

sicheng pulls open the door closest to you. he extends his palm towards you, with his other hand cradling a small, rectangular wooden box. you take his hand as you lift one foot out of the vehicle and onto the tiled courtyard of the xiao family house.

the butler comes to greet you. you've known him and the family that he works for for as long as you can remember, and seeing him again tonight struck a chord within you. a certain spark of gloom settles inside your stomach when you see him smile, his wrinkles deeper and his hair greyer than you remember.

the butler leads you down the main entrance hall towards the gala that's already well under way behind the closed doors. you've been down these halls more than a handful of time, the same paintings have been hung up on the walls for at least a decade, but the air of elegance and grandeur that the xiao family home exudes never fails to knock your breath out of you.

sicheng notices you seemingly lost in a thought, and before the trio of you reaches the superfluously tall double doors, he quietly utters, "is everything alright?" being mindful and not wanting the butler to overhear if something was amiss.

you glance over your shoulder, out of your trance, "yes."

he doesn't press, anymore. even if he did want to ask more, ask if you were sure, he knew his place, and so he didn't pry further.

the butler pushes open the double doors and a gentle puff of wind blows against you, travelling along with the music to your ears. "enjoy the gala," he smiles, and you return his display of friendliness.

as he walks back down the other direction, sicheng inches ever so slightly closer to you.

the cold and eerily too refined hallway is starkly contrasted by the lively atmosphere of the gala ballroom. attendees are chatting, networking, dancing. they all look extremely distinguished; pearls and diamonds and crystals draped all over them. the chandelier hanging in the middle of the ballroom is glistening, and a small orchestra is performing at one end of the hall.

you pause on top of the stairs for a moment, taking in the scene in front of you, and simultaneously searching for a face. then, you find it.

you begin to make your way down to where everyone else was on the dance floor, and sicheng follows closely behind you. as you weave your way in between the attendees, your senses are hit and overwhelmed with notes upon notes of fragrances. it transitions from roses to vanilla, cedarwood to bergamot. individually, these aromas would typically be more than pleasant, but combined together along with the heat emanating off everyone, it muddled your senses so much that a headache began to creep its way into your temples. it's clear as you manoeuvre your way across the dance floor, that sicheng stood out to everyone as an unusual date of yours. they would flash a faint smile at you then take one, or two glances at the man trailing behind you. guards weren't uncommon, yes, but to bring a personal guard to a gala hosted by a well respected member of the upper echelon? that was uncommon.

finally, you're face to face with the person you've been looking for: the host.

"mrs. xiao."

"yn!" she enthusiastically greets you, a beaming smile on her face. her arms open up and pull you into a warm embrace. "goodness, i haven't seen you in so long!" she expresses as she begins to pull away.

"i know, it's been way too long," you politely respond.

if you were talking to anyone else in this room, you'd be dead before you were caught speaking so casually to them. but you grew up next to mrs. xiao and her family. her son, dejun, was practically your childhood best friend. well, it's hard to tell if a best friend really is a best friend when that was your only option, but nonetheless, your two families were close.

"oh!" you voice as you turn around to sicheng. you stretch your hands towards the wooden box that he was carrying and he places it gently into your palms. "here, i got you some merlot," you turn back around, "i asked barnie at the winery to give me your favourite," a curl stretched your lips taut.

a wave of gratitude washes over mrs. xiao's face. "you're still as thoughtful as ever, yn." she takes the box into her arms, and as if on cue, someone dressed in a neat uniform comes towards mrs. xiao and takes the box away so that she doesn't have to carry it herself for more than a couple of seconds.

and right at the moment, dejun approaches where you are stood in the centre of the ballroom, walking alongside some other guests, one you know, the other you don't.

mrs. xiao turns to him, trying to contain some of her agitation as she mutters, "where have you been this whole night?"

"i've been in here, ma," he responds equally as quiet, but more passive aggressively, disguised with that bright smile of his.

mrs. xiao turns her head away from him with her nose up, trying to swallow down her irritation. "anyway," she breathes out. "dejun, aren't you going to introduce your friends?"

he took that as a sign to do as his mother asked, but not before sighing a shallow breath first. in an instant, he puts on a charming smile. you know he's not doing it for you, he couldn't care less about being charming towards you; both of you knew you would see right through it anyway. "yn, this is rin. rin, yn. and hendery's here as well, i guess," he mutters the last part of his sentence.

you stifle back a smirk at dejun's attempt at humour and extend your palm for a handshake with rin. "it's a pleasure to meet you." she doesn't say anything but shakes your hand gently and mirrors your smile back to you, except hers looks very practiced and unnatural.

mrs. xiao tuts her teeth, so subtly that it's barely audible. she turns her body into you ever so slightly, leaning forward and muttering under her breath into your ear, "i really wish you were here to stop my jun兒 from falling into these circles. look at them, no manners at all."

dejun watches almost awkwardly, then he switches the attention onto you. "what about you, yn? aren't you going to introduce us to your little armpiece?" he cocks his head in sicheng's direction.

mrs. xiao shoots dejun a stern look, one that carries the weight of a thousand words. but in front of such a crowd, the extent of her reprimanding ends at, "don't speak so crass."

dejun only shoots up his eyebrows in response, and sucks in a quiet breath.

"this is dong sicheng," on instinct, your hand sweeps out to the side of you and sicheng nods. "he's the... bodyguard, that my father hired."

"bodyguard, huh?"

"don't start, xiaojun," you try your best to make it seem subtle enough, but dejun chuckles at the sight of you rolling your eyes.

mrs. xiao cuts through the brief pause in conversation, "well, we would love to stay and chat more but i should go greet some of my other guests. you don't mind, yn?"

"no, of course, not."

mrs. xiao gives you one last squeeze before she's off again waving halfway across the room to somebody else, and dejun and his friends trail behind her.

you're about to turn around when a waiter passes by you and sicheng, one hand balancing a tray full of glasses of champagne.

"a drink, miss?"

you pinch the stem of the glass in between your fingers and your thumb. when the waiter offers one to sicheng, he declines.

as you bring your champagne up to your lips, sicheng slips his fingers around the bowl of your glass and forcibly pulls it away from you. "he offered you one," you look at him in disbelief, but he acts as if you didn't say anything.

he hovers the rim of the glass under his nose, swirling the champagne around as he does so. you watch, still half incredulous and half in puzzlement. he brings the rim up against his lips, tipping the glass towards him as he takes the tiniest sip of champagne that you’ve ever seen. as he swallows, he smacks his lips together lightly, then he passes the glass back to you.

“what was that for?” hesitantly, you sit the bowl of the glass back into your palm. you’re not sure if you should sip from the same cup as he did—is that even appropriate in this setting?

“not laced,” he states nonchalantly, eyes darting around the room.

it takes your brain a few seconds to fully process what he just did, and said. “and why would it be laced?” a confusion intertwined with your voice.

sicheng stares at you, not blankly, but not aggressively either. it’s like you can read what he’s doing in his head, going down winding paths to find you an answer, but you can’t read exactly what it is that he’s thinking.

he finally responds after a good few moments of him turning your question over in his head. “you are my responsibility,” he can sense that you are about to object this statement, so he quickly continues. “regardless of what you may think, you are. whatever i do, i do in your best interest. do you understand now?”

truthfully, you want to reply, ‘not quite.’ how does that explain why your drink at a gala held by people you know, people you trust, would be laced?

sicheng leans in close enough so that you can hear him at a whisper, but not so close that people will see and start to speculate. "miss ln, may i remind you you're a successor. i know you've already lived through some threats, but if they were willing to threaten you when you arguably held no power, imagine what they would do if they knew you were taking over your father's position as mayor."

he backs away; face still as cold as steel, not letting anything that he's thinking or feeling show. you can't help but feel a bit shaken at his words. yes, you've received threats before, but they were mostly empty-handed words scribbled on a note. you never thought anything of them, until sicheng said something just now.

"there's no reason people here of all places would want to do anything to me; you're too paranoid." as the words leave your mouth, you can feel your doubt coating your tongue, but you wash it down with some sparkling wine. just a little bit.

sicheng studies your expression for a second, his head tilting slightly to the side. "have you ever heard of a wolf in sheep's clothing, miss ln? maybe you're not paranoid enough," his last word drags off and almost becomes inaudible.

you blink your lashes a couple of times looking up at him, and then an echoing voice pierces right through the ballroom.

"hello everyone! thank you all for attending my little gathering."

both you and sicheng turn your heads to the origin of the sound. mrs. xiao is stood on the little stage that the orchestra has been performing on.

a pleasant smile drawing on her face as she addresses her guests, "it is so great to see so many of you. as you all know, my husband and i-"

the lights cut. the chandelier that was hanging above the dance floor flickers off.

mrs. xiao's voice can be heard again, but this time loudly proclaiming without the help of her microphone over the gasps and murmurs of confusion. "everyone please remain calm—i'm sure the lights will be back on soon."

a sudden pang of fear hits you. your heart thumps faster in your chest, and your breathing becomes shallower and shallower. there's darkness all around you. you try your best to look for, or rather, feel around for sicheng but you remain quiet, knowing it will only add to the chaos. people all around you are shuffling, nudging everyone else. whispers and mumbles all fade into a singular stream of white noise around you. then, you feel a hand grasp on your upper arm. a sense of relief washes over your mind, sicheng. but then, the grasp feels begins to dig deeper and deeper into you, and it becomes clear to you that whatever grasping you isn't a hand. at least, it's not a hand coming into direct contact with you. the fingers digging into your arm are clothed by a silk or sorts; sicheng didn't wear gloves.

you try to free your arm by wrangling it away from whoever it is that has a hold on you. then, in an instant, you feel the hand drop from you so forcibly that it tugged your arm downwards along with it. a new hand has made its way onto you, this time just slightly below your shoulder. you hear a whisper in your ear, "come on, let's go," and the relief you felt earlier resurfaces. this time, it's definitely sicheng's voice.

he takes hold of your wrist, not too tight but just enough to guide you to the exit. as you two are about to head up the stairs to the double doors, the lights flicker back on and mrs. xiao is on stage again.

"there we are. i apologise profusely for that disruption," her hands grip onto the mic stand tightly.

sicheng leads you up the stairs and out the doors without second guessing; everyone else seemed too caught up in the middle of the chaos to notice.

...

back at your home, you and sicheng enter through your foyer and he's spluttering out orders and demands over the phone. as you pass by the large circular mirror hanging in one of the walls of the foyer, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. you double take. one of your ears are still adorned by the beautiful pearl earring that your father had got you, but your other one is missing.

sicheng gets off of the phone that he's been on since the beginning of the car ride home. then, he notices you staring at your reflection in the mirror. "what's the matter?"

you give a gentle shake of your head, fingers drawing at your bare earlobe, "nothing, just one of my earrings is gone."

"i'll have my men try to find it for you," he responds without missing a beat. "miss ln, are you sure that nothing else happened whilst the lights went out?" his eyebrows curve in a slight s-shape.

"yes, i already told you. someone grabbed me by the arm, but that was it. maybe they just thought i was someone they knew."

sicheng shows no reaction to your theory, "i will have this investigated, miss ln. i advise you to get some rest," he says with a bow of his head.

your nightly routine goes by like a blur. priscilla has been dismissed for the night, so you undo your hair, your gown, and clean off your makeup all by yourself, but your mind isn't fully in the present.

sicheng went off after telling you to get some rest, presumably to inform your father about what'd happened. you don't know for certain if he's still speaking to your father, or if he's standing outside your door right now.

it's not that your mind is dwelling on what happened; in fact, you are precisely thinking of nothing. everything in your vision passes by you like you're watching someone else lead their life. even as you get changed, crawl into bed, and try to drift to sleep.

suddenly, you hear a creak from outside your window. your eyes shoot open. trying your best to calm yourself, you reason that it's probably just mice who'd made their way into your garden. a strong gust of wind blows past. then, silence.

and another creak. all logic and rationale flys out of your mind. the only thing you can think of to do is...

"sicheng!"

you tried your best to hold your own earlier, down in the foyer, but right now the sense of urgency in your voice betrays you. sicheng bursts into your room, the buttons of the collar of his shirt undone.

"yes, miss ln?"

his eyes are solely focused on you, despite you looking out towards the windows.

"there's... i heard some weird noises," you gesture with your head pointing at the garden.

sicheng follows your gaze, then he looks back at you. he could tell you that you're in your own home, that you're safe, but instead, he walks over to your windows and draws open your curtains. "there's nothing here, miss ln." hoping that he can provide you with some reassurance, he looks back at you, "we've already done a perimeter check, you're safe here, i assure you."

you drop your eyes, responding with a gentle nod of the head.

"i'll be outside," he says as he begins to make his way back to the door.

before he can reach the handle, you stop him, "wait." he looks at you with an expectant expression. "can't you just stay here?"

even though he's a distance away, you notice a flinch in his brows as he registered your words. "i'm afraid that's not appropriate, miss ln." he says this, but he doesn't take another step.

"there," you point towards the sofa chair to the right side of your bed, "at least just stay there." you wanted to add a 'please,' maybe plead with him, but your dignity had to be kept even if you were fearful.

he doesn't protest as much as you thought he would. quietly, he shuts your door and makes his way to the chair.

your fingers hop from one note to another, pressing down with force and lifting again at the flick of your wrist. a familiar tune emanates throughout the room, rising up to the skylight, then sinking back down again.

your hands dance along the keys of the grand piano at the bottom of your staircase. a bittersweet melody fills your ears, and as you come to a decrescendo in the piece, the faint sound of footsteps through the marble halls overtake your playing. you swiftly turn your head around.

sicheng is stood behind you. under the bright morning light, his cheekbones stand out prominently. "i've been looking for you, miss ln," his chest falls as he says this.

"you dozed off," you turn your attention back to the piano, "i didn't want to wake you."

"i apologise; it won't happen again."

"you need to rest, too," you raise your hands and gently set them on top of the keys, "do you even sleep?"

there's a slight break in between your asking of the question and his answer. "occasionally, but not when i'm supposed to be on duty."

you turn back around, "well, like you said: i'm safe here." you scan him up and down, he's changed out of the outfit he wore to the gala last night, but all his outfits resemble each other. a black button up shirt, a fitted black blazer, black suit paints, a black tie, and a small white brooch on the lapels of his blazer. "do you play?"

he looks to be slightly caught offguard, "no. well, yes but-"

"play something for me."

you shuffle yourself to one side of the bench, making room for sicheng next to you. he slowly walks around and slides into the spot you've made for him. for the first time, you can visibly see that every one of his actions are carried out with hesitation.

his posture is perfect, head slightly tilted downwards and a curve at his wrist as his fingertips lay upon the whites of the piano keys. he clears his throat. then, a single note as he presses down with his index finger. the beginning is slow, slower than the piece was intended to be, but you know what he's playing regardless. nocturne op. 9 no. 1. there's a certain silent agony in the way he punctuates the flow of the melody. the second of the set of nocturnes that chopin had composed has always been regarded as chopin's more famous piece of work over this one. yet, the manner in which sicheng plays this piece makes you wonder why.

the stiffness that was prevalent in his body is now gone, fully immersed in the rhythm. the crescendo comes devastatingly, he leans forward into it, the melody tugging at your chest despite it sounding a bit brighter than the introduction of the piece. you watch in silence as his fingers glide and cross over each other masterfully, a sonorous tone emitting from his movements.

he doesn't finish the piece, but he finds a place to stop after a minute or so of playing.

his fingers linger on the notes as the melody fades out gradually.

"you play beautifully," softly, you remark, "where did you learn?"

he lifts his hands from the keys, clasping them together on his lap. "thank you—my mother taught me."

you watch as he swallows, his adam’s apple dipping slightly. a thought occurs to you. you barely know anything about this man who’s supposed to protect you. maybe that’s for privacy, confidentiality, or security reasons but, there’s a certain yearning in you that wants to find out more about him. after all, trust can’t be built without a foundation. you just don’t know where to prod.

“…and what about your dad?”

sicheng glances over at you, slightly confused at your sudden interest in him. his eyebrows flinch again. “he, uh, used to work for your father. that’s why i’m here. my family owes a lot to your father.”

he gulps again.

you’re not completely sure how to navigate through this conversation. do you ask where his father is now? what if it’s a sensitive spot, why else would sicheng be acting this uncharacteristically. his cold and cool demeanor seemingly melted away. “your father… is he…”

you don’t finish your sentence, but sicheng knows what you’re hinting at. “no, no. he’s just retired. too many injuries on the job.” he clears his throat and stands up from the bench. “sorry, i didn’t mean to intrude on your space, miss ln.” he begins to walk back around the bench.

you can’t help but let out a faint chuckle. “drop the title already. it’s just yn.”

he’s standing tall, hands clasped in front of him, and he purses his lips together. he dips his head rather jerkily, “as you wish.”

then, a ping sounds out.

you pick up your phone that was laid out on the top cover of the piano, and sicheng fishes for his in the inside pockets of his blazer. as he brings out his phone, you begin to hear a vibration sounding out. he holds it in his hand and flashes a quick glance at you, “excuse me,” then he accepts the call. as he brings it up to his ear, he spins on his heel and start to walk off into a distant hallway.

you divert your attention back onto your screen and begin to see messages popping up at the bottom. ones from dejun that read:

"my mum would like to apologise to everyone here about what happened yesterday."

it's sent to the group chat thread that you rarely respond to, though, you do keep up with its messages.

then, another:

"i don't believe in apologies without actions, so you're all cordially invited to come to dreamers' oasis in d119 tomorrow night."

"on me."

the last message was an important detail. you click on the notification bubble and already see others typing in the group chat.

hendery writes, "you are so gonna regret saying that."

a tiny smile creeps its' way onto your face. your thumbs begin moving on the keyboard; hitting send on a message that says, "hendery's going to bankrupt you," which earned you a dislike from dejun.

he ignores your comment, "will you finally be joining us yn? you know, seeing as it's your last week as a free woman."

the last part of his sentence hits you; maybe not to that extreme but it is your last week before you have to take on your father's responsibilities.

every time dejun invites you to a night out, it's most of the time a no brainer and not in a positive way. all the clubs and bars that your friends choose are out of your district's boundaries. and it's not like you didn't have clubs and bars in this district, but the fun ones—as dejun puts it—are only in district 119. you've only taken the risk a couple of times, but now, with especially an extra pair of eagle eyes on you, the possibility of sneaking out is practically 0.

before you can respond, hendery already sent out a message in your place, "have you seen her little boyfriend yesterday? there's no way man."

as much as you want to disagree, you can't. there is no way.

"not my boyfriend," you finally type out.

messages keep popping up on screen, a plan coming together with the people that can go. before you exit out of the thread, you type in "i'll see what i can do," but you stop short of pressing send.

quietly, you head off in the same direction as sicheng, scanning the halls for any sign of him. you're not quite sure what you'll do once you see him. beg him? please let me go out with my friends and get wasted? no. you haven't reached that point, yet; you still have some decorum within you.

you spot him still talking over the phone behind a marble pillar. as silently as possible, you sidle over to where he is, not wanting to disrupt him. once you're close enough, you catch glimpses of his conversation that he's having: "do you understand? whatever you do... we can't let her find out what happened."

your brain made the connect pretty quickly, the 'her' in question had to be you—who else? and what is he keeping from you? he continues speaking but nothing is going through you. all you can think about is, what is he not telling me? as quietly as you came, you retrace your steps back into the piano room.

you'd be lying if you said there wasn't a spark of fury beginning to catch within you. if you are to trust sicheng, why would he purposefully keep something from you? the more you think about it, the more agitated you grew. the fact that he seemed to treat you like a child needing protection every step along the way annoyed you—and what if his intention wasn't to protect you? your head can only spin with theories and speculations.

you unlock your phone again, and hit send on the last message you typed out.

...

your father wanted to have dinner with you tonight, alongside sicheng, of course. and you know now after sitting down to begin your meal, he really wanted to have dinner with sicheng tonight.

"any updates?" your father directed the inquiry towards your bodyguard.

the three of you are sat on a long, oval table. your father sitting at one end, and you and sicheng sitting across from him, sharing the other end. the candelabra stands in between you and your father in the middle.

"no, not yet, sir. we're still trying to investigate the intent behind yesterday's actions."

he finishes his sentence before continuing to cut into his ribeye. you sit adjacent to him, observing every movement he takes. as he stabs into the meat with his fork and brings it up into his mouth. he sets his fork down on the edge of the plate, bringing the napkin laid flat on his lap up as he chews.

"yn, you're not hungry?" your father's voice booms from across the room, breaking your attention away from sicheng.

you look down at your plate, barely touched aside from you swirling the sauce around. "no, i'm afraid not." you set down the fork that you have been toying with flat on the tablecloth. you pull the napkin from your lap and place it on the other side of your plate. standing up, you voice, "i'm a bit weary tonight." you spot sicheng shifting to get up from his seat in your peripheral, "no, no, please finish dinner. father, would you excuse me?"

"well... of course," with your father's approval, sicheng sits back down. you turn around, the heels you're wearing click at a steady pace as you're headed for the doors.

you haven't spoken directly to sicheng since dinner last night. the whole of today you spent cooped up in the library. that's not to say that you were being passive, though.

you haven't forgotten about dejun's invitation for drinks tonight—you just needed the perfect cover.

it's around 8pm, your maids have come and gone bringing you food and tea from time to time. you glance at the grandfather clock propped up against the wall in between all the bookshelves.

you slide the book that you've held in your hands back into its spot on the shelf. rather than actually reading it, your eyes have been skimming the pages and the words scattered throughout absent-mindedly. you turn your plan over around in your mind as you did so, and you have been for the past few hours, at least.

you drag your feet over the wooden floorboards of the library and crack open the doors. you peak your head out into the crack, then the rest of your body follows. oddly enough, sicheng isn't standing right in front of the room.

like a stereotypical action movie, you give the hallways a quick glance in one direction, then the other. you've never felt as much like a thief in your own home. sneaking, tiptoeing around the hallways, caution bubbling in every part of you.

when you reach your bedroom doors, footsteps sound behind you.

the looming presence of someone else doesn't speak, the only indication of them even being there is the shadow of them casted over your own feet.

you turn around, and you're met with the face that you've come to expect these past few days. "i'm... having an early night in."

sicheng's expression is unfaltering. the return of his stoicism makes you feel like a schoolchild being reprimanded by some vague authority figure; desperate to give more and more answers, to keep speaking and reasoning.

he watches your frozen body, as if you'd been caught doing something you're not supposed to, when in reality you're just stood outside of the doors to your own bedroom. "just thought i'd tell you," you add.

"well, don't let me stop you." his torso leans forward ever so slightly, the tone of his voice catching on the edge of a faint whisper.

the handle of the door clicks as you push onto it. when you look back to shut it, sicheng repositions himself with his back to the wall that lines the outside of your room.

once you're completely alone, you strip yourself of the sleeping clothes that you'd been wearing for entirety of today immediately and go over to your closet where you'd already hung up an outfit that you picked out last night.

you slip it on hastily: a tight fitting camisole top with a miniskirt, paired with some knee high leather boots and an oversized jacket for warmth. most of this outfit doesn't even look like it belongs to you. the people in your life knows you for wearing pretty dresses and skirts that reach your knees at least, but if tonight's going to be anything close to fun, then you need to look the part. you can't afford sticking out like a sore thumb, especially in district 119.

you'd texted your friends—or rather xiaojun, and his friends—earlier, asking if they could park right outside the gazebo at the far end of the garden, waiting for you to show up. this plan has worked precisely 2 times before with a 100% success rate, and you're counting on it working for a third time.

you would open the doors to your balcony, climb over the balustrade and scale your way downwards on the water pipe right next to your balcony landing. the garden wasn't fenced in like the front of the house. after all, this house was on private land belonging to your father; anyone who tried to trespass would've been seen by at least one person working on the property. so, it was an easy enough escape from the garden compared to your exit route down from your room.

you walk through the gazebo, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket as you try to shake the cold of the night off of you. dejun's suv is there, headlights off.

they must've seen you even in the dark, because once you're about a step or two away, the passenger door to the suv swings open—dejun himself in the driver's seat.

...

after finding a quick place to park, you and the group walk a block to where the club is, having had a drink or two on the way here.

the streets are anything but quiet. the heavy void of the sky sits atop the city like a dome, the neon signs colouring the deep blue like a palette of dulled paint. the closer and closer you get to the club, the music already begins to boom from within. laughter erupts from the rest of the group from a joke that you missed.

a pair stands right outside the entrance of the club, one of them leaning against the brick wall whilst the other squats; cigarettes in both their hands. you hold your breath as you walk right into a fresh cloud of smoke, courtesy of the man standing up.

on one hand, you want to let loose tonight; have fun. but on the other, you can't help but wonder if you were meticulous enough, or even at all. there's no guarantee that sicheng wouldn't just open your door and find that you are nowhere within the vicinity. but he wouldn't for no reason, you try to calm your racing mind.

you find yourself at the back of the pack, watching everyone in front of you filter into the entrance, disappearing into the darkness surrounded by a rectangular frame.

dejun is right in front of you, he takes note of your hesitation. he comes back down from the steps leading to the entrance stopping right next to you.

lowering his head, he looks at you through his brows, "don't tell me you're gonna pussy out when you're right outside."

you try to dismiss the doubts flaring around in your head. "you wish. drinks still on you, right?" you shoot him a quick wink, then stride up the steps and like others before you, submerge into the darkness.

and immediately, flashing lights take over the darkness. a neon green fog floats just above the floor. a circular platform stands in the middle of the club with a metal pole going through the centre of it. the club itself is a lot bigger than you'd imagined, given what the exterior of it looked like. circle booths surround the platform and smaller ones are peppered all throughout. the ceiling is tall with decorative vines and ivies hanging from it, not low enough for anyone to reach. 2 bartenders stand behind the bar, busying themselves with orders upon orders for a room of, what looks to be about 200 people. a small, spiralled staircase stands to the right of the bar, leading to what resembles a loft platform with people drinking and laughing up on it.

it's as if your feet are stuck to the ground as you take in the scene before you. dejun places a hand on the small of your back. he utters right by your ear, "come on, that way," as he guides you towards one of the bigger booths right in front of the platform.

you plop down on the red leather couch, warmed against the back of your thigh.

remixes of popular songs blast unapologetically out of the speakers that lined every few inches of the walls. you can hardly hear the people in front of you speaking, debating what drinks to get first. you lean forward, wanting to get an in on what they're discussing. shots, shots, shots. after a word or two from dejun, everyone agrees that they should do shots first. melon flavoured, to be exact.

dejun vanishes into the group of people crowding around the bar.

"so, yn, how's leaving your house for the first time ever?" one of dejun's friends sprouts up.

you can feel your breathing pick up its pace. you weren't expecting much conversation seeing as 'friends' isn't exactly the label you'd put on these people, with the exception being dejun, and maybe hendery.

"great actually, thanks." you slide back into your spot on the booth, only slightly cramped with the amount of people sharing one area.

hendery lands a punch on the guy's arm, "watch how you speak to our princess." a smirk picks up on the guy's lips as hendery finishes his sentence, his tongue poking into the crevice of his cheek.

and just as quickly as the attention turned to you, it leaves you even faster. comments are thrown around about the female bartender.

"hendery, i'll give you £100 if you don't ask for her number tonight," someone chimed.

hendery quickly steals a glance at his phone before returning his eyes to the bettor, "i guess we're not leaving until after midnight, then." he sits back, throwing an arm around the girl next to him.

dejun makes his way back, hands holding as many shots as he could—which was 8. not all of them were filled equally, which you can only assume was attributed to dejun's bumping into people as he was on his way back. the small glasses were filled with a somewhat cloudy liquid. everyone picked up a shot as he set them down on the glass table, including you.

"to xiaojun bankrolling us!" a voice chirped up with a glass in the air. everyone else followed with a chorus of cheers, clinking the shots together before tipping their heads back and downing it.

as you swallow, there's a hint of sweetness from the melon flavour but the vodka is inescapable. you can feel it travel all the way with a burn down your oesophagus until it settles in your stomach, a heat spreading from it.

...

the overwhelming boom of the music does not phase you anymore. you are past the point of hazy where the only thing you can comprehend is what is immediately happening in front of you. object permanence? gone.

for the past few hours, you and the rest of the group you came here with downed shot after shot, drank beer after beer. no matter how high your tolerance was, tonight definitely pushed you over that line.

"xiaojun!" you shout across to your friend at the bar. he acknowledges you with a quick wave of his hand.

the others have their arms around each other's shoulders, foundering as they approach the exit. you lean against one of the walls right in front of the fog machine, waiting for dejun.

"come on, yn!" one of the girls shout, grabbing your wrist in her hands and linking you to the rest of the group. dejun finally makes his way back over, and instinctually you fling an arm around him, too.

the bunch of you look ridiculous; grown adults stumbling their way out of a club in the dark. half present smiles seemingly glued onto your faces. all of you count together as one by one, you take the couple of steps down onto the pavement.

once back on the street, you open your eyes to more than just a squint. the road looks the same as before. time has no effect on this district, neon signs still alight with strangers roaming the streets at any hour of the day. you bask in the warm orange glow of the lamp post directly above you, and you scan around for dejun's suv.

and that's when you see something across the road.

a tall, lean figure slanted against the hood of a car. you recognise his posture all too well.

oh shit. shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

you'd gotten so carried away tonight that you completely forgot that you weren't even supposed to be here. the drinks flushed every doubt, every worry out of your mind. it is only when your eyes see sicheng standing right across the road from you, and your mind consciously registers that, that every thing you tried to forget comes rushing back to you.

"xiaojun," you mutter under your breath, but he's not entirely in it, either.

sicheng spots the group of you, head tilted, and that's the moment he recognises you, in an outfit he'd never seen you in before, around people that he has seen before. he pushes himself off of the hood and crosses the road. you have exactly 3 seconds before you're done for.

the night is blustery, gentle, but breezy nonetheless. he's wearing a white button up with his sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone. as he's making his way towards you, his hands are tucked into the pockets of his trousers.

sicheng takes 3 steps onto the pavement that you're on, and you are met face to face with the guard that you attempted to escape tonight. he quickly eyes the rest of your group, too drunk to even comprehend what is happening and who he is. a misstep happens and three of them stumble, fall, and stack on top of one another. they laugh it off.

he returns his gaze to you. "miss ln."

it's magical the way you suddenly feel sober. confrontation is one hell of an antidote. "listen," you breathe out. but it's no use, even you know it.

sicheng spares you no pity. "shall we head home?"

you don't know what you prefer: him still being cool and calm and collected, or have him be so seethingly furious with you like your father would be. in that moment, you decide that his reaction is much worse. how can he stand there with the state of you like this and still ask such a question with a steeled face? does he not care?

you look over to dejun, who has now walked around you to help his other friends get up.

trying to make up your mind whether to plead your case in that moment, there is something else that you can decide easier. going home with sicheng. there's no use fighting it, and frankly, you didn't want to. so, you take a step, passing by where sicheng stood in front of you, and then another, and until you're across the road about to get into the car. your friends left on the curb—they'll manage, you figured.

your body can't help but shake as you step into the passenger seat. a jittery feeling overtakes you. do you explain? do you not? what even is the explanation?

sicheng gets into the driver seat. he turns on the engine, back up from the parking spot, and begins to drive off, doing this all without a word.

you steal a glance over at him, not wanting to appear too sheepish. a sudden apologetic sentiment freezes your body, but that same feeling quickly turns sour. you open your mouth to speak, but no noise leaves you. quickly, you snap your head back around and lean against the window. the quietness of the car ride has you feeling all the effects of the events tonight.

"you didn't think i'd know?"

your eyes shift over. sicheng's focus is entirely on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard that the veins on his arms are prominent under the moonlight. he might not sound angry, but his body language gives it away.

"no, i thought..." you take a deep breath in. "i don't know what i thought," you finally admit.

if he'd heard your answer, he gave no indication of it. he continues driving, fingers still clenched tightly around the wheel. his silence lingers around for a good few minutes. no music, nothing; just the sound of the friction of the tyres speeding against tarmac.

"if something had happened to you, do you know what that means? for all of us?" he asks, in a tone that's more or less condescending.

you stay quiet—you didn't see a point in arguing your case. or maybe it was just the alcohol taking the fight out of you, the steady rocking of the ride seem to begin to lull you to sleep.

the rest of the car ride home was silent. sicheng's grip never loosened. and you can tell none of his frustration dissipated by the way he slammed the car door shut.

as noiselessly as possible, the two of you slide in through the main doors into the foyer. you pull on the heels of your boots to take them off, struggling with your balance slightly. as you're about to make your way up to your room with your boots in your hands, sicheng stops you with one statement.

"i won't tell your father."

you turn, feeling a disjointed mix of emotions. you're relieved, but confused...? and grateful, but suspicious. "why?" you bluntly ask, questioning his ulterior motives if he has any.

sicheng takes a deep breath in and rolls his head to his left side. he takes a single step towards you. the rest of the house is dark, the only light being from the two sconces on either sides of the foyer. as he looks into your eyes, his irises are two swirling rings of mystery. you can never guess what he's thinking.

"because it won't look good on either one of us," he whispers. "if you wanted to go out, you could've just told me and i would've helped you," he added, now with a certain softness breaking into his gaze.

your focus shifts from one eye to the other. sicheng can read every wrinkle in your brow and every glint of confusion in your stare. what are you supposed to make of the fact that the man your father hired to watch you like a hawk is willing to help you get up to things your father will never approve of?

"but why?"

it's as if the drinks had broken down your every guard, every filter that you're so used to imposing on yourself. the bluntness in your tone is something even you didn't recognise.

"tonight proved that you would sneak out regardless of circumstances. so, why not tell me so i can at least keep you as safe as i can?"

sicheng finds himself exploring every inch of your face with his gaze, studying the smudged eyeliner and lipstick on you, before meeting your eyes again. he continues, "i have a job to do, you know?"

it seems as though you're not the only one with a broken down barrier. the formality in which he normally speaks with is nowhere to be heard.

"and why should i trust you?" there's an edge in your voice that makes the question come out as offensive. "i can't," you quickly add before he even has a chance to reply.

and now it's his turn to be stumped. your sudden change in attitude evokes a return of the wince in his eyebrows. "what do you mean?" he falters.

"i heard you yesterday." your head shakes, the clear of your eyes glisten with a lack of faith. "what am i supposed to think of you when you're actively hiding something from me?"

it's like a wave of realisation hits sicheng. he recalls the phone call that he took yesterday, and realises what you must've overheard. it takes him a few seconds to collect his thoughts together.

"you can't possibly think that i would want to harm you."

"i don't know you!" you exclaim, maybe a bit too loud for this hour. "you waltz into my life and tell me that you're trying to save me, but i don't know you."

sicheng exhales and drops his head. his chest rises slowly as he takes in a deep lungful of air. "i didn't want to tell you because i didn't want you to feel... betrayed."

your body language communicates all there is to say. you urge him to go on with a shake of your head and a furrowing in your eyebrows.

"we have reason to believe that..." his voice is small, and soft, as if he's laying down cushioning for telling a child that santa claus isn't real. "the person threatening you runs in your immediate coterie."

your friends. that's what he's hinting at, that's what he's explicitly telling you right now. that possibly someone you went out with tonight have reason to threaten you. sicheng thought that telling you now would diffuse the situation, but in fact, it does the opposite.

"isn't that all the more reason for me to know? and you hid it from me for w-"

"yn," he corrects his slip of words, "miss ln." he cuts you off ever so calmly, "i understand that emotions are heightened right now. i think it's best we talk in the morning."

a knot works its way up into your own chest. your frustration is fuelled even more by his coolness. you stare at his ridiculously poised expression, and in that moment, you give up trying to argue.

you finally begin to walk up the stairs, with your boots still in your hands, ready to crash and give out onto your bed.

you wake up the next morning, or rather the same morning, with a throbbing pain in your head. one of your ears feels blocked and no matter what you do to try and make it so that noise isn't muffled as it filters into your ear, it doesn't work.

in the bathroom, you stare at your reflection and are in shock over how badly you removed your makeup last night. eyeliner stains the corners of your eyelids, patches of concealer are still on the sides of your face. you turn on the faucet, wait for it to become warmer, and scrub the remainder of the products off of your face.

in the midst of washing your face, you realise that you haven't had a proper meal since yesterday afternoon, as signalled by a grumbling in your stomach.

as discreetly as possible, you try to get out of your room, taking a gentle step out onto the hallway. you're not entirely sure why you needed to be stealthy, perhaps it's just the aftereffects of last night.

however, your plan to be concealed quickly falls to shambles as sicheng is, as always, guarding your door outside and your father is walking down the hallway heading in your direction. your heart starts to beat faster and faster; if sicheng didn't stick by his words last night then you are dead for all you know. that conversation you had in the foyer didn't leave your mind even for a second when you tried to fall asleep earlier, and you plan on following up on that talk he offered you.

your father reaches your room and stops to take one look at you.

"goodmorning, father." you utter. a tinge of sheepishness can't help but crawl onto the apples of your cheeks.

"goodmorning, dear," he stretches a warm smile directed towards you, and gives a simple nod of the head to sicheng.

so he didn't lie. that's the first thought following your relief that your father isn't absolutely furious with you. you glance at sicheng as your father walks past you continuing his way down the hallway. he flashes you an expression, one that says, 'what did i tell you?'

sicheng keeps his eyes on your father and as soon as he's out of earshot, he mutters, "surprised?"

a look of almost disbelief takes over you. the nerve on this guy. your heart almost jumped out of your chest and he has the cockiness to make a remark like that.

"stop fucking with me. you still owe me an explanation."

sicheng says with a simple shrug, "i've told you everything i know."

before you can speak back and challenge him, one of your housemaids yell out your name from the foyer.

you quickly make your way downstairs with sicheng following right behind you.

you spot priscilla kneeling down to pick up a package left right in front of the doors to the house. "what is it, priscilla?" you ask, as she begins to stand up again.

"i'm not sure—but it's addressed to you, miss," she responds, reading the tag tied to the parcel with a thin ribbon.

it's odd enough that a package made its way directly onto your doorsteps since the mail that you and your father receive are usually intercepted and collected at the mail room, or placed into your father's study. it's even more strange that it's directly addressed to you with your name typed and printed out in a sans-serif font.

you hold the box in one hand as your other goes to unravel the ribbon. you pull the knot through, and the box undoes itself. the 4 walls fall down revealing another note with your name on it, this time handwritten in a sparkly, gold paint.

you pick the note up and twirl it around with your fingers. sure enough, there's a message for you on the back. it looks like it was typed out on a traditional typewriter, it reads: "next time, i'll have your pretty head along with it" signed with kisses.

you suck in a sharp breath, a shock dawning on you. you look down at the opened box, under the note was a cushioning of tissue paper along with one earring. it took you a few seconds to study the singular earring, then it hits you: the pearl earring that you lost at the gala. your fingers begin to tremble, and sicheng watches as you're overcome with theories and conclusions.

he snatches the note from your hands, eyes scanning every word hastily and sees the earring in the box. it doesn't take him time to put two and two together.

immediately, he voices, "priscilla, did you see who left this outside?"

"no, uh, i opened the door because there was a knock and as soon as i saw the parcel with miss ln's name on it, i called for her." priscilla is evidently taken aback by the sharpness of sicheng's voice. her gestures are overt as she explains the situation.

sicheng pulls his phone out and his thumbs slide over the bottom part of his screen as he swiftly sends out a message.

he turns to you, "i'll go look over security footage right now. yn, go back up to your room." he motions over at priscilla as if to tell her that you needed to be escorted upstairs.

usually, you wouldn't just blindly listen to what anyone tells you, but your mind is running at 100 miles per hour. you recognise that gold paint, the writing, the flicks and hairline strokes that stylised your name. you've received a note from the same person before. only that last time, it wasn't as explicit a threat as it is this time.

...

you haven't stepped foot out of your room since sicheng told you to go back this morning. your maids have come up with breakfast and lunch earlier, but now it's well past dinner time, and the food outside your door remains untouched. the sky outside is darkening, with some rogue streaks of orange and pink as the sun dips below the horizon.

nonstop, you've been thinking it over and over in your head. putting together what sicheng told you and what you know yourself. someone close enough to you is threatening your life—but why? sure, there's the obvious reason that in a matter of days, you may possibly take over your father's title of mayor, but who would risk so much to send you a petty note? and everyone in your circle has a good enough status; what would they have to gain from this? surely, there's a blind spot that you must be missing.

your train of thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a knock at your door.

"come in!"

sicheng walks in to find you curled up in bed, knees tucked against your chest. he glances backwards briefly before closing the door behind him, "you didn't eat?"

"i'm not hungry."

you notice that he's not wearing his usual attire. a thin t-shirt covers his torso, and his regular slack pants are replaced by loose-fitting joggers. his footsteps are muted as he approaches you. there seems to be a debate in his mind whether or not he should be approaching you as he stops with at least 10 feet of space in between you and him.

"did you need me for something?" you mutter, patience thinning out on the edge of your voice.

you watch as he opens his mouth, but a response fails to be conjured up without a pause. "no, i just wanted to check on you."

you throw your blanket off of your feet and push yourself off the bed. the distance that sicheng left between the two of you disappears as you draw nearer to him.

you're not entirely sure what to do, or what to say. you look up at him and he returns your gaze. a breath hitches within you that you try your best to stifle. a knot forms in your throat and you swallow hard, dropping your eyes from sicheng.

"hey," he murmurs airily, bringing his hand up to your face. sicheng stops just short of cupping your face in his palms. you reach for his hand, taking it into your own, and he takes that as a sign to delicately graze your cheek with the side of his thumb. the lightness of his touch floats over your skin. "you're okay," he reassures you with a whisper.

it's hard to pinpoint what it is that you're feeling. there were books and lessons when you were growing up on how to be well-mannered, how to hone in your etiquettes, but there were never any rulebooks to teach you how to feel. especially, in a situation like this. how do we know if there's a right way to process our complexities?

you lean into sicheng's touch. "what can i do for you right now?" his tone coming off as a genuine offer of comfort, rather than him sounding like he is indebted to you.

finally, you lift your head, eyes running up against sicheng until it lands onto his again. "just stay with me tonight," though you meant it as a statement, bordering on an order, it ekes out of you with an uncertainty.

he nods, mouthing a soft 'okay.'

with his hand in your grip, you lead him to the edge of your bed. you can feel the hesitance in him, but he doesn't outright stop in his tracks. sliding into your covers, you shuffle over to make room for sicheng. admittedly, he didn't think this was what you meant when you asked him to stay with you tonight. he thought that he would just spend another night in the chair next to your bed, like he did before, but no.

you sit up against the headboard.

"you're... comfortable with this?" his voice is softer than dusk.

you nod, and with that, he slowly slides into your bed, a respectable distance between the two of you.

sicheng lays on his back, one hand behind his hand as you shift closer to him. though he tries his best to hide it on his face, the beating of his heart gives him away when you lay a hand over on his chest.

he rolls onto the arm closer to you, now face to face with you on the bed, leaving your hand in front of his chest on the mattress. he looks at you with a lustre in his eyes, the strong arches of his brows soften and his eyelids flutter.

you're close enough that you can hear the rhythm of his breathing and feel the warmth of his body against you. your fingers inch back onto his chest, running over the fabric of his shirt delicately, and onto his jawline. the tips of your index finger skim the contour of his chin, and up along his cheekbone. your eyes follow your fleeting touch against his face when it runs back down to the corner of his lips.

there's a few seconds in between you inching closer and closer to sicheng, and him whispering.

"we can't."

you stop—your breathing stops as well.

though you don't voice it out loud, the look in your eyes expresses every ounce of regret that you feel. your hand stiffens on sicheng's face, your fingers resting on the edge of his jaw.

his gaze flickers in between your eyes and your lips. it stays on your lips for a moment longer.

"i can't kiss you like we're lovers, when we're not."

the last three words slip out from his lips breathier than the rest.

you draw your body even closer to sicheng's, until there's only a sliver of empty space in between you.

"then, don't kiss me."

you plant a soft peck on his bare neck, and he can't bite back the tiny hum he lets slip. your lips stick to the warmth of his skin, a saltiness to it mixed with the clean scent of his cologne. simultaneously, he tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers laid flat on the nape of your neck as he pulls you in closer.

his hand runs down the side of you, finding a spot on your waist which he grips onto tighter. your teeth grazes against a vein in his neck and a groan catches in his throat.

your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they start swaying forwards, colliding with sicheng's thighs. "what are you doing to me?" he mumbles under his breath, so faintly that you nearly couldn't make it out over your own humming against his neck.

sicheng is overtaken by instinct. his hand find its way between your thighs, sliding up and down over the softness of your skin. you can't help the purrs of approval that tumble out of you involuntarily.

his fingers trace soft, soft rings on the inside of your thighs, stopping just an inch below the hem of your shorts. whatever you've started, you needed to have more of it. you pull your lips away from him and wrap your fingers around his wrist that hovered so close to the heat pooling underneath you. if he wasn't going to touch you, you'd rather have him not tease you at all.

sicheng looks at you through half-lidded eyes with a faint tug on his lips, "put my hand where you want it."

you drag his hand an inch upwards, and almost naturally, sicheng finds his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shorts. "fuck," he breathes out. "you're not wearing anything underneath?" you smirk, unable to say anything because if you did, he would know how insane the raspiness in his voice drove you.

the tips of his fingers trace along the folds of your cunt, smearing your wetness all over. your breath escapes you shakily, and he revels at the sight of you. god. he knew you were pretty but you've never looked prettier than when you're squirming under his touch.

he rubs a loose circle around your clit with his middle finger, eyes steadily watching your every expression. your whole body is electrified. you feel as though you've come alive just from his touch. then, he draws another. you sink your teeth down into your bottom lip, trying to keep your breathing at a constant. the hand that you have wrapped around his wrist untightens itself and it runs up sicheng's arm, nails digging themselves into his bicep as his fingers move faster and faster on you.

then, they slow right back down. your eyelids shutter open fully, looking at him watching you with a gentleness.

he eases one finger inside of you, engulfed into your warmth. a gasp falls upon you quickly followed by a moan, which sicheng muffles with his other hand. he shushes, "you can hold it in, can't you?" you nod your head against his hand covering your lips. so badly, you want to just scream out his name, but you can't.

then, he slides another finger inside. the two of them drag up and down your heated walls, coated in a slickness. you struggle to keep from sounding out noises that ultimately gets caught in your throat. you pull his hand down from your mouth, managing a breathy, "fuck, sicheng."

he continues shushing you, balanced out with a subdued, "i know, i know." the length of his fingers carries on diving deeper and deeper into you, his thumb working small loops on your clit. you can't help but grind down against his hand, meeting him halfway with every stroke. your own fingers replaces his thumb, rubbing so relentlessly that it makes you throw your head back.

you begin to feel a tightening in your core. each moan that comes out of you is strained and muffled, your sealed lips pressing together so hard that it starts to become numb. "i'm so close," you try to voice out but a broken string of whimpers fall out instead.

your knees impulsively push themselves together, trapping sicheng's hand in between your thighs. "yeah, like that, baby. just like that," he picks up the pace in which he plunges his fingers in and out of you, "keep it quiet, though, okay?"

at this point, you've lost focus on what he's saying. the only thing on your mind is how good his fingers feel inside of you, and the violent pressure that your own fingers are exerting isn't helping. your arm is starting to ache when you finally begin to feel the release in your core. the knot tied in your stomach falls apart and so do you. your hand stops and grabs onto sicheng's wrist again. each moan that's knocked out of you quickly transitions into you panting for air. all sicheng can do is caress your cheek as you slowly come down and steady yourself again against his embrace.

you lay there next to him as you're catching your breath. sicheng comforts you with words that you can't quite hear. you take his hand up to your face, fully shutting your legs together, and lick the slickness off of his fingers. he watches you with a groan as you take his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. you pull his hand away slowly, and when your lips close together, he lets go of a deep sigh.

sicheng looks deeply into your eyes, the faintest trace of satisfaction visible on his face. "get some rest now, okay?"

a part of you doesn't want to just stop now, but the other part of you is worn out beyond repair, not just from this. your post-orgasm crash wears over you like a spell putting you to sleep, and you have no will left to fight it. so, before you know it, you drift off to sleep with sicheng's arms wrapped tightly around you and your face pressed up against his chest.

he wasn't supposed to and he wasn't planning to, but sicheng dozed off last night with you cuddled up against him. the only thought running through his head this morning: i fucked up. and that's only taking into account that he literally slept with you next to him.

the chorus of bird chirps sounds aloud from out in the garden. the bright symphonies fill the morning air.

as slowly as he can, he pulls his arm back from underneath you, a tingling feeling spreading from where your head laid upon it. hushedly, he slides his legs off of the edge of the bed, trying not to wake you. he stands up, and his movements are halted by a hum from you.

your eyes peer open, and sicheng is glancing back at you. "morning," he clears his throat, "i didn't want to wake you."

"it's alright," your voice scratches. you push yourself onto your palms and sit up, straightening your back. "um," you stutter out, looking around your bed to avoid any eye contact. there's an unspoken tension between you and sicheng that you can sense right away.

sicheng presses his thumb into the palm of his opposite hand and echoes your filler words.

you want to ask out loud, 'why is it so awkward?' but that will probably do nothing to help ease the atmosphere.

sicheng breaks the silence, "i shouldn't have... came in last night."

your eyes dart towards him, but he's looking down at your sheets. is it bad that you felt a sinking in your chest right as he said that? you didn't think you regretted what happened, but maybe you should given what sicheng's stance on it is.

"i don't..." you trail off, unable to finish the rest of your thought.

"it was my mistake. we don't... have to talk about it."

"is that what it was to you? a mistake?" words take over you before your rational thinking can catch up. if you really slowed down and thought it over, his words probably didn't warrant as much of a reaction, but in the moment, you're hurt and that's all you can focus on.

"no, i mean," sicheng struggles to find the proper words to expand on his point. as he opens his mouth again to speak, he's interrupted by someone else knocking at your door.

the knock is closely followed by a call out of your name, "miss ln!"

it distracts you from the conversation, but sicheng's comment is actively sitting on the back burner of your mind. "yes?" you return.

"your father has arranged some prior engagements for you. your chauffeur is waiting for whenever you're ready."

you can't help but let out your frustration in the form of a quiet 'ugh,' before going back and thanking the messenger, which they then dismiss themselves.

you're not in the mood for whatever errand your father has arranged for you. one, because your body is so physically tired out for some reason that even getting up out of bed will take a substantial amount of effort, and two, sicheng will follow you to whatever activity and there won't be a conclusion to this conversation you're having because there's no way you're willing to discuss this in public.

sicheng speaks up after the footsteps travel away from outside your bedroom door, "i'll leave you to get ready."

"don't-"

but sicheng completely disregards you, and leaves you alone in your room.

...

turns out that the 'errand' your father has planned for you was to pick out a few outfits from the atelier. this past week you've been so preoccupied busying yourself with activities that you haven't fully recognised that your father will officially announce you as his successor in a couple days' time. that means more responsibilities, more problems. you don't know if you're fully prepared for it, but it was never up to you; it never has been.

you posed like a mannequin for the seamstress for a good couple of hours. every blazer and every skirt being tailored to fit you perfectly. sicheng sat in the beige couch in the corner watching patiently as she took in your measurements, held up garment after garment up to you in the mirror, and finally was content with what she had created for you.

by the time you were done, you had a handful of bags in each hand, each containing a new bespoke outfit made just for you.

you're walking out of the studio with your new belongings in your hands, sicheng opening the door for you. the designer bids you an affectionate goodbye and you step out onto the concrete, heading for your ride parked in the middle of the lot.

during the whole of this visit, sicheng hasn't said a word to you. and vice versa. so when he's the first to say something, you try to look at him with an indifference in your expression.

"let me carry the bags," he offers.

"i'm alright, thank you."

you'd be lying if you said you weren't at least a little bit upset with him. although you knew there's nothing to be achieved from petty displays of stubbornness, you wanted him to have a taste of his own medicine: his nonchalance, and frankly apathetic attitude.

he doesn't challenge you, perhaps he knows better than to do exactly that. his footsteps trail behind you as you approach the car. your chauffeur pulls open the door to the backseats for you before returning to the driver's seat. sicheng simply observes as you begin to load in the bags, not wanting to tick you off even more by helping.

he catches a flare in the mirror image of the window panes all the way up on the rooftop of a nearby building. he swivels his head around, looking directly at where the spark was in the reflection. his throat tightens.

"yn, get in the car." the calmness in his voice wasn't something you weren't used to, but as you turn and find him fixated at a spot up on a roof, an alarm starts ringing in your head. "now."

you jump up onto the ledge of the footboard and hop inside with a slight panic. sicheng grabs all the remaining bags and throws it in with you. he hastily slams the back door shut and turns his focus towards that same spot again. you can barely see out of the tinted panes, but you think you hear a distant pop and sicheng's body jerks, curving his spine inwards. he clambers into the front seat, a hint of franticness in his movements. the passenger door shuts with a crash and sicheng flings his head back against the headrest.

"drive. go, now." he tells the chauffeur, clearly in a state of confusion, but he listens to sicheng. his voice is weak and breathy, like he just ran a marathon.

you push your way up to the space in between the front seats. "sicheng... what happened?" apprehension sounding out in your words.

he gives a faint shake of the head, his hand gripping tightly onto the fabric over his shoulder as he swallows a lump in his throat. you mutter a faint, 'oh my god,' under your breath as you go to pull his hand away.

sicheng breathes deeper and deeper. you uncover a small hole in his shirt, the edges splayed out with raw threads hanging off of it.

"sicheng-"

"i'm okay," he exhales. does he know how ridiculous he sounds?

a wave of distress suddenly overtakes you. "you're-"

"don't worry, i'm okay."

half of your mind has gone blank, and the other half is still stuck in 5 minutes ago before whatever happened, happened. words tumble out of you, laced with confusion and unease.

...

as soon as you arrive home, you barge in telling your housemaids to call over your doctor. sicheng has one arm wrapped around the chauffeur as he inches in with his help, his other arm limp by his side.

everything blurs past you.

sicheng is set down on the long leather couch, laying against the arm as he holds his shoulder. someone pushes past you to tend to sicheng's injuries, and all you can do is stand and stare.

...

you sit on the other end of the couch watching as the nurse is wrapping bandage around sicheng's shoulder, his torso completely bare. he grunts as she pulls tighter on the strip looping underneath his arm.

"you're lucky it didn't hit you in the ribs, or it'd be a lot worse."

sicheng mutters a soft, 'i know,' sucking in a steady breath.

the bullet sits in a tray next to the couch, completely clean, the light ricochets off of it and it gleams.

you look back over to sicheng, a deep burgundy already seeping its way underneath his skin. if it weren't for the bulletproof undershirt he was wearing, you'd be looking at admitting him into the ER. still, he's not completely devoid of any injuries.

the nurse said that aside from bruising, he had a fracture to his collarbone. "it should heal on its own anywhere in between 6 to 12 weeks."

you nod, and she gives you a brief smile before she helps fasten the sling around sicheng's neck and begins packing up her kit.

several sets of footsteps approach the doorway to the guest room that sicheng was set down in. you don't look over, eyes fixated on sicheng as he winces at any slight movement that he does affecting his injured collarbone.

the footsteps move in closer and closer to you. sicheng hears them as well and opens his eyes. "sir," he manages gravelly.

you and the nurse simultaneously look up, and there you see your father with his assistant a few steps behind him. he nods towards the nurse.

"the doctor couldn't make it on such short notice, but mr. dong's injuries are mild. i've already informed miss ln of mr. dong's condition," the nurse explains to your father.

"thank you for your help," your father tells the nurse. she picks up the kit that she brought with her and bows her head before leaving the room.

the expression on your father's face is ambiguous to say the least.

sicheng takes your father's silence as an opportunity, "i should've been more careful. i'm sorry..."

your father inhales shakily, "it was too close, yes." he looks over at you sitting on the couch, then back at sicheng, "but yn wasn't injured, and i have you to thank for that."

"it's my duty," sicheng simply responds.

your father gives him a satisfied smile. "take some time to rest, i'll have someone else look over your responsibilities for now."

with that, your father and his assistant leaves you and sicheng alone in the guest room, now allocated for his recovery.

you haven't said a word to him since the car ride back.

you sit on the edge of the couch, palms planted flat on either side of you. "does it hurt?" you look over, and sicheng leans on the sofa back, his injured arm suspended in a black mesh sling. his eyes are closed as he takes in a heavy breath after another.

he opens his eyes up to a squint, glancing over at you. "a bit," you think he's gone insane when you see a slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

you shift over towards sicheng, his unwounded shoulder being closer to you. the bandages the nurse had wrapped him up in doesn't entirely cover up his bruising. a gradient of pink, red, and purple spreads over atop his pecs. your fingers trace over his abdomen, hovering when you draw near his injury. "you scared me," you whisper.

"i know," sicheng says, "i'm sorry."

"why would you do that?"

he looks at you, a dazedness in his eyes, "do what?"

"take a bullet like that." you gulp, feeling the coarseness in your throat.

sicheng expels a weak chuckle. "to be honest, i didn't think i would." you peer at him with a tilt of your head. "i was so focused on you not getting hurt, but now that i think about it..."

he trails off.

"what?" you prompt gently.

"i don't think they were aiming at you."

your eyebrows raise themselves gingerly.

"i mean, they had every opportunity to... shoot you, but they didn't. with the time it took me to even notice them, they could've gotten the job done and vanished."

you realise what sicheng's implying. and you suppose he is right. thinking it over in your head, your reaction wasn't the fastest, given the state of shock and confusion that you were in. so, that means they were gunning for sicheng. but why?

he carries on, "and with where the bullet hit me—it was nowhere even near where you were stood." he shakes his head, "it just doesn't make sense."

"so, why?"

"i mean, i don't-"

"no. why would you ever risk yourself like this? a job like this; it surely isn't the first time you got injured."

sicheng looks at your face, so painstakingly close to his. he runs his good hand through your hair, twirling the ends of a strand in between his fingers. "it's not," he smiles weakly, but falls short of an answer to give to you.

you swallow hard. "you know, you've made it clear to me countless times that you're supposed to keep me safe... but who looks after you?"

"i can manage myself."

"i know—you're more than capable. but..." the words you're speaking has to be dragged out of you, a broken intonation. "that's not the same as looking after yourself."

he drops his gaze from yours, fingers now fidgeting and cracking his knuckles as a means of escape from this conversation.

"you don't let me kiss you, you want to forget whatever we did and dismiss it as a mistake. that's fine, but is that what you want, or is it just your guard?"

he turns his head towards yours, but still avoiding eye contact with you. for a moment, you thought he would say something, but he doesn't.

you sigh.

"just let me take care of you while your shoulder heals, okay? i'm here."

you're about to push yourself off of the couch, you lean back, but sicheng holds onto your hand. he draws you in to the spot you were at before. your faces inches apart from each other.

he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, "kiss me."

your heartbeat drums against your lungs. you slide your fingers up onto his face, pulling him in closer. and gently, you oblige.

his lips fit yours perfectly, as if you were both individually sculpted for each other. you try not to lean onto sicheng given his injury, so the most pressure you put on him is through your hands pulling him closer into you. you press your mouth against the softness of his lips, a tenderness to his movements. he breathes your scent in, and it's like it completely soothes the sharpness in his shoulder. you take him in deeper and deeper. his lips had a hint of peppermint to them, but sweeter. he let you utterly devour him against your own lips, fuelling a desire you didn't know you had in you. god, you didn't want to pull away, but your stupid, stupid lungs had to regather some air within them. and you part from him with a gentle smack.

sicheng's eyelids flutter open, like you'd just woken him from a dream. "if your father ever finds out-"

you shush him with a finger up to his mouth. and you attach your lips onto his again.

you're deep into your sleep when you hear alerts coming in nonstop on your phone. you stayed in sicheng's room with him; he's asleep on the bed and you've decided to give him more room by taking the couch. you open your eyes groggily, the sky outside doesn't make it clear to you what time it is. reaching out onto the coffee table, your phone doesn't stop buzzing in your hand.

the brightness of the screen causes you to squint. messages roll in, from dejun. without reading the notifications first, you click onto the grey bubbles. a litter of text threads open up on your phone. ones reading, "are you okay?" and "i heard what happened," and of the like.

stiffly, you go to type in a response. you tell dejun that you're fine, briefly glossing over the situation.

...

the second time you wake up this morning is when you hear sicheng talking to someone just outside of his room, the conversation muffled. he shuffles back in and you're more or less glaring at him, unintentionally.

"who was that?" you strain.

"um," he lightly massages the back of his neck. "they... found the shooter. and he talked."

that instantly catches your attention. you sit up straight, and signal to sicheng to take a seat next to you on the couch.

he slowly paces himself over, his back kept upright the entire time as he sits down next to you.

"the shooter is no one special, but," he begins, an almost sheepish look on him, "he told us who sent him. and we think that it's the same person who sent you that note, with your earring."

"who?" you jump in, impatient for him to tell you.

sicheng looks into your eyes for a split second. the sky outside is still dark. half of your face is lit by the orange ember that glows out from the fireplace.

"who?" you repeated, this time a little bit louder.

"i don't know how close you are to her. rin? full name, rina lee. her dad... owed some debts to your father."

your brows furrow. rin? you've only met her once, and that was at mrs. xiao's gala. what would prompt her to threaten you to such an extreme?

"i'm sorry, it must be-"

"no- what else do you know?"

sicheng sucks in a quick breath. "well, it's rumoured that her father, mr. lee, took a loan from your father. it was never paid back... and let's say your father didn't like that."

you didn't know what to make of your emotions—what to make of yourself. did you deserve this?

subconsciously, you start shaking your head lightly. you were in denial, but of what, you didn't know.

"i'm sorry," is all sicheng can say to provide you with some semblance of solace.

"i just..." you breathe out a heavy breath, "i can't believe it."

"i know, but it'll be over, soon. you'll take on your father's role tomorrow, isn't that something to look forward to?" sicheng tries his best to divert your focus away from the news.

you scoff. and then a sigh.

"i guess."

sicheng runs a hand over your head, smoothing over your hair, "let's go back to sleep, it's still early."

the whole of yesterday you spent getting ready, signing agreements, and attending meeting after meeting with your father. you'd spent the night before tossing and turning, unsure of if you'd be happy with this route that you're headed in.

last night, you were doing the same. tossing, turning, thinking. you never really had a choice, and it's weird how you feel apathetic towards that.

you've always lived comfortably and maybe you're just not ready for that to change yet, that's what you thought to yourself.

you woke up this morning, still a bit shaken up, mind still fuzzied from how your life has spiralled seemingly out of your control over the last week.

and now you're standing behind the drawn back curtain to the balcony, where your father's speech is being broadcasted live.

"serving as mayor to this beautiful district has been one of my greatest prides. but i'm afraid people grow old, and i am experiencing that for myself first hand."

your father's voice wavers, and it stings your cheeks a little.

"nonetheless, i know there has been rumours going around surrounding my retirement. i would like to keep this concise. today, i am officially stepping down as the mayor of district V, and appointing my daughter to serve the rest of my term." he turns towards you, hand stretching out in your direction, and you step out onto the landing.

your father steps aside to grant you some space on the podium. you take a deep breath in, before crouching down slightly to speak into the microphone.

"it is my honour to be appointed the role of mayor for a district as notable and celebrated as district V." you recite the script that your father's assistant had written for you, the syllables drilled into your brain throughout all the practices yesterday.

you remember the words that the assistant had said to you, 'this district's citizens don't care much for politics. they just want to know if they can continue living in their merry way as they did before.'

"i will see to it that this transition is as seamless as possible, and i will do my best to humbly serve each and every citizen to the best of my ability. thank you."

you back away from the podium and disappear off where it is visible on the landing. your father continues on delivering the rest of his spiel.

it's been less than a minute since you've officially accepted your new position, but you can already feel a tightening around your chest. you plop down on a chair all the way on the opposite end of the balcony, thinking it over again. is this what you want?

that's when you catch sicheng peering into the room from the hallway.

"what are you doing here? you should be resting," you jump up onto your feet.

"i didn't get to see you yesterday, so i thought i should at least congratulate you today."

you sigh, and plaster a grin onto your face, "thank you."

sicheng takes one step closer to you. "so, miss mayor, i suppose i'm no longer at your service?"

slowly, you can feel a genuine smile twinging at your lips, "you wish." you swiftly glance over at where your father is, back still facing you. you steal a quick peck from sicheng. he looks at you with his eyes wild.

"what?" you tease.

even though you're not sure the path given to you is what you want, you know that as long as sicheng is by your side, you'll manage to find joy in the little moments. the stolen kisses. and the fleeting glances.

and it's not for ever, anyway. just until this term ends.

"you are now under me," you whisper with a smirk.

humming, he raises his eyebrows with interest. "so, what's the first order of business?"

you roll your eyes. "focus on healing your shoulder up, and then we'll talk."

he leans in closer to your face, a cheeky spark in his eyes. "yes, ma'am."

© misted-dream 2024

thank you for reading between heaven and hell ! this fic is a part of a series which you can learn more about here ! hope you enjoyed :)

[babyboydaniel]

Morning Sun (M) | Daniel Ricciardo x Lando Norris

Warnings: smut | word count: 1.3K

This is a random one-shot I wrote today, it has not been edited so sorry for any grammar mistakes or misspelling. I just have been soft for Dando and needed to write something.

The soft haze of the morning sun settled over the room. A hum of distant cars and light conversations were a source of comfort. And the warmth that enveloped every inch of his body brought him absolute peace.

Mornings like this were Lando’s favorite. Everything felt soft. Tender. Intimate in a way that is hard to describe. A feeling that doesn’t have a word in the English language.

His mind was distanced from racing, from the drama of the paddock, from the absurdity of the media and the societal pressures of being a F1 driver.

He was instead tangled in the limbs of his boyfriend. All worries abandoned and replaced with absolute contentment.

Absently, Lando delicately ran his fingers through Daniel’s tousled curls. Staring at Daniel could be considered one of Lando’s favorite pastimes. His eyes flitted from the strong slope of his nose, his pillowy pink lips, the laugh lines lax with sleep, the soft curl of his eyelashes. He could go on. There is so much about him that is undeniably beautiful and equally soft. If Lando was a poet he would have written several books by now. Waxing on about every minuscule detail. Bleeding an abundance of love all over each page. But, sadly he is not, instead he attempts to capture this version of Daniel in photographs. Though they never quite do his feelings justice.

As his mind drifted, he felt the delicate press of lips against his chest, “Good morning,” Daniel whispered.

“Good morning,” Lando responded just as quietly. His hand moved from his hair to gently caress his cheek. Daniel leaned into the touch, his eyes still closed and a tiny smile tugged at his lips.

Lando was almost overwhelmed with the flood of emotions that crashed over him as he watched Daniel turn and press a kiss to the palm of his hand.

Daniel did not stop there though, his lips trailed beyond his wrist, past the dip of his elbow, skimming along his collarbone, until they rested against the hinge of his jaw. Lando’s breath hitched as he nipped at the skin there, followed by the flick of his tongue.

“Daniel,” Lando breathed as his fingers returned to his hair.

“Hmm?” Daniel teased as he continued to bite and kiss at his neck. Definitely leaving marks but neither of them could be too fussed to care.

“Come here,” he whined as he lazily tugged on his hips until Daniel was straddling his thighs. Lando moaned as he shifted above him, Daniel brushing against his covered crotch with an erection of his own.

Daniel chuckled lightly as Lando squirmed beneath him. He kissed along his jaw until his lips hovered over his. Lando licked his lips, his tongue grazing Daniel’s bottom lip in the process. Daniel’s eyes shifted to his, his warm, comforting gaze cloaked with uninhibited desire.

“Danny,” Lando whimpered, “want you.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please.”

With that Daniel finally pressed his lips against his. But, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was tender, so tender. It made Lando’s heart ache. Just a whisper of a barely there touch. Daniel’s hand cradled his face as if he was made of porcelain. Always so gentle with him.

Lando kissed him back with the same amount of love. Pouring out every emotion that consumed him. Wanting Daniel to feel everything that he made him feel. To be adored and cared for and loved.

With a final kiss pressed to his lips, Daniel moved his way back down his neck. Following the marks he left there moments ago. Gliding over the bruised skin until his lips found Lando’s bare chest where he immediately took one of his nipples between his lips. His tongue swirled around the hardened bud as he coaxed moans from Lando. Lando could not help but to chase for more, as he pushed himself against Daniel’s slick mouth. Needing to have more of him.

Daniel released his nipple with a pop, “Greedy,” he teased before resuming his previous actions on the other side.

Lando was unsure of how much time passed as Daniel swapped back and forth from one side of his chest to the other. He did not know if it was due to the diffused morning sun but everything felt a bit floaty. Almost dreamlike. It was pleasure on an entirely different level. More rounded and pliable.

“You still with me?” Daniel questioned, as one of his hands found his. His fingers gently squeezed his own. Urging Lando to return to him.

Lando nodded, “Mmhmm.”

Daniel smiled up at him. Not the wide one that showed all his teeth that people associated with him. One that was special to Lando, filled with the same amount of mirth but balanced out with adoration. A smile that communicated all his feelings and then some without a single word.

“Good,” Daniel murmured before he placed a kiss below his belly button. His fingers danced along the waistband of his underwear, slipping beneath the elastic to touch the soft skin that resided below.

“Daniel,” Lando moaned. His leaking cock caught on the damp fabric of his underwear as his hips thrusted to meet Daniel’s touch.

“More, please.”

With a swift motion, Daniel had him naked. His cock was hot and leaking against his stomach. His desire for Daniel was evident, unable to be hidden. Like a neon sign on a dark street.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Daniel responded while shimming out of his own briefs.

Daniel’s body was beautiful, to put it simply. But, there was something about the way his tanned skin glimmered beneath the filtered sun. The rays softening his lean muscles. His amber eyes golden as he stared down at Lando.

Before Lando had his fill of unabashedly ogling his boyfriend, Daniel had them flipped over. Lando nestled into his lap, his arms immediately wrapped around the others neck while Daniel looped one arm around his back. Lando hissed as his cock brushed against Daniel’s. His hips rocked forward seeking more.

The casual drag of his slick tip against Daniel’s length was not enough. “Danny, please,” Lando whined.

Lando gasped as Daniel pressed his lips to his. A sense of urgency and desperation fell over the pair. Daniel’s tongue parted Lando’s lips, licking into his mouth. The slick feeling of their tongues sliding against each other only made Lando wetter, precum dribbled out from his cock, coating Daniel. Then Daniel grabbed both of them in his hand.

“Fuck,” Lando whimpered as Daniel’s hand glided between them. The sound of their arousal echoed around the room.

Lando tucked his head against Daniel’s neck as he continued to thrust into his fist. His breath came in tiny pants as he brought him closer to the edge. His teeth caught against his bottom lip, fingers gripped the hair at Daniel’s nape. Daniel’s hand splayed against his lower back cradled him closer. His head bent to whisper lovingly filthy words in his ear.

With a moan muffled by Daniel’s neck, Lando released over his fist. His cum coating the tantalizing rose tattoo inked into Daniel’s hand. Daniel quickly followed, swearing under his breath as his release mixed with Lando’s.

Daniel wiped his hand on an abandoned pair of underwear before gently wiping any that remain from their bodies. He pressed a delicate kiss to Lando’s damp curls as he shifted them down the bed until they were laying down once again. This time Lando’s head rested on Daniel’s chest. His body completely covered his boyfriends.

“Love you,” Lando stated as his eyes became harder to keep open. Complete bliss blanketed his body.

“Love you too,” Daniel responded as he hugged him closer.

The two of them laid in bed much longer than planned but they had no where else to be. Plus, mornings with Daniel were unmatched and Lando would take that over anything any day.

[femininenachos]

Does Lexa get her turn 👀

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Turns out, Lexa’s confidence is well founded.

Which is how Clarke finds herself flat on her back and sucking down moans while slim fingers run between her legs. 

That, and the drag of lips over her throat, Lexa’s breath hot on her skin, has Clarke writhing, one hand twisted in the sheets, the other buried in Lexa’s hair.

Despite her bedroom being located on the opposite side of the villa from Wells’, Clarke still does her best to keep the volume down—call it force of habit from living in close quarters with roommates in apartments the size of shoeboxes over the years—but Lexa really isn’t making it easy. Slow and deliberate about slicking her fingers, she slides through Clarke with light touches that she can’t help angling her hips up to chase. Sighing when Lexa retreats to trail her fingertips along the tops of Clarke’s inner thighs. Pulling in a shivery breath as Lexa traces her folds, only to stifle another moan when Lexa dips down low to gather the wetness and draw it up and around.

But Clarke is only able to withstand the teasing for so long when she’s crawling out her skin here.

“Lexa,” she pleads, an audible crack in her voice.

She feels the twist of lips against her throat before Lexa licks a path up to the edge of her jaw. 

A nip at the hinge. “How many fingers do you like?” 

She didn’t think it was humanly possible to be any wetter than she already was, but she gushes a little at the question. Feels it dripping down and soaking into the mattress beneath her ass.

In lieu of an answer, she turns her head to seek Lexa’s mouth, kissing her with unrestrained need for a minute, deep and hard and hungry enough to get the point across that she’ll take whatever she can get. 

Even so, Lexa goes no further, her hand remaining frustratingly motionless until Clarke pulls away, breathing heavily.

“Two,” she pants against the soft, plump fullness of Lexa’s bottom lip. “At least to begin with, then… let’s see.”

The searing look Lexa gives her makes Clarke think she could probably take four without breaking a sweat, but she refrains from saying that out loud for fear of sounding too whorish.

Their eyes remain locked while Lexa slides her fingers lower, running slow circles around Clarke’s opening, just barely dipping in. Clarke’s breath hitches, body tensing with the effort to keep still and not tilt her hips up like she wants to in case Lexa takes her hand away once more. 

She doesn’t, though. 

Dark, dark eyes study Clarke’s face with avid interest, watching every tiny, incremental shift in her expression as Lexa pushes all the way inside at last.

Clarke could cry with relief.

She makes a sound, a whimper drawn from the back of her throat. Another when Lexa starts to move; a slow, curling drag out, followed by a smooth thrust back in that lifts Clarke’s spine off the bed a little with the force of it.

Her hand flies to Lexa’s elbow. Grabbing on. Urging her deeper. 

A ragged “oh, fuck” drops from Clarke’s lips when Lexa adds a third finger, building up to a brisk rhythm Clarke is soon rolling her hips to meet. 

She tips her head back, eyes closing as pleasure rushes over her. Lexa’s mouth finds her throat again, teeth scraping over her pulse point, and the fluid motion of Clarke’s hips falters only for a second before she rocks down harder, arching to find an even better angle.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Lexa just smiles against the corded tendon of Clarke’s neck, descending in soft bites and licks. She shimmies down the bed a little, skin burning hot and slick with their combined sweat where she’s glued to Clarke’s side, but Lexa never breaks the momentum. Steadily pumping her wrist as her open mouth glides over Clarke’s clavicle and the swell of her breast, catching the nipple and swirling her tongue around the hard tip, taking it into her mouth in a deep, sucking pull that Clarke feels all the way down to her neglected clit.

When her mind flashes back to how it felt to be consumed by the relentless, wet heat of Lexa’s mouth, she can’t hold on.

Amid the rising chorus of creaking mattress springs and obscene squelches that fill the air, small grunts of exertion and high, stilted gasps, the headboard tapping against the wall, keeping time like a metronome, Clarke’s whole frame shudders as she clenches tight around the three fingers driving into her, Lexa’s name ripped from her throat in a hoarse cry as she floods Lexa’s palm.

Without missing a beat to even catch a breath, Clarke seizes Lexa by the cheeks and crushes their mouths together. Hard. Stealing the air from Lexa’s lungs in big gulps, kissing her messily and swallowing her soft, eager groan. Heart racing a million miles an hour, threatening to beat right out of Clarke’s chest as Lexa licks into her mouth.

She hooks her leg around Lexa’s hip, trapping her in place, keeping her fingers inside. Trying to stave off that inevitable, empty feeling once Lexa withdraws for just a short while longer. Weak ripples of sensation are still pulsing through her system, making her tremble and flutter, and Clarke never wants it to end. 

Their kisses become less frantic, the urgency fading as her muscles relax and the climax ebbs, and that loose, weightless feeling she gets after a good fuck settles over her. Sapped of energy all of a sudden, she drapes her arms loosely around Lexa’s shoulders, distantly aware of the clammy perspiration that causes their overheated skin to stick together. The room feels stifling, the air dense and muggy, but Clarke would rather faint from the humidity than move an inch or tear her mouth away. 

When Lexa’s fingers slip from her at last, Clarke has to bite back a complaint. Maybe Lexa senses it anyway, because she looks far too smug when they draw back to admire flushed faces and reddened lips, heavy-lidded eyes never resting on one place for too long.

“If you’re about to say ‘I told you so’, you can save it,” Clarke warns, though the husky break in her voice is damning enough. 

The fact is, she doesn’t think she’s ever come this hard without having at least some attention paid to her clit, but Lexa managed to pull it off so… maybe Clarke was wrong to doubt her skills, even in jest. Or maybe she’s just that sex-starved and thirsty that having a hot girl inside her made her pop like a balloon.

Lexa’s mouth curves just a fraction. “The evidence speaks for itself, no?”

She brings her wet fingers to her lips and pointedly sucks them clean one by one, which leads to another surprising rarity for Clarke: she’s ready to go again almost immediately. Arousal slices through the haze, sharpening her senses while she watches Lexa’s tongue curl around her knuckles to catch every last drop. 

It ignites a fire under Clarke’s skin.

She rolls them over and straddles Lexa’s hips. 

Satisfaction curls in her chest to see Lexa’s expression slacken with lust. The tip of Lexa’s tongue darts out to lick her lips and Clarke throbs at the sight, wetness tricking down. A thin thread lands on Lexa’s skin and she inhales roughly as she grabs hold of Clarke’s waist, pulling her flush against that toned, flat stomach. 

It’s only by the thinnest of margins that Clarke stops herself from grinding down, resisting the urge to slide over tensed abs to reach another quick and dirty orgasm.  

“I don’t know, Lex,” she says through a purposefully breathy sigh, and it doesn’t escape her notice how Lexa’s nails dig in at the use of the shortened version of her name. “I’m going to need more conclusive proof.”

Pure bravado, of course, but it succeeds in getting Lexa's fingers back where Clarke needs them. Slipping in with ease and fucking her slowly. She rocks her hips, never breaking eye contact while she rides two digits and a thumb draws lazy shapes around her clit.

Something shifts in the air, in the sweat-soaked intensity that builds between them.

There’s no place to hide from Lexa’s blistering stare. Her eyes drop from Clarke’s face to the sway of her tits to the fingers sinking into her over and over. Everything is on display here for Lexa, and it fills Clarke with such an erotic charge. Under Lexa’s gaze, she feels like a goddess incarnate. A deity of lust from myths and legends brought to life to be worshiped in the flesh. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lexa says, and it’s threaded through with awe. “Meizen.”

It doesn’t mean anything more than what it is: a simple expression of physical attraction without any other motive or agenda. But logic doesn’t stop Clarke’s pulse from leaping to hear the note of yearning in Lexa’s voice.

It’s too much when Clarke is on the brink, when Lexa has made her come three times so far and not once tried to assert her own needs or make any demands for reciprocation, like she would be happy just to devote herself to satisfying Clarke all night.

It isn’t what she expected from Lexa. So far removed from any frame of reference Clarke has for what a hookup should be, because she’s used to one-and-done on each side and either party being sent on their way. 

There’s no script for this. 

Lexa seems almost too good to be true, but she’s staring up at Clarke like she fell from the heavens, which is a stupid, overly romantic notion for what’s only supposed to be a casual fuck.

So she swoops down to kiss Lexa again. Firmly. Almost punishingly so to begin with, in an attempt to squash that thought.

It’s useless, though. 

Clarke is disarmed by the way Lexa meets her aggression with gentleness. How Lexa’s free hand lifts to slide up her neck and into her hair, directing the kiss as Clarke speeds the rocking of her hips while she kneads Lexa’s tits. The new angle has her gasping into Lexa’s mouth on every upstroke, planting her knees wider and bearing down until she starts to quake and her release grabs her by the throat. Roughly, thoughtlessly, Clarke squeezes the soft flesh within her grasp as her hips freeze and her muscles lock, and in the next breath she gushes hard, spilling over Lexa’s hand. A shared, drawn-out groan gets muffled by their lips, followed by a broken whine from Clarke at the abrupt retraction of Lexa’s fingers, leaving her clenching around nothing all of a sudden.

Before Clarke knows what’s happening, she’s already being tugged up the bed and brought to kneel astride Lexa’s face. 

“Oh. Oh. Fu—” Lexa dives in without preamble. “—ck!”

Clarke swears she blacks out for a nanosecond. She has to reach for the wall to support herself, both palms laid flat against the surface. Her legs haven’t stopped shaking from the last orgasm and she’s not sure she’s capable of remaining upright, not with Lexa’s tongue working her over like this, pushing in as far as she can reach then retreating. Moaning at the taste from the source. Tiny ears tipped pink and eyes peeling open slowly as Lexa inhales deeply, pupils blown so wide Clarke feels like they could swallow her whole.

She drops her hips and rolls them.

Mouth falling open, Clarke’s breath comes in short, shallow bursts as Lexa licks up through her, running around her clit then drawing it into her mouth with gentle suction.

It’s the little divot in Lexa’s bottom lip catching on the underside that does it.

The waves that pulled Clarke under only minutes ago come roaring back and she breaks sharply with a noise that she stifles by biting her knuckles, eyes screwed shut, forehead pressed so firmly against the cool wall that she’s at risk of putting a permanent dent in her brow.

Dragging in a few heaving lungfuls of air, she pries one eyelid open and chances a look down. Greeted by Lexa’s sloping smile, lips and cheeks and chin all glistening.

It makes Clarke go feral.

(Or she will, once her breathing is back under control and her knees stop trembling.)

“Now do you concede?” Lexa asks.

“Never.”

The broadening smile and the silent, chest-shaking laughter that accompanies it makes Clarke’s stomach flip.

Yeah, she’s fucked alright.

~*~

The sun is coming up, orange rays spilling into the room through the diaphanous white drapes when Clarke is roused from sleep by the quiet sounds of movement.

She opens her eyes to see Lexa pulling denim cut-offs up those mile-long legs, still topless, and the sight causes a stir low in Clarke’s belly.

She turns onto her side, head pillowed on her hands as she watches Lexa button the fly, conscious of the residual stickiness between her thighs, the pleasant ache in her muscles, sore from going round after round.

“Sneaking out on me?” Clarke asks, cutting through the silence, voice rusty with sleep and the strain on her vocal cords—how she’s going to face Wells, she doesn’t know, but that’s a problem for later.

Lexa offers a small, regretful smile. “We open early for the breakfast crowd.”

Clarke isn’t entirely successful at masking her disappointment. She clears her throat and lowers her gaze.

“Pity I never got to return the many favours.” Her face heats. “I really only meant to rest my eyes for a minute.”

“It’s fine, Clarke.”

“Still. You could’ve woken me.” 

She draws her bottom lip between her teeth and studies Lexa, washed in warm shades of gold, admiring the stretch of her torso as she reaches for her shirt at the foot of the bed. Her hair is a riot of tangled waves thrown over one shoulder, and Clarke thinks, I did that.

She wanted to do a hell of a lot more besides, damn it, but apparently an intense work week and transatlantic travel finally caught up with her. 

She summons her courage. “Sure you can’t be late?”

A smile remains tucked into the corner of Lexa’s mouth as she sits on the edge of the mattress and runs her eyes over Clarke slowly. The sheets are twisted around her middle, one leg exposed almost to the hip, but she might as well be completely uncovered given the heat in Lexa’s gaze.

Lexa hums, eyes fastening for a beat on Clarke’s cleavage. For her part, Clarke struggles to not to stare at Lexa’s bare chest too, at nipples that are getting perkier by the second under Clarke’s spellbound attention.   

With some effort, she forces her eyes up. “I’ll make it worth your while…”

She thinks about tugging the sheet away from her body as an added incentive, not above using underhand tactics.

“You’re very persuasive, and I am tempted, but Anya would kill me.”

Lexa’s smile edges wider at the not-so-mock pout she gets in response. 

“Come visit me at the taverna later.”

“Won’t you be too busy to entertain brash American tourists?”

Lexa looks at her steadily, eyes aglow, the palest green in the dawning light. She brushes a strand of hair from Clarke’s cheek with such familiarity, like she’s done this a million times before, like it’s muscle memory.

“For you, I can make an exception.”

Elation flashes through Clarke but she tries not to react or read anything into it, willing herself into nonchalance even as her pulse kicks up. 

She wets her lips to buy herself a second.

“And… will you be wearing that sexy little uniform again? The tight blouse and short skirt? Because I’ve got to admit, I’m a big fan of how many buttons you left undone.”

A splash of pink on her cheeks, Lexa dips head to hide her smile, a small laugh bubbling up. It’s like fucking catnip to Clarke and she has to fight the impulse to drag this girl back on top of her.

There’s a playful gleam in Lexa’s eyes when she looks up again.

“If you’re lucky I’ll let you strip me out of it next time.”

~*~

She floats into the kitchen on a high, lured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Not even the judgemental look on Wells’ face as he shovels granola mix into his mouth can bring her down. Still pleased and preening about the fact that Lexa spoke about “next time” like it’s locked in and guaranteed, a foregone conclusion.

As she pours herself a coffee, Clarke is already daydreaming about it, determined not to miss her chance. She’s going to show Lexa she’s not the only one who can fuck a woman into a nap. Clarke has talents. (She might be a little out of practice, regular solo sessions notwithstanding, but she knows her way around a vagina, and that is a skill that never goes away.) 

“Clarke!”

She’s rudely jolted out her x-rated reverie, alerted to the scalding liquid overflowing the mug by Wells’s sudden, alarmed bark of her name. 

Cursing under her breath, she hunts for a dishcloth to mop up the spill then wrings it out over the sink.

“My mind was elsewhere,” she says with a sheepish glance in his direction where he sits at the table, already showered and dressed for the day of sightseeing ahead, down to the bucket hat and sensible footwear.

“No kidding,” is his deadpan reply. He stands and collects his trusty fanny pack from the table, securing it around his waist. Checking and rechecking the contents, probably for the tenth time, he frowns, “Where’s Lexa? Still asleep?”

“She couldn’t stick around. Work.” Clarke pushes her fingers through her hair. “Uh, look, sorry if we—”

He holds up a forestalling hand. “Let’s just do the healthy thing and pretend I didn’t hear your all-night sexcapades. You can spare the sordid details.”

“Speak for yourself,” Octavia says as she comes twirling through the space with a bounce in her step, radiating major “sex hair, don’t care” energy, strappy heels hooked on her fingers and slung over her shoulder. She’s still in last night’s dress, her eyeliner is smudged, and she’s absolutely covered in hickeys. She drops her shoes and slumps against the kitchen island beside Clarke, elbows on the counter. “Tell me everything.”

Wells’s nose wrinkles like he smells the overpowering reek of debauchery emanating from the pair of them. Head down, he flees the villa, muttering something about “mentally scarred for life.” 

“He’s sorta asking to be mugged in that getup,” Octavia remarks once he’s gone.

“Yep.”

They both sigh.

“So.” Octavia scrutinises Clarke. “Judging by the sex glow, I’m guessing your night went as well as mine.”

“Mhm.” Clarke breaks into a laugh. She glances at the purpling splotches on Octavia’s neck. “Although, unlike your guy Count Dracula, Lexa isn’t a biter.” 

Octavia stares. “You sure? Because I spy a little souvenir. Right” - she points at a spot somewhere below Clarke’s jaw - “Here.” 

“What?” Clarke claps a hand over the general area. “Oh my god. Is it bad?”

Octavia shrugs one shoulder. “Some people find them tacky. Personally, I think it’s hot. It’s like… that loss of control in the moment when your lizard brain activates and you just have this primal, mff, urge to mark.”

She grabs Clarke’s wrist. “Okay, but hickeys aside? Holy fuck, the things that man can do with his mouth.” 

Octavia’s eyes roll back a little as though she’s reliving it in her head, and Clarke smirks at her friend. 

“Anyway. Lexa. Gimme the deets.” Octavia props her chin on her hand, grinning now. “She rocked your world, right? I mean, I’m straighter than a destination wedding in Dubai but even I recognise those lips are made for eating pussy.”

The crass observation earns a swift, stern rebuke in the form of Clarke’s scandalised “O!” but Octavia is entirely blasé. 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing.” 

Clarke huffs, although she doesn’t deny it. After a lengthy silence, she volunteers, “Let's just say I won’t be able to look at the hot tub again without being reminded of Lexa going down on me.”

Octavia’s mouth drops. She punches Clarke’s arm; impressed and delighted. “Clarke Griffin, you harlot!” 

“It’s so unlike me.”

“I know, and I approve.” Octavia holds a faux solemn hand to her heart. “I’m here for your voyage of slutty self-discovery.”

“Thanks.”

“Better keep Wells in the dark though, otherwise he’ll spend the rest of our vacation obsessively disinfecting the jacuzzi.”

Despite herself, Clarke snorts, because it isn’t hard to picture Wells in an apron, with a bottle of spray bleach and a pinched expression, furiously scrubbing at an invisible stain.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?”

“Exactly. And we won’t have to listen to him endlessly bitch and complain. Win-win.”

It isn’t long before Clarke’s thoughts return to Lexa, a small smile creeping onto her lips as her mind replays a highlight reel of the spiciest sections of last night. She feels herself flush.

“That good, huh?”

She draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Pretty fucking incredible, actually.” 

“Hell, yeah!”

Octavia holds up her palm for a high five, and against her better instincts, Clarke doesn’t leave her hanging.

There’s a short lull while she turns the coffee mug around in her hands before she reveals, “She asked to see me again.”

“Well, duh. Now she’s had a taste, she wants another bite.”

“Is it too sad to admit it was probably the best sex of my life?”

“No, not at all. You’re strangers, both certified hotties, and you’re in this magical place,” Octavia gestures vaguely at their surroundings, “freed from your responsibilities and all the boring, fucking humdrum shit of daily life. All these things factor into the thrill, right? So it’s bound to be a heightened experience.”

Clarke shakes her head, because it feels like Lexa is being done a disservice to reduce it to the mere novelty and excitement of a vacation fling. 

“It was more than that, O. She’s attentive, but it’s like she anticipated what I needed before the thought even entered my head. And when she—”

“Alright, I’m gonna stop you there. As much as I’m dying for the play-by-play” - Octavia grips the edge of the counter and pushes off from it with a tired sigh - “I badly need to sleep, because your girl here got none. Gotta be well rested, because Linc is taking me spelunking tomorrow.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

Octavia only responds with a long, droll look before she reels away, wiggling her fingers in the air as she tosses a “toodles” over her shoulder.

~*~ 

The waitstaff are setting up for lunch service when Clarke arrives. Her heart sinks a little that Lexa is nowhere to be seen, but she spots Lincoln behind the bar, polishing glasses and holding each one up to the light for inspection. As soon as he notices her loitering in the doorway, he beckons her over with a smile and a wave. Relieved to see a friendly face, she barely gets a word out in greeting before he’s already calling for Lexa and garnering them a few sly smirks from the other staff in the process.

Clarke isn’t sure what’s more embarrassing: that her reason for being here is so transparent or that everyone seems to know.

But that all melts away when Lexa appears wearing a small scowl, signaling her mild irritation at being interrupted from whatever task she was doing. A scowl that smooths out the moment her eyes land on Clarke, giving a quick once over that warms Clarke’s cheeks and makes her pulse accelerate. She’s just in shorts and a tank top, but if she happened to spend an extra half hour on her hair and makeup, then she’s happy to see it paid off. 

A smile steals across Lexa’s face as she approaches, drawing close enough that Clarke detects the subtle notes of perfume that scent the air around her, clean and crisp and enticing. With a wordless tilt of her head, Lexa guides them over to a more secluded corner.

Afforded a small measure of privacy, Lexa runs her gaze all over Clarke’s features, flitting between eyes and lips, and the butterflies Clarke has felt all morning go into overdrive.

“Back so soon?” Lexa says, pitching her voice low. “You must really like the swisswima.”

“Mm. The service isn’t bad either.”

It earns a downward glance and a flirtier smile that Clarke has a sudden desire to kiss. They each open their mouths to speak, only for a terse shout from across the room to puncture their little bubble of intimacy. Eyes down, the other staff scatter in all directions to appear busy as a striking but severe-looking blonde emerges from the back, hands on her hips and a glare on her long face.

Although she bears no obvious physical resemblance to Lexa, they do share a certain indefinable something, which leads Clarke to conclude this must be the half-sister Lexa mentioned.

“Anya,” Lexa confirms with a slight roll of her eyes. She gives Clarke’s forearm a light squeeze, and even that all-too brief touch sends tingles down her neck. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Almost from the outset, the hushed confrontation escalates into a terse exchange of rapid-fire Trigedasleng that’s impossible to follow. Lexa looks away, lips pursed and jaw clenched, projecting her exasperation loud and clear. Meanwhile, Anya’s sharp gaze shifts towards Clarke and narrows before she launches into another tirade, and Clarke doesn’t need an interpreter to figure out who the main topic of conversation is.

She and Lincoln share a sympathetic grimace and she points to the doorway to indicate she’ll be outside, which he acknowledges with a nod.

The quarrel still reaches her ears regardless, but she tries to tune it out and turn her focus elsewhere. There are half a dozen cats lounging in the sun on the steps across the street, several others taking shade beneath the rustic tables and chairs arranged out front. Clarke crouches to pet the nearest one, a large tabby with a distinctive white bib and ear tufts. She offers a hand for it to sniff, smiling when the cat rubs its cheek against her knuckles. It even permits some chin scratches, erupting in purrs and basking in being the centre of attention. 

When she looks up eventually it’s to discover Lexa leaning against the door frame, observing her with a soft gaze and an amused twitch of her lips.

“You’ve made a new friend.”

It raises a tight smile from Clarke. 

“The cat approves of me even if your sister doesn’t.”

A sigh. “Don’t worry about her.”

Clarke straightens up, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her shorts, just for something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve grabbing Lexa by the collar and yanking her forward to meet her lips. It probably wouldn’t go down too well with Anya, happening outside their place of business in broad daylight.

“She seemed pretty annoyed about me being here.”

“Anya is always annoyed. She was born that way.”

“Should I go? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Without another word, Lexa takes Clarke by the wrist and leads her around the corner and into a narrow, cobbled side street. Backing her against the whitewashed wall, Lexa brings their faces close, long fingers framing Clarke’s cheeks. Looking into her eyes before Lexa kisses her. Mouth soft, but hot and insistent as it moves along Clarke’s.

She matches that passion while her hands slide around Lexa’s trim waist and roam up her back, curling around her shoulders. Fingers digging in as the kiss deepens. Lexa’s palms drop to her hips, dragging up Clarke’s sides and around front to skim over her breasts, and Clarke can’t contain a quiet gasp.

“You are trouble,” Lexa breathes out before kissing Clarke again. “You make me so…” 

She growls something in her own language that Clarke understands on an instinctual level. She feels it just the same, lust clawing up inside her body. Aches with it, this deep craving for Lexa’s touch; her mouth. Clarke can’t think of anything else, the draw even stronger after the night they just had together.

“Can we meet tonight?” Clarke asks, clinging to Lexa’s shoulder blades as warm lips attach to the side of her neck. 

In her fertile imagination Clarke is already plotting her moves. Because she’s got plans; graphic, detailed plans that involve getting comfortable on her stomach and camping between Lexa’s legs for hours.

A sigh is lost against Clarke’s throat.

Lexa pulls away. “I can’t.”

Her perfect pout is a natural wonder of the world. 

“I’m on until midnight and with the mood Anya is in, there’s no chance of her letting me get away early. But...” She tucks a section of hair behind Clarke’s ear, running her fingers over the shell and eliciting a shiver. “Tomorrow is my day off. We could do something together. Unless you already have plans with your friends?” 

“Nothing concrete. I could make myself available.” Clarke’s half shrug fools no one. Her hands drift to Lexa’s lower back. “What did you have in mind?”

The flex of an eyebrow says it all, and Clarke can’t control the way her body reacts, the tiny catch of her breath or the rush of exhilaration that sends her pulse rocketing once more. It’s only been a matter of hours since she had Lexa in her bed, but her body is buzzing at the prospect of more, and soon.

“I know a place,” Lexa says, the ghost of a smirk at the edge of her lips. “Be at the harbour at 10 a.m.” 

Her eyes darken as they meander down Clarke’s figure then drag back up. 

“Bring a swimsuit.”

~*~

A/N: I promise Lexa will get her turn next chapter.

[schemmentisjacket]

Chapter 12 - Soft sheets and Sweet Dreams pt1

Authors Note: Little something something about non binary queer new teacher coming in, leading to Melissa finding the one.

As the door shut, Melissa glanced around the room, seeing a golden vertical handle along the side of the tiled wall over near the plants.

Heading over and pulling she poked her head in and realised the toilet was hidden away almost camouflaged in the tiled wall.

Deciding she did want a shower after the trip to the hospital, what was it about hospital smells that stuck to you, she headed over to the sinks to take a peek in the cupboard behind the mirror you’d got the glass out of, taking a drink of the fresh cool liquid before placing the glass next to sink. The shelves were split, the bottom shelf clearly products you used on a daily basis, face, hair, tooth paste. A glass with a gothic style A on it. The shelf above was two baskets marked with a label ‘help yourself’ clearly guest supplies for when you had people visit. One basked with a variety of facial products, face masks, eye patches, mini shower products and a couple of little boxes with bamboo toothbrushes in. Then second had a handful of small facial flannels neatly folded. Next to it was another glass same as the one Melissa was using.

Melissa took one of the small towels and a facial wash and used them to carefully clean off her makeup and remove any dried blood that had made its way into hair or lingered on her face. She then used one of the toothbrushes and a swig of your mouthwash with the other glasses.

She turned on the shower as you’d instructed and carefully stripped off her clothes, folding them into a pile on the chair before stepping into the walk in shower. The angled spray a perfect template and power, almost a full body massage. She sighed, the tension of the day, hell maybe of her life slowly fading from her body as the water cleansed her skin of the hospital scent that lingered. Along a build in shelf were a ranged of bottles, she studied, deciding to take your advice and help herself, selecting out a exfoliating scrub to start, she worked it into her shoulders, arms, and legs. The scent a deep alpine scent, fresh but with a hint of warming herbaceousness, studying the bottle as she rinsed she could see it was labelled pine needle and sage, aswell as recommending following up with a body wash. Scanning the products she saw a metal tube of body wash concentrate.

Applying it to her hands and soaping it up, a thick generous lather gathered to apply over her newly softened skin. It glided easily over her curves and despite attempting to cleanse herself, her thoughts led to your hands tracing the curves of her body, your tattoos standing bright against the pale slopes of her hips and thighs, skimming up to her chest. The slightly masculine scent of your body wash adding to the thoughts and she could almost smell the scent as if a memory of it clinging to your skin as she had sat beside you in meetings.

She pressed her forehand against the coolness of the tiles and took a breath refocusing. The spray rinsing away the soap with little intervention needed she hit the panel to cut the water, reaching for the large fluffy towel she’d hung on the way in.

Stepping through the bathroom, she stepped back into the bedroom, the main door was shut Charlie having closed it to give her privacy. The lights were set to a low light and the blinds had been closed, the room looked inviting. The deep green sheets of the thick looking duvet looked inviting as she dried herself with the towel, and she noticed a folded tshirt at the bottom of the bed. Quickly slipping back into the bathroom hing the towel on the rack and she picked up her lacy knickers, a flattering french style in black, which she slipped on then grabbed her water glass, before heading back to the bedroom, unfolding the oversized black shirt that showcased a purple rain prince print on the front. Slipping it over her head it hugged her chest and hips before falling to thigh length, like a tshirt dress, the sleeves down almost past her elbows.

Lifting the collar to her nose it smelt clean, slightly masculine with your laundry detergent and a slightly more intense almost fragranced scent in places. Melissa wondered if you’d pulled it on to wear before changing your mind and rehanging it, your cologne left on the fabric.

She caught a glance at herself in the long mirror, dimly lit by the lamp beside the bed, she liked how she looked in your clothes and wondered if you’d like that too. She slipped under the covers, the mattress only giving slightly, cool and supportive. The sheets sliding against her bare legs felt soft. Reaching over and turning the light off completely, she sunk into your pillows, feeling small in the vast bed, but the scent of you on the pillows comforting in a way it had been a long time since she’d felt. In fact she didn’t know if she had ever felt as looked after, safe and comforted as she had by you recently, in her previous relationships. Maybe she was just hoping too much or imagining things, but she hoped not. Her last thoughts before sleep took her were that you also were feeling the longing that was growing in her stomach, in her mind and maybe in her heart too.

[writernopal]

🩰No guilt. No shame.🩰

Alright its not a tag but the spoons for those are still loading SO I decided to share a snippet from AASOAF 3 because this is still a writeblr after all lol. Enjoy or don't! Do whatever you want!

WC: 484 CW: mild spice

“That I—! I…” A shallow exhale escaped me as I watched his throat bob up and down, gulp after gulp disappearing into his belly until the flask was empty. “I… By Orran, you’re so handsome…” “Been I?” He whispered as he wiped his mouth clean. I swallowed hard over the dryness in my throat. “Y-Yes…” The flask landed on the table with a soft thud and the world put him into special focus. The glowing bouquet of lanterns hanging on the masts illuminated us and the decks alike, but left many sensuous contours of dark across Axtapor’s body. Those parts fell against the dark sky and the sea, and became invisible, as though he were peering into a brightened room from the blackened corridor of the heavens… “Come ‘way.” We left the main deck behind, and in the darkened corridors of the Angel’s Lyre, we frolicked about as though it were our first time stealing away. A few chaste pecks and nervous looks of bliss pulled us together, then apart again. The slide of his hand across my waist and the light caress of mine against his chest flooded those places and parts so full of warmth I expected them to glow. Our soft sighs subsumed themselves into the walls, such that none would ever know they’d passed our lips. And our feet, glided in perfect harmony across the lower deck, as though we’d continued the ballet I’d seen above, down below, in an intimate interlude the audience was forbidden to see on other side of the curtain.  Until, like a crack of thunder, the door of our quarters slammed back on its hinges. We spun through it in a hazy cloud of drink and the atmosphere quickly transformed from one of innocence to lust. Kisses with purpose followed as we scrabbled at each other’s clothes in search of sensitive flesh. I came upon it first, the buttons of his shirt yielding easily under my desperate fingers. My palms smoothed over his chest, my lips following. A sound of pleasure rumbled from deep inside him.  “Kava be damned…” He hissed, catching my chin between his finger and thumb, then bent over me as if he were preparing to devour me whole. I gasped softly. “Temptress…” The rasp of his voice licked my nerves awake and the place where only he’d been quivered with wanting. I threw a hand out behind me, catching the edge of the door and throwing it closed as he dragged me deeper into the room. A little sound escaped me as we tripped about, both of us struggling for breath as he crushed his lips to mine. We collided against the bed. I braced against it and let out a soft laugh. He echoed it.  “Been ye ‘lright?” I nodded, hurriedly willing away the dull pain of the bed frame biting into my calves. “I just want to kiss you…”

AASOAF 3 Taglist: @outpost51 @grimmunreality @faelanvance @captain-kraken @illjustpretend

@elshells @full-on-sam @the-mindless @milosometimeswrites @tabswrites

@void-botanist @acertainmoshke

Join/leave the taglist using this Google Form.

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Midsummer Nightmare

AI-less Whumptober Day 6: Mind Control

Masterlist

TW: fae whumper, human whumpee, mind control, captivity, a bit o' pet whump

---

Arne rose to consciousness slowly, as if he were wading through a thick pool of mud. Darkness seemed to cling to him, reluctant to let him go from its grasps. His memory was hazy, his thoughts indecipherable, his mind resistant to awareness.

Vaguely, he could tell his head was lying on something soft, a thick, fluffy pillow. Had he overslept again? If he was late again, he could very well lose his work. And then how could he take care of his family?

That thought sent his eyes wide open, his body bolting upright in the large canopy bed he found himself in.

Blinking groggily, Arne frowned, looking around. What was he doing here? And where exactly was ‘here’?

He found himself in a large, elegant bedroom. The head of his bed was pressed against the middle of one wall, a large vanity with a gilded mirror and ornately carved backless chair was on the wall opposite him, a couch that seemed to be made of velvet was pressed against another wall, with a bookcase filled with leather-bound tomes next to it. There were three separate doors that Arne could see: one was on the same wall with the couch that appeared to lead into a washroom, if the white marble and claw-foot tub were any indication, one was opposite that door and it seemed to be a small balcony, the door cracked open slightly allowing sunlight to filter in as gauzy curtains swayed slightly from the breeze. The final door was the only one that was closed and it was made of a rich, dark wood with golden gilding marking out intricate designs.

As he looked around, Arne wracked his brain for what could have possibly led him here. He remembered the woods, attempting to hunt, his bounty being pitifully small.

The doe.

That golden-haired stranger.

Ikalos.

Eyes widening and throat constricting, Arne rapidly scrambled out of the bed, struggling to get out due to the number of sheets and blankets atop him and the thick mattress sinking beneath his weight. Finally, he made it to the edge, all but tumbling out.

As he stood on shaking legs, Arne noticed that his clothes had been… replaced? Although he was not sure that what he was currently wearing could even be considered clothing. A thin white shift hung on his bony frame, with a wide neckline, showing his protruding collarbones, and ending a little above his knees. His feet were bare.

As Arne looked around, bewildered, the glint of the door handle turning caught his eyes, and he scrambled back against the far wall, imagining he did not look unlike that doe that he had shot.

The door swung open on silent hinges, and the sunlight reflected off that golden hair as Ikalos stepped inside, smoothly shutting the door behind him.

Arne stiffened, distrust evident in his eyes. “Where am I? What did you do to me?”

Ikalos let out a low chuckle, the sound sending goosebumps down Arne’s spine. “Relax, my dear,” he said, in that same strange lilt. “All will be answered in due time. Please, don’t worry yourself over such trivial matters.” He glided forward, until he was only inches away from Arne, who felt his back straightening almost impossibly more. Ikalos raised a single hand, his fingers unnaturally long and thin, and gently rubbed in between Arne’s eyebrows with two fingers. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that. And you’re such a young beauty too, it would be a shame to throw that away prematurely.”

“Please,” Arne said softly, weakly. “Just let me go. I- I don’t have anything valuable, I’m not worth this sort of effort. Please, just let me go home.”

Ikalos moved his hand downward, so that he was cupping Arne’s cheek softly, rubbing circles with his thumb in what was presumably a comforting manner. “Oh, my dear, you are truly something valuable. You are most definitely worth this effort, and more. And now, my sweet free bird, that I’ve caught you, you won’t be going anywhere for quite some time.”

Shaking his head slightly, Arne shifted, futilely trying to put space in between them. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Chuckling softly, Ikalos dropped his hand and took a step back. “Why?” he repeated, arching a brow. “Because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored and you, oh, you just looked so… delectable, out there in the forest.”

Arne’s breath caught in his throat, and he desperately lashed out, shoving Ikalos away with all his strength before making a mad dash towards the balcony door.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was planning to do, once he got there. Maybe he could jump, if he wasn’t too high up. Anything was better than being trapped against the wall with that, that creature.

Behind him, Ikalos straightened, running a hand down the imperceptible wrinkles in his clothing. “Arne,” he called, voice shifting, “Arne, stop.”

Midstep, Arne’s body did as commanded and froze, leaving him stuck with one foot hanging in the air and both his hands stretched out wide to the side. All Arne could do was dart his eyes frantically around as his chest heaved.

Soft, smooth footsteps warned him of Ikalos’ approach, but he was utterly helpless, unable to move in even the slightest way.

As Ikalos stood in front of him, Arne could tell there was something different about him. Everything about him just seemed… sharper, somehow. Arne couldn’t really explain it. Most notably, though, was the way his golden irises seemed to be liquid, shifting and spilling over within itself. Arne highly suspected that if he were capable of movement right now, his legs would most likely give out from under him, pure fear soaking into his bones.

Ikalos clicked his tongue, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, Arne. I thought you were smarter than that. How stupid are you, that you thought you could outrun me?”

Arne felt tears swelling in his eyes, causing him to blink hastily, which only sent salty droplets dripping down his face. His tongue felt as though it had an anvil pressing down on it, rendering him mute.

Ikalos ran a light hand through Arne’s hair, in a mockery of comfort. “You really are just another stupid, pathetic human, aren’t you?” His grip turned cruel as he fisted a chunk of Arne’s hair, bending his head at a near-painful angle. “Aren’t you so fortunate to have someone as kind as me to take care of you? Aren’t you?”

Arne could only stare up into those otherworldly golden eyes, tears continuing to pour down his face.

Ikalos wrenched his head to the side. “Aren’t you?!” he repeated. “Thank me! Now!”

All of a sudden, Arne’s tongue felt as if it were light as a cloud, but before he could control it, his mouth was already moving. “Thank you, Ikalos, for taking care of me.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, lifeless and dull, no inflection in it.

Ikalos rolled his eyes in disgust before tossing Arne carelessly away from him, sending him tumbling into the corner, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him sprawled out on the floor, gasping heavily. “You may move again,” Ikalos said, almost bored, and with his words, Arne’s body came back under his control, and he curled up into the fetal position, staring up at the creature before him with loathing burning in his eyes.

Squatting before him, Ikalos chuckled, roughly petting his head, only frowning when Arne flinched away from him. “Pet, you are not allowed to move away from me.” He sighed. “I really ought to start training you right away, shouldn’t I?” He smiled down at Arne, who had frozen at the command, although this time, he could tell it was from his own will, not from the otherworldly compulsion Ikalos appeared to possess.

Swallowing, Arne looked up at him, relieved to see his eyes had returned to their normal appearance, no more swirling gold in them. “Please,” he begged, allowing all the desperation and fear he had to shine through. “Please, sir, good sir, just let me go. I will pay whatever ransom you desire. I will do whatever you request of me, just allow me to lea-”

His words were abruptly cut off as a painful slap sent his head cracking to the side, causing his neck to immediately begin to ache. A throbbing, burning pain flooded his cheek, slowly traveling to encompass his whole face. He gasped, reaching up one hand to cup his beet-red skin, eyes once again flooding with tears.As if nothing had happened, Ikalos resumed his methodical stroking of Arne’s hair. “Aw, pet,” he said condescendingly. “You’re mine now. There’s nothing that will cause me to let you go. You are mine.”

---

Taglist: @thelazywitchphotographer @whither-wander-whump @theelvishcowgirl @deckofaces @badluck990 @whumperofworlds @cupcakes-and-pain @misspelledwitch @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts

[tamedstray]

🤔 - A cryptic dream

Send a symbol for my muse to have a dream about yours. I'll describe the dream and my muse's reaction ☼

Why did they open this door again? Vigor is overcome with a deep sense of dread as it closes behind him. His only solace is the sight of Iago as the corridor opens up before them. Sconces silently and slowly ignite as they walk ahead, only making the doors either side of them all the more inviting, whilst never touching the looming shadow at the end of the corridor. Is there even an end? If there is, he cannot see it.

      Iago seems reluctant, but coaxes them forward nevertheless. He is allowed to open any door he wishes. All pull at his curiosity, promising long-held secrets and enticing truths.

      There are a few doors Vigor cannot resist. One looks like the cover of a journal. Vigor opens it, and pages of notes fan before him before revealing the same hallway, only now Iago is frustrated with him; this remains true even as Vigor backs out of the mirrored room and into the original corridor.

      Another door, this one resembling a stone sarcophagus, leads to a room of mirrors. However, only a few mirrors reflect his own face, while many show Iago moving through the mirrors as if a ghost, stalked by a shadowy wolf.

      ❝Iago, I'm scared. Can we move on? Please?❞ Vigor pleads, shrinking into himself before Iago graces his shoulder softly and guides him through one more door. This one is broken beyond repair, barely holding onto its hinges as misty morning light pours through rotten wooden panels. As Vigor opens it, a steep incline towers before them. A few pebbles tumble down the slope, down to their feet, as the wind whistles over an unseen peak. Vigor begins to climb, aiding Iago along the way until they reach a summit. As they admire the view together, Vigor is overcome with a sense of calm that will endure through to the waking world, even if it only lives for a flicker of a moment within a dream.

      Iago whispers to him, but he cannot pull his eyes away from the horizon below. ❝We can't stay here, come,❞ they say, gliding their hand into his and pulling them towards a camp set up for the pair. A warm campfire, plenty of blankets, and a wealth of healing potions line the way towards a tent. Iago ducks down and leads him through, only to once more return to the endless hallway.

      Still holding Vigor's hand, Iago pulls him forward. The sconces no longer light the way as they lead him into the hungry shadow. ❝It will be over soon,❞ they hum, their voice a soft song he'd never heard before, soothing and sweet and not theirs. Their words are charming, though their expression is fixed flat with eyes locked straight ahead. The last remnants of light carve out the lines of iron bars within the shadow. The sound of metal scrapping along the floor echoes through the darkness. Vigor turns his head to find nothing behind them now. Even as Iago holds his hand, they do not force him through the gate; instead, Vigor gladly walks through before it slowly shuts behind him.

      Inside the empty cage, all Vigor can feel is the absence of Iago's hand in his as he turns around. The once dark hallway seems so bright now, compared to his cell. ❝Iago? What's wrong?❞ Vigor asks as their once fixed expression twists ever so subtly as a sadness flickers in their eyes. Time stretches out achingly in the lifeless void of this final room. ❝Iago? Can I leave?❞ Vigor asks, and they meekly shake their head in response.

      Iago steels their expression one last time before walking away.

He has certainly had worse nightmares. Vigor awakes to a grey, misty morning, with sunlight too shy to pull back a cloud and seep through. He is unsure if the comfort of seeing an old friend, even in a dream, outweighs the surreal feeling that yet lingered over him, not helped by the too-early rising. He muses about how little he knew about his closest confidant, and how, in kind, they barely knew him either. It was a topic he had been considering for years now, and so, doubting there was any conclusion to be found, decides not to dwell on it for long. Vigor tries to go back to sleep, only to return to his prison, trapped alone in the dark.

[infobuildmyplace]

Milano White Cabinet

Introducing the Milano White Cabinet: sturdy construction with 3/4" multi-core plywood sides, adjustable shelves, soft-close hinges, and full-extension glides. Featuring a sleek finger pull groove design, double-wall metal drawers, and a classic 4" toe kick. Perfect blend of style and durability.

[orlando-lifestyle]

Discover the Orlando Lifestyle at Atlantica at Town Center, Davenport, FL

Located in the sunny south of Orlando, Atlantica at Town Center in Davenport, FL, welcomes you to a life of luxury, convenience, and endless adventure. This newest apartment community embodies the essence of Florida living, offering lavish amenities, luxurious finishes, and a blissful location that make it the perfect place to call home.

Luxurious Living Spaces

Each apartment at Atlantica at Town Center is designed with your comfort and style in mind. Featuring wood-inspired flooring, walk-in closets, stainless steel appliances, quartz countertops, and shaker kitchen cabinets, these living spaces exude elegance and functionality. Brushed nickel finishings, 9-foot-high ceilings, screened balconies or patios, kitchen islands, and pool or water views in select units add to the allure of these stunning residences. For added convenience, enjoy double vanities, under-cabinet lighting, soft-close hinges and glides, and spacious walk-in closets in select units.

Amenities Designed for You

Atlantica at Town Center goes above and beyond to cater to your every need and desire. Whether you're looking for health and wellness facilities, relaxation spaces, or thrilling activities, this community has it all. Enjoy a wide range of amenities, including a fire pit, Pelotons, a bike shop, a kids' playroom, a children’s playground, pedestrian-friendly sidewalks, and green spaces. Stay active at the large state-of-the-art fitness center, yoga studio, and stretch room, or relax by the resort-style pool with a sun shelf. Host gatherings at the outdoor gaming and picnic area with event turf, and cook up a storm at the outdoor kitchen with a gas grill area. Other amenities include a clubhouse with a coffee station and game room, Luxer One package lockers, on-site surface parking, valet trash services, personal garages and storage spaces in select units, and elevators in select units.

An Inspired Community

At Atlantica at Town Center, they celebrate individuality and welcome residents from all walks of life. Whether you're an adventurer, a laid-back individual, or someone with a sophisticated taste, you'll feel right at home in our community. They believe in standing out and creating a unique living experience that reflects your personality and style.

Experience Paradise in Orlando

Inspired by the coasts of Florida, Atlantica at Town Center offers endless opportunities to experience a life of paradise. Anchor yourself in comfort, and set adrift in adventure at this exceptional community in the heart of Greater Orlando.

Atlantica at Town Center in Davenport, FL (863) 509–1406

Disclaimer: Promotions and Perks

Please be advised that move-in promotions and perks advertised by Atlantica at Town Center are subject to change or termination without prior notice. While every effort is made to provide accurate and up-to-date information regarding available incentives, it is possible that promotions may end or be altered at any time. We recommend contacting their leasing office directly to confirm the current status of any advertised promotions before making any decisions regarding your move-in. Thank you for your understanding.

The apartment complex featured in this artcile adheres to the principles of the Fair Housing Act. They do not discriminate against any person on the basis of race, color, religion, sex, national origin, familial status, or disability in the leasing and management of our properties.

[inthenameofpractice]

Mary helps until she needn't (prt 1)

Mary Poppins looks to her right down the lane, just double-checking for automobiles that tend to shoot around the corners of the way. There's laughter bubbling from two women in conversation behind her in the park, their hats stuck securely with presumably a hat pin, but their feathers and various decorations jolt at their movements.

The intricate hip height fences of the houses in front of her tell great stories of craftsmen spending hours heating and bending and casting. The trimmed roses show care from gardeners getting ready for the new blooms yet to come.

She glances one more look at the number and name written neatly on the piece of paper she holds in a gloved hand. A parasol in the other, unneeded as the day has been quite bright. She glides off the curb and crosses towards the middle house.

Squished in between two other residences, The dark tiled roof is slanted towards the street. The gate opens with a squeak and slams behind her. "Well, that won't do." Mary Poppins takes off a glove and her eyebrows furrow at the noisy hinge. She snaps her fingers and opens the gate again. No squeak. Hmmph satisfied, she continues up the short pathway to the undercover entrance.

The white limestone of the building speckled with small sprouts of moss and a few creeping vines wrapped around the entranceway. Two plant pots either side of the door, each had a name on the side and a colourful handprint. One with ‘Melia’ and an adult handprint, a little smudged but nonetheless colourful than the decoration on the second pot which read ‘Cally’ and a small hand that looks like it was dipped in all the colours of the rainbow and placed on the pot. Which also had a couple of small toadstools peeking up from the soil like cheeky little burrowers popping out to say hello.

Mary raised her hand and knocked with the large ornate knocker.

After a short moment, the large door opened to reveal a young child, no more than at least 4 years old, her doe eyes staring up at her with an investigative scowl “Who are you?” She asked. The young girl with golden curls and dressed like she was ready for a play in the garden held her gaze. Mary smiled and bent down on a knee ready to introduce herself but was interrupted before she could state her name. “I have told you before Cal! Don’t open the door before I get there!” A male voice sounded behind the door and the child’s face turned a little more sheepish at the scolding, holding her toy close under her arm.

Out from behind the door, came out a tall lanky looking man, short white collar, bow tie, all black suit, and white gloves. He also held an inquisitive gaze. “Good evening, madam, what can I help you with this evening?” He looked over her briefly, and his eyes caught on her parasol, then returned to her face.

“Yes, I am looking for a Mrs Amelia Thrantale. This arrived for me not too long ago, but no information attached” She held out the piece of paper to the gentleman. It was true, only an address and name graced this small piece of paper.

The butler read it himself, “hmm I don’t know who’s handwriting this is” He held it to the light pouring in from the open door. Behind him, Mary noticed the child had sat herself on the stairs and fumbled with a toy of some sort. Now completely uninterested in the new visitor at her door.

“Neither do I, so I thought it prudent to find out” Mary supplied. The Butler handed her back the paper. He held his hands behind his back. “Well, we can always ask my Mistress, who may I say is investigating?” he motioned for her to move inside. Closing the door behind her and leading the way to a small room off the foyer. In it a couch positioned in the middle of the room, closer to the door, adorned with a few decorative pillows, soft, and some interesting colour choices.

A large fireplace fixed into the far wall had a fire crackling away, working at the two small logs placed upon it earlier in preparation for the end of the day. A small table with a few teacups and a boiled pot in front of the couch.  In the corner, an angled desk, filled with books and loose pieces of paper throughout the stacks.

“Mary Poppins” she says as she takes a seat, admiring the room, especially the loose-leaf drawings she can see from her seat on the desk. Smiling to herself, the butler takes notice of what she is staring at. “That is my mistresses private work, you understand.” That snaps her gaze to the tea the man is currently pouring her. “Oh yes, my apologies Mr?” he hums under his breath approvingly “My name is Anthony Cooper.” He finishes his pour and offers the tea.

The tea smells like cinnamon and elder flower, also something a little fruitier she cannot seem to place. “Thank you, Anthony. This is lovely. Is your mistress about?” Anthony stands tall and bows. “I shall go fetch her, I’ll be but a moment. Please stay in here, and please do not snoop.” He fixed a serious tone.

“I assure you, I am not here to snoop Anthony.” He looked pleased with that answer and bowed, “I shan’t be a moment Ma’am.” He left the room and partly closed over the door.

She could hear his footsteps receding, the crackle of the fire, and light chatting from outside through the window. She could see outside just over the short hedges, to the park across the street. A few children ran behind the fountain planted in the centre of the grass area. Playing tag around and around the detailed statue. Their laughter brought another smile to her face.

Suddenly the door to the small room burst open. There stood the small child again. Eyes still wide, taking in everything about Mary, a stranger in her house. “Nee said you have to stay in here.” She stated proudly, chin lifted, but keeping her little arms crossed in front of her.

“Yes, dear I do” Mary chuckled. “Hello, I’m Mary. What’s your name?” She asked the small child and nodded. “I’m Cally! I love your um.. umbella?” curious. “Oh thank you, My Umbrella is very special you know?” Cally’s face crunched. Mary Poppins lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “It’s magic. It can take me wherever I would like to go. Even the clouds.” The young girls face lit up in excitement. “Even higher? The sun!” she said.

 “Now that wouldn’t be very fun, the sun is incredibly hot right?” Mary asked. “I think so.” Cally answered. “Well lucky I wear a hat, that will stop me from getting burnt.” she winked at Cally. Cally let out a massive chuckle “I should get my hat!” She started ambling to the door.

“Mum! This lady is magic!” The child bumped into her mother on the way out. “Oh?” a soft voice replied incredulously, undetected by the small child. She started lifting Cally, but Cally rushed “Wait! I gotta get my hat, so the sun doesn’t get me!” she let her daughter down.

“We aren’t heading out just yet darling. I must talk to the magic lady.” The older woman told Cally, who dropped her bottom lip.

“Now now, none of that, can you go upstairs and ask Nee for another pot of tea please darling?” Now tasked with a new mission, Cally wore a smile again. “Okay! And biscuit?” “Biscuits, yes, but only two! You know the ru-“Cally was already up the stairs and out of sight.

“-ules.” She trailed off. Chuckling at the sheer speed her daughter possessed when treats were in the picture.

She headed into the drawing room to find out who this woman is.

-------

Authors Note: Part 2 on its way!

[madhubalaanbalagan]

5 Reasons to Choose Lacquered Glass Sliding Wardrobes for Your Home

Thinking of upgrading your wardrobe? If you’re looking for something modern, space-saving, and elegant, lacquered glass sliding wardrobes should be at the top of your list. More and more homeowners across India are choosing lacquered glass not just for its premium look, but also for its practical advantages.

In this blog, we’ll break down 5 key reasons why lacquered glass sliding wardrobes are worth the investment — and help you understand everything from lacquered glass thickness to price per sq ft.

Sleek & Modern Look That Elevates Your Space

The biggest draw of a lacquered glass wardrobe is its premium, glossy appearance. Unlike traditional wooden or laminate wardrobes, lacquered glass brings a touch of luxury to your interiors. It reflects light beautifully, making small spaces appear larger and more vibrant.

With a wide range of color options available — from soft neutrals to bold blacks and jewel tones — you can match your wardrobe finish to your room’s color scheme effortlessly.

Space-Saving Sliding Door Mechanism

Unlike traditional hinged wardrobes that eat into your room’s space, sliding wardrobes glide along the wall, making them ideal for compact city homes or modern apartments. When you combine this convenience with the elegance of lacquered glass, you get a perfect blend of function and fashion.

Plus, premium sliding doors come with aluminum frames and soft-close mechanisms, offering a seamless, noise-free experience.

Durability & Safety with Toughened Glass Options

Wondering Is lacquered glass toughened? Yes — in most high-quality sliding wardrobes, the lacquered glass is heat-treated (toughened) to ensure strength and shatter resistance. This makes it a safe and long-lasting material for daily use, especially in family homes with kids.

Also, if you’re comparing options, the difference between toughened glass and lacquered glass lies in their use: lacquered glass adds color and design, while toughening adds safety. Together, they offer the best of both worlds.

Easy Maintenance & Long-Term Value

One of the most underrated lacquered glass advantages is how easy it is to maintain. Unlike wood that can warp or laminate that may peel, lacquered glass surfaces stay smooth and scratch-resistant. Just a simple wipe with a microfiber cloth and glass cleaner keeps it spotless.

Yes, there are a few lacquered glass disadvantages like fingerprint visibility on darker shades — but that’s easily manageable with regular cleaning. Compared to other wardrobe materials, lacquered glass offers better long-term durability and aesthetic retention.

Affordable Luxury — Now Within Reach

Let’s talk numbers. You might assume that lacquered glass wardrobes are expensive. But with new manufacturing tech and local production, lacquered glass price per sq ft is now surprisingly competitive.

For example, Avantis offers premium lacquered glass sliding wardrobes starting at just ₹799 per sq ft, making it affordable luxury. For those who want a designer look without breaking the bank — this is a deal hard to ignore.

Lacquered Glass vs Tinted Glass — What’s Best?

A common question from homeowners is: Lacquered glass vs tinted glass — what should I choose? If you want color, depth, and reflectivity, lacquered glass is your best bet. Tinted glass is more subtle and used for partitions or minimalist looks. But for wardrobes? Lacquered glass wins in both aesthetics and versatility.

Ready to Redesign Your Wardrobe?

If you’re planning a home upgrade or working on an interior design project, it’s time to check out the latest lacquered glass in chennai explore available shades, and get a free consultation from Avantis.

Call Now: +91 96770 53538 Visit: www.avantisindia.com 

[homecraftcollective]

Must-Have Cabinet Hardwares for Modern Look

For a Modern look we should focus on a few must-have cabinet hardware elements. Sleek cabinet handles and knobs can truly elevate our spaces, while soft-close hinges enhance both functionality and experience. Integrating cabinet lighting adds warmth and helps showcase the beauty of our cabinets. Concealed drawer glides keep things tidy and efficient, and minimalist cabinet feet give an airy feel. There’s much more to explore, so let’s uncover the full potential of our cabinetry together!

Sleek Cabinet Handles and Knobs

When we think about enhancing the elegance of our cabinets, sleek handles and knobs play an essential role in tying the design together.

The Modernform Cabinet, with its walnut finish and full overlay door panels, deserves hardware that complements its contemporary aesthetic. Choosing minimalist metal knobs or long, slender handles can elevate the cabinet’s overall look, adding a touch of sophistication.

Plus, the right hardware not only enhances visual appeal but also improves functionality. With various configurations available, like single doors and multiple drawers, we can select handles that suit each cabinet design perfectly.

Let’s remember, the finishing touches matter, making our cabinets not just storage solutions, but also stylish focal points in our spaces.

Soft-Close Hinges

Sleek handles and knobs enhance our cabinets’ aesthetics, but soft-close hinges take functionality to the next level. These innovative hinges not only add a modern touch but also improve our daily cabinet experience.

With soft-close hinges, we eliminate the loud bangs of slamming doors, creating a peaceful environment in our kitchens and living spaces.

Here are some key benefits of incorporating soft-close hinges:

Quiet Operation: They gently close doors, reducing noise.

Enhanced Durability: The mechanisms are built to last, minimizing wear and tear.

Safety Features: They prevent pinched fingers, especially for kids.

Easy Installation: Most soft-close hinges fit standard cabinets effortlessly.

Integrated Cabinet Lighting

Integrating cabinet lighting into our spaces not only enhances the visual appeal but also greatly improves functionality. It creates an inviting atmosphere while making everyday tasks easier, especially in kitchens and workspaces.

Imagine reaching for a favorite dish or ingredient and having soft, ambient light guide our way.

Modern cabinets, like those from the Modernform line, can seamlessly incorporate LED strip lights or puck lights, highlighting their beautiful finishes, such as the Matte Grey. This enhances the contemporary look with added elegance.

Plus, with options for full extension drawers, we can guarantee that even the darkest corners are illuminated, making our storage solutions not just stylish but also practical.

Let’s transform our cabinets into well-lit showcases that elevate our home’s aesthetic!

Concealed Drawer Glides

How do concealed drawer glides enhance our cabinetry experience? These innovative features not only elevate the aesthetic of our cabinets but also improve functionality.

With a sleek design, concealed glides allow for full extension of drawers, making access to our stored items easy and convenient. Here’s why we love them:

Soft-Close Mechanism: Prevents slamming, ensuring a quiet and gentle drawer closure.

Durability: Made from steel, they withstand daily use while maintaining smooth operation.

Clean Look: The under-mounted design keeps the focus on the cabinet’s beauty without visible hardware.

Storage Efficiency: Full access maximizes usable space within the drawers, making organization a breeze.

Incorporating concealed drawer glides is a smart choice for modern cabinetry!

Minimalist Cabinet Feet

Minimalist cabinet feet can transform the look of our cabinetry while enhancing its functionality. By opting for sleek, low-profile designs, we not only elevate the modern aesthetic of our space but also create an illusion of spaciousness.

These cabinet feet provide a clean, unobtrusive base that complements contemporary decor, making our cabinets feel like they’re floating.

Additionally, minimalist feet can improve accessibility for cleaning underneath, making maintenance a breeze. They also help protect our cabinetry from moisture and dirt, extending its lifespan.

With various materials available, such as metal or wood, we can choose a style that aligns perfectly with our overall design vision. Embracing minimalist cabinet feet is a simple yet impactful way to enhance our interiors.

Frequently Asked Questions

What Materials Are Best for Cabinet Hardware Durability?

When considering cabinet hardware durability, we recommend stainless steel and brass. These materials resist corrosion and wear, ensuring longevity. We’ve found that high-quality finishes enhance their resilience, making them a smart investment for any project.

How Do I Choose the Right Size Cabinet Handles?

When choosing the right size cabinet handles, we should consider the cabinet’s scale and style. Generally, longer handles work well on larger cabinets, while smaller ones suit compact spaces. Let’s measure carefully for balance!

Can Cabinet Hardware Be Easily Replaced?

Absolutely, we can easily replace cabinet hardware! It’s a straightforward process that refreshes our space. We just need the right tools and measurements, and we’ll have a new look in no time!

Do Cabinet Finishes Affect Hardware Selection?

Absolutely, cabinet finishes greatly affect our hardware selection. We should consider contrasting metals and colors to enhance the overall aesthetic. Choosing the right hardware can elevate our cabinets, creating a cohesive and stylish look.

How Can I Maintain Cabinet Hardware Appearance?

To maintain our cabinet hardware’s appearance, we should regularly clean them with a soft cloth and mild cleaner, avoid harsh chemicals, and check for loose screws or fittings to guarantee everything stays secure and functional.

Conclusion

Incorporating the right cabinet hardware can truly transform our living spaces into modern havens. By choosing sleek handles, soft-close hinges, and integrated lighting, we not only enhance functionality but also elevate our home’s style. Embracing minimalist designs and concealed features keeps our cabinets looking clean and sophisticated. Let’s take these insights and make informed choices that reflect our personal taste, turning our ordinary cabinets into extraordinary focal points that we’ll love for years to come.

[boconceptindia1]

Designer Bedroom Furniture by BoConcept: Luxury Living Meets Scandinavian Elegance

Your bedroom is more than a place to sleep — it’s your private sanctuary, a space where you start and end each day. To make this space truly your own, you need designer bedroom furniture that combines luxury, functionality, and personal style. At BoConcept India, each piece of bedroom furniture is a testament to modern Danish design, crafted with precision, attention to detail, and high-quality materials that elevate any interior.

Whether you are designing a minimalist escape or a luxurious retreat, BoConcept’s designer bedroom furniture offers the perfect fusion of aesthetics, customisation, and comfort — making your bedroom a true expression of who you are.

Why Choose Designer Bedroom Furniture?

Unlike mass-produced furniture, designer bedroom furniture offers:

High-end craftsmanship

Customisable options to suit your style and space

Premium materials like solid wood, leather, and velvet

Innovative storage and smart design features

Timeless aesthetics that transcend fleeting trends

BoConcept brings the essence of Scandinavian simplicity to Indian homes — creating bedrooms that are clean, calming, and clutter-free.

Explore BoConcept’s Designer Bedroom Furniture Collection

a. Designer Beds

The bed is the centrepiece of any bedroom. BoConcept offers a variety of luxury bed designs, each engineered for comfort and built with timeless visual appeal.

Upholstered Beds: Choose from high-quality fabrics or genuine leather in over 120 colours and textures.

Platform and Floating Beds: Create a light, minimalist look with elevated frames and hidden support.

Storage Beds: Ideal for compact bedrooms, these beds offer built-in drawers or lift-up bases.

Custom Headboards: Tailor your bed’s visual impact with tufted, cushioned, or paneled headboards.

BoConcept beds are designed with ergonomic comfort, durability, and aesthetic balance, making them a long-term investment in restful living.

b. Wardrobes and Storage Solutions

Keep your bedroom organised with BoConcept’s modular wardrobes and bespoke storage units.

Sliding or Hinged Door Wardrobes: Smooth-glide systems for ease of use and a sleek look.

Internal Organisation: Custom shelves, drawers, shoe racks, and hanging spaces tailored to your needs.

Mirror and Matte Finishes: Reflective surfaces to brighten your room or soft matte panels for a more subdued tone.

Custom Sizes: Available in dimensions that suit Indian apartments, villas, and luxury homes.

These wardrobes are the epitome of form-meets-function, with internal layouts designed to maximise space without compromising style.

c. Nightstands and Bedside Tables

Essential for both utility and design harmony, BoConcept nightstands are:

Crafted in wood, metal, or lacquered finishes

Available in floating and legged styles

Designed with soft-close drawers for silent functionality

Customisable to match or contrast your bed design

They seamlessly blend into your layout while offering just the right amount of storage for night-time essentials.

d. Dressers and Chests of Drawers

Add extra storage with luxury dressers that are:

Minimalist in design, yet bold in impact

Equipped with push-open or handle-less drawers

Made from sustainable wood and designer-grade finishes

Ideal for clothing, accessories, and bedroom decor

Pair with a matching mirror or vanity top to create your own dressing space.

e. Accent Furniture and Accessories

BoConcept offers designer touches to complete your bedroom, such as:

Benches and ottomans for foot-of-bed functionality

Accent chairs for reading corners or window seating

Wall-mounted shelving for curated displays

Luxury rugs, mirrors, and lighting to create ambience

Each piece is thoughtfully designed to add visual rhythm and personalised character to your space.

Customisation at Its Best

BoConcept stands out for its extensive customisation options, giving you full control over your bedroom design.

Choose from 120+ fabrics and leathers

Select wood types and finishes: Walnut, oak, ash, matte black, gloss white, and more

Modify dimensions and configurations to suit your room layout

Style coordination: Match your bed, nightstands, wardrobes, and seating for a cohesive look

Your bedroom should reflect your story, and BoConcept helps you design it your way.

Designed for Indian Homes

BoConcept understands the design needs of Indian urban spaces, from compact apartments to large penthouses. Their furniture is:

Space-optimised

Ideal for contemporary Indian interiors

Custom-fit for all sizes of bedrooms

Tailored to Indian colour palettes and preferences

Whether you’re in Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore, or Hyderabad, BoConcept’s designer bedroom furniture fits perfectly into modern Indian lifestyles.

Sustainability and Longevity

BoConcept's commitment to sustainability is embedded in every piece:

FSC®-certified wood

Eco-friendly manufacturing

Reupholstery services and long-life materials

Timeless designs that reduce the need for frequent replacement

You don’t just buy furniture — you invest in the planet, your comfort, and your home’s legacy.

BoConcept Interior Design Service

Need help choosing the right pieces? BoConcept offers complimentary interior design consultations, both in-store and online.

Space planning and 3D layout designs

Moodboards and material samples

Furniture recommendations tailored to your taste

Complete bedroom styling by professional designers

Make informed decisions with the support of world-class design experts.

Conclusion: Redefine Your Bedroom with BoConcept

Investing in designer bedroom furniture from BoConcept is more than a home upgrade — it’s a lifestyle transformation. Every detail, from custom headboards to modular wardrobes, is designed to offer comfort, elegance, and individuality.

Bring your dream bedroom to life with BoConcept’s curated collections — where luxury meets simplicity, and design becomes deeply personal.

FAQs: Designer Bedroom Furniture at BoConcept

What is the difference between designer and regular bedroom furniture?

Designer furniture offers superior materials, craftsmanship, and customisation, resulting in better durability, functionality, and aesthetics compared to mass-market options.

Can BoConcept beds be customised to fit small bedrooms?

Yes, BoConcept offers beds in various sizes, including compact and storage bed designs ideal for smaller rooms.

What materials are used in BoConcept bedroom furniture?

Premium woods like oak and walnut, high-density engineered boards, stainless steel, Italian leather, velvet, wool blends, and eco-friendly lacquer finishes.

Does BoConcept offer delivery and installation across India?

 Yes, BoConcept provides delivery and professional installation services in major cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Hyderabad, Bangalore, and more.

How do I book a free interior design consultation with BoConcept?

You can book online via the BoConcept India website or visit your nearest store to schedule a consultation with an interior stylist.