#soft-close glides and hinges

[mockinqay]

Traditional Kitchen (Philadelphia)

[love-bitesx]

is it possible for a Hobie X fem reader on her period? Like maybe he swings by her place thru the window, goes in and the first thing he sees is reader lying face flat on the bed or ground, hand clutching her stomach 🤯

: ̗̀➛ JUST NEED YOU. hobie brown x fem!reader

genuine question: do i write hobie too soft?? idk if he's too ooc or not, any feedback would be amazing! thank u for the req !!

summary: hobie comes home to find you curled up on the floor in pain. words: 952 REQUESTS OPEN! warnings: no pronouns are used, but reader is on their period so, apply that as you choose! gn friendly. obviously, mentions of period, no graphic blood description but mentions of bleeding. hobie being a softie, as per usual.

all he could think of is you.

gliding through the streets, his shoulder aching at the joints slightly from swinging all day, his evening consisting of darting around the city and scanning the streets for any mishaps. pulling himself along, his fingers itched for you, needing to be close, smell your scent and kiss your skin.

almost crashing down onto your fire escape, he scaled the staircase to your room, sighing to himself at the familiar orange glow radiating from your window. it was open just an inch, the warmth spilling into the cold london air, and he couldn’t help but smile thinking you’d left it open just for him.

letting the glow swallow him whole, he dragged the window off it’s latch and kicked through to your bedroom, comforted by the familiarity. your laptop was open on the visibly slept-in bed, the duvet ruffled, no longer molded on the mattress. worn clothes discarded onto the carpeted floor, there was all evidence of your presence, but you weren’t anywhere to be seen.

“darlin’?” hobie called out, kicking his boots off and pulling your bedroom door open, met with the darkness of the rest of your apartment, “y/n, it’s hobie, you ‘ere, love?”

a muffled rustle in the bathroom sent a tingle down his spine, and he turned to see the door shut, the gentle white illumination spilling from underneath it. knocking gently, not wanting to alarm you, his brows furrowed at the silence that followed.

“y/n?” voice softer than his usual harsh exterior, apprehension beginning to bundle in his stomach at the lack of response, until he heard a soft, exhausted groan from within, “you okay?”

another groan sounded, and he immediately reached for the handle, shaking it rushedly to check if it was locked. it wasn’t, the door creaking open on it’s hinges, revealing the harsh white light from within. his eyes went straight to you, his heart dropping at the sight.

curled up on the freezing, tiled floor, you clutched at your stomach in pain. crouching to his knees, his cold hands reached to pull you to him, cradling your head to his chest. fingers running along your skin to check for wounds or injuries, he furrowed his brows.

your skin was drained of colour, the subtle bags under your eyes damp from tears. gently, he brushed the hair from your face, the familiarity of his touch melting you like putty in his hands. he was just the comfort you’d been craving.

“what ‘appened, sweetheart?” his hand cupped your face, bringing it up to look at him, your eyes filled with water, “use your words for me.”

“it’s silly,” voice cracking with tears, you pressed your cheek into his hand, the chill of his metal rings a weird solace.

“tell me, i can help,” a kiss to your forehead cracked a soft smile on your lips.

tearfully you begun, “i just, i woke up and- and i was bleeding…you know,” your cheeks warmed in an innate wash of embarassment, “the cramps just, they hurt so much and i didn’t know what to do.”

he’d be lying if he said he didn’t panic a little bit. not that he was uncomfortable with periods, he was never conservative about that kind of thing, but the feeling of helplessness created a conflict within him. in almost every situation, he lived to save you, it was part of his humanity, his purpose in the world. this felt like something he couldn’t save you from, it unsettled him.

“what do you need?” he spoke against your hairline, thumb caressing your plush cheek.

bringing your hands to his vest, you pulled him impossibly close, breathing in the scent of him and nuzzling into his chest, “just need you.”

melting, his chilled heart turned soft at your words, chest spreading with warmth at the feeling of you, small in his embrace. something itched at him, he was a compassionate man, but prided himself in his cool, harsh exterior at times – until you came about. a spring of safety in his dangerous conscience.

“come on, darlin’,” he muttered, securing his strength underneath you and picking you up from the inhospitable bathroom tiles. you clung to his neck, arms fluid against the sharp collar.

carrying you through to the bedroom, he placed you softly on the mattress, kissing your cheek delicately on the cheek before stepping away, “’ll be back in a sec, love.”

left without him, you tucked yourself under the covers, wincing as a wave of aching pains split your lower abdomen in half – a tear falling down your flushed face. shooting up your spine and fuzzing your head, you barely noticed when hobie stepped back into the room.

opening your eyes at the weighted feeling of hobie sitting on the bed beside you, you’re met with a fresh glass of water and painkillers, hobie shrugging off his vest and jewellery to climb in beside you.

“you didn’t have to get all that,” you smiled gingerly, sipping the liquid and sighing at the feeling.

“’course i did,” he kicked off his jeans and pulled the comforter over you both, snaking his bare arms around your waist, careful not to put pressure on your abdomen, burying his face in your neck, “need to look after you. love you too much.”

“i love you, too, hobie.”

[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 :)

[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.

[writefightandflightclub]

Say my name: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader)

Blorbo thought of the day #4

A/n: pwp but with feelings (a dash of fluff and a dash of angst). Blurb. Few hundred words - and I think it turned out pretty well (or maybe I’m just hor-nee 😇😈🤣).

Minors interacting will be blocked. NSFW, 18+ only

GIF by clonecaptains

Santiago is buried in you, holding you still on his rigid cock, strong hands pinning your hips as you moan in frustration that he won’t let you move.

“Can’t behave, mhmm?” He asks breathily as you whine for more friction, a smug lopsided smile with the breath punched out of it inching across his pretty mouth. He bucks his hips up, up, up, in search of the limit deep inside you, the head of his cock pushing against a part of you which is deep enough that it almost feels unpleasant. Almost.

“Santiago,” you plead, voice cracked open by want.

His head is thrown back on the pillow and, even in your state of undone desperation, you feel a dull sense of satisfaction that you’re getting to him, eroding his firm, unerring control. His teeth tug over his taut lips, his curls splaying out as his head writhes back into the pillow. His jaw tips up as he submits a harsh grunt into the air, all for you.

He wants to move too. Needs to.

“Santiago,” you purr, from deeper in your chest this time, more brazen, husky, all frayed edges, knowing how he so loves to hear his name spill so desperately from the lips he so recently plumped with his full, veined cock. From the mouth he’s just been buried in.

His hands claw into the meat of your hips and he struggles for purchase against your sweat-slicked body, which only causes his grip to tighten, divots carved into the forgiving swell of you by his fingertips.

His eyes dance over you, as a low keen cracks in his throat, and you know he wants more.

Only ever more, from you.

He pulls you down on him, still pinning you here and you can’t move, don’t have the will to, your body half boneless already. You can’t rise on your knees but you do cant your hips; ever so slightly, as much as you can, gliding them in a circle so that your walls massage the flushed, throbbing head of his cock where it’s buried all the way in you.

“Fuck. Jesus. Christ.”

His punched-out expletives and praise are like music to you, and so you do it again. The slow drag and tight hug of you making his breath billow in gusts past the circle of his plush lips.

You do it again, and his fingers are giving up, grip slack, his eyes rolling back in his head. Eyes fluttering closed now, until you have him on the brink of losing control…

And that’s it.

That’s when he snaps; because he moves to take it back.

He snaps his hips up brutally, with renewed vigour. Thrusting up into you until the force of it is knocking you forward on to your arms, palms planting either side of his head. Fucks into you, until you’re hinging at the hips, your chest pressed up against him. Skin sticky and salty and slick - with a dash of cool metal slipped between you; but it’s nowhere near as wet as the flood between your legs. The flood of wet as Santi pistons in and out of you, planting his feet to the mattress and folding his knees skyward to better push himself into you, giving you everything.

Your clit grinding roughly against him - against the soft swell of his tummy there and the coarse thatch of hair and fuck-

Oh God.

You’re going…

You need to…

Your head lolls forward, arms folding around his head, fingertips grazing the ribbons of his soft curls and the prickle of his undercut. Your ragged, discombobulated breath settling haphazardly against the column of his throat and his cock fucking into you until you’re practically limp on top of him. As though he is the only thing giving you shape.

You’re right on the edge.

Of yourself.

Of him.

Of everything.

So close to the edge where he’s kept you for so long because he loves to make you need him. Gets off on you needing him so badly, because he’s so afraid. Afraid one day you won’t- need him - and it makes you want to hold him tighter than he’s ever been held and your cunt clenches down on him as though chasing that sentiment on your behalf.

He stutters. Stutters broken syllables and he stutters his hips clumsily up into you as you take him to his own edge.

You hold him. Bury your moans in the apex of his shoulder, sucking on the sweet, salted skin there, marking him with meadows of purple bloom like the flushed head of him which drags against your sweet spot.

And then.

Then his voice is burying itself in the shell of your ear as deep as he’s buried in your heat. In your heart. “Give me what I need, Princesa.”

You will.

You will give him what he needs. Always.

You shove your tongue over his. Still hungry. Always needing more. Always more when it comes to him. You lick the exertion from his lips. The taste of your own arousal. You feel the wetness and the warmth and the graze of his stubble and this divine, building pressure within you.

You would give him anything; and, gladly, you will give him this.

Your pleasure spills over for him - and then, he is spilling into you. Spilling into you as you speak his name whisper soft against his cheek like it is a prayer on a delicate leaf of paper. Dance your fingers over him like he’s your rosary. Confess yourself to him in moans and breath until he’s shaking. His whole body trembling. Fucking himself up into you to fill you, until you’re so full that it’s spilling out around him. Crawling down your thighs, his balls. All slick and full and sated.

“Santiago,” you suspire weakly but full of feeling, in total disbelief as your body continues to convulse with aftershocks. Tasting him like the lingering flood of sweet, full fruit over your tongue.

“Fuck,” he growls, scraping you with his sandpaper jaw as his smooth, supple tongue urgently seeks out yours. “I love it when you say my name.”

He kisses your smile, and he softens inside of you.

So soft.

So afraid to lose control.

So desperate to be needed.

Santiago.

Well. You’ll be desperate for him anytime.

Will always need him.

You’ll even say his name like it’s a prayer, reciting it over and over, until it is indistinguishable from breathing. Until you need him just as badly.

You do.

You have.

He shifts you, gently, slowly - scooping you up and cradling you against his smooth, warm chest as he sighs out every scrap of tension. As he lets himself feel safe with you - and, for him, that is no small thing at all.

And, as he brings your hand up to his lips and he kisses every knuckle in turn, your quickened heartbeat even drums his name.

His name is a prayer, every damn time you say it.

A prayer that he never gets sick of hearing it sound out from your lips; for, after all, you know. Know how afraid he is of no longer being needed.

He is afraid enough of it that he could even run while you still do; need him.

Need him like he’s air.

You have.

You do.

You already do.

And so, maybe, even as he holds you like all of his prayers have been answered…

… it is you who is most afraid of all.

[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.

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

This Wednesday I’m thinkin about roommate Danny walking in on you as you’re having some ✨me time✨

He hears his name, and thinking you need something, he comes into your room, like “Yeah, what’s u-“ only to find you spread out, touching yourself as you moan his name

I love this trope so much.

You swore you weren't being that loud. That your door was closed. That he wouldn't have heard you. All of that was wrong. Clad only in your silk robe, hardly clinging to your body from the warmth of your skin from your shower. Your shower head may have helped you get off a bit, but you were insatiable this evening. You let out a whine, fuck you needed this.

"Mmm," you whimper through gritted teeth, so close now, but you just couldn't get your mind to turn off. Your fingers dipping inside of your sopping wet pussy as you search for motivation. Danny had been a recent addition to your spank bank. You had heard him fucking some girl the other night, and god the way the bedframe rocked against the wall, the way he made her sound, how you could hear him so clearly... and maybe you made yourself cum listening, so what? Just harmless fun?

You closed your eyes as you focused on your fantasy. Your fingers move faster, your breathing faster, your moans whining into the air, so close now. "Fuck, Danny." You sigh, your fingers swirling over your clit, your legs spread wide, your door creaking open. "Did you need somethi-" a voice asks. You bolt up right, eyes wide as saucers as you take in the horrific sight of your friend and roommate, Danny standing in your doorway.

"I'm so sorry," you say quickly and anxiously, averting his gaze as you pull your robe closed, "oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't think-" "That I didn't hear you?" He interrupts. You look at him nervously, your heart slamming in your chest, fingers clutching your robe tight. "I thought-" "That I haven't heard you moan my name before?" He asks with a devilish smirk. The door opens a tad more as Danny steps in, the creaking sound of its hinges only making your breath hitch.

"I've heard you, a few times now." He says softly, walking to the edge of your bed. You can't help but let your body relax, your hands loosening their grip on the silk of your robe, your legs opening up slightly as his eyes start to dance over your form. "I like hearing you, especially when I know I've been thinking of you when I touch myself too." He whispers, his hair dangling in front of his face as he leans close to you. Your breath wavers, eyes scanning his as he searches your face for any signs of overstepping. You part your legs for him as he climbs slowly into your bed, you move backward to accommodate him and you cannot believe this is even happening. His large hand comes to your thigh, warm and soft as he opens your legs to him. He leans in close enough to kiss you, and right as he's about to, a long slender finger glides up your wet pussy, making your whimper against his lips. "Good girl." He whispers with a grin before capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is deep as he slowly begins to touch you. Your silk robe falls away, revealing your body to him. Danny sighs as he takes in your figure, "God, I've always imagined what you'd look like this way, but this is more perfect than anything I could've thought up." He rasps against your neck before slowly plunging a finger inside of your aching pussy. "Fuuuck." You moan slowly as he does, stretching you out and making your eyes roll back. He lays you down and kisses your neck, "Oh baby you're so fucking wet, who is all this for?" He smiles against the crook of your neck, adding a second finger inside of you, making your hips buck, "Y-You." You confess, you would act more shy if he wasn't kissing you and finger fucking you so well, so you might as well be honest.

"You're so tight." He whispers as he bites your earlobe. "So good." You whine as his pace increases. He kisses down your neck to your shoulder, down to your breast, his tongue lapping over one of the hardening nipples, making you shudder as the warmth of his tongue and the feeling of his fingers overwhelm your senses. "Oh God, Danny." You whine. "There's my sweet girl. Just like I've heard before." He whispers with a smile. "Need more." You pout, Danny's eyes meet yours, practically bursting out of his head at your words.

"Yeah? You need more baby?"

"Need your cock. Wanna feel it so bad."

"Good, because I've been dying to give it to ya." He smiles before gently removing his fingers from you. You watch in excitement as he pulls off his t-shirt and those suddenly tight seeming grey sweatpants, along with his underwear. Your mouth agape as his cock bounces up against his stomach. You can't stop yourself from reaching out and touching him, wrapping your fingers around his perfect looking shaft. Danny groans at the feeling of your soft, warm hand. "So big." You mutter to yourself. "I know you can take it, pretty girl." He rasps, his eyes meeting yours again as he leans forward, kissing you slowly. You relax and spread your legs open for him to lay in between. His cock slowly running through your folds makes you moan out.

"I need you so bad." Danny whispers as he slowly strokes his cock. "Give it to me, Danny." You say, surprising even yourself at your boldness. Danny smiles and kisses you as he presses inside you. Both of you watch the others' faces as he first sinks inside of you, the sounds of the others moans and sighs and the way your eyes flutter closed as Danny grips at the sheets as he fills you up for the first time. "Fuck," he moans in your ear before slowly beginning the delicious motion of his hips.

Your hands wrap around his back as he rocks into you, nails scratching against his skin. "Oh fuck, Danny, fuck you feel so good." You whine. Danny kisses you hard, both of you so desperate for the other. You raise your legs and wrap them around his hips, making the angle deeper for you both, making the both of you moan out eachothers names, this time for your both to hear.

Danny's hips are slamming into you and you cannot keep yourself from biting at the junction of his neck and shoulder as your climax builds. "I-I'm gonna cum oh my god-" "Me too." Danny's voice shakes as he slams into you. "Come on baby, cum for me." He whispers. Only a few more strokes and you're cumming around him, your eyes rolling back, your nails digging into the rippling muscle of his back as your cum hard.

It doesn't take much longer until Danny is panting and groaning in your ear, moaning your name until he pulls out, cum splattering all over your stomach. He collapses into your arms. Both of you searching for breath and holding onto the other as if you might float away. Danny kisses your cheek, you smile at the sweetness of his gesture, one so much sweeter than the absolute filth you two just finished. "I can't believe we just did that." You sigh, fingers running gently over the red marks from your nails in his back. "Me neither." Danny whispers against your neck.

He sits up and looks at the mess of you two, smiling with pride.

"Wanna do it again in the shower?"

"Absolutely."

[inkykeiji]

helloo :)

can i get thirst + 1950s kei hehe

prompt: thirst series: 1950s au warnings: historically inaccurate 1950s au, reader is female, ur in keigo’s lap for pretty much this entire piece, a very spit-slicked kiss words: 1.3k

absolutely!!! thank you so much for requesting him hehe c:

“It’s another hot-hot-hot one out there, folks! Twenty-eight degrees, with temps climbing into the mid-thirties, and a humidex of thirty-six,” the voice on the radio cackles, stuffed with static. “Be sure to keep those bodies cool and those throats hydrated!” 

Gosh, when is this heat wave gonna end? you’re murmuring to yourself as you push past the swinging screen door, a glass pitcher of freshly made ice cold lemonade in your hands, droplets of condensation already beginning to stream down the curved sides. 

“Hopefully this can help quench your thirst,” you set the pitcher down on the rickety wooden table next to Keigo, holding a glass steady as you pour, sure to get a few ice cubes and a slice of lemon, just how he likes it. 

“Thank you, angel,” he takes the glass from your hands, grateful, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. 

“So?” you rock a little on the balls of your feet in anticipation, keen eyes watching his Adams apple bob as he swallows a mouthful. “How is it?” 

“Mm,” he hums as his hands encircle your waist, pulling you down into his lap, the plastic of his lawnchair squeaking beneath your combined weight. “Perfect, as always.”

He noses along the curve of your neck, inhaling slowly as he plants sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your damp flesh. The light summer breeze rustles the leaves of the old oak tree on your front lawn, twining through the full branches, caressing your saliva-slicked skin and leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation in its wake. Sighing, your body relaxes against Keigo’s as your head tips back, exposing more of your neck to him.

“That nice?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice smooth and thick like caramel. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “Feels good.” 

You feel him lean away for a moment, taking the heat of his mouth with him, ears pricking as teeth clink against glass, as ice clinks against teeth. Then he’s back, an ice cube cupped in his tongue, frosty and frigid as it drags across your feverish skin. 

The unexpected cold makes you jump, and Keigo chuckles—a deep, velvety sound that vibrates against your flesh—as he licks up the notches of your neck, ice gliding with his tongue, slow and purposeful.

Chills erupt across your body, back arching just a little and pressing further into his touch, powerless to stop the soft mewl that spills from your lips. 

He takes his time with it, unhurried in his ministrations, thorough in his work, each caress of his tongue meticulously thought out, sure to cover every inch of exposed skin he can easily reach—the nape of your neck and the blades of your shoulders and the column of your throat—until the cube has fully melted, leaving a mess of watery saliva painted across your skin in large, wide strokes.

The icy tip traces your jugular vein one last time for good measure, up, up, up, traveling along the edge of your jaw to the lobe of your ear, and shivers skitter up your spine, sending a wave rippling through your flesh. 

“All done,” he purrs in your ear, breath still chilled from the ice. 

And you just can’t help yourself, suddenly parched for him, twisting in his grasp and capturing his lips. Hands splayed wide on either of his cheeks, you tug him closer, fingertips hooking behind the hinges of his jaw, nails sinking into his skin, leaving behind shallow crescents. 

He tastes sticky-sweet, a syrupy film of vanilla cola still clinging to his tongue and lacing his spit, complemented by the slight sour tang of the lemonade. Your tongue curls around his own, sucks it into your mouth and scrapes your teeth across the surface, desperate to swallow down whatever you can of him, to steal just a stringy piece of him and hold him in your tummy, close to your heart. 

A keepsake, while he’s away. 

Finally, you part, with glimmering lips and spit-slicked chins, chests heaving together with ragged little breaths.

“Wow,” Keigo chuckles, the word wispy, eyes shining bright like two starbursts of topaz. “What was that for?”

“I, um,” you turn away from him, suddenly shy, settling back against his body and tucking your face into your shoulder. “I just—I really don’t want you to go tomorrow,” you admit softly, a slight pout in your voice. “I know it isn’t fair, but...” 

But I want you all to myself. But I miss you like crazy when you’re gone. But it’s true. 

“I understand, baby,” he leans his cheek against yours, short stubble scratching your sensitive skin, and squeezes you to his chest, tight and secure. “You know, you could always come with me...”

“Keigo, please, don’t start—”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” you pull back to look at him, shifting a little in his lap. 

Holding his stare, your eyes search his, shimmering topaz ever-changing in the late afternoon sun, flickering with the sunbeams streaming through the fluttering leaves, casting shadows and shapes on his face. He gazes back just as steadily, nothing but sincerity brimming in his eyes, and your lips tug down. 

Fingers brush back the golden curls saturated in sweat sticking to his forehead, carding through the unruly strands in a rhythmic motion, eyes following their movement.

He catches your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your palm. 

Keigo’s been attempting to persuade you to quit your job for a while now, to abandon the life you worked so hard to build, painstakingly from the ground up and with your own two hands, to throw caution to the wind and come jet-setting with him around the world despite the fact that you know next to nothing about his work—nothing about his elusive and mysterious job that requires freshly pressed and finely tailored tuxedos, that pays six figures, that allows him to have a two-storey house and a 1957 cherry red Chevy Bel Air and a collection of glittering Rolex watches—despite the fact that, technically, you aren’t allowed to. 

“You know I’d love to, but my job at the diner—”

“Isn’t necessary anymore.”

“Is important to me,” you continue, voice firm with conviction. 

You know he doesn’t exactly get it, why you’d want to keep working a broke-down job at a shitty little mom & pop malt shop when he can now provide for all of your needs, and more, but this job holds a certain type of sentimentality.

Because it’s something that’s yours, something you earned all on your own, accomplished through your own volition and hard work, something that enabled you to claw your way to freedom.

You love the grease, the way the scent of fresh-cut fries and sizzling cheeseburgers twines through your hair and carries home with you. 

You love the sticky milkshakes and melty sundaes and ostentatious banana splits, the way they always seem to perpetually stain the tips of your fingers, tinging everything with sugar. 

You love the speckled white tables and the glittery red booths and the checkerboard floor, the way your regular customers’ eyes light up when they spot you.

You love it all, so dearly. 

“I can’t just leave.” Not now, not yet, not until you’re ready to let go. 

He doesn’t exactly get it, but he doesn’t need to. 

It being important to you is already enough reason for him.

He glances up at you through thick gold lashes, thumb pausing in its quest to pick off a chip of peeling white paint from the table, holding your eyes for a moment before giving a resigned nod, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly in another defeat. 

“Ah well,” he sighs with a shrug, pulling you back to his chest and cradling you in his arms, chin resting on the crown of your head. “It was worth a shot. One of these days you’ll finally say yes to me, and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, arms curling around his own and hugging them to your torso. “Maybe one day.”

It isn’t the first time he’s suggested it. It won’t be the last; not until you finally say yes.

But you think you’re alright with that. 

[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

[writefinch]

Inheritance (F/m, bondage, medfet, chastity, chemical castration)

(Note: This is a tumblr-only mini-fic as part of an effort to diversify my presence across platforms. I’ll be trying my hand at a few of these 500-ish word length stories)

The lady of the house clicked her fingers and, once the maid had stopped licking at the bound boy's privates and hurried out of the room, prepared the hypodermic kit.

'Stupid boy. Did you think your grandfather spoke merely of money when he disinherited you? Did you think you could leave to glide along on the name and education with which this family saw fit to provide? There are two classes in this world, those who lead and those who serve, and there is no soft niche to burrow ticklike into betwixt them.'

The boy whimpered as she grabbed his still-stiff shaft, writhing from side to side, his wrists and ankles tied too tightly to each corner of the bed for anything but token resistance. She looked at his penis almost admiringly. When she touched his balls, she squeezed them hard until he wailed into the rag stuffed between his lips.

'Your seed is an inheritance too.'

She prepared two needles. The boy groaned as she made small injections at five points along his penis with the first needle, and howled as she made an injection deep into both of his testicles with the second. His cock wilted like spinach in a saucepan.

'That was the last erection you'll ever have; I hope you made the most of it,' she said, satisfaction evident in her voice. 'Your seed, too, is now dead, even if someone were to milk it out of you.'

She took another item out of the kit, a thumb-thick, three-inch long steel cylinder with a much-thinner inch-long protrusion at one end, and a set of interlocking steel rings at the other. The boy squirmed as she guided the thin protrusion into his urethra and kept going, the solid steel block pushing his glans back into his foreskin, which rolled over the metal until his penis had been inverted three inches back into his body cavity. One of the rings went behind and underneath his testicles, a second went over and in front, they closed on a hinge and were locked in place with a silver padlock. From the outside it looked as if his penis had been pulled out at the root; its cavity filled with something metal and medical.

'As it serves no purpose there's no reason that we should allow the remnants of your manhood to flop around uselessly, so it shall stay locked up inside of you at all times except under blessedly brief interludes of hygenic necessity.' She reached down and gave his balls a vicious squeeze, which caused him to howl and thrash hard enough to wobble the bedposts. 'These, on the other hand, are a useful source of discipline. If and when such a time occurs that you do not require such discipline, I shall call for a surgeon and give you the mercy of removing them.'

She put away the needles and brought out another bag. 'Soon, you will serve this household as a maid. This will only commence once you have been properly trained in both skill and temperment, and until then you'll serve as little more than a chamber pot.'

Donning a pair of leather gauntlets, she prepared a slim polished-wood dildo by slathering it in a thick off-white paste. More howls, more protests as she shoved it inside him with no great care or gentleness

'I'm afraid that the cream will induce a dreadful itching, and after repeated applications this itching will become permanent. It can be soothed by the application of balm or by stretching and massaging the affected areas with penetrative means. The maids in our employ behave most solicitously for the promise of one or both of these treatments, you know.'

The protests turned to grunts, the thrashing to wiggling, and then to tears. The lady of the house giggled to herself as she wiped the dildo clean and carefully replaced her equipment.

'I'll leave you now to contemplate your new place in this household,' she said, matter-of-factly. 'Don't trouble yourself with thoughts of that silly girl you seemed so set on running away with. The footmen are keeping her company in the servants's quarters and they find her quite charming. Mister Burgess asked me to convey his thanks to you, for her engagement ring and her intact maidenhead. They've been shared among his men, and are a fine Christmas gift indeed.'

[tasty-violence]

Pining after separation. Part 3

CWs: Sub Sun top Moon, knotting, both genitalia, some feminine endearments, sappy idiots finally communicating and being in love

“You… Love me?” Sun’s face feels like it’s on fire as they squeak the words out. “Really?”

Moon crosses their arms and rubs them, nodding, but also looking away.

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting so off Moon… It’s just been so weird since we got separated.” Sun reaches for Moon’s hand, gently releasing it from their bicep. “I didn’t know if you wanted space, or if you needed time, or…”

Moon ran their thumb over Sun’s knuckles as the solar animatronic trailed off.

“Or if I just didn’t like you anymore?” They suggest gently. “Sunshine, I could never stop loving you.” Moon presses a kiss to the hand they held, holding it to their cheek with a gentle smile. “I thought something was wrong but I didn’t want to pressure you into talking if you weren’t ready.” The lunar automaton sighed. “Yet here we are.”

“Yep… Here we are…”

Sun glances down at Moon’s mouth, inching forward.

“So… Things are okay between us?” Moon asks, eyes also downcast.

“Yeah…” Finally. Finally, they’re connecting, touches gentle and explorative as they find each other again. They were separated, sure, but they weren’t broken.

Sun’s giddy as they roll, Moon pinning them down by the shoulders and attacking them with all the kisses they had missed out on in the past weeks of pining. Their hands wander against each other; fingers finding hinges and wires and eventually each other as Moon settles Sun’s wrists above their head.

“There’s my pretty sunshine.” Moon purrs, pushing their pants down with a mischievous grin. “I missed you.”

Sun squirms under their beloved’s stare, body on fire as the lunar automaton dips their fingers into their wet heat. The moan that Moon draws out of them is obscene; Sun’s pussy practically sucking their fingers in.

“My sweet, sweet, thing.” They coo to the solar counterpart, loving the feel of Sun’s slick clinging to their fingers. Sun’s neglected cock writhes between them, and gives a jerk when Moon vibrates their fingers against Sunny’s sweet spot.

“Moony-!” Their beloved whimpers, moving their hips against the lunar animatronic desperately.

“Yes, Sunlove?” Moon’s watching their face with rapt attention, fingers gliding in and out of their heat with ease. With Sun’s wrists pinned they cant cover their face; their beautiful love opens their mouth to plead only for soft moans to slip out. “Use your words…” Moon coos, capturing Sun’s mouth in a bruising kiss before separating. “What does my love want?”

“You!” Sun’s voice is desperate, their hips chasing Moon’s fingers fruitlessly as the lunar animatronic slows their pace, turning their vibration off.

“You want me?” They ask humorously. “That’s not very specific…”

“F-F̴̩̞͕́̐̒̐͜u̶̜͋ĉ̸̣͗ķ̴̟͂͐̎ me, please Moony!” The solar animatronic begs, wriggling under Moon’s grip desperately. “Please!”

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely…” Moon finally releases Sun’s wrists and shoves their own pants down, using the slick on their fingers to pump their cock with a groan.

Sun’s slack-jawed a moment, watching their Moon ensure they’re nice and slick before pressing their tip to Sun’s entrance.

“Sunny…” The lunar animatronic cups their beloved’s face in their free hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” As soon as the words are out of Sun’s mouth, Moon is snapping their hips forward; fully hilting with a strained groan.

They share a sweet kiss, tongues tangling together while Moon gives shallow thrusts. Sun’s making soft noises against them, legs hooking around Moon’s hips to spur them on.

“M-Moony…” Had they the capability, they would be tearing up.

“I know, I know…” Hushing their love, they pick up their pace.

Eager hips slapping wetly against each other; Moon grunting as Sun squeezes so deliciously around their cock. Bringing a hand down, they jerk Sun’s cock to the pace of their bodies. The solar counterpart is so close- they can feel the vice around their cock tightening with each push and pull. Moon isn’t far behind, their knot emerging the faster they go.

Slipping in and out with slight resistance into Sun’s heat; until their partner locks them in and tries milk them for all they have.

They’re both crying out as they orgasm; Moon reaching their own finish, unable to leave their beloved, their knot completely swollen in their lover as they cum.

Holding each other, two messes.

Two partners.

[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.

[elysianrey]

adante

(a/n: I wrote this as a companion piece to @whatanybodygets’s kanej fic, Adagio. This short fic explores a soft moment set in the distant future of the world she’s created between Kaz and Inej. I’ve been thinking about this hypothetical moment ever since I finished her WIP yesterday and this is what resulted! I hope you enjoy! also, if you’re not up to date with that fic, what are you doing with your life?!)

pairing: kaz brekker/inej ghafa

rating: T

tw: chronic pain

The sun is slowly beginning to peek above the collection of tightly clustered apartment buildings in the red light district when Inej sets down her familiar morning routine on the wine crate turned coffee table, saving the cup of heavily spiced tea to serve as a source of warmth on the chilly autumn morning in Ketterdam. Despite the apparent temperature drop, she glides toward the doors leading to the juliet balcony, unlocking the hinge and cracking it open, the city smells and noises immediately enveloping her senses. The cheap perfume from the pleasure houses a few blocks down is inescapable as well as the sounds of crows squawking over the overflowing waste bin at the corner of the street. A small grin blooms across her features, the reality of her life coming to the forefront of her mind.

This is home in the strangest, yet most comforting sense of the word.

She turns around, taking another sip of her steaming mug, and sets it atop the makeshift coffee table. It’s well-past the usual waking time for her companion, but she lets him sleep, knowing he came roughly limping into their shared space only hours ago. Inej pushes the crate against the wall as quietly as possible, then begins her stretching routine on the faded blue rug, her back muscles sighing in relief as she grasps the soles of her feet. Since retiring from the company two years ago, her outlet and purpose had become the studio she opened for the children in West Stave. Teaching dozens of classes each week did not come without consequence, even for her, with years of experience. She always manages to lose a toenail or overextend a limb.

Reaching for the muscle roller on the coffee table, Inej aligns the grooves with the twisting muscles in her lower back and begins to knead out the ache, relief causing her to let out a soft sigh of content. She would defend the effectiveness of using muscle rollers with her life simply because they have never failed to alleviate the pain that’s come with being a professional athlete.

The tell-tale sign of stirring sounds through the paper-thin walls of their bedroom, and not ten minutes later, a disheveled Kaz Brekker comes thumping into the small living and kitchen space, his cane extra loud on the wood floor. From her place on the carpet, Inej can already tell he is hurting exceptionally bad by the harshness of his walk. She continues the back and forth motion of moving the foam roller up and down her spine, her eyes closed, drawing in deep, belly-filling breaths until he quite literally, collapses on the threadbare couch beside her, muttering curses only Kaz Brekker would say at 6:30 in the morning.

“Saints Inej, it’s fucking freezing in here,” he grumbles, which leads to her cracking an eyelid open to take in his oversized, sulking form.

“Good morning to you, too,” she replies, halting her massaging to sit upright and properly take in the sight of her bitter, other half. “Late night?”

“Business as usual,” he snaps, practically heaving himself upright to limp over to the balcony doors, shutting them with more force than necessary in her opinion.

His leg nearly gives out on his return to the couch, his breath catching sharply as he reaches for the arm of the furniture. Inej frowns, chest tightening at the pain he’s so obviously experiencing. Typically a change in weather brings weariness to his limb; however, she knows it’s not uncommon for overexertion to equate to the same pain, or even worse, than the mood of the sky.

She presses lightly, “Not to sound like Nina, bu—”

“No,” he shoots back, likely knowing where she is going with the ‘Why don’t you take the painkillers you so often refuse?’ line.

It’s moments such as these that make Inej question why–out of all the perfectly suitable men in the world—did the saints make her so hopelessly attached to the stupidly, stubborn one lying as stiff as a board on their couch with an affixed frown on his stupidly handsome face. She wants nothing more than to argue with him until he eventually relents to defeat and takes the medication, yet perhaps she could attempt a different approach this morning.

Scooting closer to him on her knees, Inej stares at the lines of his sharp, downturned features. Despite their relationship pushing four years, and the progress each of them have made in terms of physical touch, she resists the urge to run the tip of her finger along his jaw, knowing he’s rarely in the mood to accept physical contact, even from her, when he’s hurting so badly. They have learned through trial and error that pain is too close of a trigger to the horrific accident that created his fear in the first place. She will never forget watching him vomit and violently shake with pure terror early on in their relationship after he insisted she could work out the kinks in his shoulders late one evening. It took months before he was willing to accept her touch again.

“What can I do to help you, Kaz?” she says softly, fully aware that he’s going to pretend like he’s entirely fine.

“Nothing.”

The walls are impossible to penetrate when Kaz Brekker is unwilling to let them down.

“Let me help you,” Inej insists, sitting back on her legs to provide space for him to possibly become reasonable.

“I told you, Inej–”

She interjects before he can spout another lie, “I want you to get on the floor.”

This demand gets his attention, his head turning to look at her face, a slight quirk of his eyebrow signaling he was not expecting her request. Inej knows he values a challenge as much as her so it’s nothing short of a miracle from the saints above when he actually obliges, his body ungracefully sliding from the couch down the short distance onto the rug.

“Well that was unex—” she starts to tease before Kaz prods her with the tip of his cane to silence the comment. The tiniest of giggles escapes her throat as she holds up her hands in surrender, saving him from cruel embarrassment.

“Now what?” he bites, leaning back on his elbows, splaying his long body across the floor. His feet practically touch the small island they added last year.

Inej’s mouth goes dry at the view of him on the floor next to her, his hair an unkempt mess, his cotton t-shirt revealing the prominent veins of his pale arms, the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm, and exposing the smallest sliver of skin along the waistband of his sleep pants. Swallowing the distraction away, she forces her thoughts back to the reason she ordered him onto the floor. Her stares do not go unnoticed by the man beside her, and she spots the barest flush of pink on his cheeks at the vulnerable state he’s allowing her to witness him in.

One he most definitely would kill a man over if it came to anyone else in the world other than Inej.

Reaching for her muscle roller, she holds it out for him to accept. His eyes narrow as he glances between the bizarre contraption he’s watched her use on a daily basis and the warm face that is asking him to trust her. In the end, trust outweighs skepticism. Inej bites back the victory grin threatening to show.

Kaz has never been an easy student. Teaching him how to use a muscle roller might as well be like teaching a grizzly bear to perform a grand jete. Since she cannot touch him, Inej provides visual examples with another muscle roller about where to place it under his leg, how to rock his body back and forth over the roller, and the amount of pressure he should apply in the areas that are especially tight. She even demonstrates various hand techniques she’s learned to knead out a muscle spasm on the top of her leg. It’s an arduous task to refrain from biting the bait of arguing with her overgrown student as he grinds out his frustrations and a slew of curses that would put a sailor to shame. Kaz Brekker is clumsy and unsure with the muscle roller under his leg, quite the opposite of his usual daily facade. It nearly makes her laugh–if she also didn’t want to strangle him at the same time.

By the end of their lesson, Kaz is lying on his back, hands over his stomach, panting at the effort of kneading out the pain in his leg. A slick sheen of sweat glistens from the morning sun and causes the front strands of his hair to stick to his forehead. Overall, his body has significantly relaxed much to Inej’s relief.

He reaches out his hand to rest atop hers, turning his head so that their eyes meet. This is a promising sign. “If you ever tell anyone about this, just remember that I know where you live,” he warns half-heartedly, his chest still rising and falling rather rapidly.

Inej’s face breaks out in a full smile. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Brekker?”

“Do you consider me a threat, Ms. Ghafa?” he quips, giving her hand the slightest of squeezes.

“Oh, most definitely,” she concedes, bringing his knuckles to her lips and brushing the barest of kisses upon them.

The corner of Kaz’s mouth ticks upward in a tender grin and Inej knows today will not be the last for stretching lessons with her idiotically, adamant man, yet she would not have it any other way.

find me on ao3

[isbergillustration]

Need a plot for this story but instead… whatever is happening here<3

There were dangerous things in these woods, he knew. Wolves, yes, occasionally a bear or two. And the moose. They were probably the worst ones. Or wild boars. But unlike with human threats, he felt reasonably okay with the idea of the angel saving him from those. Besides, it was just past hunting season. probably they were still laying low.

He got his phone out and, through presumably divine angelic intervention, got a good signal. He was, he saw, close to the abandoned observatory. That might be a fun place to check out. Especially because his weather app warned him that it was about to start raining heavily, and he was pretty far from the bus stop by now.

“You want to come exploring?” he asked the angel.

It did not reply.

The trek to the old observatory was longer than he had thought, and the rain started to gently drench him as he got close. Soft but relentless. The angel followed, gliding through it like it was nothing. It did not walk so much as it hovered, flickers of gold trailing after it.

The building sat on top of a hill, looking out over the city. It had always seemed grand, looking up at it from there, but up close it was sad and broken down. He knew people who had gone up there as teens to party unwatched. His envy, he found, was cured now. There were broken bottles and trampled cans strewn about outside, and there were several holes for entry cut into the fence that surrounded it. It had been unused for something like fifteen years. It made sense.

John crawled through the hole in the fence, and the angel disappeared from one side, and reappeared on the other. It had never, he realised, stayed close to him for this long at a time. He wondered what that meant.

Up close, the building was covered in layers of graffiti occasionally garnished with bird droppings. Mostly it was crude drawings of various genitalia and suggestions as to how one might use these, but there were also simplistic political declarations, various sets of initials, and eyes. Lots of eyes. He turned to look at the angel.

“These yours?”

It blinked at him, but did not reply.

The door had been broken long ago, and hung only loosely tethered by a hinge. Someone had spray painted a telephone number along with some quite crude suggestions on it. The interior was dark and damp, and there was a pervasive smell of mould. Puddles had formed on the floor, but at least he was out of the rain, and his shoes were already soaked through.

“Will you save me from mould poisoning?”

His voice echoed off the wet concrete walls.

SAFE

“If you say so.”

It was dark enough in there that by a few metres in he had to use the flash light function on his phone. It lit up layers of cardboard or something similar melted into a sludge, on which colonies of several kinds of fungi seemed to have made their homes. The graffiti continued in here, too. More of the same. More eyes. From outside, he could hear the rain intensifying. So he was staying here for a while, then.

Up in the big domed room, it was even wetter. The slit, from which, John theorised, a telescope of some sort would have emerged, was left open, and rain poured down in a neat line. He wondered whether any furniture remained anywhere. He had seen nothing. Perhaps it would all have been taken and sold off when the observatory ceased operation, or else maybe people had looted the leftovers. There was a dirt road outside, not maintained, but certainly functional enough you could drive up here.

Venturing down, John continued to look for a room with a feature other than puddles of water and mould. There was a labyrinthine set of smaller empty rooms which probably held important machinery at some point. It was darker here. Half basements built into the slope of the hill, windows on only one side. It would have been spooky had he not had an actual slightly horrifying ghost allegedly devoted to his safety following him. The angel glimmered in the light from his phone. It was, he thought, as much beautiful as it was scary.

Eventually he found the next best thing to a dry place to sit; a not too wet staircase. He sat. Across from him was a still mostly intact window, through which he had a good view of the weather outside. Grey. Wet. On the floor was a small lump which looked suspiciously like the corpse of a rat.

“Can you see the future?”

NO

“Oh. Not even with all those eyes? What’s the point of them, then?”

POINT?

“Of having so many eyes.”

TO SEE

“I- yeah, okay.”

They watched the rain for a time. He had lost all mobile signal, and so he could not check when the rain intended to stop. Not any time soon, by the looks of it.

“Why me?”

The question had been bubbling in his subconscious for a while, just below the surface. Were there others? Did everyone else have their own personal glowing guardian following and inconveniencing them and everyone just pretended not to?

YOU

“You’re really good at clearly answering questions, did you know that?”

It blinked at him gradually, like a wave across its face. John sighed.

“Are there others,” he tried, “like you? Glowy creatures who follow random humans around to make sure they don’t die? Full of eyes?”

The angel seemed to need time to think about this, the implications of which worried John. Was he only a part time position for the angel? Did it exist outside conventional ideas of time? Moving from person to person? It was, he thought, concerning how much the idea of that bothered him. The idea that this haunting was not an exclusive situation felt somehow wrong. He did not care to examine the reasons for this at this time.

YES

Oh. Okay.

“And do you all… do this? Follow a person around?”

There was another lengthy pause before the angel’s voice rumbled. It managed, somehow, to rumble. It wasn’t like a human voice, but like layers and layers of synthetic ones in almost but not quite perfect sync. Syllables like a simulated rockslide.

NO

He wondered if it was difficult for the angel to speak, seeing as it only very rarely put together more than two or three words at once. Maybe it took effort. Maybe it simply did not speak the language that fluently, or else had trouble translating from whatever happened in its brain. Did it have a brain? A consciousness certainly, but a glorified electrified lump of mostly fat? That might be too personal a question. It did not seem to exist primarily on a physical plane. He envied it that sometimes.

“Did you get a choice? Or were you assigned me?”

YES

Right. Of course. This one was on him, really. But maybe it would be better not to know. Maybe that would- what? Be less of a hit to the ego? Not take away the idea that even if it was freaky and inconvenient it, at the end of the day, make him special, somehow? Yeah. Yeah, this was for the best.

[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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!