#expect more drawings of them from me -needs the pressure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

creative-crybaby · 4 months

Text

Knots

PAIRING: masseur!Geto Suguru x fem!reader

GENRE: no curses!au | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: fingering, nipple play, semi-public sex/exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), brief masturbation (m), size kink, praise kink, cum eating, light mentions of/brief marking

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

SUMMARY: With so much stress piling up on you, Geto was kind enough to offer you a massage. Unfortunately, no amount of relaxation can distract you from the sexual tension between you and your friend.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: MAPPA can't draw jjk characters like that and expect me not to write smut about em 🙄also: HAPPY NEW YEARS, LOVELIES <3333

“Are you sure this is okay?” It’s too late to ask him that, but you couldn’t stop the question from leaving your lips. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble.”

Your face burns as silence follows; you can only thank whatever gods above for him not being able to see your expression.

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell,” he chuckles, and you copy the sound nervously, unsure if he is serious. After a pregnant pause, he adds, “I’m kidding. You have nothing to worry about.” Your peripheral vision catches him moving around you to get to the cabinet. “Consider it a favour from a friend.”

You hear the cabinet door open and shut, and you shift from your spot face down on the table.

“At least let me pay you back somehow,” you press, pouting.

“That defeats the point of a favour, doesn’t it?” Geto’s footsteps get louder until you catch sight of his shoes from the corner of your eye. There’s another pause, this one longer than the previous one. “Are you comfortable with me unclapsing your bra?” Before you can answer, he quickly continues, “It can stay on like you wanted, I just need the straps out of the way.”

If you aren’t hyping yourself up to take every opportunity to get closer to the masseur, you’re second-guessing your decision to take his offer. Should he follow through with the action, it would only be the beginning of something far more intimate. And you know this. You knew this. Even when Geto first suggested the idea after you opened up about your piling stress and even when you foolishly thought asking Gojo for advice on the offer was a good idea.

But you’re here now, aren’t you?

“Go for it,” you try to mask whatever uneasiness you can. Gentle fingers tug at the clips at the end of your bra, disconnecting them and allowing the straps to drop. Even with your chest still covered, you feel bare, the cool air tickling the newly exposed area. You have to force yourself from shivering.

“You still like the scent of lavender?” Geto's question catches you off-guard, raising your head from the cushion, not realizing that he recalled such a minor detail. Your silence makes the ravenette turn to you again, offering his easy-going smile. “Or have your tastes changed?”

You nod mindlessly, blinking up at him. “Lavender’s good.”

Geto hums before searching through his cabinet, taking several seconds to find the bottle he was looking for. You rest your head back on the cushion before he can catch you staring.

“I’ll be starting now.” The sound of a bottle cap opening follows your friend’s words. “If you’re ever uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to let me know. Otherwise, just lay back and relax.”

Despite his gentle voice, following his order becomes easier said than done once his large hands come in contact with your back, the oil adding to his skin’s warmth. You bit your lip, the serene scent of lavender reaching your olfactory as the masseur works his magic on your stress.

You don’t realize how exhausted your body has felt until Geto applies pressure for the first time, and you cringe.

“Easy, easy,” he soothes, pausing his ministrations once you try to relax your body. “Wow, you are stressed.”

You allow your body to sink further into the table’s mattress when his soft laughter reaches your ears, and you give him the go-ahead to continue. Fingerpads return to your skin, rubbing heavy yet sturdy circles onto your back, untying any and every knot trapping your muscles. You can feel your body fall limp, drowning heavily while at the same time floating into the heavens as every evidence of exhaustion disappears from you.

Still, even as you try to keep your mind blank and enjoy the moment, you can’t help but notice how much space Geto’s hand takes up on your back. It doesn’t help that they creep up to your neck, more than ready to push the problems away from that area.

“So,” you trail off, feeling the need to fill the silence rather than embrace it, “You give these massages to Ieiri or Satoru?”

The ravenette chuckles. “If you’d call the occasional shoulder rub a proper massage, then sure.”

A memory of the four of you at a local diner pops into your head, Shoko telling Geto a shoulder massage was the least she deserved after all the all-nighters she’s suffered through. You giggled, watching the medical student melt under the masseur’s magic touch, ignoring the twinge of jealousy that prodded your mind.

You quip. “Not even a full-body one? Ieiri’s the one who deserves it the most out of us.”

“Guess she just never has the time for one,” he hums.

“And Satoru?”

Geto snickers, pausing his actions. You join in on the laughter, a small swell of pride blooming in your chest.

Your joy is cut short when he resumes the massage, adding pressure to a specific area below the nape of your neck that forces a whimper out of you. You freeze, hoping the masseur didn’t hear it. But with how his hold on you paused, even for just a moment, you couldn’t deceive yourself into believing you were in the clear.

“Sorry,” you squeak, the warmth from your face expanding to the rest of your body. Could he feel it?

You can hear the smile in his voice. “So tense, aren’t you?”

You don’t miss the octave drop in his voice, biting your tongue. Geto returns to work, his fingers digging into your skin and untying whatever knots your muscles carried for who knows how long. You allow yourself to sigh at the sensation, your brows knitting together from the pressure without the discomfort.

His hands travel lower, returning to previous areas with added strength until he reaches the small of your back. You try not to tense upon feeling his fingers graze the towel covering your bottom, but you can’t prevent the shaky moan from escaping your lips once his hold shifts to your hips.

Another pause from him: another apology from you.

“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” Your friend assures you, though you barely miss the light strain in his tone. “I’ll be working on your legs next, okay?”

You hum lightly, shifting from your spot as he passes what the towel covers. Your thoughts wander before you can put them on a leash, the pang of disappointment from the neglect of that area allowing your imagination to drift.

Would a massage there even feel good? Geto would undoubtedly find a way, his large hands practically blanketing each cheek. And his fingers—God, they were the stars of the show, finding the spots that needed the most attention and pushing every bit of tension out of your worn-out body. You’re confident his digits would be just as adventurous in other places.

You feel yourself clench around nothing and fear the handsome man above you possibly noticing. Shaking your head, you hope those thoughts fly out like fleas.

Geto stops. “Too much?”

“Hm?” You snap out of your daze. “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

The masseur’s hands glide up to your upper thighs, and you freeze, his hold remaining in place as he leans closer to your head.

“You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t like it,” he says, his voice calm. “I can return the favour some other way.”

Your body moves before your brain can command it to. Or rather, stop it from doing so. Hastily, you raise your head from the cushion, your upper torso following suit as it twists to face your friend.

“I can take it.”

Silence. Too much of it for your liking. It has your stomach churning and your heart ramming against your ribs. Maybe it’s the heaviness in your body that follows you getting up too quickly, or your word choice. It could also be how Geto stares at you with parted lips, his eyes on you but not meeting your gaze.

Instead of further embarrassing yourself by speaking, you follow his focus, only to wish you hadn’t.

Your bra, long forgotten by you, barely hangs onto your body by its straps by your elbows, exposing your back as well as most of your chest. The lavender scent is no longer soothing, the heat on your face is dizzying, and you’d want nothing more than to run out the door if only your legs weren’t practically limp from your friend’s treatment. It doesn’t help that his hold on the back of your upper thighs hasn’t budged. If anything, it’s tightened, his grip making your clit jump.

You suppose you spoke too soon once the warmth of Geto’s touch disappeared from your legs, the masseur having moved to reach for your bra straps to pull them back up to your shoulders before you could process his actions. You blink, eyes trailing up to his face now adorning a rosy hue and soft lips pressed into a thin line. He’s so much closer, his breath barely fanning the top of your head. And if you aren’t forcing your gaze to meet his, you’re impulsively glancing back at his mouth.

With so much focus on the beautiful man, you don’t catch him slowly but surely leaning in.

The last discernable thing you catch is Geto’s lidded eyes darkening before he presses his lips against yours.

You don’t breathe. You forget to, just like how you leave your mouth slightly agape and your eyes wide open.

The ravenette pulls away quicker than he’d leaned in, and the corners of your lips twitch downwards. His brows furrow as he looks at you with a brighter flush on his handsome face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

No. You won’t let him regret his actions, not for your sake.

The sudden shift in perspective is alarming when, only moments ago, you feared ruining your relationship with your friend. Now, you’re shifting to sit on the massage table, grabbing Geto by his shirt collar, tugging him forward and slamming his lips onto yours. You groan at the impact, relaxing only a second later once he returns the kiss with just as much hunger.

But he’s still not close enough. His hold remains on your bra straps, making it harder for you to wrap your arms around his neck. It’s the only reason you pull back, locking eyes with him as you place your hands on his.

“Suguru,” you pant, chest heaving for air as your lids droop. Your following words stay trapped in your throat, the masseur having slid his hold higher up your shoulders to bring you back to the kiss. You squeak, the fervour behind his actions far more evident as his tongue teases your lower lip. He groans into your mouth, his thumbs caressing your skin as you invite him in, eager to have him even closer.

Your hands are still on top of Geto’s, you remember, and you slide his down your arms while he’s distracted by the kiss. (With how he’s swirling his tongue around yours, you aren’t sure you can call it a “kiss” anymore.)

You pull back hastily, not missing the string of saliva connecting your bottom lips before motioning for him to look down. His sharp eyes do so, blinking out of his haze as he sees how the cups of your bra no longer cover your breasts. You don’t recall when you stopped caring about your face burning like it was on fire, the pride in your chest and lust in your lower belly now the dominant sensations as he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful creature on the planet.

“Please,” he gulps, an unmissable strain in his voice. “Let me taste you.”

Even after the lewd makeout session, his words left your mouth cotton-dry. You can only kiss him again, guiding his hands to cup your breasts, your bra sliding off your arms.

When Geto pulls back, his lips reattach to your skin, trailing down your neck to the valley of your mounds. He lightly pushes you to lie down on the table, making yourself comfortable before plopping one of your nipples into his mouth, the other one between his fingers. Your own hands loosen his hair from its bun, the strands falling gracefully onto his broad back. They’re as soft as they look, your fingers streaming through the midnight locks like water past the pebbles in the river.

The masseur switches his treatment, the other nipple now teased by the grazing of his teeth while his large hand keeps the second breast from neglect. Your body feels hot, and the warmth of his mouth does little to soothe the issue. But with how much you’ve been rubbing your thighs together, you’d hardly consider this a problem now.

Your hands remain in his hair as Geto continues kissing down your body, stopping just at the apex of your thigh to peer at you with those dark pools for irises. One of his hands removes the towel from your lap, revealing your thin shorts underneath. He tugs at the waistband, silently asking for your permission. Your response consists of your hips rising from the table, and he’s quick to shimmy your remaining clothes off your body, stealing another passionate kiss from you in the process.

“I want nothing more than to hear every sound I get out of you,” your friend (can you still call him that?) pants, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards and his face flushed as he watches your reaction through hooded lids. You lean in, chasing his lips for another kiss. He stops you with a finger, and you hold back the whine squeaking from your throat. He chuckles. “But I’m going to need you to keep your voice down. Can you do that for me?”

You almost forgot that you’re in a public setting, even with the privacy of a closed door. Geto warmly smiles when you nod, and he lowers himself to face your crotch, helping you shift to let your legs dangle off the table. You find his eyes widening upon catching sight of your bare cunt already drooling your essence. The ravenette exhales shakily before planting a kiss on your clit, making you twitch. Your reaction makes him chuckle, and he licks long strips against your slit, moaning through his languid movements.

“What was that about being quiet?” You giggle breathily, leaning your weight on your hands. Geto pauses.

“Sorry, beautiful,” he whispers with a smile, tightening his hold on your thighs. “You taste like a dream.”

You throw your head back as your eyes flutter shut, his words and continued ministrations between your legs setting your body ablaze and your mind blank. It doesn’t help that he’s practically encouraging you to cage him tightly between your thighs, squeezing his head in place as he makes out with your cunt. Your hips grind into his touch, moving in tandem with his soft lips and warm tongue.

Even with his sensual movements, you can tell he’s holding back, if his tight hold on the fat of your thighs is any indication. Your hips grind into his touch, allowing him permission to feast on you how he’d like, gripping a fistful of his locks for further encouragement. And the masseur seems to have gotten the message, his tongue digging inside you while his nose nudges at your pearl.

Holding back your sounds of pleasure is already a challenge—warning the handsome male beneath you of your oncoming release doesn’t even seem possible, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as the sensation in your lower belly grows stronger.

And maybe Geto doesn’t need you to tell him. Or maybe, he’s just so lost in the taste of your essence that he’s decided to wrap his soft lips around your puffy clit and suck, the tip of his tongue flicking at the nub at the same time. Whatever the case, his actions do the trick, your hold on his head tightening as your legs shake while your jaw falls slack. The ravenette doesn’t falter, pushing himself closer to your cunt, his mouth working its magic and creating sounds that would embarrass you if it weren’t for the ringing in your ears.

Coming down from the high, plus the massage, has you losing your hold on yourself. Luckily for you, Geto quickly rises from his spot, catching you by the waist and pulling you into another kiss with a soft groan. Your taste on your tongue and the need for air make you dizzy, but you bring him closer regardless.

“‘M sorry,” he pants after ending the kiss, his chin shining with your slick. “Just had to show you how good you taste.”

You can only whimper in response, feathering kisses on his lips as you play with his hair. Geto happily lets you, his large hands mapping your torso and thighs as if burning every curve into his memory.

“Didn’t know this came with the free massage,” you mumble against his mouth, holding back a smile.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he purrs, moving you back down on your stomach like you weigh nothing. You hear the rustling of clothing, and before you can ask him what he’s doing, you feel a weight hovering over your figure. Familiar, large hands splay open on either side of your head while muscular thighs cage your legs in place. “Do you trust me?”

Something pokes your lower back, and you almost forget to answer with the masseur’s hot breath against your ear. You lift your hips to grind against his crotch with a whimper, hoping that’ll be more than enough for him.

Your actions make Geto laugh, and he teasingly nibbles at your earlobe. “Use your words, darling.”

It doesn’t help that he’s taken his tip to glide across your slit, collecting your juices as a lubricant. You twist your head to face him, one of your hands gripping on the cushion above you as a distraction.

“I’ve been waiting a lot longer for this moment than you know,” you confess meekly, watching as the ravenette’s eyes widen and lips part from your words. “And I don’t think I can keep it up any longer.”

You worry you’ve revealed too much too soon when you’re met with silence. But when that familiar smile and soft gaze grace Geto’s features, the nerves fluttering in your stomach evaporate.

The handsome male presses a kiss against your temple. “That makes two of us, then.”

With only a few seconds to register his confession, your heart does a doubletake before you feel Geto lead his cock into your heat, his hand gripping yours as reassurance. The subtly painful stretch that follows suit makes you grateful for the gesture, your insides splitting in half as he just keeps going in. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling every vein graze against you.

The masseur notices, it seems, and he whispers encouraging words in your ear, giving you the occasional kiss on your shoulder.

“There you go,” he drawls quietly, his crotch meeting your ass. “Nice and full, aren’t you?”

You exhale shakily, feeling his strong chest pressed against your back. On rare occasions, when Geto wears tight-fitting shirts, you’re blessed with the sight of his chiselled physique, especially his back, since he can’t catch you ogling. The chance to leave your mark there, like an artist’s signature on a painted canvas, is one you’ve longed for. However, with the knot in your belly ready to snap without having him even move makes you grateful for the current position. Maybe next time you’ll get to see all of him.

Next time.

“Can I move, darling?” Geto's breath tickles your skin. “I’m afraid I won’t last too long with how you’re squeezing me.”

The almost boyish giggle he breathes out has your heart rocketing in your ribs. Your affirmation comes out weak, but the masseur hears it loud and clear. He reels his hips back, but it’s when he buries his shaft back into you that you feel your eyes roll back once more. Your jaw falls open, a moan slipping out as he sets a languid yet deep pace.

“We need to keep quiet, remember?” Geto shushes, his face buried in your neck. “My massages are good, but even outsiders might grow suspicious if you’re too loud.”

His soft laughter mixes with your pleading whine. “You’re not making it easy for me.”

The ravenette halts his movements, much to your dismay. Even with you wiggling your hips, he doesn't budge, and you’re about to ask him about the holdup before he beats you to it.

“You think it’s easy for me?” The soothing lilt of his voice is long gone, replaced with a low timbre that has you clenching around his girth. “I’ve got you milking me for all I’m worth, and we barely started. What do you think that does to me?”

You feel his teeth graze your skin, making you shiver as you try to regain friction between your legs. Geto's stronger than you, much stronger, and your movements don’t make him budge.

With a quivering sigh, you prop yourself on your forearms, and he retracts from his hiding spot in your neck. You face him, lids hanging low on your eyes and face warmer than it should be.

“Show me.”

With a smirk, Geto pulls himself out until only his tip remains before slamming back into you. You choke on a gasp, his pace and strength relentless as his hips slap against your ass, the sounds bouncing off the walls. You can’t even call him out on his hypocrisy as you bury your face into the table, hoping it’ll help mask your cries.

It doesn’t, of course. But Geto Suguru, ever the gentleman, carefully lifts your head by your neck and, while hovering over you, slams his lips against yours. The position isn’t the most comfortable, but you don’t find yourself complaining as he rams into you, filling you up and moulding your insides into the shape of his cock.

Your eyes don’t know what to do, from squeezing shut to crossing. At one point, you catch the door in your peripheral vision, and the thought of potentially getting caught has you clenching, your hand reaching for the masseur’s bicep and digging your nails into his pale skin.

Geto grunts. “You trying to make me cum, beautiful?”

His playful tone makes you whine, his pace never faltering as he sneaks one of his hands under you to grope one of your breasts. The toying of your nipple, along with the male’s relentless thrusts, fuels the coil in your belly, and what does the trick is him leaving his mark on your neck.

With a drawn-out gasp, your body stills, toes curling and tongue lolling out as your pussy convulses. You hardly notice Geto’s strokes growing sloppy, his whispered cursing going in one ear and out the other. Having him lead you to heaven is plenty for you.

Once you calm down, though, you feel like he’s pulled out too soon. You groan, your ears catching the light sounds of him shuffling from his spot above you, followed by a rapid squelching noise that has you peeking over your shoulder.

There, in all his naked glory, is Geto stroking his cock, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and eyes zeroed in on your figure.

“Shit, shit—” he cuts himself off with a gasp, ropes of cum shooting from his slit and landing on the back of your thighs. The sight alone has you clenching, the need for him inside you arising once more. “Oh, fuck—”

Anyone would grow angry at a mess thrown at them. You’re no different, just worse (the one time Gojo accidentally made you ruin your eyeliner is more than enough proof—the poor fool).

And yet, having painted your thighs white by Geto, his seed clinging to your oily (and now sweaty) skin, you somehow find yourself falling for him more.

“Suguru,” you slur, your eyelids fluttering as you allow your body to slump back onto the table. You feel his weight disappear before hearing footsteps grow louder. Through tired eyes, you’re face-to-face with his crotch, causing you to squeak as your upper body jolts up again.

“Sorry, sorry,” the masseur chuckles, crouching to meet you at eye level. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The atmosphere returns to the comforting one his work ought to bring, though a part of you finds yourself fidgety. The ravenette wipes away the evidence with a wet towel, and it’s enough to keep you in place and relaxed as he continues to take care of you.

Once done, he helps you sit up, keeping you steady as your legs dangle off the table.

“I think you fucked the bones out of me,” you croak, and Geto pauses midway from sliding your underwear back up your legs. He laughs a soft, boyish laugh, the melody bringing a smile to your lips and a warmth of embarrassment to your cheeks. “Is this what you had in mind by doing me a favour?”

He pecks your nose before resuming dressing you. “No, but I’m not complaining with the results.”

You hum, and the silence returns as he aids you with the rest of your clothes.

It isn’t until he’s slipping his boxers back on that you speak again. “You don’t give this kind of special treatment to the others?”

A witless, little joke on your part, though your tone didn’t match. Maybe it was the exhaustion that took charge or a sliver of self-consciousness that needed assurance that you had him all to yourself. Still, you press your lips into a thin line, awaiting his answer.

“To our friends or my clients?” he inquires, putting on the remainder of his clothes. “Either way, the answer’s no.” When you don’t say anything else, he approaches you, nudging his nose against yours. “Did you want me to?”

Your head snaps up to meet his amused gaze. “No!”

Geto's joking smile eases into a sincere one, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and embracing you.

“Perfect,” he breathes, pressing his lips to your temple. “Guess that means you’re the only one who gets my special treatment.” A pause, followed by a sheepish giggle. “As long as we do it outside of my job. I’d like to keep it, you know.”

From your position, you peer over his shoulder to where the door stands a few meters away, shut and locked but keeping you in suspense. With heat bubbling in your face, you hide in the crook of his neck.

“You technically never finished my massage,” you mumble against his skin, your hands tracing any muscle it can reach on his back. Geto pulls back from the hug, jutting his bottom lip as if pondering.

“I suppose you’re right,” he hums before another smile breaks onto his features. “Shall we continue back at my place, then?”

#fanfic #fanfiction #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #geto smut #geto x reader #smut

494 notes · View notes

misted-dream · 3 months

Text

♟️ 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."

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 :)

329 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 9 months

Text

Tag, You're It: Part Three

(Poly 141 x F! Reader) 18+

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit, 18+ WordCount: 4.3k Tags: F! Reader, Minors DNI, Dirty talk, Consent checks, Voyeurism, Blowjobs, Deep throating, Praise kink, Restraints, Blindfolds, Boot riding, Aftercare Warnings: Nothing except filthy rotten smut A/N: A bit of a shorter chapter, hopefully the content itself makes up for the length ;w;

Where Gaz got the blindfold, you have no idea. Where he got the idea of the blindfold, however, is crystal clear.

Price.

When Gaz had draped the fabric across your eyes it had shielded the already dark world around you into nothingness, had forced you to rely entirely on his touch as he guided you on wobbly legs to an unknown destination. The sergeant had dragged you off for what seemed like miles, forcing your stumbling feet ahead of him. All the while his voice had been harsh, playing the villain. Yet his touch was gentle, thumb tracing the arch of your nape under his gloved thumb as he directed you. The tenderness of him despite his orders is a balm against your fluttering heartbeat, nerves alight with the remnants of your ruined climax lurk in your core, tugging taut at your muscles, wanting more, more.

You had bitched at him of course, playing along but making your unhappiness clearly known at not being allowed to finish on his hand. Infuriatingly, Gaz had barely answered you, offering mocking, teasing little hums and sweet, pitying endearments at your complaints before at last opening a door somewhere ahead of you and escorting you inside.

Now, he’s gone, and in his place you hear footsteps pace around you, circling you, drawing ever closer like they’re circling the drain with you at the center. The sound shudders through you, sets your breath catching in your chest where you kneel on the concrete floor, hands zip-tied behind your back, the world dark and enigmatic around you. You listen to the slow, steady pace of boots against concrete, as if the person circling you wants you to hear them, drawing out your anxiety in the face of blindness.

At last, they stop behind you, the toes barely brushing against your own shoes.

“Should have known better than to run, sweetheart.” Price gravels above you, behind you. You jolt at the sound of his voice, a wealth of arousal pooling low in your stomach at the mere sound of him. He doesn’t touch you, not yet, watches you stay entirely still for him. Patient, waiting, deferent to his command. “I can’t have little mice running around my base.”

His hand settles on your nape, and you almost want to arch into the touch, sigh and let your head fall back into the familiar grasp of his palm. The warmth of it feels almost sharp against your cold skin, and it only electrifies your pulse in wanting, needed anticipation. Yet you hold back, restrain yourself to the part of the victim, of a hostage helpless to his whims. Instead, you offer a little whimper as his hand curls with just a small amount of pressure into the soft flesh there.

“Shhh.” He gentles you, and the hand goes soft again. The air in your chest feels unbalanced, confused, and in this blindness you don’t know what to expect of him. Out of all your lovers, Price has always been the best at masking his intentions, catapulting you into heart hammering insecurity as he conceals his next move. He lets you wait it out, shift expectantly until the strings inside you snap, launch you forward into him with a desperate fervor.

Now, however, you refuse to go down so easily.

“Took you a while to catch me, cap.” You quip back, ignoring the slight waver in your voice torn between excitement and anxiety. “Not scared of mice, are you?”

You think you hear a snicker somewhere beyond the two of you, but the sound is muffled by the low, threatening rumble of displeasure from the man above you. You lean your head forward when he presses his thumb against your nape, unable to bite back a smile at your small victory of irritating him with your bratty comeback.

“Cheeky.” He observes, and once more his tone is unbothered, stoic in a way that simmers low in your stomach. “Do you think we’d let you run around so much if we knew you’d be hard to capture?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the pressure from Price’s grip warns you otherwise. His voice dips to a low, grinding tremor that you feel settle inside you with the promise of ruin.

“Unfortunately for you love, there’s no escape anymore.”

You shudder.

There’s a quiet pause from Price then as he releases you, and you feel rather than hear him circle around you to stand at your front. An ungloved hand catches your chin and tilts you up as if you can somehow meet his eyes.

“Color, love.” He asks then, the soft murmur of his voice suddenly gentle.

“Green.” You offer after a beat, tender in your response, and you feel your reward in the form of Price’s knuckles grazing your cheek affectionately before he pulls away.

“I noticed you sassing my sergeant on the way here.” Price tells you darkly, and you straighten a little at that, at his implications at your misbehavior. You’ve played this game before, know exactly where it leads, and the promise of what lays ahead thrums low in your stomach, feeding the distant flame of your previously denied orgasm. Price pauses long enough to let his words sink in, to let your heartbeat stammer higher in your chest with anticipation.

“The one thing I cannot tolerate is insubordination.”

You choke back a gasp at the sudden downturn of his voice, the tone you’ve only ever heard during interrogations, in the realm of his cold, restrained fury. It’s the same tone that makes you shift where you stand in observance, feeling a forbidden and vicious desire murmur through you, a reminder of this man’s brutality, the force of his retribution. You can’t stem the arousal from hearing him during those moments, and now that it’s turned on you, with his form standing above you, with you helpless at his feet, makes a fresh rush of wetness coat your thighs with your desire.

There’s a smile that tugs at your lips then, and you nearly tremble in excitement, teething your lip as your retort bites against your tongue. Price notices, cups the sides of your face in his grasp to look down at the mischievous smirk that he sees there.

“Something to say, soldier?” He asks idly, and you hear a familiar tone of bemusement on his words.

“Permission to speak, sir?” You ask, tone a little mocking, and Price snorts a huff of laughter.

“Granted.”

You wet your lips, try to imagine the sight of Price’s eyes tracing the motion. You wish you could see him, could touch him, but there’s a certain thrill in this, of being bound, blinded, helpless at his feet.

“I always knew you liked having your subordinates under you.” You breathe at last, and in Price’s silence you hear a muffled sound behind him, a choked little noise that you can’t fully discern from the flutter of your own heartbeat.

Then, the sound of his zipper, and gods above you feel your mouth water at the sound, all but leaning forward and ready for him. Yet Price only chuckles down at you with your enthusiasm, the grasp on your face tightening, keeping you exactly where you are even as you try to squirm forward, mouth dropping open expectantly.

“Look at you.” He chuffs, and you feel your thighs clench at the sound of his hands stroking down his cock, remaining tantalizing and just out of reach. “I was going to tell you to find a better use for that mouth, love, but it looks like you read my mind. Needy.”

Yes. Yes. You think deliriously, trying to scoot forward, straining for it shamelessly, only for Price’s hand to slide to your nape, holding you back. The blindfold against your vision cloaks the world in darkness, fires your senses into a rapid overdrive that leaves you wanting, desperate, a little whine forming on your lips as he refuses to allow you to taste him.

“Beg.”

The order pulses through you like a gunshot, setting every nerve ending alight with arousal until it simmers downwards, blood rushing south and settling at the aching apex of your thighs. It doesn’t take long for you to comply, feeling need bubble up acutely inside you until it escapes as the form of a plea.

“Please.”

It’s shameful, the way you fold instantly. You want to put up more of a fight, to try and play the role assigned to you, but the reward of your efforts is so very close, the nearness of it leeching the struggle from your limbs as you tilt your head up towards him, head lolling limply into his arm.

“Please, captain.” You try again when he doesn’t respond. “Let me suck you off. I-I want it.”

Price huffs at you, the sound almost in disbelief with how quickly you caved. Not that you could help it, not with him, not with any of them.

“Alright love.” He returns gently, and you shiver, arch forward as the tip of him brushes against your parted lips. “Remember, no teeth.”

You don’t need to be reminded, and when Price pushes past your lips you groan around him, feel your thighs clench in a desperate attempt to stem the untamable lust that dampens your underwear. The taste of Price is familiar, good, the weight of him heavy on your tongue and you moan, the sound reverberating around the girth of him. Price bites down on a little noise, never one to be loud, only offering growling little grunts and gasps as he delivers his desire onto you.

“That’s it.” Price sighs, his fingers kneading into the flesh of your nape, using the leverage to draw you back, pressing you forward with a low, lazy roll of his hips. He’s enjoying the sensation of you, his length only half hard but rising to mast quickly in the wet, slick slide of your mouth. “Good girl.”

You make a little noise at that, a pleased little hum at the way he offers you praise, happy and content, right where you need to be. Here, at his feet, helpless to the whims of his lust, knowing your captain will take care of you, will use you as he sees fit, will have you whimpering and teary eyed by the end of this as you shake and tremble against him.

He’s a little salty, a little briny on your tongue, but the weight of him, the length and breadth of his cock feels right, like it’s meant to belong here as he idly thrusts into your mouth. He’s different than Ghost. Where Ghost fucks you hard enough to feel him knock against the back of your throat, Price is thick, heavy in your mouth, spreading you wide enough that you have to crane your jaw to accommodate him. You do so glady, senses a little hazy as you moan, lose yourself in the feeling of his pelvis pushing up against your jaw.

“Made for this, weren’t you?” He chuffs down at you, amused at the way you fall apart for him so readily. “Proper little toy for us, aren’t you love?”

You nod around him, you can’t help it. There’s a sinfully sweet addiction to the girth of him pushing past your lips, your eyes rolling back in your head as you feel precum bead on your tongue. It’s just as much the feeling of pleasuring him as it is getting lost in it, in the familiar slide of his cock on your tongue, pressing down so your mouth falls open in a wanton little moan.

Price curses at that, and with little hesitation he uses the firm, scruffing grasp on your neck to push you down, his hips stilling with considerable restraint until he pushes the tip of him all the way to the back of your throat. You breathe in, holding your breath at the fullness of him blocks the air you want to suck in as a wet little gasp. He twitches in your throat, and you let him, listening to the ragged inhale he draws in, that releases as a firm, steadying sigh. You keep still for him, feeling the weight of his hand on your nape, fingers just a little bruising in a way that feels good.

Eventually you feel your heart race a little higher, feel a distant touch of panic fizzle in your veins. You try to draw back, but Price’s hand keeps you exactly where you are. There’s a growl that builds in his throat as you instinctively swallow around him, throat tightening around the head of his cock. When he doesn’t let up you begin to squirm, eyes beading with tears of exertion. Yet all price offers down at you is a single, devastating command.

“Stay.”

You loosen instinctively, shoulders dropping, head nodding just a little forward, as far as Price’s grip on your will allow. The command is final, and your time spent under Price’s authority has you instantly accepting it, growing limp in his grasp as he holds his cock in your throat with a low, breathy groan.

A wet little gasp escapes you as Price finally pulls out, saliva dribbling down your chin as you tilt your head back into his hand, finding comfort in the familiar press of his palm. It takes you only a few moments to catch your breath before you blindly try to press forward again, feeling the leaking head of Price’s cock graze against your bottom lip before it’s pulled away. When you loose a little whine of protest Price merely chuckles down at you, a little dark, but entirely fond.

“Never satisfied, are you?” He asks teasingly, and before you can swallow and summon a reply Price shifts so that the toe of his boot presses between the apex of your folded legs. You suck in a sharp breath, automatically clenching at even the slightest pressure against your core, face warming and brow knotting as you experimentally rock down onto Price’s shoe.

Pleasure blooms outward from your core, hips shivering at the dull, firm pressure that grazes against your clit through your pants. A shuddering, gasping noise falls from you, and with your mouth open Price gently presses himself back inside, the hand on your nape gently smoothing a thumb against your jaw.

“Go on then.” He offers, and oh, you can hear the strain in his voice, hear the little sound he makes when you circle his slit with your tongue. It’s delicious in the best of ways, and the temptation of coaxing further noises from your captain has you sinking down on him with renewed effort, relishing the wet slide of his shaft as it glides across your tongue.

You want to touch him, want to press your hands against his thighs, circle your fist around his cock and listen to the sound he makes as you slowly drag your grip upwards. The memory of the softness of Price’s stomach, the strong angle of his hips is enough to make your eyes roll back a little under your blindfold, ecstasy blooming in brilliant colors against your senses.

Yet then Price leans just a touch forward, raising his boot just an inch to press more tightly against your clit. He pulls back at the exact second that your head drops forward, your voice strained and breathless.

“F-fuck, Price-” You manage with a little shudder and roll of your hips.

“Needy little darling.” He coos, and you flush warmly at that, at both the tender praise and the slightly mocking undertone that makes you realize just how perverted this is, trying to get off on the barest hint of pressure against your dripping, empty pussy.

You decide to be cheeky, raising up on your knees to avoid him. Price only chuckles in amusement and shifts his hand so it presses on your shoulder with a firm “Down.” That has you lowering back onto his boot. You gasp at the sudden pressure, and before you can stop yourself you breathe a wrecked, shocked little curse at the tremble that murmurs outward from your core.

“That’s it.” Price encourages as you buck forward on reflex with a choked little groan, sinking down and shamelessly rubbing your crotch onto the firm surface of his boot. It makes your cheeks burn with a touch of humiliation, one that’s softened by the steadying grip of your captain above you. Besides, the low burn of your previously denied orgasm still flickers inside you, licking at your insides and setting your veins into a red hot arousal that seeks tinder to fuel your need.

The friction of Price’s boot soothes the lingering ache in you, twists it into a coiling, unsatisfied desire that has you groan breathlessly around his cock. You make a point to arch your spine, the dip of it a pretty curve that has your captain huff down a little sound of approval in between his grunts as he rocks into your mouth.

“Gorgeous when you’re desperate, love.” He rumbles down at you and you moan at that, imagining the sight you must make. Blindfolded, arms folded behind you, hips bucking down onto the toe of Price’s boot while you groan and mewl around the heaviness of his cock on your tongue. It’s lewd at best, completely depraved at worst, and the thought alone has your hips jolt as pleasure laces sharply up the base of your spine.

You’ve given up on the shame of trying to get off like this, too desperate to care, just like Price says. Your need curls in a deep, tightening band of pleasure low beneath your belly, and with each rock of your hips you feel it tightening further still, the distant but imminent promise of your release beckoning to you from afar.

You’re so blinded by euphoria you nearly forget about Price’s cock, only for him to once more press you all the way down and lodge himself in your throat. You swallow reflexively around him, and Price groans deeply, his smoky voice curling and whispering across your senses. You want to drown yourself in it, feel the cloud of his deep tenor engulf you, swallow you whole. You know the sound of him blind, know all of them by touch alone, and the distant but hypnotizing memory of being surrounded on all sides by these men is enough to make your voice rise a little, cry out in a mixture of want and pleasure.

“Shh, easy.” Price offers as you shudder, his knuckles graze across your wet cheek. When did you start crying? You feel warm tears of pleasure welling and wetting the blindfold across your eyes, flushing your face further as you lose yourself between the sensation of Price’s warm cock rocking past your lips, and the writhing buck of your hips down onto his boot, chasing release.

“That’s it, take what you need. You’ve been so good for us.” Price murmurs breathlessly, voice strained but deeply aroused, his hips beginning to pick up speed as he pursues his own climax. You still, allowing him to fuck into your mouth the way he wants, craning upwards so he grazes the roof of your mouth. Price approves with a sharp grunt, and you feel his cock twitch against your tongue.

“Fuck.” He snarls sharply, hips stuttering for a moment before resuming their rhythm. One hand cups your skull, fingers pressing a touch harshly against your flesh to keep you in place as Price uses you to creep slowly up on the edge of his release. “Bloody gorgeous, darling.”

Your cunt throbs at his words, clenching tightly as you shift, angle yourself to rub your clit directly onto the toe of his boot. The groan you let out is wet, saliva and precum pooling in your mouth around his cock. The world narrows down to only the sensation of Price rocking into you, and you rocking onto him as you fuck yourself onto his boot.

Yet there’s another sound beyond your and Price’s joint groans and the slick squelch as he presses himself forward. If you listen, you can hear another noise from off to your right- a low, stifled grunt paired with the sounds of wet strokes of a fist.

You’re being watched.

Gaz, Soap, Ghost, they’re all observing the proceedings quietly from just beyond you both, aroused at the display and seeing to their own pleasure with long, firm strokes on their cocks. Masturbating to the shameless sight of you fucking yourself down onto Price’s shoe, groaning openly as he thrusts towards the back of your throat, seeing you helpless at his feet and wanting more.

Of course. Why blindfold you otherwise? You’d get distracted by the sight of them, the glint of Soap’s keen, bright stare- the smug, self-pleasured smile of Gaz seeing you delivered to his captain- and Ghost, with the bruising intensity of his stare, no doubt with his arms crossed but the tent of his pants bulging. Waiting.

The idea of the boys just waiting for their captain to finish having his way with you, fucking into your mouth with quick, firm, shallow thrusts, and waiting to have their seconds is enough to make you bite out a curse. Pleasure unfolds brightly at your core, the tightening, coiling band of bliss threatening to snap you in two with its intensity.

Price seems to notice how close you are by the almost frantic grind of your hips down onto him, his hand curling with an almost bruising grip at the base of your skull.

“Going to cum, sergeant?” He grits out, and you whine, not able to nod around him with the way he has you angled. Yet the sound is enough, because Price releases a low groan and echoes down at you a single, shattering command.

“Cum.”

Price pulls back at the exact second you come undone, feeling ecstasy whiplash against your coiled muscles and race along the underside of your skin. Your orgasm is sudden, hard, making you fold and clench in on yourself, sinking impossibly further down onto Price’s boot with a shuddering series of moans and whimpers. Your cunt clenches helplessly around nothing, empty but no less doused in the blissful satisfaction of your long denied climax. The aftershocks ripple down your form, collecting in the thrumming, pulsing heat of your core as you desperately try to find your breath.

“Bloody hell.” A voice mutters quietly beyond your blinded vision. Soap.

When you finally catch your breath you raise your head, tilting forward towards Price so you can finish the task set out before you, his own orgasm unfinished. Yet instead all you find is Price's grip on you vanishing completely, removing his boot from the inside of your thighs. Instantly, you begin reeling without his touch, still a touch overwhelmed, a little noise of confusion dragging in your chest.

It doesn’t take long for hands to appear at your face, gently tugging the blindfold off and revealing the dim lighting of the empty interrogation room. You blink at the sudden brightness, limbs heavy and skin too warm. It’s only once your vision clears that the sight of Price flickers into view above, his expression gentle, but the lust in his eyes scarcely concealed.

“Broken?” He asks in that gruff but concerned way of his, hands cupping either side of your face as boots begin to pad over towards you both. When your eyes flicker down to Price’s cock, you see it still standing proudly. Yet Price seems to pay it no mind, focusing instead on you.

“Only in the best of ways.” You reply, voice a little hoarse but still pleased as you smile at him. Price smiles back, amusement clear in his stare before it shifts, nods to someone behind you. You nearly flinch at the sound of a blade getting flicked open, but don’t have time to question it before the ties around your wrists are cut and discarded. You sigh in relief, roll your shoulders and wince at the soreness there.

You blink as you’re tugged away from Price’s grasp, hauled backwards until your ass meets the floor and your back presses against a solid chest. Arms descend around to your front, tucking you further into a form that smells faintly like explosive powder and sweat.

“Don’t get greedy, Soap.” Ghost admonishes lightly as the sergeant’s legs splay around you. Yet Soap only offers an offended little grunt in return, allowing you to sink into the comforting warmth of him.

You relax into the safety of his arms, knowing for now that this chase is finally at its end, that all that is left is the blissful indulgence of the men around you as they bring you down from the exhilarating adrenaline rush of your capture.

So you sigh, lean onto Soap, accept the water bottle Gaz passes to you, gulping it down and washing away the taste of Price on your tongue.

It’s Ghost who gently nudges you, forcing you to crane your head up towards his form towering over yours, backlit by the dim overhead light above.

“How copy?” He asks redundantly, as if he somehow doesn’t trust your answer to Price. You know it’s just to assuage his own nerves, make sure that the four of them haven’t exerted you too far.

“Right as rain, LT.” You answer back, leaning into his gloved hand when he offers it. You swear you can feel the sigh of him there, relieved but muted, entirely affectionate.

There’s silence for a few moments, one that’s filled only with your even breathing and the dull thump of your calming heartbeat. It’s broken only when Gaz drawls out a low, loaded question.

“Soooo….” He offers, and when you look at him his eyes sparkle with a combination of mischief and rampant desire.

“Round two?”

Taglist: (Please reblog this post to be added to the taglist!)

Please have your age in bio to interact with this fic. Minors do not interact

@soupbinsoup @tiredmetalenthusiast @homicidal-slvt @grumpyfurball @bigboywiththeskullface @cherrycoloredfunk86 @soapskneebrace @makariaspresence @alicesfracturedmirror @akona17 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @howdareubumfluff @ess-perspective-blog @sugarspicelivelife @ballsincorporated @telecoms-profiterols @artsy-trash-panda @ramadiiiisme @crunchlite @scatter-mind001 @holt-from-the-blue @military-boyfriends @mutuallimbenclosure @tamayakii @sparklinginthecorneroverhere @330bpm-whiplash @corgideer @embers-of-alluring @kitty-satan1 @meadowfuldaises @butterbunana @thychuvaluswife @asd3ku @simon-rileys-princess @kaninkronikorna @kinskyy @serh0etonin @preciouslittlecreature @stitch-me-a-dream @bucketbunny @doggydale @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @kaninkronikorna @crunchlite @torchbearerkyle @ashy-kit @soapskneebrace @catsnkooks

If you'd like to not be on the taglist, please DM me!

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 #cod mw2 #cod mw22 #x reader #reader insert #fic: tag you're it… See all #Honestly dislike the quality of this chap!! Feels too bland #Hopefully folks enjoy anyways

460 notes · View notes

upon-a-starry-night · 13 days

Text

Number Neighbors Pt.33

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Finally away from the chaos, you relax your tense shoulders as soon as the door to Nat’s bedroom shuts. You take notice of the way Nat constantly protectively hovers near you and the subtle brushes of her hand against yours. If you’re honest you hadn’t been expecting her to be this physical but you’re not complaining.

The first thing you notice is her gray comforter and you smirk at the reminder of your previous conversation.

“What are you smiling at?” You could give her a long list of reasons you would be smiling right now (most of them pertaining to her presence) but instead, you opt for the truth.

“You really need better taste in comforters”

Nat groans, shaking her head but smiling nonetheless. The apprehension from the car ride seems to have completely dissipated and you’re grateful that she’s feeling as comfortable around you in person as she was over the phone.

Taking the opportunity to observe her room, you notice the decoration is minimal but still cute. Books on the shelves, a few framed pictures of her and the other Avengers, a few framed drawings made by some kids who call her “Aunty Nat”

It feels incredibly intimate to be in the space where Natasha spends all of her time and you’re unsure what to do with yourself until Nat gestures for you to sit at the edge of her bed.

You take the invitation and plop down on the gray comforter while Nat chooses to stay standing, the two of you observing each other in privacy for the first time. Your hands itch to touch her again and you have a feeling you were going to have that urge for a while.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full of things the two of you were too afraid to say. Was it too soon to tell her how you felt? Maybe you should diffuse some of this tension between the two of you?

“So not an FBI agent then” It’s the first thing that comes to mind and it feels appropriate to mention the first conversation you’d ever had for one of your first in-person conversations. Like an ode to the past but a promise of a playful future.

She smiles at the reference “Not quite” Now that the two of you are alone her expression has changed into something softer. Her once-guarded eyes now shine with an expression so profound it makes your heart ache. A permanent smile stuck on her inviting lips.

Without the pressure of other people, the two of you could express your love for each other with more than just a verbal longing. Your body language spoke more than your words ever could.

You don’t know if Natasha can read the emotions on your face, or if her reading them would be a good or bad thing but you know you don’t want to say goodbye anytime soon.

”I think you owe me a picnic date” it’s the only thing you can think to say to comprehend your desire to stay without outright asking. You hope it quells any doubts in Nat's mind that you would want anything near the opposite of being with her.

“Oh yeah?” Her reply is sultry, the rasp of her voice seems to intensify tenfold in the privacy of her room and you’re suddenly aware of just how alone the two of you are. If Nat didn’t want anyone to enter and interrupt then no one would dare.

You have to clear your throat before you can reply, afraid the want would be too prominent and scare her off. Truthfully she could do anything she wanted to you in this moment and you wouldn't object.

Her signature smirk is back in an instant and you’re sure you’ve been caught just by the look in her eyes but she doesn’t comment on it “I think I can do that”

Her phone buzzes in her back pocket and it reminds you that there’s a world outside of the two of you- reminds you that Nat is a woman with a tough life and even tougher responsibilities. A life that you would hate to get in the way of.

The thought makes you frown ”You must be busy with sorting out the government and superhero business and other stuff” She doesn’t give you more than a second to drown in your thoughts-

”I’d drop everything for you, Y/n” It's a quick response, and even she seems surprised by her own words but she doesn't seem to regret them. It’s a bigger admission than you were ready for but it’s still a welcome one. If anything it gives you confidence in your own feelings.

The two of you spend the next hour catching up on each other's lives and dancing around the obvious tensions between you. Nat remains standing and you wonder if it’s a force of habit until you notice her restless hands and come to the striking realization that she was holding herself back- from touching you.

When there’s a lull in the conversation you gather up the courage to ask her a question you’ve been wondering since you figured out Nat was Natasha

“Why did you keep texting me? You could’ve blocked me or probably disabled my phone if you wanted but you didn’t” You don’t tell her yet how grateful you are that she never stopped texting you. How you were so consumed by your loneliness that you never even went out before her.

The thrill that anyone could be her was one of the things that pushed you to go outside more.

Nat smiled softly “I don’t really know why either. I probably should’ve done those things but…” Her eyes turn solemn despite the smile on her face and it makes you want to distract her from whatever memory is making her sad but the desire to know why she kept texting you kept your mouth shut “I think part of me needed someone to talk to who didn’t know who I was or what I’d done. It also didn’t hurt to get such high praise about myself all the time”

You blush, looking away. The memory of all of your fan-girl rambles causing you to groan and cover your face in embarrassment.

“Oh my gosh, I said all of those things about how much I liked you to you” You hear her footsteps get closer and when you peek out from between your fingers you see her standing right in front of you staring down at you with mirth in her eyes.

“Don’t be embarrassed, it was cute” You choke out a sound of embarrassment, you’re not sure how red you are but you’re sure tomatoes would probably be jealous.

“I regret so much” You mock whisper and in a second two hands are tugging yours away from your face, the sly smile on Nat’s face is replaced with a more serious look

“Y/n,” You struggle to maintain eye contact when she’s looking at you so strongly “Nobody’s ever talked about me the way you did, it made me proud of who I am, which is something I’m not often” You frown a little and Nat’s eyes drop to your lips for a split second before regaining eye contact

“You can be embarrassed but you’re not allowed to regret it” You nod slowly and she pulls away, letting go of your arms but still standing over you. Your skin burns where she touched and you’re sure your heart is beating loud enough for her to hear it.

She had no business having this much of an effect on you but you were helpless to stop it. -Not that you wanted to.

“So…” You start “ This might make things a little awkward between us but I don’t think I can keep it to myself anymore” She tilts her head in question but stays silent for you to continue. You take a deep reassuring breath in and begin speaking before you can convince yourself to quit

“I know this might sound a little bit crazy because this is our first time meeting in person but you’re such an incredible person inside and out, and you were always there for me when I needed you, and you’re unfairly funny for someone who claims to not have a sense of humor and well… it was kind of inevitable that I would fall in love with you”

It’s terrifying to admit to her but there’s a weight that lifts off of your shoulders nonetheless. The silence is heavy and you can’t bring yourself to look her in her eyes, scared that all you’ll find is rejection or disgust. You’re so sure that you’ve just ruined the best potential friendship and regret begins to sink into your skin when Nat once again guides your face to look up at her.

Much to your surprise, you don’t find disgust or disappointment, instead, you find two glassy green eyes staring at you with so much adoration it fills your whole body with warmth. She looks like she can’t believe what she just heard is real and it’s your turn to hear just how rapidly her heart is beating

“Say it again” It takes you a few seconds to register her words but once you do a hopeful smile creeps onto your face

“I love you.” You say a little shakily, and then with more confidence “ I love you, Nat. More than I probably should love someone I met on the internet but what can I say? I fell in love with you.” You laugh a little as happy tears begin trailing down your cheeks, “You don’t have to say it back I just-”

“I love you too” She interrupts and your heart tugs blissfully in your chest “From the moment I met you I should’ve blocked your number but I couldn’t. You just had this magnetic energy even through the phone and it drew me to you in a way I knew would end up with my heart in a mess.” You’re crying even harder now and Nat takes a moment to wipe the tears from your face before continuing-

“- And then I saw you at Starks party and you were… everything. Witty and gorgeous and beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined you’d be. That’s when I knew, even if it was terrifying- even if it was unfamiliar and I could get hurt- I knew then that I was in love with you.”

You’ve never heard anyone talk about you in such a way and it moves you so much that you can’t bear to hold yourself back any longer. Your hand drifts to her face and your eyes search hers for permission only for her to pull you in.

Your lips meet in a teary overwhelmingly tender kiss and you think you could live in this moment forever. Nat’s hands tug at your cheeks to pull you even closer and your hands find purchase around her neck, the two of you lost in each other.

Your body melts at her touch and you lose track of time as your mind hazes over, incapable of thinking of anything but the feeling of Nat’s lips against yours until the need for oxygen pulls you apart.

Even though you pull apart Natasha keeps her forehead pressed against yours, not wanting to break contact. Overwhelmed with joy, a small breathy laugh escapes you as you stare into Nat’s heady gaze.

“Do you think we could do that again?” You’re a little shy to ask but Nat responds with a husky laugh of her own

“I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, Y/n”

Epilogue

A/n: Gah! Finally! God they’re so perfect for each other :( I’m going to miss them ~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman @midastouch013 @thalia-is-not-ok @tessalah @annab3113 @officialnighttime @taliiiaasteria @bgwlsmahf25 @chibilauren @natashasgirlll @nmhlver @strange-night-owl @obsessedwjill @autorasexy @madamevirgo @kissesfornat @gemz5

118 notes · View notes

hard-core-super-star · 6 months

Note

Hi rubix, love your writing btw!! so would I be able to request a wandanat x reader fic where it’s readers birthday and they don’t usually have time or people to celebrate with so Wanda and Nat decide to change that for this year and whisk her away to somewhere like Paris to celebrate and have a great time with some smut at the end 🫣

It’s my birthday in a few days and I’m in dire need of this 🤧

romance is not dead, if you keep it just yours [W.Maximoff; N.Romanoff]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!reader x switch!wanda maximoff

summary: your girlfriends set out to make your birthday as memorable as possible.

warnings: smut -> minors, you know the drill, bye [threesome; smut so soft it borders on spicy fluff; like...one inch of plot; grinding; fingering [R receiving]; the daddy and mommy kink is implied but not explicit lmao; wanda's low-key a brat because...yeah :) ; clothed sex AGAIN because i think it's neat, okay?; cheesy ending...again]

wordcount: 2.2k

a/n: hi, lovely anon, thank you for the kind words! i hope i'm not too late with this but either way, i hope you had a fantastic birthday! also, you get the honor of having requested my first ever wandanat fic so that's cool. this was my first time properly sitting down and writing for them so let me know what you think! i really hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

“Guess what.”

You look up from the book in your hands to find two pairs of expectant eyes on you. You’ve seen your girlfriends wear many faces since you met them and yet it never fails to surprise you when you catch a glimpse of the genuine joy they wear around you.

The one that makes your heart skip several beats and earns them both teasing comments from the rest of the team.

“What?” You ask as your eyes flicker back and forth between them and the proud grins on their faces.

Wanda playfully rolls her eyes at you. “That’s not how the game works, detka.”

“Come on, go easy on her,” Natasha comes to your aid for once, a subtle hint that even she must be excited about whatever news they’re hiding.

“Yeah, what Nat said.”

You and the redhead share a look that draws a soft chuckle out of your girlfriend. “Remind me how I’m the one who spoils y/n again?”

“Can you stop stalling and tell me what you’re hiding already?”

Your question earns both a glare and a laugh before you’re finally given the answer you’ve been searching for. Your girlfriends may love you more than anything else in the world but that will never stop them from teasing you like their life depends on it.

“So impatient…yes, fine, we convinced Tony to let us borrow one of his stupidly fast jets for tomorrow.”

Two pairs of green eyes watch your reaction expectantly only to find your face twisting into confusion. “Why?”

There’s a beat of silence where they both stare at each other, silently trying to figure out how to proceed. Clearly, they weren’t expecting you to question the exciting news they had brought to you.

It happens in a flash.

One second you’re sitting alone in bed and the next, your girlfriends are on either side of you, contradicting touches landing on your arms. It’s strange how easy it is to tell them apart. How cautious Natasha’s fingers still are when they trace random patterns onto your skin compared to Wanda’s gentle pressure as trails down to grab onto your hand, unmistakable tendrils of red magic moving to put your forgotten book back onto the shelf.

Natatsha’s the first to break the silence, all her earlier playfulness gone and replaced by subtle concern. “y/n, it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“So?” You shrug. “It’s just another day.”

Wanda tightens her grip on your hand and successfully steals back your attention. “Nonsense, malyshka. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Guys, it’s not a big deal,” you assure them. “I really don’t need anything. Plus, I have too many things to do.”

“Not anymore.” A sweet kiss is placed on your lips before you can voice your complaints. “We’re stealing you away tomorrow.”

“But what about-”

“Already talked to Steve.”

“And-”

“Kate will understand.”

“How-”

“Stop looking for excuses, detka.” Natasha rolls her eyes as she pulls you closer to her. “You’re coming with us.”

You want to argue, you truly do, but then Wanda’s gluing herself to your side, eager hands slipping under your shirt, and you quickly come to the conclusion that spending all day with them is the best way to spend any day.

Including a birthday.

Especially since you’re more than used to treating it like every other day of the year. It’s not that you don’t like celebrating it, you’re just always too busy to make real plans and no one’s ever thought to surprise you before.

But of course, your girlfriends aren’t like anyone else.

Which is how they manage to get you onto one of Tony’s jets, reminding you of the existence of time zones and how you have to leave right now if you want to make it to your surprise destination on time. You don’t really mind either way but you’re pretty sure you haven’t seen them this excited about something in a while so you go along with them anyway.

The jet ride seems never-ending despite how fast the aircraft is supposed to be. It doesn’t help that you’ve been having trouble sleeping peacefully the past few nights and Wanda’s running a hand through your hair in the way that makes you melt.

“You’re allowed to go to sleep, you know?” Natasha whispers with a teasing smirk. “We still have a long while to go.”

“Whose idea was this again?” You grumble as you drop your head down onto the redhead’s shoulder.

“Don’t be a brat, love. You’ll thank us when we get there.”

You bite back the rest of your complaints and sink into the sweet arms of a dreamless sleep. You miss the way your girlfriends watch over you the entire time as well as the long list of things they each want to see and the various ridiculous ways in which they propose to get everything done.

They ultimately agree to let you choose once you’re awake again…something that backfires when the jet finally lands and you’re still far off in dreamland. They go back and forth on whether they should wake you or not, especially since it’s morning where you've landed and the jetlag will definitely destroy you.

You look far too cute to rouse though so Natasha gathers you up into her arms with ease and carries you in her strong embrace the rest of the way.

When you finally do wake up, a few hours have passed and you're safe inside the lavish hotel room Wanda reserved using one of Tony’s endless credit cards. The change in scenery startles your drowsy mind before you feel familiar arms pulling you close.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Wanda says softly as she easily pulls you onto her lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, tucking your head into the crook of her neck.

“Hi, darling. How's the birthday girl feeling? Still sleepy?”

“A little.” You let out a soft sigh as your girlfriend’s hands travel inside your loose shirt, slender fingers tracing random shapes onto your warm skin. “I’m sorry I ruined the trip.”

She scoffs and the sound instantly reminds you of Natasha which pulls a small smile onto your face. “You didn't ruin anything, detka. It's your birthday.”

You don't say anything in response and your girlfriend is quick to pull your thoughts away from their current trajectory. She keeps exploring your waist with one hand while the other one comes up to playfully tug on your hair.

“How about you stop hiding and look at your surprise, hm?”

It’s unclear whether it’s her words or her grip on your hair that makes you obey but neither of you mind. You reluctantly lift your face from its hiding place and let the green-eyed woman guide your gaze toward the large window of the room.

You gasp the second you realize where you are. “You guys brought me to Paris!”

Your excitement manages to break through your exhaustion which earns you a laugh from your loving witch. “Only the best for our girl.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe a little.”

You turn your head at the sound of Natasha’s voice, eager hands reaching out for her instantly. Your silent request is instantly fulfilled and the redhead easily slips into bed next to Wanda.

“I can't believe you would do this for me.”

“Believe it, malyshka.” She leans forward and easily captures your lips with her own.

Wanda huffs as she’s left out of the moment, her hands wandering under your shirt once again. You're too lost in the kiss to notice where her fingers are going until they brush against your nipples.

The sensation makes you jump which makes you grind against the witch’s thigh in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

“That’s cheating,” Natasha warns after she pulls away from you.

“What happened to spoiling the birthday girl?”

This time, you're the one who gets left out of the moment as they fight for the control that always rests in the Russian’s hands. They get caught up in their knowing stares and bruising kisses, leaving you aching and panting for their attention.

It’s a game they love playing with you but you’re far too desperate already to last much longer without their hands on you.

Thankfully, Wanda decides to take pity on you. She gives your hardened nipples a soft tug, smirking against Natasha’s lips when she feels your hips buck once more. “I think someone’s feeling a little needy.”

The redhead turns to look at you, a perfectly raised eyebrow painting her face with the stern humor you've come to know so well. “Is that right, kotenok? Are you feeling needy?”

You nod, all the heat in your body rushing down from your face to between your thighs. “Please don’t tease.”

“Aw, look at that, Nat. You're not going to deny her when she looks like that, are you?” You're not sure if Wanda’s actually being genuine or not but you don't really care as long as she’ll help you get what you want.

“Who’s the brat now?” She chuckles before reaching out for you, pulling you onto her lap, and leaving behind a pouty Wanda. “Come here, let me give you what you want.”

The Russian is true to her words and wastes no time in sliding a hand past the waistband of both your pants and your underwear. Your complaints about the lack of sink-on-skin contact between you are forgotten as Wanda situates herself behind you, plump lips trailing feather-light kisses up your neck.

A gasp tumbles out of your lips once Natasha’s fingers finally find your drenched cunt. She moves slowly, almost too slowly, but you already know she’ll be quick to remind you to be patient if you dare whine.

“You don’t have to be so cautious, detka,” Wanda whispers against your flushed skin. “It’s your birthday, remember?”

“Don’t listen to her, it’s always so much better for you when you’re a good girl.” She easily slips two fingers into your waiting hole, barely holding back a laugh as your pussy swallows her digits.

Your hands grip her shoulders for stability while they both work in tandem to make you lose the last bits of control you still have over yourself.

The witch’s hands find their way under your shirt yet again except this time she’s gripping your hips and helping you move in time with the redhead’s movements. It’s the slowest, most agonizing, of dances and yet the pleasure has you arching your back in seconds.

“Look at you,” Natasha coos, taking a mental picture of how delicious you look writhing in Wanda’s arms. “You’re so pretty when you’re like this, malyshka.”

Your walls clench the second you hear the affectionate petname and the Russian can’t resist the urge to lean forward and attach herself to your neck. Her thrusts are still slow and steady but then finally, her thumb begins to circle your puffy clit.

Your head falls back against Wanda’s shoulder and she laughs as you practically go limp from the pleasure. “You’re gonna break her, ‘Tasha.”

“She likes it.” She punctuates her point by curling her fingers just right and pulling out a string of moans from deep within you. “Don’t you, darling?”

“Mhmm, please don’t stop.”

They share a look you don’t see but you do feel the evidence of yet another standoff. It’s like Wanda just can’t stop herself from pressing all of Natasha’s buttons when they’re like this. Which means it’s your job as their devoted girlfriend to let them turn your pleasure into a competition.

And they do just that.

Wanda’s grip on your hips tightens until her nails are digging into your skin and she’s practically forcing you to ride Natasha’s fingers. Natasha, for her part, increases the speed of her thrusts, launching you closer and closer toward your orgasm. She’s still drawing it out of you, though, still balancing speed with soft kisses and murmured praises.

It’s a strange combination but it works perfectly. Just like your relationship with them. It’s something that transcends words, something that can’t be explained, merely felt…and it’s also exactly what brings you to the edge.

“Nat…please…”

“Please, what, detka?” Wanda responds for your girlfriend.

“Can I cum? Please?”

You half-expect them to make you beg for a little longer but it seems your special day has left them more merciful than usual. Natasha’s lips make their way up your neck and onto your jawline until she reaches your lips and gives you the permission you’re searching for.

“Go ahead, cum for us.”

You’ve heard the words thousands of times and yet they make you fall apart like nothing else. The slow build-up finally reaches its peak with one more swirl of Natasha’s thumb against your clit and you literally fall face-first into your orgasm.

“Such a good girl, love. Always so good for us.”

Your response comes in the shape of a muffled whine as you bury your face into the redhead’s neck.

The sound makes both of your girlfriends smile and Wanda moves to sit on Natasha’s other side while they wait for you to recover. “I guess we’re not leaving the hotel any time soon.”

“Are you complaining, Maximoff?”

“Shut up.”

Their bickering makes you giggle. “Wanda’s being a brat again, Nat.”

“I know.” The green-eyed woman turns her head to press a barrage of kisses against the side of your face. “I think that means she can’t join us in the shower.”

The comment draws another complaint out of the young witch and you happily rest in your girlfriend’s arms while they start up another playful argument you’ll eventually have to get in the middle of.

You don't mind though, there's no other way you'd rather spend your birthday than with them.

331 notes · View notes

byuntrash101 · 10 months

Note

okay here are my thoughts: softdom!hongjoong finds out about you thinking his tattoos are hot so he decides to get more of them and every time he fucks while maintaining eye contact, you break your gaze to stare at his tattoos, finding the movement of ink on his skin fascinating

tags: gentle dom!joong, joong with tats (necessary warning), unprotected sex (don't try this at home), praising, pet names (baby, pretty, sweetheart), light teasing and begging, sweet love making </3, creampie

hongjoong knew you liked his tattoos but when he revealed the brand new and healed ink he got right under his chin he didn't expect he would take less then 10 minutes to get you all hot bothered, ready for him. patiently waiting for him on his bed.

he was hovering above you. his hands placed at each side of your face when on gently brushed over your heated cheek.

he rubs his tip against your folds, coating his lengh with your slick as your whimper from the friction and squirm, yearning for more. you haven't seen him in a hit minute since he's always working and you can't stand the teasing right now. You want him and you want him now.

"joongie~" you whine, shy eyes looking at him as heat rushes to your cheeks.

"yes pretty?' he asks, tone as innocent as could be but the sly smirk pulling at his lips gives him away. you squirm under him as he chuckles bringing his blazing hot tip to your clit, applying some pressure to the attention deprived bundle of nerves; which makes you stay still immediatly, afraid of losing friction.

"say what you want my sweetheart" hongjoong purs in your ear, eyes urging you to voice your demands.

"please joong I want y-aaah"' you say in one breath not even able to finish your sentence before your taunting boyfriend pushes himself inside you. the way you walls stretch around him has you pushing your head into the soft pillow, the pleasure ripping a dragged out moan out of your mouth.

your boyfriend knows you so well and you have been missing him so much that in a matter of minutes you find yourself flirting with the edge already.

and so of course he notices when your eyes slip from his own to focus in the brand new tattoo under his chin. you just can't help it. the way the art piece dances on his skin everytime his adam appel bobbles in his throat, the way it moves when he grunts and moans. it mesmerizes you. you have no choice but to look

as you moan and pant become louder hongjoong doesn't dare to peel his eyes off you for a second. he wants to see you coming undone around his cock, he wants to see you slipping into madness right under him, pledging yourself to him and him only forever until the end of time.

"like my new tattoo baby?" he teases again, knowing damn well the answer.

but your mind is too far gone to play coy again.

"yesss" you say throught gritted teeth, pleasure rising again as he acknowledged you.

"such a good girl for me" he says bringing one of his hands to draw tight circles on your swollen and eager clit. immediately you arche your back, pushing your hips further into him.

"please joong i'm almost there" you cry.

"want me to get more?" he says disregarding your last sentence.

At this point you can only nod frantically as you clench around him tighter then ever, fisting the sheets at each side of your face.

"how about next time i'll get your name tattooed? huh? you'd like that?"

"yessss" you whine, closer than ever, completely losing your sanity at the idea of having your name forever imprinted on your boyfriend's perfect skin. "pleasee joongie"

"cum. cum for me baby" he grants you.

you didn't need more to come undone around him and at the end of his expert fingers. he brought you to delirous summits as you shuddered under him and your walls flutered around him eventually taking him with you as your strong grip tipped him over the edge, delivering copious amount of burning hot cum inside you, your name hanging from swollen lips.

he rolled next to you careful to keep himself locked deep inside of you, his inked arms snaking around your waist and pulling you into his warm embrace.

"i'll make an appointment with the tattoo artist tomorrow"

#hongjoong smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong hard hours #hongjoong hard thoughts

322 notes · View notes

sky-kiss · 3 months

Text

Drink

A/n: I got nothing. I don't know. This is nothing. This is like. Minor lactation kink and some conversation lol. Everything is going under the cut. Here. Have his smug face as my penance.

R/D!Urge: Drink

“Your son was not hungry.”

There’s an archness to her tone that causes Raphael to lift his head. The duchess lingers near the edge of his vision, a conspicuous distance kept between them. Vanity has kept her from his bed and out of his company; he does not miss the excess fabric draped across her form, designed to hide the extra weight and the heaviness of her breasts.

The body did not feel like her own, she’d admitted once, head held high. Daring him to argue, perhaps hoping he might. He had no interest in the conversation one way or another.

“This is of interest to me?”

Joi frowns, gaze dropping. He will not say she is diminished, but there is somehow…a shift---in her bearing, in her essence. She was much the same in the months following their daughter’s birth. Discomforted and robbed of her self-possession, hormones and exhaustion forming some wretched amalgamation. He sees the ragged seams of her fraying control, places where he might hook his fingers and pull. And worse, he thinks she could not muster the energy to stop him. She hugs his stolen robe more tightly about herself. “Please, Raphael. For once, no games.”

“No games, no whimsy…how tiresome.” He leans back in his seat, folding his hands over his stomach. “Come.”

The duchess crosses to him, and it occurs to him again how little he likes her like this---this dour little thing. She settles across his lap, wincing as she adjusts herself. The boy…the prince, he amends, had not come into the world as delicately as his sister. It’d taken days to clear the stench of blood from the boudoir.

His sorceress leans her head against his chin, grumbling and drawing his arms around her. Raphael plucks at the robe’s tie. “Why have you come, pet?”

She huffs, “Am I no longer welcome in your boudoir, my duke?”

“You seemed happy enough to keep your own company.”

Joi pinched the back of his hand. “Your son, your heir, needed me.”

“The princess is my heir. The boy…”

“Raphael.” Her tone is softer than he expects, not the righteous fury he hopes to elicit. Too tired, no games, no sport. “Please.” She leads his hand to her breast, heat radiating from the milk-swollen flesh. He pushes the robe apart. The nipple is badly chafed, reddened, and oversensitive. “As I said…your son would not drink.”

“Haarlep would leap at the chance to relieve you.”

“Haarlep,” his duchess purrs, fingers stroking back through his hair, scraping across his scalp. “Is no king. My body bore princes and princesses…should it nourish him?”

The devil chuckles, lifting her from his lap and onto his desk. “Oh, wicked thing. A fair point.”

She winces when he spreads her legs. He shifts to his human form in a fit of deference, holding her knees tight to his side. Raphael acts with uncharacteristic care, bowing her back. The devil presses a kiss to her sternum, cupping her right breast to relieve the pressure before suckling.

Her hand moves to the back of his neck, holding him in place. Joi’s sigh borders on rapturous relief rather than pleasure. He finds himself cataloging these noises, each one fascinating: a scrape of teeth and she hisses; more direct pressure and she’ll squeeze her legs around him. It’s best to press the flat of his tongue to her skin, open-mouthed and indirect, and then she makes such pretty noises. So sweet.

He presses his hand between her shoulder blades, exaggerating the bow of her back. He sucks a bruise into the rise of her breast before shifting his attention to the left, repeating the process. She’s slackened in his arms, relaxing into his touch now that the worst of her discomfort has passed.

Raphael swallows, pulling back to admire his work. He wipes a stray bead of milk with his thumb, bringing it to his lips to lick it clean. His duchess shivers, staring at him with wide, hungry eyes, mouth still partially slack.

He kisses her, letting her taste herself on his tongue, slow and languid.

And when all is said and done, Joi presses him back into his seat. His duchess sinks to her knees with neither comment nor complaint, only a delicious look of self-satisfaction, hunger she longs to satiate.

Far be it from him to deny her.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #raphael x oc #oc: joi #tw: lactation #bg3 fanfic #my writing #look i dont know #im avoiding working on the things i should be working on

143 notes · View notes

n0tangeliccc · 1 year

Note

I have an idea! NSFW Jealous possesive top creek x reader, the asian girls start drawing reader with other ppl and the ships became very famous around town, tweek n craig have no other option than fuck reader until she can't think straight bc they're jealous as hell and they need to prove that reader belongs to them 💏💏💏💏

You’re ours

Craig x Fem!Reader x Tweek

(EVERYONE IS 18+)

Warning: Smut, unprotected sex, oral (m! + f! receiving), cum swallowing (it’s implied), threesome, fingering, degradation (the tiniest bit of praise), slight edging (?), semi-public sex (idk other people can hear you), uh i think that’s everything i don’t know how to tag these things😵‍💫(some parts might sound ooc im sorry!!)

A/N: I didn’t expect y’all to love the Creek stuff but here you go my loves🤭 (also this was not proofread please tell me of any misspellings!!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ✧˖°.

There stood your two lovers, Tweek and Craig, their hands shaking in rage as they looked at the huge mural of you and their close friend Clyde together. Ever since you started hanging out those same girls who once got them together have been shipping you and Clyde together and this made Tweek and Craig absolutely furious. “AcK- Craig can you believe this?” Tweek’s mind was racing with panicked thoughts of you leaving him and Craig “W-what if she leaves us for him aHh! This is too much!!” “Calm down honey” Craig rubs Tweek’s back trying to calm him down before sighing “I knew we should’ve just been open and told everyone we’re in a poly relationship now look at this shit!” He face palmed mentally. Craig knew you were well known around South Park it would have been only a matter of time before you started getting shipped with someone he just wished it was with him and Tweek, I mean they were your boyfriends for fucks sake! “T-That was too much pressure!!” Tweek was practically about to pull his hair out. “Don’t worry I’ve been thinking of a way to make it know” Craig smirks and Tweek gives him a confused look “Don’t worry honey I’ll tell you all about my plan on the way, now come on I’m sure Y/N’s waiting for us at the coffee shop”

As they walk to the shop they couldn’t help but notice something that only fueled their anger and jealousy even more, Clyde. Craig’s whole body tensed up and his grip on Tweek’s hand tightened causing the blonde to turn and look at what was happening.

You had been cleaning a bit while waiting for your lovers to arrive when Clyde had walked in and struck up a conversation. You’re body leaned against the counter as you and Clyde spoke when suddenly you heard the cafe door slam open. “So then I- What the hell??” Clyde jumped as Craig and Tweek walked in “Oh hey guys what’s up?” His smile fading quickly as his friends glared at him “Okay?..Anyways Y/N-“ “AH!-Actually WE need to t-talk to her right now” Tweek cut him off ‘Weird’ you thought, you’d never seen them act like this before “Well we can go into the back office, I’ll be right back Clyde!” You waved as the guys dragged you away from him.

You could feel the tension in the air as you walked in turning to look at your boyfriends. “So…What’s going on guys?” You asked awkwardly “What’s going on?? Seriously Y/N don’t you see what’s being spread around??” Craig answered back angrily “All these people are convinced you’re with Clyde!!” The jealousy pumping through his veins as he pulled you towards him and Tweek “You’re ours and I think it’s time we let people know” he growled in you ear. “I-In here?” You questioned as he grabbed you and sat you on the desk “People will hear guys” Craig smirked “I’m sure you’d like that considering how much of a whore you’ve been lately, don’t you think Tweek?” Tweek chuckled and nodded in agreement “B-better they hear and know”

He kissed down your neck as Craig untied your apron and unbuttoned your work shirt. Both men began leaving trails of hickies down your neck and breast switching sides so Tweek was now in front of you he continued to kiss down your torso, Craig removed your bra and began teasing your tits making you whimper. Tweek unzipped your pants and pulled them down to around your ankles before beginning to kiss your inner thighs running his hands painfully close to your aching core “Tweek..” you whimpered again making both men laugh. “What’s w-wrong baby? Feeling needy?” Tweek looked up at you with a sly grin, you rarely got to see this overly dominant side of him but when you did god did it make you wet. “Please Tweek” “I don’t know Tweek I think she’s been to much of a slut to deserve it” Craig smirked giving your breast a soft squeeze making you groan “So fucking slutty, bet you’re soaked just from us teasing aren’t you?” You hear Tweek chuckle as he pulled down your panties “Oh s-she is Craig” his fingers hovered over your clit teasingly making you shiver in anticipation “F-fucking whore” Tweek growled before sticking two of his fingers into your wet folds. You gasped loudly as he began sliding them in and out of you rapidly “F-Fuck Tweek!!” You moaned loudly “So loud, though you didn’t want anyone to hear this you slut” Craig grinned smugly as he undid his pants “Time to get that pretty mouth of yours to work” he said as he pulled cock out from his pants “Come on bitch you know you want it” You laid back on the desk as Tweek continued to ravish your pussy and Craig tapped his cock on your cheek “Go on, suck it whore” You wasted no time getting to work giving his tip kitten licks as you stoked the rest of his length. “Fuck…good whore” Craig groaned as you began to slowly began to sick your head down his shaft. Tweek smirked and flattered his tongue against your clit teasingly before harshly sucking on it making you moan around Craig cock “Yeah j-just like that baby” he removed his fingers from inside you switching to his tongue, he lapped your juices rapidly making moan even louder as you felt yourself getting closer to cumming. “A-Are you close?” Tweek asked as he pulled away, his thumb circling your clit as you pulled away from Craig and nodded desperately. “Switch?” He asked Craig “Switch” he grinned mischievously as they exchanged spots with Craig between your legs and Tweek in front of you face now. You quickly began to stroke Tweek’s dick before bringing it to your mouth as Craig teased your entrance with his cock making you whimper around Tweek. “G-gah!” Tweek moaned as your mouth did wonders on his cock. Craig slid into your wet folds a low groan escaping his lips as he began slowly began to thrust into you “That’s it take it like a good slut” he cooed in your ear as his thrust began to speed up. You’re moans we’re sending chills up Tweek’s spine as you sucked him off, he grabbed onto your hair pushing himself deeper into your throat “F-fuck- close!!” You continued even faster as you hear his breath quicken “Ngh! Y/N!!” He let out one last high pitched groan before he came in your mouth holding your head down on his cock. Craig chuckled and began thrusting even faster and harder that before as he felt your walls clenching around him “That’s it whore, cum for us” His animalistic thrust sent you over the edge and you came hard screaming out in pleasure “F-fuck” Craig grunted as his thrust became sloppier and he pushed himself into you on last time before he came.

By the next day everyone knew of your relationship with Tweek and Craig. Not because you guys announced it out loud but because poor Clyde heard the whole thing from outside the office and told everyone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ✧˖°.

Longest oneshot I’ve written (why it took me so damn long😭) also the dirtiest oml😮‍💨

#south park x reader #south park fanfiction #south park x y/n #south park x you #south park smut #craig tucker x reader #craig tucker x you #craig tucker x y/n #tweek tweak x reader #tweek tweak x you #tweek tweak x y/n #creek x reader

778 notes · View notes

anadiasmount · 9 months

Note

Hi! If you still take requests can you do a bf christian pulisic headcanons please? I don’t see a lot of them for him 🥺

christian as a boyfriend ❣️

would always keep a hand on you every where you go. his love language is touch, so it can be, holding ur hand in public, on ur thigh, when your sleeping a hand around ur waist, a hand on your butt when he becomes possessive bc ik he is.

he kisses you softly, a hand on you hip and the other one resting on your cheek. as much as you love his gentle and soft kisses, you can’t help but enjoy the heated ones as well.

his heated kisses where he starts kissing ur neck all the way up to ur jaw, kissing the corners of your mouth before connecting your lips together. he especially loves bitting ur bottom lip and pulling it back, watching as you blush beneath his touch, his hand slightly around your throat with the smallest pressure. “god baby look at you. so pretty for me.”

bf!christian where he takes pictures of you secretly every where you are. you could be simply washing dishes or cooking but there he is with his phone. when grocery shopping and ur picking our sweets and crisps, you driving, you dancing freely to music. when you’d ask him he would shrug it off. “took it while you weren’t looking.”

during important events, he would spoil you, sometimes hiring a makeup and hairstylist for you, buying you a new pair of heels and dress. surprising you with a pair of earring and a necklace with his initial bc ur his. “don’t take it off. everyone needs to know ur mine, and only mine.”

i just know he’d be possessive about you in every aspect. you making small convo with the man at the bakery and he’s just there looking at him with a smug. at the gym where he towers you and covers you from anyone’s view. when taking a mirror selfie he places a hand around ur waist or on your boob. “gotta remind them, that’s all.”

on a rainy day he’s extra snuggly. you’d spend your day cleaning and then lay on the couch. make cookies and light his favorite candle. as much as he loves being big spoon, he feel safe and sound in ur arms. christian’s head on your chest while you draw small shapes on his back.

he knows how anxious you can get especially when it’s a place that’s super crowded so he’d tell you to trace his tattoos, and kissing ur temple every now and then. “trace them baby. distract yourself from them. it’s just me and you... i love you prettygirl.”

he’s a super private person like you, so date nights at home are special to him. you teaching him how to cut the vegetables required, telling him to mix the food in the pan/ pot. when everything is done, he grabs ur hand and brings you into him, dancing softly in the kitchen, hearing him sing to you.

when visiting the states, he takes you on his boat, spending the whole day swimming, reading, playing chess bc he taught you, and then helping him grill (bc he’s a grilling dad at heart). you would take pictures of him in the sunset, lay together with a blanket keeping you warm, and kiss him bc you truly can’t help it. “so handsome baby. cant get enough of you…”

christian bf where he gives you his jersey to wear and expect you to show it off. it drives him insane, especially when ur hair is up and it gives him a view of you small ear tattoo and on your neck as well. when ur alone he would definitely kiss them and just be in a horny mood. “yk how much i love when ur hair is up y/n… especially with my name on ur back. ur killing me out there.”

when the two of you can’t sleep, you spend hours discussing ur futures together. the two of you sacrificing to stay together, so anywhere he goes you go. talks about having kids, owning a ranch looking home, a big dog to protect you and the kids when he isn’t home. taking more vacations, to places YOU want to go to. “anything and anywhere you want, baby. you name it and i’ll give it to you.”

bf christian where he kisses your knuckles randomly, and you blushing bc it causes you off guard.

when he sleep you just fall deep in concentration at his beautiful face. ur eyes drawing back and forth from his small scars, to his freckles which you adore. the moles, the faint wrinkles, his stubble 😵‍💫

you begging him not to shave but he still does so bc he loves seeing you all pouty and moody. “sorry baby, but i just hate it.”

getting a tattoo that’s sort of dedicated to you. and when he finally tells you he’s just laughing at ur shocked face.

i just know when he’s drunk, he’s constantly wanting attention, doing things to show off, making you laugh by his dad jokes, and just being all soft and gentle. “baby watch this… i bet you haven’t heard this one… just hold me, need to feel you against me…”

him just praising you for everything, “good girl princess… being such a good girl for me… look at you baby, doing so good for me…”

him handing you his hoodies bc of how easily you get cold. knowing he gets mad when you stick ur cold toes in his warm skin, groaning at the contact. “baby! no pls stop… it feels cold.”

christian bf where he buys you the book you add to ur wishlist and when you’d ask how he knew, he would confess that he just knows. but since he loves spoiling you, he would look through that list specifically.

CHRISTIAN WEARING JEWELRY 😵‍💫😵‍💫 a watch specifically, or rings and it makes you go insane.

bc christian purposely wearing no shirt when around you, watching how you get all shy and innocent, but you just adore his back muscles, and his abs. dragging your small hand around his soft and warm skin, knowing he will get goosebumps.

bf christian having to wake up early for training, so he leaves notes for you reminding you how much he loves you, stuff you need for the house, or that he left coffee/ breakfast for you.

bf christian always being down to watch old movies with you. but instead of watching the movies he just pays attention to your eyes growing wide at ur favorite scenes or lines, ur smiles growing wide, holding you when you hysterically cry at certain scenes.

christian bf becoming so sad and scared that he’s going to lose you one day, even crying bc he never wants to let you go. “i can’t help it baby. if you were to ever leave idk if i could cope without you. pls promise me you won’t leave me? ever? i love you babygirl. want you all to myself.”

these are all i could come up with for now :( but i want to make another one bc i enjoyed making this one!! sorry if it’s short but this is how i picture bf christian 🤭❣️

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic concepts #christian pulisic one shot

257 notes · View notes

c0stass · 5 months

Text

Right Now You're Feeling Helpless

(REVISED VERSION)

So I sent the story to my friend and he kinda rewrote it for me. He's a way better writer than I haha. Enjoy!!

Content warning: bondage/dominance, rough sex, aftercare, sadism, masochism, teasing, cussing, dirty talk, pain, nsfw, 18+, mark hoffman x reader, p in v penetration, possible cnc??? Literally just straight up porn w little context bc i can't write anything else lmao.

Just another Thank-Hell- it's Friday night.. Laying alone on your bed, waiting on your partner to get home..it'll be late again. He's investigating the latest Jigsaw murder. It has become much more difficult to disguise his planning of this particular murder, hard for him to fly under the radar. You'd peeked in his drawer earlier in the day. The drawings of it made you feel some type of raw and savage way. There was something about how the person was suspended that was more than just slightly arousing.

The thin tank top feels perfectly tight and totally matches with your sexy black underwear. You lay back on the bed, closing your eyes as your fingertips graze your already rock-hard nipples.

Mark hated it when you pleased yourself without him there, but you figured he wouldn't be home for another hour or two. You are too excited for him right now to wait. Since he hates it, in a way, you love it because he will always respond by being so rough with you.. And he was so good at it. Anticipation of the punishment he will visit upon you makes the excitement grow to an unbearable level. The urge to touch yourself is unstoppable now.

Lifting your tank top with one hand, your other hand moves down your body and slips between your legs. You've just barely started to think about him, but you're already getting so wet..clear silky liquid is dripping down your pussy lips and the crack of your ass. Fuck, you need it so much right now!

Pulling off your panties, you drop them on the floor next to you. Then your tank top. Closing your eyes and moaning softly, yearning for him to pound you as you slide your fingers in between your soaking wet lips, you gasp for breath at the first touch of your wet hole. Completely absorbed in the thought of being filled by him, you don't even hear him come in or notice him standing at the foot of the bed, watching.

"What the hell is this?" He demands.

Your eyes snap open, and you gasp, quickly pulling your glistening wet hand from between your legs.

"Mark! I-"

"You just couldnt wait for me to get home, could you?"

His shoes, jacket, and tie were already off, and he's working on unbuttoning his shirt.

"I wasn't expecting you for a couple more hours, and I just couldn't wait!" You stammered as he quickly finished getting undressed, his eyes piercing into your soul with the dark intensity that betrays the power he is about to unleash in you.

Like lightning, he climbs on top of you, pinning you down. You gasp in instinctual fear but are quickly overcome with exhilaration by his power and although you are momentarily scared, you also feel a sense of comfort as his weight bears down on you, his legs spreading out on top of yours, and his feet pushing your ankles into the mattress, making you fully unable to move. He was already rock hard and throbbing right against your sensitive clit, the pre-cum dripping out making it hard for the tip of his cock to stay still, it slips with pressure against your throbbing clit.

"I don't care, you wait for me," he said, sinking his thick cock deep inside you. As it fills you inch by inch, seeming to continue stretching deeper and deeper inside..you cry out in pleasure.

His hands are wrapped around your wrists tightly, holding them on either side of your head. His knees hold your thighs down. You are sure to have bruises later.. but dont care. His hips are resting against yours, and he is deep inside you. He's not moving at all, chuckilng as you struggle against him and whine, desperate for just a little friction. He just smiles down at you, absolutely loving observing you like this. As he bends down, pushing his bare chest against yours, his deep voice in your ear:

"Right now, you're feeling helpless."

Every one of your nerve endings is hypersensitive. Between the sharp pain in your wrists and thighs, his warm skin against yours, and let's not forget the feeling of his lips grazing your ear slightly, you can't help but let a moan escape your lips. In response, he nibbles your earlobe gently.

Mark isn't just teasing you, but himself as well. More than anything the man wanted to just fuck the hell out of you until you couldn't walk. But he is savoring how needy, desperate, and defenseless you are.

"Mark... please... I need to feel you..." You whine. Feeling him throbbing against your walls wasn't enough. He hasn't moved at all except to shove himself inside you, but you could already feel a pool of wetness collecting on the sheet as you continue trying desperately to writhe and wriggle for the slightest feel of his shaft moving inside of you.

He moves your arms over your head, crossing your wrists and holding them with one hand. His other hand made its way to your neck, his fingertips squeezing on the sides gently..but very firmly.

"How does this feel?," he asks softly, his deep voice in your ear making you shudder.

"Fuck.." You gasp for breath, overwhelmed by the symphony of sensation overtaking your soul.

He leans into your chest again, tightening his grip on your wrists but letting your neck go as his other hand slowly travels down your body. Breathing heavily into your ear, his roughly calloused hand cups your right breast, squeezing it with pleasure for you both.

"You're so pretty," he whispers in your ear as he moves his knees off your legs. You breathe a sigh of relief because, though you didn't wanna say anything, it was actually pretty painful. You said nothing, not because you were scared of his reaction..you trust Mark with your life. You just love how he has you pinned like that. And you know he enjoys it too.

Gently releasing your wrists, he tells you to stay put and to close your eyes. You do, and let out a noise that sounded like a moan and a whine at the same time as he gets off the bed, pulling his dick out of your dripping hole. The sudden empty feeling leaves you feeling needy as you hear a metallic clicking noise. You feel him pulling you up the bed and more metallic clicking noises as you feel something hard and cold around your wrists. Opening your eyes, you realise he's handcuffed you to the metal bars of the bed frame.

You look at Mark, whose eyes are full of lust as he looks at you for a moment, just taking in the sight of you. Biting your lip and smiling, your eyes travel over his naked body.

You aren't saying anything, but begging with your eyes. Taking advantage of that, he starts stroking his cock, still slick with your juices. Looking you in the eyes, he moans and bites his lip.

You're struggling against the cuffs, moving your hips, and opening your legs. Wanting him so bad, hating how he's teasing you, but loving it at the same time. You feel like a bratty little spoiled fuckhole just waiting for it.

Another moan escapes his lips as you stare at him, your pussy is twitching watching him stroke his thick cock.

"Mark," you moan, pleading, "please..."

"Mmmm y/n you sound so desperate.. I love it." He spits on his hand and jerks his cock faster, looking at you.

Feeling your juices drip down between your ass cheeks, you pull so hard on the cuffs that you feel like they're going to cut you. Your nipples are still rock hard and your pussy is throbbing, aching for his cock. You rub your thighs together, desperate for just a little stimulation.

"Tell me what you want," he groans, his voice shaky, still stroking himself.

"I want you... to fuck me...." You say.

"Yeah? Beg me."

"Please... please fuck me...." You whine, wigging your hips.

"Mmm," is all he says in response.

"Fuck me hard.. please... I need your cock," you cry out, barely able to take any more teasing.

"Not good enough." He smirks at you, loving hearing you beg.

"Give me your fucking cock, Mark!" You yell desperately, like you're going to die if he doesn't fuck you.

"Fuuuuck," he groans, gripping his cock tight, drops of pre cum starting to leak from the tip.

"Fuck you Mark, you're doing this on purpose," you cry, closing your eyes, the throbbing in your pussy becoming too much to bare.

In the 2 seconds that your eyes are closed, Mark is on top of you, roughly shoving his cock deep inside your needy cunt.

"FUCK!" You yell, surprised, "fuck me, please, fuck me!"

His hands are spreading your thighs apart, his fingertips digging into your skin as he thrusts himself in and out.

He fucks you hard and deep, low groans emitting from his lips as his balls slam against you.

"Oh my fucking god... Mark... I'm gonna..." before you know it, an orgasm rips through your whole body. Mark had you really worked up, but you weren't aware of how much until he was actually inside you.

But he keeps the same pace, acting like he didn't even notice your whole body shaking or you screaming in pleasure or your pussy gripping his throbbing cock tightly. He just gripped your thighs harder and kept going.

"Fuck yeah y/n, cum on my fucking cock," he growled, not seeming to be the least bit tired.

A hand released your thigh only to squeeze your left tit, causing you to cry out in pleasure. The hand slowly and firmly made its way to your throat again, as he slowed his pace.

"Fuck," he moans, looking down at his cock, covered in your slick juices. Still pounding you, he leans over you kissing you deeply. You flex, tightening your pussy around his cock as your legs start to shake.

"Goddamn!" He yells, pulling away from the kiss. Spitting into his fingers, he reaches down and rubs your clit. You moan loudly, feeling another orgasm approaching.

Pulling hard on the cuffs, you lose total control and scream as you cum, this orgasm more intense than the last one. Mark pinches your nipples hard. The pain mixed with the pleasure leaves you overwhelmed as you wrap your legs tight around him, trying to slow him down because you're too sensitive now.

Reading your body language, he slows down. You know he would never do anything to hurt you, and he is great at reading you. He is a dominant sadist, but also quick to stop and comfort you the second you need it.

He takes that chance to catch his breath as he slowly moves his hips back and forth. Your breath is shaky as you come down, your legs loosening from his waist and resting on either side of you.

"Do you want me to continue?" He asks after a few seconds, seeing that you've calmed down.

You look at him, taking a few seconds to catch your breath, then nod.

He leans forward and kisses you as he starts going a little faster, at first, then gradually picking up speed.

"Fuck yes, mark don't stop!" You wail as he grabs your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back. He's fucking you so hard now that the bed frame is banging against the wall.

"I'm not fucking stopping," he groans in your ear. You wrap your legs around his thick waist, raising your hips, taking in as much of him as you can.

"God y/n you feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.. fuck..." he moaned in your ear. Even his voice makes you feel so hot.

"Fuck yeah Mark.. it's all for you..."

He puts his hands on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back. Your hips are raised and you can see his cock moving in and out of you.

"Watch me fuck your sweet pussy..." he whispers, looking you in the eyes.

You closed your eyes, drowning in the pleasure, and he quickly grabbed your hair, forcing you to look.

"Fucking watch me pound your pussy!" He barked.

"Fuck.. mark..." You cried.

"Cum for me one more time y/n.. you know you want to..."

He knows your one weakness, hearing him tell you to cum usually makes you cum.

As he held your head with one hand and your leg next to you against the bed with the other, you felt the orgasm creeping up once again.

"Oh my god.. cum with me Mark... please... fill me up," you whined.

"Beg me," he said harshly, "beg for cum."

"Please give me your fucking cum mark.. fill me up... please..."

He fucked you harder and deeper, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs, changing position ever so slightly so you could feel his balls with each deep stroke..

"Fuck yeah tight sexy hole.. squeeze like that... fuck!" He hollered out.

Your whole body shook as you had an orgasm way more intense this time, as you felt his hot cum shooting inside you. His muscles tensed, and he pulled on your hair so hard it was a little more than you wanted.. for just a split second.

You scream his name followed by a string of cuss words as he thrusts deep a couple more times to get every last drop of his cum out, his eyes staring into yours as you become one with the pleasure that you gave created together. Breathing heavily, he finally releases your leg and hair, collapsing on top of you, his head laying on its side on your heaving breasts as he bites your nipple between his teeth and holds it there..

"Shit, you're amazing," he sighs, kissing you deeply before reaching for the key to undo your cuffs.

You groan as you stretch your arms out, and he rolls over off of you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, rubbing your wrists and thighs where he held you down. His fingers tracing the deep indents from the handcuffs, "I didn't mean to make them so tight..."

"Yes," you reply, rolling over to face him, "you know I don't mind when you're rough with me."

"Then maybe next time, I'll put you in a trap," he chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear and kissing your lips, enjoying the pressure from your always hungry little mouth.

"Hey now," you playfully smack his arm, "...maybe later."

You both giggle as you pull the blankets over your sweaty bodies.

You cuddle into his chest, and he kisses your forehead and slides his left hand down into your ass cheek, holding it firmly with enjoyment. Sighing happily, you wonder what he has in store for you tomorrow, as you both drift off to sleep.

#saw #detective hoffman #mark hoffman #costas mandylor #mark hoffman x reader #fanfic #sawposting #smut

134 notes · View notes

silverskye13 · 14 days

Note

how did you get the confidence to write fanfiction? i always worry that i won't portray the characters properly so any ideas or wants to write fanfics that i have go away or i talk myself out of it :(

Well! First and foremost: Most people don't start writing,,,, anything with confidence. Let alone fanfic, where you know other people are going to be looking at it, with their own ideas of how the characters are supposed to act and feel influencing what they're coming to the story with. My first fanfic I was very insecure, which I feel like was evident, reading through the author's notes now. Apologies whenever something that required a lot of suspension of disbelief happened, a poll so readers could decide the ending so I wouldn't disappoint anybody, only to end in me writing and posting three different endings. Long justifications for why I chose certain things in the author's notes. The fic nowadays reads to me like a very rough apology.

"Hi I'm sorry I tried. Be kind I'm very scared."

But the thing about writing that fic was, it was the writerly equivalent of jumping into the deep end of the pool for the first time. After I bobbed back to the surface and realized a shark hadn't like, taken my legs off while I was down there, jumping in again got easier. And kept getting easier. And now I just write and post things.

There's kind of two schools of thought that I've seen people subscribe to, when it comes to taking the first leap. The one that's really popular around here on Tumblr is: Do it scared. It is simple and straightforward. You are scared. You will be scared. You probably never won't be scared. So do it scared. Write your thing, close your eyes and hit send [either to post it or to share it with one or two friends, or even just hitting the "save" button and not deleting it]. Get scared, do it, close your eyes, finish. When you open your eyes again and nothing terrible has happened, you can breathe a sigh of relief and do it scared again. It's a little nerve-wracking at first, but the idea is giving your mind the association of jumping and not falling. I did it and I didn't fail, therefore it is safe to do it again.

The other school of thought [the one I specifically subscribe to] is: Do it once. What you think or feel about it doesn't matter. What matters is you did it once. Maybe it will be hell, or it'll suck terribly. Maybe you're really excited! And it turns out great! Maybe its a wild ride of ups and downs, and by the end you need a few months to catch your breath and decide if it was worth it. Regardless: you did it once. Now you know, if you want to, you can do it again. Now you can decide if its worth doing again. For me, the euphoria of finishing a project always far outweighs the trouble getting there, so the step forward of "Do it once" is powerful for me. And that can be broken down too. "Write one chapter." "Draw one drawing." "Clean one room in the house." There is no pressure to continue if its really that terrible, but you at least get to decide if one was worth it [and a solid 9 times out of 10, one was worth it enough to do it more.]

Now, all that said, if what you're worried about is writing the characters right and nothing else -- don't worry too much. Most people care less about how true to life the characters are, and care a lot more about consistency in the story. An example from RnS: In canon, Helsknight is a cartoonish villain with one motivation, and that motivation is taking over hermitcraft Doofenschmirtz style. To date, no one has come into my inbox demanding I change him, because he's so OOC he's basically an OC at this point. What people have come into my inbox about though, is "Hey, you established X in this chapter, but he said Y in this chapter. Was there a reason for that?" which is them saying, "Why didn't you keep your character consistent?" If you tell your audience what the expectations are for the story and you stick with them, they will stop caring about OOC moments and characterizations, and will trust you're going somewhere with your writing. Suspension of disbelief, your powerful friend! They put the world on their shoulders and carry and everybody watches and claps.

If you're also worried about consistency, then start out with one shots! There's a lot less room for error, no large, sweeping character arcs to keep track of. And stringing a bunch of one-shots together can give you practice with character consistency and progression without committing to something massive and overarching. If you're truly worried about making the characters exactly like Canon [or the Canon in your head], I recommend making little lists of character traits, or important things you want to keep in mind. At that point you're scared of your own consistency, and you just need a framework to keep yourself consistent enough for yourself, if that makes sense?

Hopefully! This helps! Sorry I'm a little scattered today :'D

#answering asks #caramelcoatednightmares #writing advice #fanfic advice #longpost #the barking writer #im very sleepy and still thinking about soup #i think maybe i'm just very thirsty

78 notes · View notes

gothgleek · 7 months

Text

Alicent based on this post about Modest!Alicent by @dirtytransmasc

Details under the cut

-I was obsessed with the veiled pieces that OP mentioned and I loved the image of her in gold veils that looked like she was dripping in gold.

- The veils are based on Catholic veils (specifically and 4), medieval head coverings like ones worn in Ophelia 2018 and wimples (2 and 6), Star Wars (5), and the Tudor period (7). Most of them are sheer because one, I couldn’t figure out how to wrap them around her head without her looking like a blob of color and when it did look okay she looked like she was wearing a hijab and it felt too appropriative to draw on Alicent. This is also why her hair is visible in most of them but in practice she would cover them with thicker fabric.

- Alicent wears long billowing sleeves with heavy skirts. OP said that Alicent would wear dresses that conceal her figure which I tried to maintain but some have a shapelier silhouette as it looked better with my art style. I hope one day I will be able to draw modest clothing without making someone look like a blob but I’m not there yet.

- Dress 1 is inspired by the series Isabel 2011, which from what I’ve seen has some nice costumes. It also gave me a good base for something historical and modest but still luxurious.

- The second is based on Lady Macbeth and Ophelia in the Ophelia movie. I debated on adding braids but I think Alicent would’ve worn them. They’re neat, mature, and somewhat conservative hairstyle while also giving her an opportunity to wear more accessories which is expected of her as a queen. I know OP said modest but irl royalty had to wear extravagant clothes to prove their status and with the pressure of civil war and being the second wife, Alicent would certainly wear luxurious jewelry while staying simple compared to the rest of the Targaryens. The beads are Targ inspired as she would also need to embrace Valeryian styles to stay in Viserys’s favor.

- This side view of Alicent has the deepest neckline because that is what worked best for a side view. I also noticed Catholic veils tended to have patterns so I added simple gold flowers. The dress is medieval based.

- What sparked my artistic interest was OP’s descriptions of the veils so I had to do a dedicated work with a veil in the spotlight. In the original post, it was mentioned that Alicent would wear shawls with tapestry like designs. I couldn’t think of anything that would look good with fabric folds and creases but on a lace veil? I could definitely do that. Tbh it’s not my favorite design (Helaena’s was my favorite) but I think it represents Alicent’s loyalties pretty well. I’m personally pleased with how the dragons and tower came out.

- I don’t care about Star Wars but some of Padme’s outfits have screamed Alicent to me since the beginning. The golden lace veil with pearls is the centerpiece so her dress is much more toned down.

- This is again based on Ophelia’s costuming and on OP saying Alicent appears to be dripping in gold wearing golden veils. I added jewelry shaped like the Hightower sigil with green gems decorating it.

- OP mentioned shawls with tassels and patterns so I had to add them onto the last dress. Well, I had fur instead of tassels but the statement still stands. I also tried to make the veil based on Spanish mantillas but it never turned out correct so I kept it simple. The dress is a mix of Alexander McQueen Fall 2011 and the Tudors era.

#alicent hightower #house of the dragon #HOTD #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #alicent targaryen #heleana targaryen #fashion history #asoiaf clothing #fantasy costumes #mine #asoiaf hair and clothing #team green #pro team green #pro green

155 notes · View notes

misshoneyimhome · 4 months

Note

The new chapter of your intern series just ignite more thirsty thots I don’t know if the intern can answer questions from journalist but how will Willy react to the OC being a menace/boss on mic handling the journalists I feel this will ignite a breeding kink and overstimulation kink. Bonus points fans simp on social media and his reaction towards it considering he needed to get rid of the guy she went on date with.

Alright, love, this really got me thinking - and how could I not exploit the recent situation involving our cherished Willy boy? 🙈🤍

Now it might have taken a softer turn than I first expected, but I hope it still encapsulates your idea 😉 A lot of Nylander family vibes going on

[and in case you were wondering who took that family photo in the park - it was intern 😂]

Warnings; 18+ smut; oral sex (f receiving); fingering; unprotected sex;

Word count: 4.3K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Old, but I'm not that old - Young, but I'm not that bold I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️ [intern x willy]

"Wait your turn, one at a time!" your voice echoed across the room.

However, the journalists were swarming like hungry vultures. The atmosphere was pure chaos as the media session was about to commence, and you were short-handed to manage it all. To add to the tumult, the announcement of William Nylander's contract extension was imminent, stirring up pandemonium throughout the arena's corridors.

Naturally, every reporter wanted a slice of the Swedish hockey star, and in their desperate thirst for information, they were attacking anything and everything within reach.

With all hands-on deck, the staff was occupied with the preparations for today's training session and media obligations. Thus, you found yourself tasked with wrangling the journalists, keeping them at bay until everyone was ready for the big announcement.

But it was easier said than done.

As an intern, you typically wouldn't be directly handling the press, usually working in the background, taking notes, or occasionally guiding them to the players. However, on this day, you were thrust into the heart of the media chaos.

"Please, bear with us! Just a few more minutes," you urged, striving to maintain composure and assert control over the situation.

"Can't you give us anything?" a man's voice boomed across the room, drawing everyone's attention towards you, assuming you were the one to provide answers, as it appeared as if there was no one else present to address their inquiries.

"Sorry, I'm not the one to disclose that information. It's for the managers to announce," you responded with a friendly smile, positioned in front of the microphones and cameras.

This situation was definitely unfamiliar to you.

You weren't used to being in the spotlight with the press, but you were giving your utmost to maintain a professional demeanour.

"When will William Nylander be coming out?" a woman's voice called from the back.

"Just a few minutes more," you reassured.

"You said that a few minutes ago! Come on, what's the news on the extension? Is he staying in Toronto? What's his new salary?"

The gunfire of questions continued, and you were more than aware of the need to be cautious with your responses. Despite the swirl of rumours, debates, and discussions already going on in the media, you knew better than to offer any breadcrumbs. Speaking to the press wasn't your usual role, but Jennifer had entrusted this task to you, and her trust bolstered your confidence.

And as the relentless questioning swirled around you, and the pressure mounted to keep everyone on standby until Nylander and the players were ready to address the media, you relied on your instincts.

"William Nylander's contract extension has been in the works for quite some time. It's only fair to allow them the necessary time to finalise any crucial details. Moreover, pressuring me to answer questions I'm not privy to won't quicken the provision of information. Please, have patience and wait for those who can furnish you with accurate responses. It'll make the process smoother for all of us. Thank you," you asserted, your voice carrying a newfound confidence that surprised even you. And interestingly, your firm stance seemed to command the respect the journalists should to have shown.

In fact, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in how effectively you handled the situation. Maybe you should put "Media Boss Ass Bitch" onto your resume?

And as soon as you’d managed to calm down the press, Jennifer stepped in and announced that Coach Keefe would now be addressing them. Despite feeling confident in your ability to handle the situation, a sense of relief washed over you as you stepped out of the spotlight and returned to your usual spot behind the press.

Just as you settled back into your familiar space, a certain Swedish forward joined you, waiting for his turn to face the media.

"Damn, you handled them so well, baby," he whispered softly behind you, trying not to attract too much attention.

"Thanks, Willy," you replied with a soft smile, keeping your focus on the task at hand.

"I swear, that turned me on like crazy, y/n/n..."

His seductive words, spoken in a husky whisper, sent a shiver down your spine, and you had to suppress a gasp.

"Not here... not now, Willy," you whispered back firmly, though both of you knew it was futile. William had a way of exerting a certain power over you, capable of rendering you helpless with just a few sweet words.

"No, but later, babe," he casually replied, walking past you and offering a cheeky wink before taking his place in front of the media.

A tremendous rush surged through your body, as you were more than proud of William. And it wasn't just because he was an incredibly talented hockey player deserving of every bit of praise; it was also about how remarkably well he handled it all. For months, the media had relentlessly pressured him for hints about the negotiations, yet he remained cool and composed throughout the ordeal.

He had a natural knack for keeping his composure in tough situations, unruffled by external influences. He stayed focused on his game, and above all, his unwavering confidence was unshakeable. Regardless of losses or games where he hadn't scored or assisted, his self-assurance remained resolute. It was just a part of his personality.

He had proven to the entire hockey world that he deserved every compliment and penny. And what impressed you most was that despite his confidence, he never came across as arrogant. He knew his worth and carried himself accordingly, plain and simple.

And as the intense day of media commitments, practice, and team celebrations came to an end, you felt drained as the workday drew to a close.

But as you thought the day was winding down, a sudden collision brought you back to attention, and you mentally scolded yourself for not paying closer attention to your surroundings.

"I'm so sorry, sir," you immediately apologised. And when looking up, you were met with a familiar, somewhat smug face - only older and with less hair. It was Michael Nylander.

"It's okay," he simply smiled. "Maybe you can tell me where I can find my son William?"

"Yeah, of course. I think he's still in the locker room," you replied with a smile, attempting to maintain a composed demeanour. "I could show you the way if you'd like?"

"Oh, I'm good, I know my way around here," Michael chuckled before bidding you goodbye.

"Nice one, y/n," you muttered to yourself, realising he probably knew his way around the arena like the back of his hand, having been here countless times.

And as your work for the day then concluded, a vision caught your eye, prompting a shift in your plans for the evening. William was engaged in a heartfelt conversation with his close family members, apart from Alex, who was in Pittsburgh.

In your head, you had initially contemplated surprising him tonight, dressed to the nines, to celebrate his contract extension. However, witnessing this intimate family moment had you change your mind, yet you couldn’t help but stop and stare, smiling as you appreciated how endearing he was with his family.

But before you could collect your thoughts, you were interrupted.

William approached you, his soft voice breaking through your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey yourself," you smiled softly in return.

"So, I was wondering if you had any plans tonight?" His voice carried a hint of softness and nervousness as his gaze met yours intensely.

"Well, I had planned on giving you a proper celebration," you chuckled lightly. "But seeing that your family is here, I suppose that'll have to wait until we're alone..."

Though there was no one nearby, both of you kept your voices low and tried to maintain composure, careful not to draw attention.

"How about you come out with us tonight?" he suggested with a gentle smile.

"Like you mean, you and your family?" you asked, somewhat taken aback, which earned a light nod and a chuckle from William.

"Yeah, we're having dinner later... and I'd like for you to join us," he said, flashing a confident smile.

"Do you think that's a bit risky?" you questioned, feeling a bit hesitant.

But William shook his head, pausing for a moment as he considered his words. "No, I mean, everyone on the team already knows... besides, I really want to introduce you. You know, as my girlfriend," he whispered softly, unintentionally sending another shiver down your spine.

Girlfriend?

The word made you smile, resonating in your mind, and prompting a gentle nod from you.

"Alright..." you replied, offering him a sweet smile, which in turn earned a proud grin from him before he returned to his family.

"Oh! So, this is y/n!" Stephanie exclaimed with excitement as you greeted the Nylanders at William's condo.

"The one and only," you softly chuckled, stepping into the spacious living room where the whole family had already gathered, with Michael busy in the kitchen and William's sister relaxing on the sofa. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Despite a hint of nervousness within you, being in their company somehow made you immediately feel at ease.

"Don't be so formal!" Camilla chuckled, pulling you in for a warm hug. "You're family now," she said, flashing you a warm smile, before turning to William, who stood beside you. "You, on the other hand, are in great trouble, young boy..."

And William couldn't help but chuckle at his mother's teasing scolding.

During their visit to Toronto prior to the contract extension negotiations, William had confessed everything about your relationship. From your status as an intern to the complications of a relationship that was likely frowned upon by management, to how he felt jealous when he saw you on a date with someone else.

For some time now, especially after the Sweden tour, William had yearned to share the news about you. As he as someone not used to being in a committed relationship, he felt a sense of pride in finally being able to introduce you to his entire family as someone he’s romantically involved with.

Naturally, he’d told the story in his signature nonchalant, laid-back manner. Nevertheless, he wholeheartedly admitted to how he had fallen in love with you and pursued you at every opportunity.

And it seemed that William's family welcomed you with open arms. Despite teasing him for being a flirt and playfully scolding him for falling for someone he shouldn't have, they showed unwavering support for your relationship, recognising how happy you made him.

"So, must be nice to know he's going to stick around for a while?" his mother commented during dinner.

"Very much so," you replied, offering her a warm smile, quickly meeting William’s eyes as you shared a smile.

Truth be told, you felt like a part of the family right away. They were all so kind and sweet. And after enjoying Michael's delicious meal, you all went for a walk with the dogs, taking in the wintry scenery of Toronto.

Then as William observed how effortlessly you bonded with his family; a newfound desire slowly grew within him. Something that had been triggered earlier that day, as he’d witnessed your confidence and strength - a desire to spend his life with you and possibly start a family of your own one day.

Your laughter harmonising with his sisters' as you strolled through the park felt like sweet music to him. Watching you share stories and details about yourself with them made his heart flutter in a way he hadn't experienced before.

And when it was time to bid each other farewell, as the family headed back to the hotel, Camilla embraced you once more and offered heartfelt words.

"It's good that he's finally found someone like you... please be good to my little boy."

All you could do was return her sentiment with a sweet smile.

"I'd want nothing more."

Those words rang with absolute truth. Being with William felt more natural and right than anything else you had experienced before. Now that he had officially introduced you to his family, the only remaining step was for you to finish this internship, allowing you both to be together publicly and officially.

And upon returning to the condo, radiant smiles adorned both your faces.

"What?" you chuckled, noticing William's expression.

"Nothing... I'm just happy you got along so well with my family," he smiled, pulling you into his arms in the quiet living room, after the family's laughter and chatter had settled.

"Did you doubt that I would?" you teased, wearing a smug expression.

"Never..." William replied simply before leaning in for a deep kiss.

It seemed seeing you with his family had stirred something within him. As your lips connected and his hands rested on your hips while yours played with his hair at the nape of his neck, he felt a rush of excitement, an unexpected arousal building within him. Both of you lost yourselves in the embrace, exchanging deep kisses that grew increasingly passionate. Tongues intertwined, and the intensity escalated as you held each other close, the atmosphere growing more heated, and the anticipation palpable.

You gently tugged on his long hair, not wanting to release him completely before pulling back slightly to catch your breath.

"Bedroom... now," William whispered, and you eagerly nodded in response.

In mere moments, you were both undressing each other, exchanging passionate kisses in between, scattering clothing across the room. And soon, you found yourselves on the bed, completely naked.

William was particularly hungry tonight, his goal to make you cum until you lost count, eventually feeling overstimulated as he reached his own peak. And his preferred method involved moving down between your legs, his mouth meeting your sweet, honey-filled centre as his tongue explored.

Unrestrained moans filled the room as the intense pleasure of William's mouth on your most sensitive areas overwhelmed you, rendering you speechless. Your mind grew hazy as the day's stress melted away, allowing you to relax fully and succumb to his touch.

William firmly held onto your thighs, passionately kissing your lips while skilfully alternating between flicking your sensitive bud and teasing your entrance with his tongue.

"Willy," you gasped, sensing a rush building within you.

Undeterred, William continued his oral attentions, watching intently as you closed your eyes, tilting your head back, and gripping his hair tighter with your hand.

He felt rather satisfied with his ability to make you feel this way.

And sensing your approaching climax, he then inserted two fingers into your core, gently massaging and stimulating your walls, as he pushed you over the edge into a mind-blowing orgasm that escaped your lips amidst heavy, incomprehensible breaths.

As you reached the peak, your back arched and then relaxed into the mattress. Opening your eyes, you gazed down at William between your legs, who responded with a broad smile. Then rising from his position, he leaned over to kiss you.

The moment was tender and intimate as you tasted yourself on his beard, your tongues intertwining while William pressed his body against yours and you pulled him closer by his neck.

But he wasn't finished with you yet. He believed you deserved much more pleasure after being so amazing throughout the day.

So, while hovering over you, William snaked an arm between your bodies, finding your core and slowly circling your clit, eliciting soft moans from you once more.

Your eyes locked intensely as the sounds escaping you made it impossible for you to connect your mouth with his. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as another slow build-up began in your lower abdomen while William continued to rub his fingers against your nerves.

"God, baby," you cried out, prompting William to adjust his touch. He withdrew his fingers and reinserted them into your heat, curling them upwards and starting a rhythmic pumping motion, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly. The sounds of your arousal thrilling him, as he knew you were close to coming undone.

And just a few more thrusts were needed as his fingers stimulated your walls, and you felt yourself letting go once again, a shiver coursing through as the rush of orgasm overtook you.

You had already experienced two intense orgasms, and you sensed that William wasn't entirely finished. He barely allowed you time to recover before shifting his position, leaning back on his knees and lifting your legs, aligning the tip of his cock with your dripping entrance.

"Willy, please," you whimpered as he pushed himself in, stretching you further than his fingers had done, your hands clutching the sheets on each side of your head. You almost felt violated if it wasn't for the overwhelming pleasure, he was giving you. His hands on your thighs held you in place as he began rocking his hips, letting his length glide in and out of you.

Typically, you wouldn't reach climax so quickly after on another in one night, but perhaps it was the tension from the week's accumulated stress being released, or maybe it was William's skilled touch that made you see stars. Nevertheless, as his cock filled you so well and William resumed circling your clit while thrusting into you, and you couldn't help but surrender to another rush of orgasm.

It became overwhelming for you. William was pushing you to the brink of overstimulation, and he was very well aware of it.

Your core was completely soaked around his cock, and you felt the muscles in your lower abdomen tighten as he continued his thrusts. Your involuntary reactions showed him just how good he was making you feel and how much pleasure each thrust brought.

"Fuck, baby, you're so perfect for me," William moaned, almost breathless as he neared his own peak. The sight of you beneath him, your breasts moving in sync with his rhythm, and the fact that you couldn't even keep your eyes closed drove him wild.

"I can't..." you muttered, and William sensed it was almost too much, which only drove him to increase his pace. Releasing your thighs, he leaned over your body, supporting himself with his arms on either side of your head as he intensified his thrusts.

"Yes, baby, I'm going to come..." he gasped, feeling your tightness around him. But at that point, you were unable to control your body and beat him to it. Allowing yourself to reach that intense climax, you writhed beneath him, your cunt squirting on his cock as he too let out a deep grunt. Beads of sweat trickled down William's forehead as he reached his own climax, filling you with his cum and pumping a few more times to ensure he had emptied completely.

After a few moments, both of you slowly emerged from your euphoric state, and William carefully withdrew and gently settled beside you. Breathless, he wrapped an arm around you, encouraging you to nestle into his broad chest, where you rested your head, playing with a few strands of his hair.

"Shit, baby, that was amazing," he said softly, running his fingers through your hair as you gazed up at him.

"It truly was, Willy..." You flashed him a content smile, your eyes gleaming with satisfaction and happiness as you lay with the man you deeply cared for. "I'm glad we could celebrate you..."

"Oh no, babe, this was all for you," William grinned.

"What? Why?" You chuckled softly, a hint of confusion in your expression.

"I just felt like you deserved it... you know, for the way you handled the media today, that was seriously hot," he said with a mischievous smirk.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, seeing you so confident really turned me on... and," William paused, lightly biting his lip as he adjusted his arm behind his head. "I couldn't help but quickly imagine how you might be a strong mother...one day."

His almost whispered words widened your eyes. Was he already imagining a future with you?

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on an elbow and gazed intensely down at him.

"Do you... do you really mean that?" you softly inquired.

"Yeah... I didn't expect to have these thoughts so soon... but seeing how talented you are and then later, when I saw you with my family... all I could think was how much I want to be with you. To have you in my life and maybe build a future together..."

His words struck a chord in your heart.

Never in a million years had you imagined sharing such a soft, intimate, romantic, and heartfelt moment with William Nylander.

Yet, as it unfolded, you realised this was precisely what you truly desired.

So, you leaned in, resting on your side, snuggling up to his side while keeping your eyes fixed on his, offering him a warm smile.

“Willy... please don’t tell me I had anything to do with your contract?” you asked tentatively.

But he simply shook his head and chuckled. “No, don’t worry... but maybe, lately, you did pull me in the right direction…”

His adorable, smug face melted your heart as much as his words did, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, I don’t mind that at all,” you softly whispered before placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

His hand then found yours, intertwining your fingers as you both relished the calm and relaxed moment post passionate sex.

"Y/n..." William then spoke.

"Yes, Willy?"

“I think I love you.”

And there it was. Words that made him walk straight in to your heart and stole it.

Your eyes flickered, darting from side to side as you searched for any signs of uncertainty. Yet, there were none.

William's words were sincere, and you couldn't help but let out a small gasp as you slowly came to the same realisation.

"I love you too," you said, flashing him a soft smile before sealing your emotions in a gentle kiss.

However, as you awoke to your alarm the following morning, you found yourself not in the embrace you had fallen asleep in. Despite the early hour, William had already left the bed. And as curiosity piqued, you made your way to the kitchen where you noticed a faint light.

There stood your boyfriend, still only in boxers, casually leaning over the counter, engrossed in his phone.

"Hey," you spoke softly, clearly interrupting his deep thoughts, as he made a sudden movement, turning slightly to meet your gaze.

"Hey," he replied, his tone cold and distant, leaving you puzzled and concerned.

"Everything alright, babe?" you inquired, your curiosity growing as you sensed something was amiss.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm all good," he replied, turning to lean against the counter as you approached him. Yet, you were far from convinced, noting his clenched jaw and intense expression.

“Willy,” you raised an eyebrow, concerned. “What’s going on?”

And realising there was no avoiding it, William let out a deep sigh and turned on his phone, showing you what he'd been watching – a video of your speech to the media from the day before.

"Seems like you’re trending almost as much as I am..." he remarked with a husky morning voice.

"Oh... why though? I mean... why?" you asked, baffled as you inspected the video more closely.

But William simply shrugged. “I don’t know... my sister just sent this to me last night…”

Although you were puzzled about why you suddenly became a hot topic, it didn't explain William’s tense behaviour.

“Willy, are you upset about it? About me getting like 15 minutes of fame?” you tried to lighten the mood with a smile, but your concern was genuine. However, William furrowed his brows and shook his head.

"What? No, not at all..."

"Then what’s wrong?" you persisted, eliciting another deep sigh from William.

"It’s just…" he struggled to put his thoughts into words, knowing they weren’t entirely rational. "Just... look at the comments…"

And so, you did.

"Damn! The Leafs got a hottie on the team!"

"Why doesn’t she do more camera time?"

"She’s like the hockey’s answer to a weather girl!"

The comments continued in a similar vein - compliments about your appearance, your presentation, and how natural you seemed on camera. All seemed to be from males.

"Wait a minute…" you suddenly spoke, the gears in your head clicking into place. "Willy… are you jealous?"

He didn’t need to utter a word for you to understand his answer. Just by observing his expression, the tightness in his jaw as you probed his feelings, you could tell. And a soft smile formed on your lips as your eyes met his, and you knew the answer.

“Hey… babe, you don’t have to be jealous,” you reassured him gently.

“I know… it’s just – they’re right! You looked so fucking good, and I can’t even tell everyone that you’re mine,” he spoke with a mixture of frustration and firmness, feeling the weight of your relationship being kept secret from the world.

“But we know that! Your friends and family know it too... Willy, it’s just a matter of a few more months, or until I'm sure that my career won’t be jeopardised if anyone found out... it’s too bold of a move," you tried to reason, approaching him gently and elegantly wrapping your hands around his neck, trying to meet his gaze.

"I just wish we could say it – then I wouldn’t care about those comments, because everyone would know you were already taken," he whispered softly, resting his head against yours.

"I know," you replied with a warm smile. "Don’t you think I'd want the whole world to know that I’m the one doing the amazing William Nylander and has him head over heels in love with me?"

And that elicited a chuckle from William. Of course, you'd want everyone to know how much he adored you.

"Fair point…" he replied with a sweet smirk. "I just love you."

“I know, and I love you too.”

#my asks #intern x willy #18+#william nylander imagine #wn88 imagine #nhl hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl smut #william nylander smut #william nylander fic

89 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 5 months

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

107 notes · View notes