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missameliep · 2 years

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Tonight I wanna hold you - Desire and Decorum AU! - Mr. Sinclaire x Hayley Parker (OC)

Book: Desire and Decorum (Modern Day AU)

Pairing: Mr. Sinclaire x Hayley Parker (OC)

Rating: G (no warnings, just general fluff and insomniac Sinclaire)

Word count: ~2.3k

Summary: Early on their relationship, Hayley Parker wants to understand why she keeps waking up to a cold spot beside her in the bed where Ernest Sinclaire should be...

Notes:

* English is not my first language; * There was no beta and no editing/revising this time, because I was in a hurry to finish it on time... so excuse any typos and the pranks autocorrect likes to pull on me... * The lyrics in italics are from the song Stop runnin’ – Liz Lokre * Mr. Sinclaire belongs to PixelBerry; and I’m borrowing Hayley Parker (OC) from the very talented @noesapphic to wish her a happy birthday. Noe, my dear friend, I dedicate this fic to you and I hope you enjoy, it's not the one I wished to gift you but that was what my brain could come up with and time allowed me to bring to life. I hope you have a lovely day! 🥳🎁🎉

“Do I snore too loud?”

Hayey’s voice resounded inside Ernest Sinclaire’s study, louder than the Brahms’ Viola Sonata playing. The man’s gaze darted from the screen of the laptop he has been staring at with one of his frowns to the woman standing by the door, wearing nothing but the button up white shirt he had on earlier tonight until it joined the pile of scattered clothes in his bedroom floor after they came back from their date.

By the stunned look in his face, the mirth peppering her voice and the joke it carried were lost on him.

“Excuse me?” he asked quietly, his voice barely raising above the song.

Barefooted, she made her way to his desk, her gaze locked on his and a smirk curling the corner of her lips. Palms splayed over the mahogany, Hayley leaned forward. The loose shirt buttoned only halfway up gave away and his gaze traveled downwards, peeking inside and he drew in a sharp breath.

Amused, she leaned further in his direction and repeated the question in a conspiratorial tone, “So, do I snore?”

Ernest shook his head slowly, removed his glasses and put them down on the desk.

She didn’t wait for a response. “Or is it something else I do that is keeping you awake?”

His eyes softened when the earlier confusion faded.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “In fact, I find your snores delightful. Like a roaring vintage Bentley.”

She laughed at his teasing and slapped his arm.

“Jerk! This was your chance to say I’m just like a kitten... no snores, just adorable curled on your chest...”

“Noted. I won’t make the same mistake ever again.” The rush of affection tinged his cheeks pink and he looked away.

How could he be such a strong and confident man when it comes to business and life smarts and still look so much like the cute introvert teenager she grew up to love?

“You better not!” she retorted, poking a finger at his shoulder with a mocking glare that caused his lips to spread even further in amusement. Leaning back against the chair, his eyes remained on her.

Despite the cuteness and teasing, Hayley was not someone to dance around uncomfortable subjects, on the contrary, she was probably more straightforward than most people were used to.

Being in this sort of unlabelled intimate relationship with Ernest Sinclaire was nothing but wishful thinking only weeks ago, and if it depended on her, she would certainly not leave to chance solving the natural awkwardness prompted by the early stage of any developing relationship and risk miscommunication or discomfort to either of them. She would never call herself a romantic at heart, but Hayley has been in love with him for so long to be too casual like she would with anyone else. In fact, were it anyone else, she would not have agreed to stay over again after waking up alone twice in his bed after he insisted she should stay the night. But this was Ernest Sinclaire they were talking about! Her heart somersaulted at the mention of his name and tightened in her chest when she considered the option of not being this close to him again. She wished he wanted her as much as she wanted him, and it was overwhelming most of the time.

Therefore, not talking about this was just getting ridiculous, like ignoring an elephant inside a room it was not supposed to be into. The third time she woke up alone in his bed brought her to the edge. She’s not needy or pushy, but her abandonment issues just kicked in whenever she woke up to find the sheets cold beside her, signaling he must have left as soon as she fell asleep. People deal with intimacy differently and if life taught her anything was that Sinclaire’s strongest suits were not his social skills... so it was up to her to clear the air.

“You know... I have no problem leaving… you just have to say the word if you ever change your mind...”

“It pleases me having you here.”

“The empty space in that bed tells me otherwise…” She jerked her thumb back in the direction of the door.

“You know I have insomnia,” his voice was even quieter, a tinge of a blush blooming in his face. “I rarely sleep more than a few hours at night...”

“I… I didn't know that...”

“Oh.” He drew in a breath and frowned as if adjusting to unexpected news. There was a hint of confusion or disappointment when he spoke next. “I assumed you knew. Since… the late-night texts and all…”

Realization dawned on her. How could she not have figured it out earlier? Being perspicacious and reading people are her thing and one of the reasons she excels at her job, but back then she never gave it much thought anyway. When they were teenagers, Ernest being five years older than her, she simply assumed that he was staying up late. Isn’t that what teenagers usually do? Haven’t we all stayed up late at some point while chatting with our friends or playing games or whatever…? So, most of their best interactions, the ones she remembers fondly about, happened during those quiet and lonely nights, meaningful heart-to-heart conversations about the way she missed her mother prompted by some tentative stupid text sent at 1 am, hoping he would be sleeping, while longing at the same time he would text her back. And he usually did. Not once he complained about the time or pointed out how improper it was, simply texting back and forth for a while, sometimes letting her in into his own affairs, a slight complain about someone they knew or the way society worked, until she finally drifted off to sleep with a smile and her mobile clutched tight against her chest.

The texts sent in the middle of the night were apparently more meaningful to him than she ever gave it credit for.

“Shouldn’t you at least try to get some sleep?” Her eyes softened and her hand rested on his cheek, cradling it gently. “It’s past 3. If you don’t go to bed soon you won’t get any rest before your alarm rings… and you’ll have a headache later...”

His face tilted a bit to the side, leaning into her touch, while his eyes gazed with adoration. The way he looked at her made it too hard to hate the fact she knew so much about his routine already and about him in general. But how could she not know? Especially since he’s been around most of her life. Even after she left and all these years apart, there was this comfort in knowing him, knowing that he was still the same. This was the same comfortable feeling one has when returns home after a long absence. You know time has passed, the cactus you’ve forgotten might have withered, but the sun still glows and brightens the room just the same and you know that’s home, that’s where you’re supposed to be.

His eyes followed her attentively when her hand pulled back and she slowly made her way around the desk closing the remaining distance. For once, this felt right.

He pushed his chair back a little and pulled her to his lap, encircling her waist with both of his strong arms.

“I really enjoy sleeping. I consider myself an expert at the subject.”

The corners of his lips curled up. “Is that so? I was not aware an expert was before me...”

Her palm rested on his chest, the accelerated rhythm the closeness elicited beneath it, while the other cupped his cheek.

“Trust me. I’m an expert in everything I do.” Her lips pressed softly against his, and she teased, “You should know that. And you should know I like sleeping with you.”

Next thing she knew, they were on their feet, his hand holding hers and guiding her back to the master suite.

Once there, he lied on his back and her head nestled on his shoulder, like she did before. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, and he peppered wishes of a goodnight in between kisses against her hair.

“Goodnight,” she whispered back to him, and his head leaned, allowing their lips to meet in a sweet and languid kiss. Hayley’s eyes closed, and she focused on his heartbeats lulling her to sleep, but not for long. He remained very still and very much not relaxed at all, if his breathing and stiffness of his muscles were any indication of that.

Her eyes snapped open, and she pulled back a little to look up at him.

Even in the dark, she could make his serious expression staring at the ceiling with eyes wide open. She could almost hear the thoughts racing in his mind. Unable to contain herself, she shooshed him.

“I haven’t said a word.”

“I can hear your thoughts racing in your head! They’re practically making your brain zoom like one of those annoying ancient computers at the station do!”

“They certainly do not!” his indignation had no heat to it, just a hint of amusement and she assumed it was due to these sort of strange things she’d tell him from time to time to make him laugh.

“Close your eyes and relax.”

“I’m trying,” he murmured. “But… it’s not easy. It never is.”

“Let me help you then. I’m very persuasive, I’m sure I can convince your brain to shut down.”

Her eyes met his and they crinkled with a smile.

“I do not doubt you can command my brain to do that.”

“Come here now.” She gestured with her hand and eased his head on her chest. His warm cheek nesting on the softness of her breast. Her chin came to rest on the soft curls of his hair, the herbal fragrance of his shampoo bringing a smile to her lips. One of her hands pulled at his waist drawing him closer to her side, and his arm came to rest over her stomach, and his thumb gently rubbed against her waist.

When she was satisfied with the position, she commanded.

“Close your eyes now. Focus on my breathing.”

Ernest let out a deep breath through his nose, and she hoped it was his commitment to relaxation and not annoyance.

Eager to help him, one hand of hers snaked its way to his arm, fingers trailing up and underneath the sleeve of his pyjamas, leaving all the hair standing on their ends on their wake. The other one found its way into his hair, her long fingers digging into his curls, idly moving to scratch lightly at his scalp from time to time.

Nuzzling her collarbone, she felt the muscles of his face being pulled by a smile and his warm breathing fanned the skin there, making her relax too. But she didn’t let this fool her. Ernest Sinclaire was very much not sleeping, and she was a woman on a mission.

Inspired by a distant memory that she kept inside a treasured box in her mind, she started humming the melody of a song. A contented sigh escaped his lips, and her mouth opened to let her melodic voice fill the air around them.

In a soothing tone like a lullaby one would sing to a baby, the song leaving her lips was played one afternoon while he was driving them back from the countryside. It got stuck in her head for some reason. Not some reason. There was one particular reason to it. The lyrics mirrored some of her own feelings. Ernest did not know that, but it has been played in an almost loop on her mobile whenever her mind insisted on drifting to him and this new territory they are walking together.

What did you say? To make all my dreams change To make me feel like coming home What did you say? To make me fall this way Your heart is the only place I wanna go

So maybe we could stop runnin' We could stop runnin' tonight So maybe we could stop runnin' We could stop runnin' tonight

Maybe in the morning, I'll be brokenhearted

“You won’t,” his hoarse voice interrupted her singing, making her heart skip a beat once she understood what he meant.

“Go. To. Sleep,” she hissed against the top of his head, too sleepy to even consider having such a conversation.

He chuckled, but then his back heaved with a deep breath. An encouraging one perhaps? His voice barely a whisper, assuming the tone she suspects enlaces all those kinds of confessions in the darkest of nights.

“I will never break your heart. I promise you that. You are too precious to me, Hayls. Always have been.”

An inconvenient laugh bubbled until escaping her lips and her words were more serious than the mirth in her tone could let on.

“Bold words from someone who knows how much life can be cruel...”

“I won’t leave you,” he whispered back to her.

She wanted to believe him; she really did.

Instead of answering with words, she blinked back the tears prickling her eyes and merely held his hand, intertwining their fingers. It seemed enough to please him at the moment.

“Sing to me,” he pleaded.

She started over the song in an even smoother tone.

Soon, the magic happened.

His fingers lost their grip, and his breathing slowed.

Ernest Sinclaire was sleeping.

But baby, tonight the wait is over Tonight I wanna hold you Back to where we started

These were the last verses that she managed to sing before following him.

The next morning, for the first time, she woke up to his body lying beside her. She chided him saying it was creepy to stare at her sleeping, but judging by the smiling eyes gazing back at her, he didn't believe any of her words. Neither did she.

#desire and decorum fanfic #desire and decorum #ernest sinclaire x mc #ernest sinclaire #ernest sinclaire x oc #ernest sinclaire x hayley parker #choices fanfic #desire and decorum au!#mr. sinclaire

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kitty-is-writing · 10 months

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This is an old short story I wrote about a character in my second novel, Beyond the Serpent Hills. It's a little background for the Li Buqu mage Xhih'a, who is a bit of a rebel in her society. Hope you enjoy this little snippet of her past, and if you did please consider checking out my books here!

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Ideas Above Her Station

Xhih’a stared moodily at the page in front of her, not registering a single word of it. She was sulking because Qemo’ih had stuck her with this incredibly dull text while he met with an ‘important visitor’. She had no idea who this visitor was, or why they were so important, but she wanted to find out. Unfortunately, she was locked in the library, unable to hear a single thing from the sitting room below.

She snapped the book shut, unable to concentrate on whatever it was about, and paced up and down the shelves. There had to be some way to counter the locking charm Qemo’ih had put on the door, if only she could find it... she tried every spell she could think of, but the door remained stubbornly shut. There would be no point in trying to blast it down, as she knew the entire house was protected against damage like that.

Driven to distraction by mingled boredom and curiosity, she was reduced to lying flat on the floor in a futile attempt to hear something through the thick floorboards.

“If young mistress interested, there is other way to hear what is happening,” the assistant said quietly.

Xhih’a started, almost leaping to her feet. She had forgotten that Qemo’ih’s assistant was in the room with her. Larèn was a rare thing, a Ka’nar who had earned his freedom and remained with his former master as a paid servant. He was also stealthier than a thief and could remain still and silent for hours at a time. “How?” she asked him.

He gave her the crooked, wide smile of his kind, and beckoned her over to a narrow space between a bookshelf and the wall behind it. “This once way to send things between floors. Now not used, but I keep oiled, just in case,” he said, opening a dusty wooden hatch in the wall to reveal a small, rickety platform on a rope pulley. “It go downstairs to sitting room. You sit in, I send down, you hear all and Master not know.”

She eyed it warily. “You are sure it will carry me without breaking?”

“I sure, young mistress. It built good. You trust Larèn.”

Well, if it does break, I can at least take some time out from Qemo’ih’s exercise regime, Xhih’a thought to herself as she climbed into the small compartment. The platform she crouched on jerked, and slowly but silently descended into darkness. The mumbled voices grew clearer as she got closer to them, and when the little lift came to a halt, she pressed against the panel to listen.

“... to Zyain as soon as she is ready, Qemo’ih,” came an unfamiliar voice – this must be the important visitor.

“Of course, Lokre. She has already made great progress in her training, and I expect she will have mastered the basic skills of magic by next year.” Qemo’ih, but why did he sound so nervous?

There was a chink of cup on saucer. “Do not rush the child. She has much to learn, and it must be learnt well.”

“Forgive my forwardness, Lokre, but...” Qemo’ih hesitated. “I do not see why Xhih’a cannot know of her connection to you. Many younglings crave the knowledge of their parents’ identities; though in many cases it is not possible to find out, in this instance...”

He stopped mid sentence, and Xhih’a imagined the visitor had silenced him. A low hiss followed the awkward pause. “I do not wish her to know at this moment in time. At this stage of her life, it will serve no useful purpose for her to discover her parentage. If this plan is to work, she must remain unaware until she is older; the knowledge would give her ideas above her current station.”

“Surely, though, your plan will require her to be ambitious beyond the usual aspirations of a female? Knowing that she is the offspring of both Lokres could inspire her to set her sights on a higher station,” Qemo’ih suggested.

“Or, it could cause her to become elitist and self-centred, as far too many of our higher class citizens are already. If we are to engineer a fundamental change in our society, it must begin here, with the young and unspoilt. I entrusted that nest’s location to you so that the offspring to emerge would find the right carers to raise... what was that?”

Xhih’a cursed the tiny space; in trying to keep as still and quiet as she could, her legs had cramped, and then spasmed, thudding against the wooden panel. She tugged at the ropes, hoping Larèn was watching and could pull her back up before someone opened the hatch in front of her. Thankfully, the platform began to raise, just clearing the edge of the panel as it slid open. Within moments, she was climbing back out into the library, brushing dust and spider webs from her clothes.

“Young mistress hear something good?” asked Larèn as they left the narrow space behind the shelf.

“Something interesting, certainly,” she told him. “I ought to return to my book; I think Qemo’ih heard me in there. We will tell him I have been reading the whole time, Larèn.”

The Ka’nar bowed. “As young mistress says.”

Xhih’a had barely opened the book again when Qemo’ih opened the door. “Has the visitor left?” she asked, feigning innocence.

He narrowed his eyes, looking from her to Larèn and back again. “Not yet. There was an unexpected sound a few moments ago, did you hear anything? A muffled thump, from inside the wall?”

“I heard nothing, Qemo’ih. I have been absorbed in this fascinating book you told me to read,” she replied.

He scowled, and turned to Larèn. “I suppose you have been similarly deaf for the last few minutes?”

“Larèn hear nothing, Master. I watch young mistress, ready to assist if she needs.”

Qemo’ih looked between them once more, and turned to leave. “You might assist her to find the right book; I told you to read about warding spells, not cattle husbandry.”

As the door closed and locked, Xhih’a checked the front of the book in her hands; in her rush, she had picked up an entirely different book than the one she had been staring at earlier. “Do you suppose he knows I was listening to them?” she asked Larèn.

“Master likely knows, yes, but I think he not mind,” Larèn said. “If Master really not want you to hear, Master would have sent you out on errand, not put you in room above meeting.”

Xhih’a thought that over. “So this was a sort of test, to see if I would be clever enough to work out how to eavesdrop without this visitor knowing?” Larèn smiled again. “They mentioned a plan, something about a change in society... would you happen to know anything about it?”

“Larèn is only humble servant, young mistress. Master not share plans with me,” the Ka’nar replied, bowing low.

She smirked slightly. “Somehow I doubt you have ever been just a servant. Never mind. Help me find this tedious warding book, then. I may as well attempt to learn something from it.” At the very least, it would be a convenient headrest while she thought over the snatch of conversation she had heard downstairs.

#short story #kitty's short stories #Legends of the Lost Tribes #Xhih'a #Beyond the Serpent Hills #fantasy #original writing #writblr

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