#but here's to all the exquisite pain that comes before then

[darkbluekies]

In the dungeon

yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: after disrespecting him, you've found yourself in his dungeon. Edmund comes to visit you because he has heard that you haven't eaten in three days

Warnings: self starvation, punishment, toxic relationship,

Word count: 1.1k

He doesn't like it, but what choice does he have? If people found out that he doesn't punish his own wife, what would they think of him? That he's not a well respected leader because he can't even punish his own wife? No, he can't have that. He has to do it. But by doing it, he also feels pain, so it's a punishment for both of you. That's how he explained it.

You had disrespected him, belittled him and his masculinity. And now you're here. Easier said than done. Saying the words to him was easier than doing the time for them.

Your head hangs low as footsteps echo down the spiral stone stairs. You don't look up to see who it is, don't care who it is. Another guard to switch swift.

“Oh, my love …”

You look up. Edmund is standing on the other side of the metallic bars, wearing his clean, colorful clothes made out of the finest satin. He places a plate with a silver cloche on the bench beside him. You pull yourself up from the floor slowly, back sore from resting against the stone wall for eternity and stomach empty. Edmund's ice blue eyes follow your every step. It's not often that they contain any type of emotion, but seeing you like this brings out a deep worry that seems to make his eyes glow.

You drag yourself over to the door, which is nothing more than metallic bars. You hold onto one of the cold metal rods. Edmund places his hand over yours.

“The guards have told me that you haven't eaten in three days”, he says softly, as if you could break if he raised his voice even a decibel louder. “You can't do that, Y/N. You can't worry me like this.”

As if he would have eaten that stale bread and drink that moldy water, you think.

“Can I come up now?” you whisper. “I want to get out of here”, you cry weakly. “Edmund, please …”

Edmund shakes his head carefully.

“No, not yet”, he answers with a heavy sigh. “It's going to be okay, darling”, he reassures you softly, kissing the hand he's holding. “Soon, you'll be back with me, okay? Believe me, I want nothing more than to let you back upstairs and have you in my arms, but they would think I was incompetent in my role.”

He wipes one of your tears apologetically.

“Do you care more about your power than you do me?” you whisper.

He looks taken aback, unable to know what to answer.

“Don't be like that”, he says. “You know I love you more than anything else.”

But not enough, apparently, you think and sniffle.

He looks behind you, around the cell.

“I brought some food from the kitchen”, he says. “I want to see you eat it before I leave.”

He gestures for the guard to unlock the door as he bends down to pick up the plate. You back away from the door, finding your safe spot on the floor by the opposite wall. Edmund walks over, checking the floor before hesitantly sitting down.

“Do you have to sit on the dirty floor?” he mumbles dislikingly.

“I like it”, you reply.

“Alright, alright.”

Despite grimacing and dusting of his satin clothes, he makes himself comfortable on the hard, dirty floor and opens the cloche. The smell of boiled potatoes and marinated meat meets your nose, and the sight is even more exquisite. He takes out a silver fork from his pocket, stabs one of the potatoes and holds it to your lips. You open your mouth, letting him feed you. It tastes better than you remember it to. It has only been a week since you got locked down in the dungeon, but without anything to do, without necessities and comfort, the hours creep by. For all you could care, a month could have gone by. The only form of company you've had have been the rats crawling around on the floor, just big enough to squeeze through the metal bars. They bite.

“Tasty?” Edmund asks.

You nod. Anything that the kitchen prepares is delicious — or at least a thousand times better than the rock hard bread and dusty water.

“Good”, the young king says, pleased, feeding you another fork full of meat. “It makes me feel better to see you eat.”

Eating the food he has brought for you reminds you of how badly you want to vet out of here … and how much your comfort relies on Edmund.

Edmund wipes away a sauce smudge on the corner of your lips and sticks it between his lips to lick it off. You doubt he would do that to anyone else. Ever. He has certain liberties with you which he has with no one else. He can hug you, touch you, smile at you, joke with you. You give him life in a way no one can.

“You should see how restless my hours without you are”, he sighs and rolls his eyes. “I'm a walking bomb without you. I almost feel bad for my secretary.”

“Then let me back up …”, you whisper, a last attempt to try to plead with him. “Please.”

“I can't. Not yet. I've already given you special treatment and advantages no one else has gotten. If I let you back upstairs before an appropriate time my authority will be questioned.”

“I'm sorry, Edmund.”

Your voice is barely audible. His hand stops dead in its track on its way to your mouth. A drop of sauce falls down on the floor. You can see that it hit him right in his heart, shattering it.

“Oh, I know”, he reassures you and feeds you the piece of meat. “I know, darling. I believe you.”

You chew slowly, swallow slowly. The food seems to get stuck in your throat.

“Good girl”, Edmund praises. “You can hold out a little while longer, can't you? Just a few more days?”

You nod in defeat. What other choice do you have now that your pleading didn't work?

Edmund stands up. You follow him panicked, quickly reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“No!” you shriek. “Dont leave me. I don't want to be alone!”

“It's getting late”, Edmund answers. “I thought that I would let you get some rest.”

“No … not alone … please. Please stay. Just a little while longer.”

He thinks for a second. “Okay.”

You breathe out in relief. He sits down with his back against the wall, letting you fall asleep against him, wrapped in his warm, strong arms. Leaving him alone with his thoughts — his conflicting, torturing thoughts.

When you wake up the following morning by the sun shining through the little window pane you're alone, lying on the floor, covered by a colorful cape made out of the finest satin.

[kykyonthemoon]

Breakfast

You knew he was dangerous. You knew that you should stay away. But when you found Sylus in the kitchen, making breakfast, he reminded you of what happened between the two of you the night before and you comprehended you had made a bargain with the devil, again.

── .✦ Sylus x Female Reader|MC

── .✦ Tags: R16, MDNI, suggestive themes, biting & marking, drunken kissing & flirting, hangover, pet name - kitten.

── .✦ Word count: 2k3

── .✦ A/N: This story is based on a dream I had after watching the new patch stream on July 6.

This fic also won the Merit Prize from Love and Deepspace Version 2.0 Opposing Visions | Fan Art Contest. I really appreciate all your support on my X <3

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic

You awoke in the midst of a haze. You had a vague impression that the blanket was both warm and soft, with a subtle aroma that you had only of late learnt to recognize. You tossed and turned, sliding back and forth on the enormous bed, unable to see the edge. When you rolled your entire body to the opposite side of the bed, you saw that the vacant area was still quite warm.

As if woken, you rose up, brushing aside the matted hair that had fallen in front of your face. Your body felt painful and exhausted. Your head continued whirling. You realized you were wearing a black shirt that was too large for your size. The aroma on the garment was comparable to the position next to you on the bed. You grabbed your head, trying to recall why you were here in the first place.

Sylus' exquisite chamber emerged before your eyes in the gentle dawn light. You blinked. That's right! You had attended an important party, with Sylus' help, the night before. Rather, it was another in a long line of similar deals between you and him, with an unexpected cost. You got what you wanted, but the amount of liquor you drank there left you disoriented. The party ended with you lying in Sylus' arms, seeing him smirk as he looked down at you and said:

“Such a kitten who never knows when to stop.”

Then everything went dark. You could only barely feel Sylus' strong arms wrapping around your body, as well as the warm blanket that surrounded you before you fell asleep.

But as for why you slept in Sylus' room, wearing his shirt…

You tumbled out of bed and walked into the bathroom to wash your face. Cold water helped you become awake. You then glanced at yourself in the mirror. Your hair, which had been pulled up high with several decorations, was entirely removed and fell down. Aside from the shirt you wore, you had immense and tiny red markings all over your body, from your lips and chin, down to your neck and chest. You used extra water to wash your face in an attempt to remove all of those marks, but it simply made them appear more vibrant on your skin.

Your fingertips traced each mark. This one brought to mind an image of Sylus burying his face in your neck. The mark on your ear reminded you of how softly he bit you. There were also marks on your wrists from the force he used to pin you down on the bed.

You exhaled. Memories were slowly returning to you, and they concerned you. You were not terrified of Sylus; rather, you were afraid of the situation you had created the night before. You cautiously opened the door, as if you were afraid that someone was waiting outside to catch you in this kind of situation.

You intended to return to your room, where Sylus had allowed you to remain temporarily while you were here. But after only a few steps, the scent from the kitchen caused your feet to shift direction.

The aroma of breakfast being served made your tummy grumble. But when you heard the faint humming and saw his enormous back obstructing your view of the food, you turned and walked away.

"Kitten is awake now. Wouldn't you come in for breakfast?"

You halted. You did not want to see him immediately after what occurred the night before, but perhaps he had been waiting for you to get up since dawn.

When you returned to the kitchen, Sylus faced you. He wore a crimson and black silk nightshirt. It was not tight, revealing his bare chest, which you were unable to keep your gaze away from since there were several red marks going from his chest deep down to his stomach, even some on his neck. There were other ones that appeared to be scratches.

Knowing where your eyes were focused on, Sylus smirked. Seeing that, your face grew crimson and felt hot, as if you were being cooked on the stove. You instantly looked away, attempting to act normal.

“Good morning… Did you… sleep well?…”

Sylus pulled the bacon off the heat source. Based on the ingredients on the counter, you assumed he was cooking Eggs Benedict. He answered you sarcastically:

“I did not sleep well at all. Since there was a kitten who loved to scratch me so much."

“What kitten?” You claimed to be ignorant in the face of evidence that showed you had slept in Sylus' bed the night before, and were responsible for the markings on his body.

How did things end up like that? You opposed Sylus. And he was just brilliant at driving you insane. He was dangerous. He stood on the other side of the battle. Even if working together with him was simply a temporary solution for both of your concerns, rolling around in bed together and leaving markings on the other's skin was utterly beyond your expectations. You softly bit your lower lip, condemning yourself for allowing things to spiral out of control. While Sylus only grinned casually:

“And yet I thought that the girl who had the courage to pin me down on the bed and leave her marks on my body would have the courage to admit what she did?”

At the moment, you did not know how to face this with as little disruption as possible. Of course, Sylus would not let you escape so quickly. You wanted to go home and keep your distance from him.

“I… am not sure I did what I did on purpose.” You responded. The current circumstance was not good at all, for you. You attempted to remain cool and added: "Besides, don't you have the ability to heal yourself?"

Sylus stared down at his body, then back at you, the corner of his mouth curled up again as if he had just done something sinister.

“Of course I have to leave evidence, in case you deny it like you are doing now.”

You were briefly perplexed and failed to say anything else. Then you suddenly realized you were also his victim. You stepped up to him at the kitchen counter and pointed to your neck.

“What about these? They are also evidence against you!”

Sylus laughed. His warm fingers on your skin sent a shiver down your spine. It was a feeling that, although not inherently awful, was exceedingly treacherous. Treacherous as you began to like it.

"A mark for a mark." Sylus teased you. His fingers traveled to the back of your neck, and the index finger rested on your chin, softly separating your lips and pushing you to gaze up at him. "If you believe it is a crime, what would you do? Lock me up, Miss Gorgeous Hunter? After you took advantage of me to get into that party, got very drunk, and vomited all over the dress I purposely chose for you? After I brought you back here, and you continued to take advantage of my body in that manner?”

You hastily pushed Sylus' hand away. “I was drunk, you were too… It was simply an accident… Can we make it clear?”

Sylus snorted coldly and turned away. The poached eggs required his attention. You did not recall or were acting like that. The previous night, you were the only one who had been drinking.

After the party, Sylus took you home. He had meant to let you relax, but as soon as you went by his private room, you freely opened the door and walked in.

“This is not your room, kitten.”

But you did not listen. You removed your high heels and flung them at Sylus. Then you began wandering back and forth in his room, as if you were searching for his secrets.

Sylus clicked his tongue and stood with his arms folded, waiting to see what you would do. He had to catch you after seeing you stumble around and collide with things in the room. He sat you on the sofa, unlocked the wardrobe, chose a clean shirt of his and threw it on the seat next to you.

“Get changed. Don't dirty my room anymore."

You grinned and took up his shirt to examine it for a moment. Then you tossed it back to him. 

"Help me..."

Sylus rolled his eyes at you before focusing on the clothing in his hand. You rose up, stumbled closer to him, and turned away, pointing at the back zipper of the garment. 

"Help me get changed." You repeated.

Sylus slightly raised the corners of his lips. He slowly pulled the zipper down. Since your body was constantly moving back and forth, his fingertips came into contact with your bare back. You chuckled. While looking at you from behind, he quietly placed the part of his finger that just touched you on his lips and chuckled.

“Be still.”

After helping you get out of your dirty dress, Sylus put his shirt on you, turned you around and helped button it. He did not dispute that while you were displaying your stunning features to him, his gaze lingered on your body for longer than was appropriate. You were simply wearing a set of undergarments beneath his shirt. His hands paused on the final two buttons, debating whether or not to assist in concealing your lovely cleavage behind that shirt.

You grabbed Sylus' wrists and gazed up at him. His throat became dry. You said while drowsy:

“Bed… I want your bed…”

You gestured in that way. His bed was obviously much larger and softer than the one in your room. Sylus drew a breath and bent down to lift you up in his arms. He brought you to the bed and placed you down. 

"You have asked for so much today. Aren't you concerned you won't be able to pay the price?"

“I… can pay!” You boldly declared. As soon as Sylus rose up to depart, you grabbed his arm and pushed him down onto the bed. 

So you started kissing him.

It could not be denied that there were times, many times, during the party that night, you longed to drag him to a corner and kiss his lips until he suffocated. Or you. Either one of you.

How that night ended was still something you could not remember. When you stood in the kitchen with Sylus the next morning with rosy cheeks and body covered in kiss marks left by him, feelings of regret and guilt began to engulf you. You started it first, and Sylus gladly granted your wishes. How long had you been intending to get closer to him? You could not believe why, in a moment of rashness, you could make such a severe mistake. It was not like you were not aware of who the person you pinned down on the bed was or how dangerous he was.

“I… You…” You hesitated. “I really— Ouch!”

Before you could continue speaking, you felt Sylus lift you up and set you on the kitchen counter. His hands were positioned on both sides of your thighs, and his body was forced against you, making it hard for you to escape.

"Stop trying to deny it." His crimson eyes glowed as if he were sulking. Your throat dried up and your mouth became silent when he got this close. Your gaze remained fixated on Sylus' lips, unwilling to leave. He said:

“Let me tell you what happened last night. You kissed me. You scratched me. Then you fell into a deep slumber. As for me, I remained awake since my bed was occupied and I was held and weighed down all night long."

You breathed a sigh of relief, seeming to be at ease and disappointed. Between Sylus and you, nothing had escaped your control or the approval of your rational mind. You might perceive what happened the night before as a mistake that could be fixed. Yet all of a sudden, Sylus' grasp on your hip tightened, and his other hand curled around the back of your head, forcing you to lean back slightly. He gazed at you with a mysterious smile on his lips, making you feel as if you had just fallen into a tangle from which you could not escape.

“Are you going to remain silent and ignore your responsibilities? I still have the evidence on me. You cannot deny that you want me. Yes? No?"

When you regained consciousness, you understood exactly what should and should not be done. Even that was unable to prevent you from thinking about how you fell into Sylus' arms and how he would never turn you down. Given the kiss marks and scratches you left on his body that were visible, how badly must you have yearned for him that night? How about the time before that? And for the time being? Sylus' charm had you wrapped around his fingers. This feeling might be fleeting or it could last forever. It terrified you and left you unsteady. But if Sylus was down in that deep void, you were willing to plunge in, as long as he was there to catch you. 

Sylus learnt he had won the instant he noticed your yearning eyes. He grinned as separated your lips again, asking:

“My precious lady, what price do you wish to pay this time?”

You assumed that in this trade, you would not be at a disadvantage. You deliberately leant towards Sylus, gently biting his lips before pulling away to await his reaction.

Satisfied with your answer, Sylus smirked. His fingers caressed your bottom lip before pushing forward to devour it in the way he had craved since he had ever found you.

[mayaree-darling]

mastermind

from aree: The Harbinger Trailer has consumed me yall are getting a brainrot. (I made this when the trailer first came out and have never posted it so here it is).

tw for yandere content

Yandere!Harbingers with a "darling" who is the right hand of the Tsaritsa herself. Not a Harbinger, but nonetheless important because they're the main strategist of the Fatui. I can just imagine the pain for the Harbingers because although darling is within arms reach, they're not allowed to make a move lest they anger their ruler.

Childe who first sees you akin to a younger sibling amongst the Fatui - you're no underling, on par with a Harbinger in importance if not more, protected almost as much as the Archon Herself - it would be hard not to be protective of you. And yet as you fix his wounds after another fight he started, telling him off in place of Her Majesty, giving him tips on how he could've fought better in whispers in between, his growing need for your attention consumes him. When he kisses your cheek (as thanks, he says) in front of the other Harbingers he's already looking forward to you treating the injuries they're sure to beat into him.

Scaramouche who grins when the Harbingers bristle as you walk side by side in the halls of Zapolyarny Palace - he says you should consider it an honor to walk with him, and it inflates his ego when you reply with a small nod and a smaller smile. Behind the others' backs, he follows you like a lost child, always walking behind you, gripping on to the back of your clothes like you might slip away if he's not careful. He's obsessed with the way you look at him and ask him questions about his creation. He fails to see that the adoration you hold for him is as hollow as he is.

Signora wonders if you know when she is at her lowest, that would certainly explain things, wouldn't it? She thinks she has lost her mind when she sees glimpses of her lost love when turning corners too quickly, haunting her when she lets her guard down but then you're in front of her, greeting her with a soft smile that feels all too familiar and she realizes she has gone mad in other ways (she welcomes that newfound madness like the lover that it is, finally coming home).

Pantalone who believes that one of life's greatest pleasures is to own what others cannot - to collect the rare, the exquisite and the hard to obtain - and to have you, a person of great mind and ranking, be dangled right infront of him on a piece of gold thread held by the Tsaritsa, who was he to resist the urge to make you his? (after all, he deserves only the best) The longer he does not have you, the more your worth rises in his eyes.

Dottore who initially wants to pick apart your brain (quite literally) but his interest shifts and doubles when he reaches an epiphany that what he truly lacked from the Akademiya was someone who shared his intellect, a genius to match his own. Maybe you don't share his affinity for biology, but he loves the way your conversations keeps him on his toes (if you weren't a being close to perfection for him before, then you certainly are now.)

Arlecchino who watches as you care for the children in the orphanage, checking in on them even long after they've joined the ranks of the Fatui and compares it to the frigid ways of the other Harbingers. For the first time since being a part of this cold nation, she is envious of the warmth you give (why must you have so much love to share?) She thinks that should the day come she turns her back on this frigid country, she would surely take your hearth with her.

Marionette who finds herself being drawn to the way you move around a room and hold yourself up in front of people, marveling at the intricacies of each part of your body and the way they make up the being that is you (you could trip and fall and she'd still sigh in awe). Her fascination turns you from muse to future subject. Surely such a specimen must be preserved, right? Not to mention, there would be no greater honor than to turn the Tsaritsa's best into a perfect unchanging doll.

Damselette who usually goes quiet when you're in the same room as her, always eager to hear you talk, almost hissing when a Harbinger tries to speak over you. She finds your voice is the one in her head who speaks reason to her when she gets a bit out of control (Does she listen? No, but your voice is always ever so lovely). Wouldn't it be so nice if you're the lone voice she hears always, the same way you're already always in her thoughts?

Capitano who is thankful his mask covers the fond look he gets when you turn to him - not with fear like the lower ranking Fatui or haughty like the Harbingers - but as an equal, leveling him with a gaze that leaves him fooling himself that it means something more. He's less thankful for his mask when someone calls your attention away from him and he can't control the glare he sends their way (maybe if they saw the way he looked at them, they'd finally be put in their place).

Pulcinella is quick to put you in a pedestal - you are someone to be respected and someone to be kept at a distance. And yet as he watches the Harbingers fall deeper and deeper into obsession, he takes it upon himself to protect the Tsaritsa's favorite and the Fatui's brain from whatever his co workers are plotting. As he spends more time with you (making sure the others do not occupy all of your time), the pedestal he keeps you on crumbles until all he sees is another child to keep under his wing. He fails to see he has only fallen into a different hole as the rest.

Strategist!Darling who may pretend to be oblivious to the Harbingers' feelings but is actually letting it all happen to make sure they all stay under the Tsaritsa's rule one way to another.

Does Pierro know what you're doing? Maybe. It's not like he is blind to how the Harbingers act around you, subtle as they try to be. If you spend enough time with him, you might be able to tell that he enjoys watching you play the part of a fool, dancing around the others and making them dance for you, too. He might even step in once he thinks the other Harbingers are stepping out of line, but it all depends on what he gets out of sticking into your business.

I also like the dynamic where although the Harbingers cannot make a move to claim what is "their's", darling is just as trapped. Although they always sometimes want to leave, they know as much as anyone that the Tsaritsa is the only thing standing between them and the others. The moment they try to leave the Tsaritsa's side or they lose her favor, it's all fair game for the Harbingers.

Everyone is stuck in a stalemate until someone makes a misstep.

✨ Masterlist ✨ 

Taglist: 💛@anime-allover  💛@faeriessky  💛 @prksolon 💛 @dai-tsukki-desu 💛 @wonpielle

Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and belong to their respective creators. Their portrayal is merely my own interpretation of them and may not be accurate to their intended characterization. I stake no claim to the original works, only to the ideas and plot of the fictitious stories I’ve written them into.

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝑭. 𝑻𝒊𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒂𝒓)

I’m still in love with him and he envelopes my every thought. I won’t apologize for it. Here’s my heart, it’s yours.

Contains: flirting, fleeting touches, denial of feelings, budding relationship, first meetings, mutual longing, sweet & fluffy, some sexual innuendos (this is written by me after all 0///<)

Basically a little background to how foresight reader and Fiyero met

⋆⁺₊❅.° *

⋆°. ⁺₊ ❅ . .

You were sad.

No- scratch that; you were more than just-run-of the-mill sad.

You are melancholy. Seemingly full of an almost listless longing.

That’s the first thing that came to Fiyero’s mind after finally seeing you, having caught his eye without those dark glasses of yours for the first time. That, and the fact that your face was quite fair in beauty. You had the type of beauty was best accompanied by snowfall, chilling and soft but also cozy and alluring. Large doe eyes and a constant frown on the loveliest heart-shaped he’s ever seen.

Why did you always seem so sad? Maybe he was overstepping, maybe you weren’t sad. He’d never spoken to you before thanks to your elusive nature so he probably just didn’t know you well enough to read your emotions. You were probably fine just naturally pouty, kitten-out-in-the-rain-faced.

Call it purely unbiased curiosity; his reason for going out of his way to speak to you.

Sticking with his usual method of approach, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Disappointingly enough, I don’t think we’ve ever truly met. I’m Fiyero Tigelaar o-“, you cut him off as you finish for him.

“Of Winkie Country. Charmed.” Well, that was unexpected. The unenthusiastic sarcasm dripping from that last word giving him whiplash.

“My apologies but have we met?” The way you spoke to him as though you’d crossed paths before had him doubting himself. Even if you had, he knows for certain he’d remember you. The sound of your lilting voice brings him out of his budding internal crisis.

“Not in any future you’d remember.” Hmm. Cryptic too. He waits for you to say more but you don’t. Interesting. Most are always eager to engage conversation with him but you clearly are a girl of few words.

“I see. Are you always this…riveting?” You tilt your head to the side, ignoring his strong gaze, humming as you pretend to think.

“Depends on if you’re always so persistent.”

“Ooh la la. So, always then?” Cute. He was cute. Very.

“Mhmm. Wonderful observation by the way. You’re quite bright aren’t you?” You ask with a condescending nod of your head, false awe in your raised eyebrows.

Oh. He liked this game.

“Why yes..and I’m surprised you noticed my brightness with those dark glasses you always wear.” And for the first time in the conversation, you were speechless. Prompting him to continue,

“Why do you always wear those anyway?” You sputter for a few seconds as you try to come up with an answer that’s a more shallow version of the truth.

“B-because I need them..”

“Need them for what?

“My face, obviously.” The snark makes him smile, finding your prissiness absolutely endearing.

“But there’s nothing wrong with your face, darling.”

You will your cheeks not to warm and darken because of the way such a petname sounded from the lips of such an attractive man but it seems to not work very well from the way Fiyero smirks at you.

“How would you know what’s wrong with my face?”

“Because I’m looking right at it”, and unbeknownst to you, the two of you had moved quite close during your game of cat and mouse. Your close proximity dawns on you when you feel his warm hand brush your hair away from your face. Peering at you even closer, “and it’s exquisite.”

He-! Oz, you hated attractive people.

You lower your head, finding his direct attention overwhelming but surprisingly, allowing his closeness.

“…not my face exactly- my eyes.”

Oh your eyes, yeah. He’d noticed them.

“Besides their beauty, what about them?” Pompous, flirtatious, irritating pain in your a-

“Will you stop flirting with me?! I have foresight damnit! The glasses help dull my visions, so they’re less intense.” Oh. No wonder you looked so sad. Foresight. It was extremely rare, gracing only few in hundreds of thousands of generations. That was a heavy gift too, seeing all kinds of futures whether you could do something about them or not. Well now that he had somewhat a reason for your melancholy, he wanted now to see your smile.

“Even lovelier. It suites you. Light but full of depth.” You’re stunned into silence again because he doesn’t run for the hills at you practically being a bad omen and that he thought your gift was lovely, well suited to you.

Bashfully, you release a small hum before speaking.

“Thank you-“

“So have you seen me in your future then? I’m sure you’re in mine.”

Your eyes widen in shock before creasing as a smile breaks over your face and you suddenly start laughing. Laughing as though you hadn’t just killed him with the tinkling warm sound coming from your pretty smile. You eventually quiet to giggles but those only added to the longing Fiyero felt for you as he too felt himself smiling.

You couldn’t help it, he was cute so you should have expected the cheesy future pickup line but for some reason; be it his easygoing charming demeanor or those big eyes; it caught you off guard.

“Wow, I’ve definitely never heard that one. You’re actually a good time Fiyero”.

Oz the way his named sounded from your lips. Clearing his throat to regain some of his composure and feign as though he wasn’t already completely taken by you; he smiled, “Glad to show you one, I do aim to please.” Enjoying the way your smile widened, shaking your head with a light smack to his chest when he shot you a wink.

As he leaned more into your space, you made no room to move and neither did he. You were melancholy, yes…but you were plenty of something else too. He liked it more by the minute. Liked you.

“You know….you’re quite the treat yourself.” You scoff at that, rolling your eyes.

“I thought I told you to quit flirting with me.”

“Force of habit.”

“Oh? It’s a new condition of yours?”

“Not at all, but it’s harder to maintain with you.”

Oh. You change the subject back before you fluster too much.

“I can’t be a treat. Believe it or not, I’m not the sweetest around.” Fiyero quirks a brow at you.

“No?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was talking to you like that on purpose. All low and sweet. Ignoring the seemingly permanent warmth to your face, you awkwardly pat his broad shoulders as you move to put some space between you two before you end up putting a name to the type of growing tension you two have.

“Well, I’m off to go study and practice. Making your acquaintance was surprisingly…fun. Nice, I mean.” You’re being completely genuine and Fiyero doesn’t even try to stop the tender grin from coming. Cheeks dimpling as he looks down at you fondly.

“The pleasure is all mine”, he says warmly. Catching you off guard again as he takes your hand, bending down as he lifts it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. Glancing up into your eyes before returning your hand to your side.

You don’t move for a second until he tilts his head with a grin, clearing his throat.

“Oh right! I need to- yes”, and then you’re hurrying off, heart pounding in your chest.

Fiyero watches you go, eager to see you again only it’s not the same as that longing he had earlier…

because he’s sure you feel the same.

[frostedfragments]

exquisite denial pt. 1 ✧.* sylus x reader ✧.* 4.6k words ✧.* sylus x reader summary: your ex husband comes to your daughter's birthday party warnings!: divorce! lots and lots of angst, pain, sylus is hot and a little pathetic, everyone is sad, (almost) kitchen sex, sylus likes ripping clothes note: set out to write divorced!sylus smut and wrote divroced!sylus sad instead sorry lol

divider cred. @cyberangel-graphics

You move around the party with the sensation of his eyes on you, the same feeling you always have when Sylus is around. Kids run around the garden, knocking over discarded toys and crumpled paper cups stained with cherry juice. Lia is playing with her friends, wild-eyed and crazed on sugar and attention. Her bright eyes fly over the other kids as they swarm around her ready to follow her every whim; your daughter is the birthday girl after all, and she takes after her father, commanding the other children with the quiet confidence of the little princess Sylus said she was the second she was born. 

Lia’s eyes remind you so much of him - deep, dark scarlet. So unnatural and yet so fitting, even when they’re staring out from a round, chubby face with flushed cheeks and pigtails. Sylus is anything but cute, though. He never looks away, openly watching you over the rim of the scotch glass you got him for an anniversary a few years ago. You’d surprised him after his favourite glass had smashed - a sleepless night with a newborn being the cause of the calamity, and your guilt. He’d cooed and shushed you as you’d cried into his chest, sleep deprived and overwhelmed by the frightening and newly overbearing task of motherhood. Mumbled apologies quieted by his lips as he’d whispered against your lips, promising that it didn’t matter, that it was just a glass. 

The memory stings the backs of your eyes like the beginning of a migraine, and you fight the urge to look over at where your ex-husband sits, always watching. He is only interrupted by the occasional arrival of his daughter bursting through his periphery to jump into his lap and tell him animatedly all about the party, despite the fact he has been here the whole time and seen everything already. He still listens with a soft smile and doting eyes, though, never complaining even when Lia tells him the same thing for the fourth time today. 

“____, hey,” Your friend Yvonne walks over, clutching a bubbly glass of wine. You’re envious of her, wishing you could indulge in a glass briefly. But, you have several small children to watch over, and so you instead fix a smile on your face and smile to your co-worker in greeting, “How are you doing?”

The tone of her voice gives away her ulterior motive instantly. The softness of it, the downward lilt, the pity that laces her words. Since the divorce, it’s all you’ve gotten from people. At first you welcomed it, heartbroken as you were, and you’d cried and talked it all out. But now you are tired of talking about it, tired of feeling, tired of ignoring the warm press of Sylus’s eyes back on the nape of your neck as Lia abandons her father in favour of jumping onto the bounce house at full speed. 

“Fine,” You say, the smile fixed onto your face like concrete smeared messily over a crack in the pavement, “just trying to wrangle these crazy little monsters. Already dreading the clean up, later,”

“I can help with that,” 

You should have recognised the all too familiar warmth at your back, the tingling of your skin, itching at his nearness. But you don’t notice until it’s too late. Yvonne smiles wearily at you, seeming to think better of saying anything before she leaves you with a nod and a tense smile at Sylus. 

With an overwrought sigh, you turn. 

He’s just as devastating up close as he was across the garden, worse even. Dressed all in black like usual, his pale skin is unmarred and soft in the overcast daylight. The sun long gone as evening approaches, and the threat of being alone with Sylus again screams closer and closer. 

“I don’t need any help, Sylus,” You say, trying to force ice into your voice, but you don’t have the energy for it, “I can clean up just fine. I’m sure you have work in the morning,”

The jab is low and uncalled for, and Sylus flinches with it, the soft tilt of his mouth flattening out as a stricken look briefly flashes across his face before disappearing altogether. “I don’t mind,” he replies, infuriatingly nonchalant, “I wanted to read Lia a bedtime story, anyway,”

“She’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight,”

“Well I’ll read it to her before she leaves, then,”

“Sylus,” You hiss, “you can’t keep doing this. You’ll be seeing her this weekend. Please, I need my space,”

His mouth tightens, a small divot forming between his brows as he stares down at you with that unfathomable gaze. He’s hard to look at in the same way you can’t stare at the sun for too long; you have to glance away, forfeiting this unspoken battle between the two of you. 

It was never like this before. When the two of you were newly married, unable to keep your hands off each other, crazily in love. It was almost annoying to everyone how much you doted on one another, how intensely and loudly Sylus loved you, forgoing his previous stand-offish nature to wrap his life around you. The memory of it brings a sheen to your eyes that you blink away, annoyed at him for doing this to you again, for catching you at your most vulnerable. 

“I don’t want us to be like this, ___. Please don’t push me away,” His voice is heartbreakingly soft, achingly warm and full of all the love and adoration you wished he’d shown you a year ago. 

“I didn’t do this, Sylus. You know that,” The backs of your teeth press down, jaw tightening in an effort to keep your voice steady, to keep yourself in check and not allowing him to see the pain you’re still swimming in. Drowning in. His eyes flick between your own, his lips moving slightly, like he has so much to say but no courage left to speak. You need him to leave, you need him to step away and to make this a clean break, because you don’t have the strength to do more than you’ve already done. And doing that had almost killed you, “We can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to me, or you. Or Lia,”

“I would never confuse her, you know that,” He speaks quietly, deathly firm like the idea of complicating his daughter’s life isn’t even worth thinking about, “But I’m not the only one hanging on,”

“Don’t,” You snap, praying to god he isn’t going to bring it up. The one moment of weakness you allowed yourself, those few secret moments a few weeks ago that were meant to be closure. It was supposed to be a goodbye, a proper one.

It only made you hungrier, starving. 

His eyes fall to your lips and you stop breathing, the sounds of the party falling away as he inhales a shaky breath, “Tell me it meant nothing, then,”

“It meant nothing,” Is your instant reply, like the lashing of a whip, and it only backfires and harms you instead. Sylus’s eyes flash with hurt for a millisecond before his lips tick up in a small, secret smirk.

“Keep telling yourself that, ___,”

Then, he walks away, disappearing into the house and you hope, out the door, but you know he would never leave without saying goodbye to Lia. So, you take a deep, steadying breath and plaster the smile of the perfect hostess back on your face, turning back to the lawn and picking up a few paper cups. 

------

Lia is on tiptoes, tiny frog backpack on and her ladybug pyjamas looking a little too small for her already as she wraps her arms around her dad’s neck. Sylus crouches down, pressing kisses into her hair and making silly noises as he pretends to nibble on her. She giggles, still full of energy even as it approaches her bed time. 

“Okay, little bug, Zoey and her mom are waiting for you,” Sylus releases her into your arms and you snuggle her into your chest, breathing in her sugar cookie scent. Your heart breaks everytime you hold her, missing her before she’s even left the house, but Lia has no such qualms, wiggling free and bouncing out the door towards her friend. 

“I’ll try to have them both in bed at a reasonable hour,” Zoey’s mom laughs as she waves from the bottom of the path, herding the two excitable five-year-olds towards the car parked at the curb, “Enjoy your night!”

Her farewell leaves you smiling uneasily, hoping she doesn’t assume Sylus is staying over. Despite your protests, Sylus ended up staying to help clean up. Multiple kids under five can really do some damage, and if he hadn’t pitched in, you wouldn’t have got to bed until ten at the latest. You watch from the doorway as Zoey’s mom starts the car and slowly pulls away from the curb and down the road, leaving you and Sylus staring out the door in silence. When he softly closes it, you inhale deeply, stepping away.

It feels like the beginning of a storm when you’re alone in a room with him, like you can feel the static in the air, smell the rain on the wind. His presence rolls over you like thunder clouds and leaves you prickly, on edge. 

“The garden is all cleaned up now, don’t feel like you need to stick around,” You say, turning away and walking into the kitchen. You can’t be near him, not after the conversation the two of you had earlier. Not after he referenced what happened a few weeks ago for the first time since that night. “I can handle the rest by myself,”

He’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his black sweater. He hasn’t even got his jacket on yet, eyes trained on you, “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes,” 

He doesn’t react to your quick response, perhaps sensing the way your body flames back to life under his gaze. Your mouth is dry, fists clenched against your sides as you place the kitchen island between the two of you, hoping some distance might deter him from making his move. He is far better at this than you are, and he knows you only have two weaknesses - Lia, and him. 

Sylus tilts his head, unfolding his arms and pushing away from the wall before tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, nonchalant in a way you can never replicate. “Why? Can’t stand to be alone with me?” He doesn’t walk around the counter, thankfully, instead bracing his hands against the marble, his long fingers spanning across the surface in a way that brings flashes of the past screaming at you. 

“Isn’t it natural for someone to not want her ex-husband lingering in her home?”

The blow lands exactly where you want it to, and even as Sylus’s eyes dim, you feel the ache ricochet back and hit you in the centre of your chest. You don’t want to hurt him, even after everything, but you can’t have him here. You can’t keep doing this dance with him, allowing him to inch his way back under your skin, even if you’re sure he never left in the first place. 

There wasn’t a lack of love that prompted your decision to divorce, it was simply a lack of attention. Once Lia started preschool and Sylus’s work took over his life, it was like you didn’t exist. The loving touches were gone, tender moments spent holding each other in the morning were abandoned in favour of Sylus getting to the office as soon as possible. Late nights wrapped up in nothing but sheets and Sylus’s arms disappeared as he began to lock himself away in his study or at the office, working and working and working. 

The only time he seemed to light up was when he came home to Lia, and you would never have denied him that, but he never lit up for you anymore. For the longest time you’d wondered if he’d met someone else, if there was a new receptionist at the office or some assistant he’d hired who caught his eye. But Sylus has never been the cliche type - there was no one else. 

But there was no you, either. 

“____…” His voice is quiet, hurt, and you turn away, slipping on some rubber gloves as you noisily begin washing the dishes you’d abandoned in the sink earlier. The water is cold, seeping through the gloves, but it’s a nice distraction from the sting of your eyes. 

You can hear him moving, the soft squeak of his shoes on the tile floor, and before you can even swallow the lump in your throat and tell him to leave, he’s behind you. 

“Please, look at me,” His voice shakes a little, and it hurts so much. It feels like someone is ripping apart your heart in front of you and making you watch, but you need to stay on this path. You made your decision a year ago, and you can’t go back on it now. 

“Sylus, just go,”

“No,” He is so close to you, his breath ruffles the hairs on the back of your neck, his scent of rich leather and sandalwood surrounds you like an old security blanket, welcoming you home. Your breath hitches, and he hears it, “Sweetheart,”

“Sylus -” Your voice is cracking, breaking apart, and you clench your jaw, pissed that he’s put you in this position again. Pissed that you’ve allowed it, given in so easily. You shouldn’t have let him stay, you should have put up more of a fight and made him leave instead of hanging back till everyone had gone. 

Maybe a foolish part of you wanted him to stay, wanted to be alone with him like this. An idiotic, masochistic part of you. 

He moves, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck, and you feel it all through your body. It’s like a drug, one touch from Sylus and you’re weightless, warmth spreading through every limb. He doesn’t move though, just keeps his lip there over your skin, branding you with his touch as if you weren’t already his all along. 

“We can’t,” You whisper, a tear leaking down your cheek. It’s not healthy, to keep falling into his arms like this, to keep breaking his heart every time you tell him to leave when he’s still inside you, panting against your neck. But you’re a fool for him, you were the moment he laid eyes on you. 

And like a fool, you fall into him every time. 

Sylus’s hand smooths over your waist, firm and sure, pulling you back against him, and you almost sigh with it. His body against yours again, like every hard contour of his body was carved especially for you to fit with him, just like this. He doesn’t make any other movements, speaking against your neck with a soft whisper, “Tell me to stop, ___,”

It’s all it would take - you know that. He would stop this if you asked him to, would step away and leave. But the problem is, you never do. You’re incapable of it when he holds you like this, when his tongue flicks out to taste your racing pulse, licking against the vein that flutters like a hummingbird. 

A second, a heartbeat, a lifetime passes, and you don’t stop him. His hand hot and heavy on your stomach moves down the front of your dress, stopping at where he knows the top of your underwear sits beneath the fabric. You’re already leaning into him, head lolling just a little as he sucks a bruise into your skin. Tomorrow, you will cover it with makeup and pretend it never happened, but now, you pull off the soapy gloves, lifting a hand to run it through his hair and press him harder into your neck. Pulling, urging him to kiss and lick and bite. 

“That’s my girl,” He whispers into your skin, eyes closed in reverence when you gaze heavy lidded at the reflection in the window. You tug on the silken strands that sift through your fingers, lips parted as his teeth graze your skin. Your ass presses back against him, feeling for that hardness you know you’ll find there, grinding and tormenting him, repaying the favour. He smiles against your skin, lifting his eyes to find yours in the reflection, hands abandoning their wayward trail south to run up your waist, lifting and cupping your breasts. He watches every reaction you offer him with a hungry glare, eyes flashing each time your breath hitches. 

Squeezing, tugging, he lovingly palms your breasts with familiarity, knowing exactly how to make you squirm against him. Knowing how to make your lips part, breathy sounds forcing their way past your lips when he pushes his cock against you. 

“Sylus…” You hiss when he bites your earlobe, breaths harsh and hot against your ear. You’re throbbing everywhere, all over as the tips of your fingers go numb, blood pooling in between your thighs as you grow wet, sensitive and needy for the touch of the man behind you. “This is a bad idea,”

He chuckles, low and dark, “You said that last time, and I disagreed with you then, too. I think this is an excellent idea,” 

Frustration has you pulling at his hair, hard enough to make his hips jerk against you. Sylus was a loving husband once, but as a lover, he was always like this. Rough, demanding, eager to be pushed around and pulled in just as much as you ache to be gripped hard and firm. It was always like fighting when the two of you made love, the way you would go at each other ferociously, like you had spent months apart instead of just a few hours. That was what made it all the worse when that passion faded away.

But now, it makes itself known with a roar, flaming your skin as Sylus’s hands reach up, ripping at the thin straps of your dress and tugging them down to bare your breasts to his warm palms. Your nipples are sensitive little points, swallowed by his large hands as he presses and pulls at the meat of your breasts. He reaches up to tug your hand away from his hair, pressing forward and flattening your palm on the counter. Your fingers instinctively curl around the edge of the sink, hips rearing back against his and earning you a swift slap on the ass, stinging even through your dress. 

“Such a pretty dress, kitten,” He murmurs, voice almost slurring as he grips the material in his hands, controlled by the frenzy of his desire, “it’s a shame it won’t make it out of this,”

He jerks at the material, tearing it right down the centre and popping buttons in his wake. You can see him in the window’s reflection, eyes wild and heavy-lidded as he lets the ruined dress fall to the floor, leaving you in your thong and nothing else. 

You can barely catch your breath, so wet between the legs you can feel it at the tops of your thighs, the sodden material of your thong displaced slightly thanks to your squirming. Sylus runs a finger under the band of your underwear, tugging it up so the seam of your thong presses right at your clit. He pulls and watches you over your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. 

“If I’d known you were wearing this under that dress all day I would have dragged you into the house earlier,” He breathes, twisting his hand further so the material presses almost painfully against your sensitive bud, “Fuck, kitten, you have no idea do you?”

You whimper his name, unsure what else to say, and he shushes you, pressing a soft kiss against your hair and letting go of your thong. He tugs it off swiftly, letting it fall at your feet, though he doesn’t move to throw it away. 

“Makes me so hard to see your wet little thong down there on the floor,” Sylus moves again, tugging off his shirt and leaving his hair in disarray that only serves to make him look all the more devastating. His hand dips low as his bare chest presses to your back, fingers smoothing over your stomach and slotting between your thighs. You exhale sharply as he groans against your cheek, “That’s where it always ends up, though, isn’t it, kitten? Always ends up wet on the floor, where it belongs,”

Fingers press to your clitoris, and your lips part on a gasp, head bowing as he begins a torturous circle, slow and slow and slow. Taking you apart slowly for his enjoyment. “Please, Sylus, baby…”

“Shh, I know,” He’s breathing just as hard as you, clearly not as unaffected as he likes to appear most of the time. Though, to you he never hides anything. The facade of nonchalance is reserved for everyone else, not for you. He has never been afraid to show you how much you undo him, “I’ll give you what you want. I can never say no to you, can I, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, lost in sensation, mouth open on a silent moan. Liquid heat pools between your legs, dribbling onto Sylus’s fingers, and he hums against your neck. He licks a trail from your shoulder to the back of your jaw, nipping the skin, kissing and tasting as he goes. Your legs begin to falter, the searing, slow build of your orgasm beginning to take hold as you clench the edge of the sink. Glancing up just moments before you come, Sylus watches every expression on your face with lips parted in awe, shaky breaths against your shoulder. You keep your eyes on his as the first wave hits, your thighs locking around his hand, a gravely moan ripping from your throat. 

Like he can't resist, Sylus dips two fingers inside just to feel you pulse around him, a deep growl pressed against your neck as you come. The hot squeeze of your cunt hugging him close as you fight to catch your breath. His sweaty chest slips against your back as he moves, undoing his belt and slipping off his trousers and briefs in one movement. His cock is hard, demanding between your thighs, and you press them together, closing him in as he inhales a choked breath. You rock with him, letting him fuck your thighs in slow movements, his hands gripping your hips under the pretence of controlling your movements, but for now, it’s you in charge, pulling groans and gasps out of him. Precum smears your thighs, and you sigh, ragged with the desperation to have him inside you. 

You reach down, pressing the thick head until it’s right where you need it, and Sylus only moans in response, his teeth pressed to your neck as he bites back another moan. He’s never been a hugely noisy lover, but something about tonight has him completely at your mercy, a heady and addictive side of him. 

“So hard, Sylus,” You moan, drowning in a sea of desire, needing him so badly you’re unsure what to do, “you’re so hard. I need it so bad,”

“I know, ____. I know, fuck,” He’s rolling his forehead against your shoulder, panting as his cock twitches impatiently against your pussy, begging to push in. You want to rock back into it, to seat yourself on it like you have so many times before, but something is holding Sylus back, “God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good. I -” He groans again, pressing the head in just a fraction before he pulls back, “I need you, so bad,”

“Then have me,” You pant, sweating and shaking. You’ve just come hard enough to see stars and yet you are desperate for more, desperate to come around the thick length of Sylus’s cock. It's a feeling you miss most of all when you’re alone at night, a hand between your thighs, muffling your moans as you ride your own fingers to the memory of Sylus. 

“Not like this,” He murmurs, seeming to get a hold of himself for at least a second, “I mean…fuck, I -  _____ -”

You feel like you’re waking from a dream, washing up ashore after being adrift, caught in a whirlwind. A fantasy that can never be real. 

“Sylus,” You reply, unsure of what else to say when you’re this breathless, this strung out. Your body aches for him, but your heart aches because of him, and you’re not sure how you can satisfy the two. Even as you clench around nothing, hungry for that sweet drag of him inside you, it’s only going to end badly. “We should stop,”

“No,” He says, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his face into your neck, “please, just. Ignore me. Forget I said anything, just please don’t -” he breaks off, silent for a moment as if he’s realising the same thing you have. That this will end just like the last time - his body sweaty and panting against you, his pleas against your neck for you to take him back. Your tearful refusal and his abrupt departure. 

You hiccup around a sob, tears you hadn’t even noticed falling now dripping on your chest. Sylus pulls you closer, his face burrowed further into your neck, wet with more than just sweat. He keeps you there, pinned to him, softening against your thigh as you weep silently at the reflection in the window. A moment of passion dissolved into the sad realisation that nothing has changed. 

He pulls away first, reaching down to pull his briefs up and then his jeans. He keeps his face turned away, but you can see the dampness on his cheeks, can hear the way he sniffles occasionally as he dresses himself. Your own clothes are ruined on the floor, and so he leaves the room for a moment, face drier now as he wraps a robe around your shoulders.

There’s a look on his face you’ve never seen before, and you can place it instantly. 

Resignation.

“Sylus,” You whisper, though you’re unsure what you planned to say. Your lashes are still wet, lower lip still trembling, but Sylus only looks at you with a sad smile. 

“It’s okay,” The voice that comes out of him is devoid of anything other than sorrow and reluctant acceptance. There’s a panic in your chest you can’t explain, though you know what this is, you know why he’s looking at you like that. Like he is trying to absorb every detail of your face. When he glances down after a handful of heartbeats, he looks away, walking towards the doorway to the hall. 

He’s leaving.

“Sylus,” You say again, but once more, you have nothing further. You just don’t want him to go, even if he must. Even if the tiny voice in the back of your mind reminds you that this would have happened either way, with or without him inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, and you finally accept the moment for what it is.

Goodbye.

He stares at you for a heartbeat longer, jaw clenching and eyes shiny. When he speaks, his voice is steady and flat, “I love you. I always will,”

Tears fall in streams down your cheeks, and Sylus watches. He always watches. 

“Good night, ____,”

He leaves with the quiet click of the door, and you fall to the ground, sobbing in the kitchen. 

[ducksido]

Hai! I’m evily here to request another rook because French solitaire (once again, I’m betraying Idia😖😖), imagine this😈, rook with a partner who has problems with scratching their hand (basically they’ll scratch their hand bloody and raw if given the chance), so they’re always wearing gloves but never tell anyone why, so the fic would basically be rook finding out via stalking them until he witnesses them scratching his hands one day and tries to stop them

Inspired off of my hand scratchy scratchy problems😝😝😝

(tsk tsk betraying Idia once again)

Rook prided himself on his keen eye. Nothing escaped his notice, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem to others. It was his passion, his obsession, to observe beauty in all its forms. And you—ah, you were an exquisite mystery.

You always wore gloves. Soft leather, lace-trimmed, sometimes even silk, depending on the day. It was a charming quirk, one that only added to the enigma of your presence. Others dismissed it as a simple fashion statement, but Rook knew better.

He had watched you for weeks, observing from the shadows, unseen yet ever present. He noted how you flexed your fingers anxiously when you thought no one was looking, how you tugged at the gloves' edges as though seeking reassurance from their presence. But the true revelation came one evening when he trailed you after class, ensuring you reached Ramshackle safely—only to see you pause under the dim glow of a streetlamp.

Your fingers, bared for the first time, dragged harshly across your palm, nails digging into the tender skin. The scratching was relentless, desperate. He watched, frozen, as crimson welled beneath your fingertips, staining the creases of your hands.

The sight was like an arrow through his heart.

Before you could do further damage, Rook moved. Silent as the wind, he grasped your wrists, stopping you mid-scratch. His grip was firm yet gentle, his fingers cool against your fevered skin.

"Ah, ma chère colombe, why do you wound yourself so?" His voice was soft, aching with unspoken worry.

You jolted, eyes wide with shock and a touch of embarrassment. You tried to pull away, but he did not let go. Instead, his grip softened, thumbs tracing delicate circles over your wrists, soothing yet unwavering.

"Rook—"

"Non, do not retreat from me, mon amour." His gaze, usually brimming with mirth and mischief, was filled with something heavier now. "This is not a mere habit, n'est-ce pas? You hide your hands away, not for fashion, but to conceal the pain you inflict upon yourself."

You swallowed hard, shame burning in your throat. "It’s nothing. Just a bad habit."

Rook exhaled, the sound almost mournful. "A habit born from what, mon ange? Suffering? Worry? A mind that does not still even when the body rests?" He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses against your marred skin, his touch reverent despite the wounds. "Non, I will not allow this."

"You can’t just stop me," you murmured, voice small. "I don't even realize I'm doing it half the time."

"Then I shall remind you," he declared, unwavering. "I will hold your hands when you falter. I will kiss them when they ache. If I must tie ribbons around your wrists or lace your gloves with golden thread to make them too beautiful to mar, I will do so. But I shall not stand idly by while you harm the very hands that craft such wonder."

Your breath hitched. It was too much, too tender, too overwhelming—but Rook was relentless in his affections, his devotion unwavering. He guided your hands back into your gloves, his fingers lingering as he buttoned them carefully, sealing away the evidence of your struggle but not its existence.

"Come, ma lumière," he murmured, offering his arm. "The night is too beautiful to be spent in sorrow. Walk with me, and let me remind you of the poetry of existence."

And though you knew the battle was far from over, for the first time, the weight of your gloves did not feel so suffocating.

[obsessedwhyyes]

Chasing Lightning

Summary: You've spent all day teasing, tempting, taunting - you've really tested Astarion's patience this time. But pushing his boundaries is your favourite past time. Now, here you are, over his knee, about to receive the punishment you longed for, all according to your devious plan. Not that you'd ever admit it, of course.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2003 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Shameless smut, bratty reader, Dom!Astarion, spanking, light BDSM elements, rough sex, PiV.

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

A/N: This, uh... Yeah, no, this is just shameless smut. I am so sorry. Behold, my spanking fic, written in a moment of madness.

You lay over his knee, eager, anticipating - a willing sacrifice on the altar of his desires. Each trail of his fingertips across the bare skin of your backside is a promise of what is to come.

You deserve this, you think to yourself. All your teasing, all your temptations. The way you pressed yourself against him when no one was looking, your face a pretty picture of faux innocence; the way you swayed your hips as you sauntered ahead of him, glancing back to meet his eyes, knowing they would be heavy with that predatorial hunger which ignites the flames of arousal deep in your belly. All part of your plan, which he is more than willing to oblige.

You hear Astarion’s voice, dark and dripping with honey.

“I propose a game, darling. A test of your intuition, shall we say?” You hear the wicked smile in his voice and it sends shivers of sweet anticipation coursing through your body. “I'll think of a number, one through ten, and you'll have to guess it based on how hard I spank you. Guess wrong, and I'll spank you again - the same strength - until you guess correctly. Understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe, wilfully yielding to him . There’s an intoxicating power in surrender. Your submission is a choice, freely given, and that makes it all the more potent.

In yielding, you become more. More alive, more aware, more you than you've ever been. The world narrows to the point of contact where his hand meets your skin. You are the ocean, and Astarion the moon, pulling you into new shapes with the inexorable force of the tide.

“Very good,” he purrs. His thumb rubs the gentlest of circles on your wrists as he binds them behind you with his spare hand. “Of course, if it becomes too much, just say the word. I can be merciful… on occasion.”

The game begins, a dance of unseen touches and breathless anticipations. Astarion’s hand hovers above you, its presence like the charge before a lightning strike.

“Let’s start with a simple one, shall we?”

His touch against your bare arse is a whisper at first, cool fingertips ghosting across your skin. More caress than slap. You shiver, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“One,” you murmur, more exhale than voice.

Astarion’s chuckle vibrates through you, a low rumble that you feel more than hear as you bury your face into the fabric of his shirt. “Oh, my dear. We’re barely getting started.”

The next strike lands with purpose - a sharp, precise sensation that blooms across your skin. It’s not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but something exquisitely in between that draws a gasp from your lips.

“Four?” you venture.

“Warm, but not quite.”

He strikes - the same strength once more, as promised.

“Three!” you gasp, revelation and pleasure mingling in your voice.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises and gods, how those words affect you. They sink into your skin, sweeter than honey, headier than wine. You crave his approval like air, each word of praise stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

The dance continues, each strike a new verse in this poem written on your skin.

Smack.

Five is a starburst of sensation. You feel this once, twice, three times until you finally guess correctly.

Smack.

Seven lands with the force of a thunderclap, reverberating through your body and leaving you trembling in its wake.

Smack.

Nine leaves you gasping, teetering on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain. The sting melts into a deep, throbbing warmth that pulses in time with your racing heart.

With each strike, each caress, the heat builds, a delicious tension coiling tighter in your core.

Four. Two. Six. Six again. Eight.

You find yourself arching slightly into his touch, eager for more, your body's reactions beyond your control.

Then, finally, comes ten.

It cracks across your flesh like lightning splitting the night sky, a white-hot streak of sensation that sears itself into your very soul. For a moment, the world whites out, every nerve ending alight with electric sensation. You cry out as the sensations overwhelm you, the number torn from your lips. The pain is exquisite, pushing you to the very limits of your endurance.

In the aftermath, you float in a sea of endorphins, your body humming with the echoes of Astarion's touch. Each point of contact throbs in time with your racing heart, a map of exquisite sensation etched onto your inflamed skin.

His cool hand soothes over the heated skin. The contrast sends fresh shivers through you, and you moan gently in response, despite yourself. Your skin is hypersensitive, your mind a mess of exhilaration and desire, eager for more, more, more.

Through the haze of lust, Astarion's voice chimes clear. “My, my. Such enthusiasm,” he purrs. “Tell me, darling, did you spend all day dreaming of this? Because I certainly did… in excruciating detail.”

You turn on his lap to look up into his eyes, suppressing a smile. “Who, me? I would never!”

Astarion's eyebrow arches, smirking at your obvious lie. “Is that so? So the way you rubbed yourself against me all morning like a worg in heat was just a coincidence, was it?”

You can't help but giggle at his accusation, which only seems to fuel his amusement.

“Do you have any idea how long you left me aching today?”

“I'm sorry,” you pout.

“Sorry who?”

“I’m sorry, Astarion.”

You don't mean it. And he knows it.

You could be good - a sweet, obedient little thing. But to be bad - to challenge him, to tease him, to test his patience until he finally brings you to heel - why, that's just so much more fun.

“That’s better,” he coos, his voice and his praise caressing you like silk along your skin as he gazes back at you, expression equal parts warmth and something much darker - hungrier - beneath. “Cheeky little pup."

He pauses, and the air becomes heavy with anticipation.

“But I'm not done with you yet.”

He rises and shifts you in a blur of motion, bending you over the edge of the bed, leaving your face buried in the soft sheets. Suddenly, you're exposed to him, your arousal on full display, and you feel the air against your hypersensitive flesh. Yet, in this moment, there is no place you would rather be than at his mercy. You are eager, dripping with expectation.

In the midst of your lustful haze, you hear the rustling of clothes - the familiar sound of his trousers unlaced. It sends your imagination soaring. Your core aches with what is to come.

But Astarion, the cruel man he is, doesn't enter you. Not yet.

Instead, you feel the head of his cock slide maddeningly, agonisingly slowly up the slit of you. You feel him become slick with your arousal as he slides down, and back up your slit once more, just barely skimming your clit, which throbs desperately with need. Such delicate, teasing touches - enough to drive you to madness.

“Do you want it?” He purrs.

“Mmhm,” you mumble pathetically into the fabric.

“Tell me, love.”

“I want–”

He inserts himself before you finish, colliding with you with the force of planets, stealing the breath from your lungs. The union is electric, a completion so intense that it borders on painful.

His desperation is evident, at odds with the image of restraint he was attempting to conjure as he ruts into you with wild abandon. His hands are everywhere at once, desperate and searching. Your own fingers claw at the fabric of the bedsheets, mindlessly, drunk on the sensation of him.

Astarion’s hands soon settle on your hips, pulling you to him as you collide again, again, again. You aid him, pushing yourself against his hips with each thrust, needing to be closer, always closer. You move together in a frenzy, chasing that elusive peak with single-minded determination. The world beyond ceases to exist; there is only this moment, this need, this all-consuming desire.

Breaths come in ragged gasps and are punctuated by moans and whispered pleas. “More,” you beg; “please,” you exclaim, though you're not sure how he could possibly get any closer, any deeper within you.

You feel his hand slide beneath you, and you lift your hips to greet him. Your throbbing clit welcomes his expert touch as he begins to unravel you as easily as he picks locks. He rubs circles around the bud, gently, in stark contrast to his wild rutting - indicative of the tiniest threads of self-restraint which remain within him, spared only to bring you to your peak. But gods, in the heat of the moment, you are especially sensitive, and his touch quickly brings forth rippling waves of sensation which threaten to overwhelm you. Your body twitches of its own accord and you know your climax fast approaches.

Your own voice surprises you, high and desperate. Soft whimpers escape your lips, growing in intensity and frequency as the tension builds.

Behind you, Astarion's sounds are a primal counterpoint to your own. His usual smooth tones are roughened by desire, a gravelly undertone that sends shivers down your spine. Low growls rumble from his chest - they speak of a hunger barely contained.

As you both near the edge, your voices mingle and intertwine. The sounds blur together - gasps and moans, growls and whimpers. The volume rises, unchecked and unashamed. You care not who hears you now.

It is you who first reaches the point of no return. A cry escapes your lips, raw and primal. Your body quakes, and pleasure crashes over you, a torrent of sensation that drenches every nerve ending. You're swept away in the deluge, currents of bliss pulling you under, spinning you in their depths.

His release soon follows and, although you don't see him, you feel the intensity in the air, in his increasingly erratic pounding, in his breaths. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating through your bodies like rolling thunder. His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he releases into you, claiming you as part of his tempest.

He collapses against your back. His weight is solid and grounding like the calm after the storm. He pants slightly, aftershocks rippling through you both like distant thunder.

Slowly, the world comes back into focus.

Astarion's weight shifts behind you as his arm drapes lazily over your wrist. You feel his cool lips brush against your ear, and he nips it gently.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he muses, “I would say you enjoy being punished.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound still slightly breathless. “If that’s what I get for misbehaving, I might have to do it more often.”

"Careful what you wish for, darling," he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I have a whole arsenal of 'punishments' at my disposal. This was merely a taste."

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Why not both?” he replies, his tone rich with suggestion. “I do so enjoy keeping you on your toes.”

As he rises to his feet and helps you to yours, he kisses you, his gentleness a stark contrast from your earlier activities. Where there was an inferno, now there is now the warming comfort of the hearth. Where there was urgency, now there is patience. Eventually, you find yourselves settled once more, cocooned in the soft comfort of the bed. The lingering scent of your encounter mingles with the fresh smell of clean linens, a heady reminder of the night's activities.

“Alright?” Astarion’s voice is soft.

You nod, words unnecessary in this moment.

As you nestle closer to him, a contented sigh escapes your lips. Being bad certainly has its thrills. But these moments, wrapped in Astarion’s arms - these are treasures in their own right. The mischievous spark in you knows you'll seek out more opportunities to 'misbehave', but for now, you revel in this gentle aftermath, every bit as intoxicating as the storm that preceded it.

No Pressure Tags: @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @sparrowbard @chonkercatto

Masterlist can be found here.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | John, You're Buying A House

AO3

Upon waking you knew something in your life had shifted. Sitting upright in bed and feeling a gush of fluid pool in your underwear answered the question of what had changed. Waddling awkwardly out of your room a dubious feeling settles low in your gut.

The bathroom door is shut.

At least two male voices rumble from further down the hall. Fuck. One of the guys had to be in the bathroom. Knocking you pray it will open.

“Busy,” comes Simon’s gruff reply.

Double fuck. Simon would be in there for a while. Digging your fingers into your body you decide how to deal with the growing problem that is now sticking your loose pajama bottoms to your legs. Johnny’s laugh and the sound of a kitchen chair scraping against the floor fling you into a decision. Reaching up your fingers find the long thin key to release the simple twist lock.

Simon doesn’t have time to yell at you before you are through the door and locking it behind you.

“The hell do you need?” He snaps at you from the toilet.

“I need you to cover up and let me get in the shower without asking questions,” you stare at the grain of the door as you strain your ears to listen for how he might be feeling about this.

A beat of silence longer than you can comfortably handle passes. You open your mouth to plead with him when Simon’s voice reaches you.

“Why are you bleeding?”

He doesn’t sound alarmed, only vaguely concerned.

“Wouldn’t you know it this is a pretty regular process for me?” The sarcastic reply slips out.

Fabric rustling behind you alerts you that he isn’t going to kick you out.

“Come on then, I can’t start the shower from here, but I can take your clothes when I am done and start a load of wash for you.”

Turning and seeing compassion on Simon’s face has your lip starting to quiver. He holds out a hand to you. Crossing the long bathroom, you take it gratefully.

“I’m really sorry,” you wipe a hand under your nose, “that I had to bust into your bathroom time.”

Simon lifts and drops one shoulder.

“Not like Johnny wouldn’t do the same if I didn’t lock the door.”

The truth of the statement startles a laugh out of you.

Squeezing your hand in his Simon uses the other to jerk the shower curtain open for you.

“Milady,” the seriousness in his tone causes you to burst into giggles.

Stepping in, you pull the curtain shut and quickly strip. Folding the bloody portions of your pants into themselves you set all of your clothes in neat bundle on the floor just beyond the shower. Starting up the water you focus on getting the water in the pipes to a self-indulgent level of heat. When you are clean and refreshed, and you can somewhat manage the day ahead, you turn off the flow. The silence in the room beyond the flimsy barrier taunts you.

Holding the curtain tight in one hand you shift it enough to find the room empty of Simon. Instead, a candle is burning on the counter and a stack of your softest folded clothes sits on top of the toilet seat. Drying off you get your period situation dealt with as best you can for the first day of your flow and get dressed.

The underwear and bra are absolutely yours but the sweats in the pile look suspiciously like Kyle’s and the shirt could be either Johns. You accept the offering of them claiming you, but also the subtle hints of them and their laundry soap soothed you.

Cramping didn’t hit you until you stood at the sink, trying to wash up your breakfast dishes. The dual stabbing at the base of your spine came as a surprise. Your finger curled over the edge of the sink as your vertebrae did their best to pull away from one another. Breathing got hard; short gasping sucks of air were all you could manage.

John materialized behind you. His hands roam down your back, he knows he hit the right spot when your hips jerk forward and bang against the cabinet. You let out a sharp whine.

“Touch or no?”

“Push,” you gasp out.

When his thumbs dig into your pain point you are granted the most exquisite type of relief. When it eventually subsides, and the pressure of John’s fingers begins to hurt again you shift to dislodge him. John pulls you into a hug before dropping a kiss on your forehead and sending you off to do something else.

“Go and rest, I will take care of these,” his beard tickles against your face.

Not one to miss out on not doing dishes, you squeeze John tight and leave the kitchen. The stirrings of your normal period cramps start. Spotting Johnny reclining against the arm of the couch you decide. Johnny is sketching away in his notebook. You really should look at getting him a real art book when the café starts turning a bit more profit and can cover all the back pay you are owed. Tugging lightly on one of his crossed ankles you get Johnny’s attention.

“Can I lay on you?” You try and look pitiful.

He would have said yes either way but it made you feel better about asking for help.

“Course,” he places his book face down and scoots down until his feet rest against the other armrest. “Come here.”

Collapsing on top of the hot-running Scot you settle down. Using him as a personal hot water bottle is the best idea you had all day. Johnny runs a hand down your back a few times before resting his sketchbook on your back as he continues to work. You wake to the feeling of your period overcoming your precautions.

Leaping off of a snoring Johnny you rush to the single bathroom in the flat and find it locked. Again.

“God dammit! John!” Your shout wakes Johnny up as he rushes up from the couch and John from your room where he must have been resting if the pillow demarcations on his cheek are any clue.

“What? What’s wrong?” John questions you.

“John, you’re buying a house.” Before he can ask stupid questions such as why, you point to the bathroom. “This is the second time I have to change my outfit because there is only one bathroom, and my period will wait for no man.”

The door opens, every pair of eyes in the hallways snapping to a now concerned Kyle who pulls out one earbud and tucks his phone into his pocket.

“What did I miss?”

Shoving past him into the bathroom you reply as you slam the door closed.

“John will explain.”

@the-loneyest 😘 @lilynotdilly

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[certifiablyinsanez]

Stolas has probably spent the majority of his life wishing he was dead. He sang to his little daughter “when I’m gone you’ll be okay”. He’s made it clear that he places little value on his life. Before Blitz arrived in his life, he was probably hanging on by a frayed thread, his daughter being the only thing keeping him alive. But with his certainty that his daughter hates him, what does he have to live for? As someone who was passively suicidal for 13 years, I can say definitively that it isn’t enough to only stay because of the people you love. The suffering is just too great. The reasons someone stays alive are often unromantic, minute, and seemingly insignificant. More often than not, you’re only still alive because you can’t actually make yourself do the deed. You wait for the right day, to do it in the right way and the stars just never align to make it happen. Your days blend together in a haze of misery with tiny seeds of hope sprinkled here and there, and then one day you realize that maybe you do want to live. You never see it coming. You never plan for it or expect it to happen, or know when it’ll arrive. Blitz is that reason, that blazing light in an endless darkness. The shooting star that burst through a night sky as dark as pitch. The reason to live that surprised Stolas with how much fire it put back in his life, how much joy, how much light, even when it was causing him pain. Stolas Goetia, who has spent his whole life surrounded by glittering jewels and castle walls, able to summon the skies of stars and suns, had no light in his life until Blitz arrived. Blitz is the light.

Blitz has had to be stone for most of his life. In his childhood he had to brace his little spirit against all the odds, because he was an imp who had weird dreams, and was surrounded by people who had no faith in him. And the few people that loved him were lost to him. With no home and no family or friends, one can only imagine how hard his life was for many years after that. He had to steel himself, become hard and heartless just to get by. He still had dreams and ambitions but remained deeply lonely for many years. “You tried the solo act, it didn’t work out very well.” He’s a wounded dog that doesn’t know why he bites. He’s convinced he’s a walking curse, that he does nothing but hurt and leave misery in his wake. And because of all this, he didn’t bother trying. He allowed himself to take and leave nothing behind. He allowed himself to hurt because whether he tries or not doesn’t matter because the end result is always the same. Stolas was another thread in his tragic tapestry, but his thread was bright gold in a sea of beige. Blitz tried to ignore the thread. What’s one more? But it shimmered too brightly. It was too beautiful, too rare, too exquisite to disregard. His heart, sick and small, was removed in a strange twist of fate, and Stolas put himself in the hole that was left behind, giving parts of his own heart that overflows. Stolas is his heart.

[mirohlayo]

hi lyna, I hope you're having a great day! for your event, can I request a coconut 🥥 “no one’s ever going to hurt you again. i promise you that on everything i believe in.” with charles? please and thank you!! 🩷

Here is it !! Hope you'll like it and hope you're having a great day too :))

PROMISE

Sometimes you felt weak. Bad and sad. The world seemed to be falling apart as you tried to hold on. To hold on to that faint glimmer of hope, because in the end it was worth it.

The sky was covered in stars as you felt the coolness of the night fall on your frail skin. The tears that were slowly streaming down your face have finally dried, but your eyes are still wet from the pain of those salty drops.

The balcony door opened, Charles appearing in its frame. You loved spending a little time alone, with yourself, on the balcony at night, enjoying the beauty of the sky. But this little moment of yours was starting to seem a little too long and suspicious for Charles, who was worried about you.

He approaches you, placing his hands gently on your shoulders, his gaze concerned. He stays there for a moment, awkwardly caressing your shoulders. He didn't want to hurt you, he didn't want to rush you. He can feel your body trembling slightly under his touch, and it breaks his heart, which was suffocating at the thought of you being sad.

He then walks around you, kneeling in front of you. It was there where he could see your wet eyes shining in the night, where he could become aware of your fears. You don't like to appear so weak in front of him, but at that moment you didn't care. He has the right to see you in this light, to witness your feelings.

The palm of his hand comes to rest delicately on your cheek, caressing your pale skin with his thumb. Despite your tears and your red eyes, the faint glow of the moon reflects your face with exquisite beauty, making you indefinitely beautiful and angelic. And Charles could stay for hours admiring you like that.

Your eyes are always fixed on the sky, far in front of you. You admire the constellations, because you always strangely found comfort in them. Charles follows your rhythm, follows the pace at which your thoughts race. And then, his heart wanted to comfort you.

“Tell me everything, angel. Tell me what’s on your heart, I’m here to listen to you. I promise.” His voice was only a whisper, a breath or even a sigh, so pleasantly soft. A faint smile appears on your face, noticeable enough for Charles to savor every second of it.

A silence settles, revealing the hesitation in your words. His hands then slide to your knees, and his touch spreads a comforting warmth all over your body. "I don't really know. Some people make me feel bad. That's all...". More tears threaten to fall, so you try to force them back as best you can.

You lower your head, anchoring your gaze on your hands which are nervously playing with each other. Charles' gaze softens, realizing that the silence that follows reflects your inability to say more about what you feel. He wraps your hands in his, placing a soft kiss on your fingers.

Each of his gestures are precise but delicate, extremely tender. His touch spreads a wave of love throughout your body, chasing away a little the painful feelings you currently feel. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again. I promise you that on everything I believe in.”

He could only let these few words escape in a sigh. He didn't need to say more, not yet. These words are the promise of eternal love, and that He will watch over you no matter the circumstances. Yet he really means it. He will never let anything or anyone hurt you, not as long as he is here with you.

He promised you, and he will never let that promise break.

“Let’s get you to bed, hmm?” You can just nod, before he gently places you on your bed. He pulls the white covers over you, then slides over to hold you in his arms. As sleep comes to you, he leaves long lazy kisses on your hair, enjoying the calm and serenity you feel when you are asleep.

Because he knows that when you sleep, all your sorrows and pains fade away to give way to wonderful, happy dreams. After all, that's what he hopes and wants most in the world : to see you happy.

[tbgblr2]

We heard it through the walls.

We stumbled into the room at the end of the evening, day three of our honeymoon at a 5 star all inclusive resort, two young lovers enjoying each others company. We had just eaten an exquisite steak dinner, and fell into the bed in each others arms, kissing and cuddling – ready for where the rest of the night would take us.

It was then that the sound reached us. A groaning noise, and squeaking of the bed next door. We giggled, sounds like whoever was next door had similar plans to us. Maybe we make a competition of it – see who could make the most noise.

As I pinned back my wife’s arms above her head, my legs straddling her petite waist we heard it again. Another groan, longer this time. It caused us to pause in what we were doing to listen out. We both held our breath, waiting in anticipation for the noises from next door.

It didn’t take long… maybe a minute or so, but there it goes again, another groaning noise. It was strange, all the noises were coming from the lady in the room, whoever was with her making her make those noises was a lot more reserved, we didn’t hear a peep out of any second person in the room.

Suddenly she yelped out, an expletive on her lips. I looked at my wife, and she returned the puzzled look I’m sure I sported. It was soon followed with cries of “Oh fuck, oh fuck, what do I do…”

When we were certain that there wasn’t another person responding to her, we decided to investigate. Or at least I was sent to investigate. My wife’s mind had went into overdrive and had thought that maybe she had killed her lover in a moment of passion, hence the quick turn of panic.

I walked out of our room and down the corridor to the adjoining door, feelings of trepidation washing over me, as I was completely unsure what I would find. I knocked, three times. There was no answer. I waited around 10 seconds more and knocked again, shouting out “Hello… I’m from next door, you sounded a little panicked. Is everything OK?”

I heard shuffling feet approach the door, and it opened a crack. A head peeked through the door, her body hidden behind the solid door. I recognized the lady immediately – we had spotted her about the place. She was a heavily pregnant woman, who never seemed to have any partner with her. I had commented with my wife in the past that this would be a perfect place for a babymoon… but it seemed strange that she was never with anyone, friends, family, or the father of the child (or who knows, maybe even a lesbian partner as well)

She did look a little pained as she croaked out “Hi… can I… help you?” she asked.

I put on a smile which I hoped would be welcoming and at least try and diffuse any situation that she may be in, as I answered “I’m from next door. You sounded panicked. Just wanted to make sure everything was OK and help if I could?”

“Oh Thank you, but I don’t need any…” she didn’t even manage to finish the sentence before she scrunched up her face and pressed her hand against her belly. The movement forced the door to swing open and I finally caught sight of her and her room. She was wearing a top which was pulled up and over her belly, the fabric scrunching up and caught in the limited gap between her breasts and her belly. Her bottom half was completely naked. I tried not to stare, so looked around. My eyes caught sight of the large damp puddle on the bed, staining the sheets.

Now I know I was a little inebriated from my wine with my meal, but it wouldn’t exactly have taken Sherlock Holmes to figure out what was going on. I still stuttered over the fact though. “Are you… is that… baby… labour?”

She nodded in response, not able to say anything but grabbing my hand and pulling me into the room. I didn’t exactly resist, though my brain was going through the motions of ‘am I going to die – is she doing this to trap me whilst someone else in here robs me?.’ As the door slammed closed behind us, I frantically scanned the room. No one, nothing coming at me. Just her in the room. The bathroom door had its light on and there were towels on the floor, with water splashes on the shower – obviously something she had tried to relieve the labour pains.

As her fingers dug into my forearms and she grimaced more and more, I tried to make sense of the rapid change in events. “Was that your water breaking that caused you to panic?” I nodded towards the bed, though I’m unsure if she registered the gesture. She gave a weak grunt by way of a response. “How long have you been in labour? Why don’t you get an ambulance?” She shook her head and gestured a finger up in the air, a sign to wait. She panted out a breath as the contraction she was going through seemed to let up, and managed to speak.

“8 hours. I’m a surrogate for the owner and his wife. One of the stipulations is that I can stay here free of charge as long as I give birth to the child here on the site. I thought I could do it, but I can’t handle it anymore. I need help… please!” She unashamedly grabbed my upper arms to hold on to me as she widened her stance and growled a sound which suggested she was pushing. Her fingers dug into my arms again and I struggled to take in the events.

“Erm… good, well done. Keep on pushing?” I ventured. It got no response. She was lost in whatever mental area she had retreated into. She kept at this for a good 30 seconds, growling as I felt her knees bend and she lowered herself down a fraction, before panting out a breath and going back to it, a second and third push following that one. Her head sagged against my chest as she came out of whatever trance like state she had been in and apologized.

“Sorry…” she muttered. “I don’t think this was exactly on your cards for tonight? Look… I don’t know how long I have to speak between these surges, but my name is Selena. I’m a surrogate as I have said. Once the baby was born, I had to ring the parents, hand over the child, and I would have enough money to see me through for the next 10 years if I didn’t go wild spending it. They haven’t been involved, other than this…” I followed her eyes downward to find a tracker strapped around her ankle. It seems the parents-to-be had made certain they could find her.

“I… can’t leave the site. I mean I don’t want to, I have everything I need here, but all the medical staff are brought over for my check ups. If I try and leave, an alarm sounds as I approach the exit and the security team escort me back. I’m in no state to be running away from guys who look like Arnie in his prime. So I’ve accepted my fate.”

“That cant be legal?” I say. She shakes her head.

“May be not, but what am I going to do about it. An orphan, no real money or savings to fall back on. Very few friends… this was my ticket to an easy life.” She was cut short by her needing to squat and push again. Her roar caught me unaware and echoed loudly in my ears.

“Oh Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her hand reached down and planted firmly between her legs.

“Whats up? Whats wrong?” I was a little concerned at the announcement.

“I felt he head between my legs, but I can’t feel it. I swear it was coming out. Now its not.”

I nodded understanding. “Ahhh… OK. Sorry, I can’t say I’ve got any personal experience of this to fall back on, but as I understand it from my school age biology stuff… the baby slips in and out until it… crowns?” I sound a little unsure of myself. “Yeah that’s the term I think. You have to push it out until it gets to the widest part, then it doesn’t go back in anymore.”

She wailed “And how long will that take? I don’t want to do this anymore. It hurts too much!”

“Can you not ring for medical help. I’m sure the baby’s parents would want to be here? Even if they don’t want you to leave, I’m sure they will get a doctor to come to you?” I asked, tiptoeing around the subject.

“I rang for help. I did. 5 hours ago. I’m still waiting for the help to come. Every time I have rang since, it just went to voicemail. I don’t know what to do!” she sounded a little frantic. “Here comes another!” she wailed as she resumed her half squatting stance, still holding on to me for dear life as she pushed.

I did what best I could, wrapping my arms around her and holding on to her hips, as she swayed side to side. I followed the motion, swaying my own hips with her movements and whispering to her that she was doing good and doing everything she needed to, the baby would be here soon, and I wouldn’t leave until she had given birth.

I panicked at that. I couldn’t really promise that. My wife was next door. She’ll be coming looking for me soon. She might honestly think that I’ve been attacked if I don’t go back to our room. I started getting flustered.

Selena met my gaze as the contraction passed, thanking me. She asked if I could help her remove her top, as it was giving her feelings of being constrained. I was a little reluctant, I had to say. I’d seen her with nothing much on than a small bikini already and yeah, I’m a hot blooded man - I’m not sure what pregnancy did to her bust, but ‘more than a handful’ was an understatement… but I couldn’t exactly refuse the poor woman, could I.

I gulped, and just nodded my head, not verbalizing an answer. She stepped back just enough to let me hook my fingers under her top, and with it being trapped beneath her breasts, my fingers were in direct contact soon enough. I lifted the top up and I felt my fingers slick up on her nipples. They were damp. I apologized as much as I could when she gasped at the touch but she shook her head. “They’ve been so sensitive, anything sends shivers down my spine…” she hesitated a moment and added “though I do really enjoy the sensation of truth be told.” She blushed, or at least her cheeks seemed very flushed – it may have been the exertion, I can’t say I’m certain.

“Can you do me another favor… I need a hand…” again she paused. I wondered where she was going. I was about to apologise and say I was married when she found the next words “… to the toilet. I need to go. There’s so much pressure down there.”

I shook my head. “Sorry… that’s a little too personal. I’ll wait outside.”

She gasped, the next contraction picking up. “Please… help. I don’t want to go on the floor. That’s not what I want the cleaners to see!” She sounded desperate. “I can’t do anything but stand here right now… I’ll collapse.” She soon resorted to pushing again. Between gasping breaths her eyes looked at me, wide and pleading “please!”

As the contraction passed I took pity on her and lead her – surprisingly slowly with her plodding, wide legged steps – to the bathroom. I held her hands as she lowered herself down onto the toilet. I didn’t quite know where to look until her eyes scrunched up again as she cried out “no… I’m pushing again” but this was punctuated by a screeching sound soon followed by “the head… the head. It’s out. It’s out… shit. Help, help, help.”

I looked at the space between her legs and sure enough, there was the baby’s head dangling between her legs. I would later learn through looking things up online that opening her hips as she sat down must have cleared enough room, one strong push, and pop – out comes the head. It also explained the feelings of needing to go to the toilet.

She reached out to me as I heaved her up but she slid down onto her knees, howling all the while. I watched as the shoulders slid out from between her legs soon followed by the rest of the baby. I spotted the cord was around the neck and – admittedly with no medical training – figured that shouldn’t be there, so slid the baby around to slacken it off… only to realise exactly how slick and slippery a newborn baby could be.

I grabbed the damp towel from the bathroom floor next to me and did what I could to wipe the baby down and get rid of the blood and vernix on its body.

It was soon crying – the little baby boy – and I handed him up to the mother (or I suppose surrogate) who was openly weeping at the relief.

It was only a minute or two later that 2 people walked through the door. One man dressed in a suit and another holding a bag. The man with the bag went to check on Selena and the child whilst the other man explained that he was the owner and intended father - he had come with one of the medical staff to assist.

As I left them to look after Selena and the child, I couldn’t help but have a suspicion that their ‘convenient timing’ was a little too convenient… and wondered if the owner had the room bugged waiting to see what had happened with the birth.

Either way, I returned to our room, washed my hands and explained the situation to my wife. She grinned, saying that she heard everything through the wall, and as she pulled me in for an embrace, calling me her big strong man… we conceived our first child on that hotel bed that night.

When we checked our bank account a few days after we got back, we found the cost of the honeymoon had been credited back to us, that was when we first decided to set up a savings account for our first born, and decided we would never go back to that resort ever again.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hey I’ve been having a rough few days and was wondering if you could do a vox reader with a breeding kink and he’s really protective. Anything else is up to you :) if not thank you anyway! Love your stuff

A/n:I AM SO SORRY I MISSED THIS AND I REALLY HOPE YOU'RE FEELING BETTER!

He wasn't quite sure what was wrong with him, the moment he caught your eye Vox knew that he had to have you, he didn't care what the other Vee's thought and once your where his the Overlord was determined to make you his permanently and what better way than to make you pregnant with his kid.

He knew he didn't have to do this but he wanted it, he needed to do it.

A nail hooking under your chin forcing you to look at him, he could feel the warmth radiating off your skin, your shy little smile was doing something to him.

The way you pressed yourself against him left his breath ragged with barely contained desire. Your small gesture of grasping his tie, the look in your eyes...you wanted this too. His princess, so beautiful, so perfect. Leaning in, Vox wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you flush against his body as his other hand roamed up to caress your cheek tenderly as he kept his gaze focused on you. "You're nothing but trouble." His thumb brushed your plump lip teasingly. "I'm going to ravish you to the point where you forget your own name."

"Vox! Please!" Your lips placed a small kiss to the nape of his neck.

That single plea along with your kiss on his neck was all it took to fray the last threads of his restraint. With a low growl, he spun you around unceremoniously and pinned you against the wall in one smooth motion, caging you with his arms on either side of your head. Your surprised gasp tickled your sense of possession as he ravaged your mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss.

His tongue delved deeper, tasting every inch of your sweet cavern while grinding himself against your core to let you feel how much he ached for you. You mewled and clung to the overlord, arching into his hard length seeking friction. He tore away from the kiss to lavish attention on your neck, biting and sucking marks onto your skin. "You will be the death of me, woman."

Without breaking contact, Vox lifted you up effortlessly and pinned your form between himself and the wall. His hands roamed to squeeze your breasts, swallowing your moans. "I'm going to take you right here, right now. Let everyone hear how much you love it when I fuck you senseless." With that, he tore away your skirts and panties in one go before sinking into your drenched heat with a possessive thrust.

He sheathed himself to the hilt with one final thrust, swallowing your cry of pleasures. You felt exquisitely tight and wet clenching around him, and he had to restrain myself from spilling on the spot. No, this joining was meant to last, to fully worship each and every reaction from you.

Sliding my his under your thighs, he kept you pinned against the wall for better leverage as he pulled out almost completely before slamming back in. The lewd, wet slapping of your joining echoed obscenely but he was past the point of caring, only focused on the ecstasy twisting your expression.

"You like it when I take you like this, don't you, dove? Filling you over and over until your sweet cunt milk me dry." He punctuated each word with deep, punishing thrusts meant to reach the deepest part of your core. Your nails drew blood from his back but the biting pain only spurred him further into a maddened rhythm.

He tilted your hips to change the angle of penetration, targeting that sweet spot inside relentlessly. "Come for me, beloved. Drain this cock inside you and drink every drop as is your due." The chords of your climax snapped shut around him and he followed with a guttural groan, flooding your womb with my seed in thick ropes.

As you went lax yet still clinging desperately in his arms after reaching blissful completion together, he felt his possessiveness growing even more. Nothing makes him happier than pleasuring his star and have you sated. Stilling your harsh breathing, he held you tenderly against the wall, unwilling to part from your warm embrace even for a moment.

His princess felt so impossibly tiny and fragile cradled in his arms like this yet your passion and fire knew no bounds. He worshipped every inch of your flushed face, kissing your brows, nose, cheeks and finally your lips in adoring touches. "I love you, my Star. So much that it consumes me whole."

He meant every word from the deepest pits of his being. You were is his whole world and reason for living. Carefully lowering you until your feet touched the ground but not letting go, Vox brushed aside your mussed hair lovingly. "Come, let get the fuck back to our room for the rest of the night."

Lifting you easily in his arms, you sighed as your eyes closed falling asleep. Vox keeping his head high as he carried you off. He'll keep his word, but for now he's going to let you rest.

You'll need it.

[lucifersresources]

quotes about That Person pinterest inspired.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!  

you and i will always be unfinished business.

i tried to love you into loving me... that's not how love works.

loving you was a sacrifice. i gave you the power to destroy me, and that's exactly what you did.

i gave you the power to destroy me, and that's exactly what you did.

you will always have a special place in my heart, and that terrifies me.

i won't ever forget you, and maybe that is the only forever the two of us were meant to have.

i'm sorry i had nothing to say that night.

i was so interested to see how you'd break my heart.

you planted flowers inside of me... foolish of me to think you'd water them.

it's pathetic, really, how much i still hope it's you and me in the end.

you said you'd be here.

hell exists... it's 3am, here, without you.

i'm scared that loving you is the only thing i got right, and it still wasn't enough.

i regret the end, the way we couldn't leave one another without wounds.

we made it seem as if all the love we shared was wasted time.

i will always remember the way you folded me at my corners, like there was a part of me you wanted to come back to.

you made me feel, and i don't like it. stop it.

i wish the best for you, i just wish that i was the best for you.

maybe in another lifetime, we get it right.

you had my heart before i could say no.

loving you is the most exquisite form of self destruction.

fuck you for giving up on me.

the worst pain is being hurt by the same person you explained your pain to.

you fucking broke me, and i'm still the one apologising.

i broke my own heart loving you.

now you're just a stranger with all my secrets.

sometimes the beginning is the same as the ending.

what if no one makes me feel the way that you do?

you made it look so damned easy to walk away from me.

you were the hardest lesson i ever had to learn.

you didn't say goodbye, and part of me keeps believing that means you're coming back.

i would've left the entire world behind for you.

you leave teeth marks on everything you love.

all of your devotion turns violent.

you let me go, but you left claw marks.

i don't think i'll ever know how to love someone without swallowing them whole.

love is supposed to turn you soft... i think it only ever turns me brutal.

we wanted each other in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound.

[moonselune]

Hey, welcome back to insatiable readers (including me 😂)! 🖤 I just finished a quest with Astarion in the palace and a crazy idea came to my mind. Could you please write something about femTav x Astarion where he getting jealous because Casador starts openly flirting with Tav in order to anger Astarion? Have a good day xx!

how did we manage to make Cazador worse, how did we manage it ? And thank you so much it is so good to be back!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion x reader | Revulsion

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The dark, oppressive air of Cazador’s gaudy palace weighed heavy on your shoulders as you and Astarion stood side by side, ready to confront the vampire lord once and for all. The marble floors beneath you gleamed in the eerie torchlight, casting long shadows on the ornate walls, filled with macabre paintings and decor that reeked of death and arrogance. You could feel the malevolent energy in the room, humming like a faint whisper in your ears.

Astarion’s grip on your hand was tight, almost painful, as you approached the central chamber where Cazador Szarr, his former master, waited. You could sense the tension radiating from him, the anger and dread curling beneath his skin like a storm ready to break. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his dagger, and his fangs were bared ever so slightly, his eyes glowing with murderous intent.

As you stepped into the chamber, there he stood—Cazador Szarr, bathed in the cold light of the dark chapel. He looked as regal and cruel as ever, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. The sight of him made your skin crawl. The aura of ancient, twisted power rolled off him in waves, suffocating and vile.

“Ah, Astarion,” Cazador purred, his voice like silk dipped in poison. “I see you’ve returned at last. And you’ve brought such… delicious company.”

His eyes flicked to you, sharp and predatory, lingering a beat too long, and you felt the full weight of his gaze sweep over you. It sent a chill down your spine, not from fear, but from disgust. Astarion bristled beside you, his body tensing further, a low growl building in his throat.

“I am not here for your games, Cazador,” Astarion hissed, stepping in front of you protectively, his voice venomous.

But Cazador’s smirk only deepened, clearly delighted by Astarion’s reaction. He rose from his throne with the grace of a predator, his dark robes trailing behind him as he descended the steps toward you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, but my dear Astarion, this is no game,” Cazador said smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement. “I was merely admiring the charming creature you’ve brought before me. You, my dear,” he said, addressing you directly now, “are far too exquisite to be wasted on someone as… broken as Astarion.”

Your stomach turned, but you kept your expression impassive, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s hands trembling with fury, his fangs fully bared now, his eyes glowing with rage.

“And yet,” Cazador continued, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with malice, “you seem so enthralled by him. Such a shame. A creature as captivating as you deserves far better. I could give you power beyond imagining. You could stand at my side, rule the night by my hand…”

He stepped closer, his gaze fixated on you with unnerving intensity. “Astarion would understand. After all, what could he possibly offer you?”

You could feel the revulsion bubbling up in your chest, your fists clenching at your sides.

“What could you possibly offer me, Cazador?” you snapped, your voice icy. “Another empty throne? Another twisted deal? I’d rather burn in the sunlight than spend another second entertaining your delusions.”

Cazador’s eyes flashed with something dark, but his smile never wavered. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Oh, my dear, you wound me. But I suppose you’ll come to your senses in time. Power is a seductive thing, and you’ll soon see how small and weak your lover truly is.”

That was the final straw.

Astarion, his patience shattered, launched himself at Cazador with a feral snarl.

“Enough!” he roared, his blade flashing as he closed the distance between them. “I will tear you apart for that!”

The room erupted into chaos as Astarion lunged, his blade aimed straight for Cazador’s throat. But Cazador was fast, faster than you’d ever seen, moving with the grace of a centuries-old predator. He dodged Astarion’s strike with an infuriating ease, his laughter echoing through the chamber.

“You always were so predictable, my boy,” Cazador taunted, dancing backward with fluid movements. “Such a temper.”

But Astarion was relentless, his attacks coming in a flurry of vicious slashes and stabs, his face twisted with fury. You could see the desperation in his eyes—the need to kill Cazador, to end this nightmare once and for all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Cazador is just so yucky, ew, I had to do a gif of Astarion throwing his ass around. Hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[seat-safety-switch]

For some reason I can't understand, the local mall still has a travel agent. She seems to be doing pretty well, too, judging from her new Porsche and her exquisite office digs. As you can imagine, this whole thing was confusing to me, because I thought the internet had worked hard to crush all small business proprietors such as herself under an algorithmic boot the size of Topeka. So what was going on here? I had to get to the bottom of it.

As I said, the internet has done a lot to get rid of travel agents. If I wanted to go to Osaka (great food, better Hondas) I could just ask Siri to do it. Ted Siri is the name of the nice person at the library who I tell all my passwords and credit card numbers to, and then he puts them in the computer. That's not his real name, because he tries to keep it safe from "crackers," but I digress. On the internet, the lowest-cost flight is going to take 192 hours and involve my organs getting stolen and sold for Bitcoins, but the second lowest-cost flight is on Air Canada, where the stewardesses spit directly into your mouth when you ask for a drink. Some folks pay extra for that (and you will, too. Spit's not free.)

If the travel agent was still travel agenting, she must be charging an insane amount of money and not getting busted for it. I had to know how this worked, so that I, too, could have my own little mall office that doesn't make any economic sense yet persists until the heat death of the universe. You see, owning a tiny office in a mall was one of my childhood dreams, one that is quickly becoming impossible due to the collapse of malls.

Unfortunately, detective work of this grade doesn't come cheap. For instance, I had to get up and out of the house during the hours that the travel agency was open. Agnes (that's her name, I don't know if I mentioned this earlier?) wouldn't be working at the 11:30-11:45 pm "productivity hour" that I read about in a life hacking magazine. She would be busy doing something that normal people do at this hour, possibly sleeping or barbecuing.

As much as it pained me, I forced my body to get out of bed at around ten in the morning and stumble into Agnes's travel office. It was then that I discovered she wasn't there at all. Inside the space allocated for her travel agency, beyond the pretty ornamentation and fantastic brochures of the waiting room, was a room containing only a crudely-carved set of stairs reaching deep, deep under the mall. It was only then that I remembered that I never saw any customers leaving the travel agency.

Everything worked out in the end, though. She got me a great deal on a flight/hotel package to Osaka, and all it cost me was a little teensy-tiny bite of my liver. Don't even miss it, really, although it was a bit insulting when she started choking, hissing, and screaming while thrashing on the ground, her arms flailing violently against the stone surface of the travel agency's cave.

"What's in this?" she screamed before dissolving into a red mist.

"Rotella," I said after some thought.

[unnoticed-poison]

✮⋆˙ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ! ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ! ᴊᴀʜᴀ ʟᴇᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ✮⋆˙

[PART 1]

Part 2

This one was a request from my friend @jahascouch on Tumblr, never took requests before so I wanted to try it out!

Reader is part of a circus but it won't be relevant.

Other parts would be posted in a few days or something, this is also posted on ao3, Wattpad and Quotev 💫

Edited : Oh my god I put this in a schedule and it posted it now wth 😭😭

Oh yeah this is multiple yanderes not just Jaha, I'll change the title later

Quotev link

Wattpad link

Ao3 link

---------------------------------------------------------

"Well, this certainly is a surprise..."

As the long, dark-haired man stood before the mirror, examining his reflection closely, his eyes grew wide as he took in the cut on his lip and the numerous bruises on his face. However, instead of being appalled by the sight, his lips curled into a wicked grin, revealing his sharp teeth as he let out a low, menacing chuckle.

Jaha Lee did not expect he'd be given another chance, yet here he was, getting sent back in time to his 20-year-old self. Although he felt skeptical, who was he to complain?

After all, he'll finally get to catch his target.

You. 

·  ──── · · ─────── ·𑁍· ─────── · · ──── · 

"Hmm..."

The man stood in the middle of his inn, taking in the mess around him. Chairs and tables were overturned, tea cups and plates were broken into tiny shards that scattered across the floorboards. The doors were splintered and hung halfway from their hinges...

All in all, the place was a total wreck.

This confirmed at what point in time he was sent back in.

In that case...if he recalls correctly, you should arrive right about now-

"Alrighttt let's start cleaning- what are you doing out of bed!?"

Hearing that familiar voice made Jaha's body tense up, and he turned around.

The man didn't answer.

Here you are...

The man stood there in silence, letting out a shaky breath as he faced your worried expression; this is exactly like his first life...

·  ──── · · ─────── ·𑁍· ─────── · · ──── ·

"How dare a mere orphan boy without a dime to his name even think of ever laying his filthy hands upon our pavilion's most exquisite and renowned entertainer!? Have you lost your mind!?"

Upon uttering those words, the man seized Jaha Lee's hair in a painful grip and lifted his head, forcing him to face the scornful woman in question, whilst the other entertainers standing behind her were looking on in delight, giggling as he received harsh kicks and blows from the guards surrounding him.

When he met her eyes, he saw only disdain, staring back at him with utter contempt while fanning herself. Filled with despair, the man could do nothing but curse his luck.

How did things come to this...? How did his words spiral out of control so fast?

'To be honest...my dream is to hear a song from Chaehyang at the plum blossom pavilion.'

He wished he had just told those men the real reason he was saving up; he wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation otherwise.

With smirks on their faces, the guards stopped with their attacks and backed up as the leader released his grip, sending his face crashing into the dirt. "You should be grateful a simple beating is all you're getting; you're fortunate we're so merciful." He spat out with another powerful kick to the ribs, sending the man flying across the street. "Now scram before I change my mind!"

.....

Jaha didn't move an inch.

"Why isn't he moving?" One of the men asked, upon hearing that, Chaehyang stepped forward.

"Chaehyang?" 

The crowd of onlookers watched silently as the woman leisurely made her way to the figure lying on the ground with grace. Upon reaching him, she stood over him for a moment before bending down and using her fan to gently nudge his head.

....

"He's just unconscious," Chaehyang said, letting out a sigh of relief.

The woman was well aware that she was attractive, and thus, it was no wonder that many were drawn to her. After all, thanks to her captivating looks and alluring voice, countless men visited the pavilion every night in hopes of getting her to spend the night with them. 

That made her skin crawl with both rage and disgust; she would never have sex with just anyone; she's not a whore.

Still, that doesn't mean she wanted the poor boy dead; she's not heartless.

"HA! The bastard passed out!"

"Just leave him there! Let's get back to work; he wasted enough of our time."

Everyone went back to the pavilion, leaving Jaha unconscious on the streets. Chaehyang halted in her steps, glancing over her shoulder at the errand boy with pity.

Hopefully, he learned his lesson from this and would stop having such foolish dreams.

"Chaehyang, is something the matter?" One of her friends asked.

....

Chaehyang looked down at her fan with clear disdain before tossing it aside. "It's too dirty now; I need a new one."

The woman knew what she was referring to, causing her to giggle as she wrapped her arms around Chaehyang's while resting her head on her shoulder with a sweet smile. "Sister Chaehyang is such a kind soul!" she exclaimed with a cheerful air.

"Hmm."

With a clang, the doors closed and everyone went back to their businesses, as if nothing had happened. People passing by the unconscious man either snickered or just ignored his poor state.

........

·  ──── · · ─────── ·𑁍· ─────── · · ──── ·

"Agh..." 

"Did you see that?"

"HAHAHA That was hilarious!!"

"Aw I missed it, too bad." 

"There's always next time pal."

.....

The man has woken up long after the night has passed. His shoulders were slumped as he leaned heavily against the walls and trees for support, slowly making his way home with unsteady steps. The immense pain of his injuries caused him to clench his jaw tightly, trying to block out the mocking laughter and insults that were thrown his way.

Jaha Lee's neat hair bun had been disheveled and turned into a tangled mess. His clothes were in tatters, stained with mud and dirt, making him look like a beggar. On top of everything else, the little bit of money he had on him was stolen as well. It couldn't get any worse...

The man was sourly mistaken, because soon after the sky grew dark and rain began to pour down, the clothes offered little protection as the heavy rain drenched him from head to toe, soaking through his ruined clothes. The streets were empty almost immediately as people hurried to their homes, leaving him all alone, which was a relief.

His eyelids felt heavy as he fought to keep them open. Despite the exhaustion, he kept going, the occasional thunder echoing in the distance and the sound of his footsteps squelching in the muddy ground filling his ears while pushing through the strong winds.

Almost there...!

Then finally, in the distance, the inn came into view, his heart filled with relief, his lips curling into a small, shaky smile, but just as he was about to keep going, his legs gave way, and he fell face-first into the cold, muddy ground.

Ah oh.

With no more strength remaining, the man layed motionless on the ground, allowing the harsh chilling drops to drench him to the bone. He'll...just lay here for a while before using his arms to drag himself to the inn.

Unbeknownst to the man, he didn't hear the footsteps heading his way, nor the way the rain abruptly stopped hitting his body as a shadow fell upon him.

"Oh god... I knew I wasn't seeing things! Hey mister! You awake? You dead?" The voice asked as she nudged him with her foot.

Huh...?

Slowly, Jaha opened his eyes and lifted his head. Next to him stood a cloaked woman, an umbrella held tightly in her hand, shielding them from the rain as she loomed above him. The lower half of her face was covered by a black mask, leaving only her eyes and brow visible as she gazed down upon him.

Breathing out a sigh of relief when she saw him finally move, she spoke. "Glad you're still breathing; do you need help? Where is your home?" Does he even have a place to go? He looks like a beggar.

....

Jaha swallowed hard, gathering up the last bit of his strength to lift his arm and point to his inn. "The..there.." he managed to choke out.

The woman turned her gaze to where he was pointing, spotting the little house in the distance before nodding. "Very well."

Closing the umbrella and stashing it within her cloak, she crunched down, making Jaha blink in confusion before letting out a startled cry as the woman swiftly scooped him up into her arms before standing up, cradling him like a groom carrying his bride. Despite the contact with his wounds making him grunt out in discomfort, he could feel a twinge of warmth spread across his cheeks at the way she was carrying him, firmly yet gently.

Even though the rain soaked her clothes, the woman didn't seem to be phased by it as she continued to walk at a slow pace to keep her footing in the mud, humming a soft tone as she carried him effortlessly, like he weighted nothing.

Her soothing voice helped the man feel more at ease, forgetting about his pain as he relaxed and leaned more into her embrace, savoring the warmth and comfort she provided while listening to her. That is, until she suddenly came to a stop.

"Here we are-...."

???

Jaha's eyes shot open, looking up at her stunned expression before slowly turning his head.

....

Why are the doors broken...?

The woman glanced at him with concern before stepping forward and walking through the doorway.

"Oh god..."

Jaha's eyes widened in dismay as he took in the state of his inn.

"M..my h-home..!" he stammered. His inn, the place he worked so hard to maintain, pouring his heart and soul into, was in ruin. Feeling tears well up in his eyes, he sobbed.

What has he done to deserve this...? All for a silly joke?

The unfairness of it all was too much for the man to bear, and he fainted right then and there.

"Oh god- great, he fainted." 

Her boss is going to be so furious with her when she goes back, but she can't leave the man like this!

 "...Damnit!"

·  ──── · · ─────── ·𑁍· ─────── · · ──── ·

Hours had gone by, and Jaha's eyes slowly fluttered open, disturbed by the sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of birds chirping loudly outside. Immediately, he let out a low grunt of discomfort as he felt his head throbbing with a pulsing ache.

This was just getting worse and worse, he thought when he brought his hand to his forehead, wincing at the intense heat. Did he get a fever? Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he struggled to sit up right, aching all over.

At first, he had thought, hoped it was all a terrible nightmare, but the stinging pain and the sight of raindrops trickling down the window proved otherwise.

In that case...his inn..!

Bolting out of the bed, the man rushed to the other room, his eyes darting around; the place was in shambles.

....

Jaha stood motionless, ignoring the sudden sting that shot through his feet upon stepping on the fragments of glass lying beneath him. 

"Alrighttt let's start cleaning- what are you doing out of bed!?"

The woman was back!?

"I..." Jaha trailed off, captivated by your appearance. Gone was the mask, allowing him to see your full face, and god, you were gorgeous. 

Even the so famed Chaehyang paled in comparison to you.

Is this what falling in love at first technically second sight felt like?

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Being part of a travelling circus, you were used to living life on the move, never staying in one place for long. You travelled far and wide across countless cities and villages, and with each stop, you captivated the hearts of your audience with your enthralling performance. You adored seeing the joy and wonder in the eyes of children and adults alike; it made every ounce of effort put in worthwhile, so when your circus came to this small town, you had no doubt that it would be the same old dance.

What you didn't expect was for the rain to pour down the second you arrived, meaning everyone would be cooped up in their carriages for the time being. After doing your skin care routine, you lounged lazily on the cozy chair next to your window, enjoying your favorite drink while reading a novel to pass the time, glancing out the window every once in a while.

As you took a sip of your drink and casually glanced out the window once again, something caught your eye. A lone figure was walking through the rain, swaying unsteadily from side to side until they eventually collapsed to the ground with a splash.

That made you wince, ouch.

....why aren't they moving?

Should you...?? You didn't really wanna move from this comfy position and go out into the cold though....

You shrugged and turned back to your book. "Nah, not my problem."

.....

Seconds later, the door to the carriage slammed open as you stepped out and opened your umbrella.

You shivered, man it is cold out here!!

·  ──── · · ─────── ·𑁍· ─────── · · ──── · 

Long story short, you took him to his home, which looked like a tornado ran through the place, and with the man fainting right in your arms, you had no choice but to stay and assist him.

Plus, with the rain halting the show and the rehearsal for today you have nothing to do so might as well!

Aren't you such a kind-hearted soul?

Now the guy who turned out to be a cutie was staring at you like a fool.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face. "Helloo? Earth to Jaha!" 

That made him snap out of his daze as he looked at you with surprise. "H-how do you know my name?" He managed to stutter out.

"Heard the village gossip about an errand boy getting his ass beat while I was shopping, plus there's a sign outside with your name on it, sooo...yeah!" You replied, guiding him towards his room and pushing him gently into the bed. "Don't move." 

Jaha obeyed, staying still as he watched you kneel down and gently grasp his foot. Carefully removing the embedded shards of glass before running some alcohol on his feet, making him hiss at the sting.

"Now you lay down and don't move a muscle alright? I'll go clean up."

He wanted to protest, but the pain and fatigue made him shut his mouth, nodding reluctantly and just did as he was told.

Might as well; it's not like he has anything of value you can steal if that was your plan.

He soon dismissed the thought and scolded himself for being paranoid and thinking ill of the kind woman, stupid! If that were the case you would have just rummaged through his belongings while he was unconscious, yet you chose to come back and help him instead.

You finished cleaning sooner than anticipated, and thus you entered the room with a smile, holding a tray in your hands. "I'm done!"

"...That was.. fast." 

"There's only the doors left but I'll send some of my buddies to fix it up for ya! So no need to worry about it." You said, walking over and placing the tray on his lap. "I made you some chicken soup, it should help with the fever."

Jaha stared at the steaming bowl before him for a moment, then took a spoonful and cautiously brought it to his lips. As the warm, savory liquid filled his mouth, his eyes lit up in surprise at the taste.

You looked smug when you saw his reaction. "Tastes good right?"

"It's amazing!"

"Of course it does." You said, your voice laced with pride as you turned to leave. "I have to head back now or my friends will get worried. Goodbye for now."

The man was grateful for the help, but..

"Why are you helping me?" He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You halted, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder, your brow furrowing slightly. "Pardon?" 

He repeated himself.

"Why are you helping me? I'm a stranger to you, after all."

With a nonchalant shrug, you responded. "....I'm just a bit bored I guess? helping you gave me something to do."

The man blinked at such an answer. "Bored?"

"Yup, plus...why not? You're a cutie." You added with a sly smile, you did not expect to see a handsome and fit guy under all that mud, but it was a pleasant surprise.

Jaha could feel his cheeks growing hotter, and he lowered his eyes. "Thank you." He mumbled.

"No problem! Also, I washed your dirty clothes from yesterday after I bathed you! Bye-bye now!"

He waved as he watched you leave, before freezing as he realized what you just said.

B..bathed him?? So that means...

....FUCK!!

His face burned further with embarrassment as he covered it with his hands. 

How could he possibly look you in the eye after that!?

Oh god...

·  ──── · · ─────── ·𑁍· ─────── · · ──── · 

This is supposed to be like a flashback to how you met which is a long fic in itself then headcanons right after

It was fun for practice so it's worth it!

@floatyflowers @hyunochillic @00hellohello00 @amviolet04