#Ice Rose Studio | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

baby-yongbok · 7 months ago

Text

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬 + 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦

Hwang Hyunjin 𝗑 Afab!Reader

♡ Genre - Friends to Lovers

♡ CW - Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Nightmares, Alcohol usage by reader, Hyunjin calls reader rose as a nickname, One use of 'y/n'.

♡ Summary - Your avoidant tendencies have allowed the burn of pink and white to keep you Hyunjin at a safe distance until it all comes crashing down. Can the fire that kept you apart also be what brings you together?

♡ Word Count - 9.2k

♡ A/N - I went from not being sure if I liked this fic to being in love with it. I think that it's a very sweet fic and I loved writing it. I worked so hard on it and I'm so proud of it. The goal was for it to be 4k words.. then I almost posted it at 8k but now... yeah. I hope that you love this as much as I do!

♡ Playlist - Pink + White - Frank Ocean, Rainy Days - V, For Us - V, Beautiful Things - Benson Boone, Trajectories - Bruno Major

✧ Masterlist ✧

When you were six years old you punched a boy in the face on the playground. That was the first time that you ever felt the burn of genuine fear.

Your mom along with the many others came swirling around them. When your mother asked you what happened you cried. You clung to her running over to you and the crying brunette boy on the playground with a mix of emotions and explained the best you could through your tears that you didn’t like that he was chasing you, when you agreed to play tag you thought that you’d be the chaser not the one being chased.

That was the day that you learned two things about yourself, you have a habit of acting impulsively when you’re scared and you don’t like being chased. It's suffocating.

As you got older your friends described you as the avoidant type, especially in relationships. You developed a reputation for being an ice queen in your Sophomore year of university which led to you being one of the most sought after girls on campus.

You’ve lost friends because of this. Their boyfriends saw getting close to them as a gateway to meeting you. Many guys took dating you as a challenge with an end prize of overnight popularity. Unfortunately, some of your closest relationships have been destroyed because of it. You learned not to be sad about it, you’ve come to terms with it, this is just the way that it goes. Of course your other friends were all important to you but you always told yourself that you’re alright with losing them as long as you have your best friend by your side.

“More roses? Are you in love or something?” You weaved through the cluttered art studio that Hyunjin has claimed as his own. It’s on the dead side of campus on the second floor of a building that was abandoned last year. Your best friend refused to let the studio go when it was shut down, he says that it houses some of his fondest memories.

“Always in love, never loved back.” He quips, eyes still trained on the canvas. “You’re early.”

You jump up onto one of the few clear desks in the room, right behind his easel. “Chemistry ended early.” Hyunjin stands straight, eyeing his canvas for a second before looking over at you. He knows that you’re skipping class. Your last hook-up is in that class and you're trying to avoid his attempt at getting you in his bed again. If you’re being honest, the decision to sleep with him was impulsive. You blame the beer, all eight of them.

“I thought that we could go to the exhibition early.” He starts another brush stroke and silence swallows you both. “I’m excited about it and if I’m being honest I just wanna spend time with you. I’ve barely seen you for the past three days.”

Hyunjin’s steady hand wavers and he thanks his lucky stars that you didn’t see it. “Aw she misses me. She loves me so much.” The sound of your feet hitting the ground as you jump off of the desk echoes through the dusty room of stacked chairs and forgotten storage items.

Hyunjin stands and dips the paint brush covered in bright pink in the cup of water next to him. “You could’ve come to my place ya know.” You grab your stuff, swinging your bag onto your shoulder.

“Your brother is there, you know how he gets.” You scrunch your face at the thought of Hyunjin’s step brother, Jeongin. The two of you get along perfectly, almost as well as you and Hyunjin until Jeongin starts flirting. He confessed to you on New Years and you’ve been avoiding him ever since. He’s too sweet for you, you’d hate to hurt him. “I’m gonna go change, I’ll meet you by your car.”

“You brought a costume change for an art exhibit?” He asks as he starts cleaning his space.

“Of course, I need to look like art too.” You smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, he rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the mess of paints and rags on the desk in front of him. He waits until he hears the door open and close behind you to finally let the corners of his mouth turn up. He chuckles to himself quietly while his mind comes up with responses that he’d never dare to utter out loud.

“This one looks like you, rose.” The year old nickname slips off of Hyunjin’s tongue like silk. You’ve never fully understood how the name stuck. You figured that it’s because roses are his favorite flower and he thought it was cute. You’ve never asked for its origin but you don’t mind the name. It’s sweet.

You turn to view the series of pink, white and green dots making up a bouquet of roses on the framed canvas in front of Hyunjin. He studies it with smiling eyes though the neutral look on his face could fool those who haven’t experienced him like you have.

“It’s pretty.” You mumble as you lean your head on his shoulder. You wrap your arm around his and the sleeve of the brown oversized flannel shirt that you picked out a year ago rides up his forearm a bit, he blames the chills running up his spine on the breeze against the newly exposed skin.

“I knew I’d see you here.” The voice of a woman next to Hyunjin startles you a bit. You stand straight and watch as Hyunjin smiles towards her. He’s cursing her in his head for interrupting the moment between the two of you but he learned a long time ago to just live in the moment when it comes to you.

“Of course, I had to see this exhibition.” He shakes her hand and you chalk it up to her being someone important though she doesn’t look much older than either of you. “You put it together beautifully.”

Ah, she owns the gallery. “Oh, please, it’s nothing. I just hope that you’re enjoying it. I actually thought about you when I put this piece up.” She motions towards the art in front of the two of you. The piece that Hyunjin says resembles you. “It looks like something you’d design. I’m still desperate to organize a local exhibition for you, ya know.”

Hyunjin laughs but it's stiff and polite. He’s being shy. He’s a very cautious person but he reaches a whole new level when it comes to his art. “I’m not quite on that level yet.”

“I disagree but I won’t bother you about it until you graduate. This is your final semester, right?” You can see her eyes smiling just like Hyunjin’s were a second ago as she checks him out. She’s shameless in her actions, the glint in her eyes is far from professional.

“Yes, just three months to go.” She nods, dragging her gaze up from his lips with a smile.

“Call me when you graduate, I’d love to have you working with us.” She pulls a business card out of her pocket and flashes one last smile before waving a reluctant goodbye towards your best friend.

Silence settles between the two of you for just a couple of seconds before you break it. “She wants to fuck you so badly that she didn’t even look at me.” Hyunjin scoffs at your whispered words as he slips the card into his pocket. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice. How old is she anyway? She looks a bit young to be in charge of this place.”

“Her father owns it.” He mumbles as he grabs your wrist and leads you over to the next piece of art.

“Oh, of course. She probably thought I was your girlfriend, ya know. She’s rude as hell for not even asking or looking at me. I know she saw me here, she’s clearly -” You’re pulled into Hyunjin’s side before you can finish your sentence. The sudden action cuts you off with a heavy thump of your heart and that painfully familiar burn rising in your chest.

“Look at this one.” Your eyes are on him but his are on the art. “This one looks like you too.” You pull your gaze away from him to view the piece. The thumping in your chest doubles once your gaze meets your own. It’s a mirror with pink and white abstract designs floating around and over the glass. The paint is so messy yet strategic. It leaves just enough room for your reflection.

“It’s messy yet elegant, don’t you think? You can’t help but to stare..” He’s visibly smiling now. The corners of his mouth turn up as he studies the art in front of him. As he studies you. “This one might be my favorite. It’ll be hard to beat it.”

“I don’t like it.” You mutter quickly, pulling away from Hyunjin and turning towards the next piece. You try your best to steady your breathing. You will your heart to calm down so that you can take a complete breath but it’s betraying you. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

You’re walking away before Hyunjin can reply. He watches you with that smile in his eyes as you disappear around the corner. He knew that what he pulled would be a risk but it was one that he was willing to take. He doesn’t call you beautiful nearly as much as he should or as much as he really wants to.

In the bathroom you’re slumped against the door of a stall while you try to catch your breath. You don’t like how Hyunjin’s words made that white hot burn in your chest kick up. You don’t like the way that his eyes being on you made you feel like you were the only two in the entire gallery. It’s suffocating.

When you step out of the stall your fingers are busy on your phone screen. You find your friend Isa’s number quickly and take a sigh of relief when she answers on the third ring. You bypass reciprocating her kind greeting and get right to the point.

“Get-together at yours tomorrow?”

You’re standing in the middle of the Pink and White art exhibition. Other viewers jumble together along the walls of the gallery and crowd the pieces. You can’t see anything but their blurred faces decorating the white walls. There’s a slow yet heavy beating in your ears but you’re comfortable. You’re alone in the middle of it all, watching everyone from a pleasant distance as you turn to study them all as if they’re the art on the walls.

The beating in your ears skips as you turn and come face to face with Hyunjin. He’s standing in front of you wearing that brown hat that you love and the oversized flannel that he bought just to share with you.

Suddenly the others in the room are quiet. All eyes are on you but Hyunjin’s gaze is the most piercing. His brown eyes are smiling at you with a softness that makes the flame in your chest burn brighter.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” You look around at everyone else but they’ve vanished along with the art on the walls. The beating in your ears picks up, it’s deafening but Hyunjin’s voice can be heard loud and clear over the noise.

“I like staring at you.” He takes a step towards you but you take two back. He frowns and steps forward again. You repeat the process until your back is against the wall. “Why do you do that?”

“I’m not doing anything.” You swallow hard as you try to push him away but he’s stronger than you. As strong as stone caging you against the stark white wall. “I can’t breathe.” You’re pushing as hard as you can but it’s no use. You’re stuck under him.

“Why do you do this?” He’s still staring down at you, a burning gaze setting your skin ablaze. “Why do you keep running?” The beating in your ears drowns out all sensible thoughts. You can feel your veins swelling with fear and the blinding white burning in your chest puffs up with the crushing pressure of having him so close. Too close.

“Back up.” You inhale the thick air, feeling dizzy. “Move.”

“Stop running.” You try to inhale but it gets stuck in your throat. You want to scream. You need to escape. You need to get out of here.

You lift your heavy arm the best you can and pull back enough to punch Hyunjin. You aim for his face but your fist goes through him just as your lungs start to burn, you take one last look at him before the wall behind you gives out and you’re falling backwards. Hyunjin watches you, his eyes are void of that sparkling smile and guilt consumes you right before you hit the ground.

You jump up with a gasp as your eyes frantically search the room around you. Your chest rises and falls heavily and sweat beads at your hairline.

It was a dream.

Friday is a late day for you with your last class ending at nine in the evening. Hyunjin always waits for you in the abandoned art studio, he waits for two hours just to walk you to your dorm across campus. It’s become a routine for the two of you but you told him not to wait up tonight. He was reluctant at first, he insisted on waiting for you but you were adamant about breaking your routine.

He agreed eventually but you could see the dejection in his eyes as he hugged you goodbye before your last class. He watched you walk away just like he always did but this time his heart was heavy in his chest. Did he do something wrong?

That question haunted him throughout the day. It was loud in his head as he collected his stuff and made his way to the abandoned studio. It echoed in his ears as he tried to finish the painting of his vibrant rose that he’s added notes of dusty pale pink to. But it was the loudest when Jeongin called him to ask if he was going to the get-together at Minho’s place tonight.

He knows that you and Minho’s girlfriend Isa are close so you have to know about this, hell, you might’ve even helped plan it and you kept it from him. You’re avoiding him.

You skipped your class to head to Minho and Isa’s place. They share a small apartment right off of campus that you often use as an escape. Isa is one of the few friends that you still have from sophomore year since her boyfriend has never once tried to get in your pants.

You sat on Isa’s bed clutching a bottle of soju that is not at all meant for one person while you laid your head in her lap. You loved being with her because there was never any pressure to fill the silence. She understands you in a way that other people just don’t. Not even Hyunjin.

“So, he called you pretty?” You’ve been telling her everything from what happened at the art gallery to the nightmare you had last night. “And now you’re avoiding him?”

“I’m not avoiding him.” You take a swig from the glass bottle and gulp hard to rush the alcohol into your system. “I’m just being careful.”

“You’re being careful by avoiding your best friend… because he called you pretty and you had a nightmare about it?” You sit up with a groan, lifting the bottle to your mouth again with a sigh. She’s not getting it.

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me. You didn’t feel the way he pulled me into him, his arm wrapped around my waist and he just stared at me with that smile in his eyes. You know the one that makes his eyes shine when he sees something pretty? He was looking at me like that and he told me that I looked elegant. Messy but elegant and that he couldn’t help but to stare. There was a softness in his voice, I swear, and he just wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. It’s like he was looking into me instead of at me it was… it was..”

“Sweet?” You tap the bottle in your hands with your nails.

“Suffocating. It was too much. It made my heart skip and it made me feel hot.”

“That usually means that you like him, ya know.” She takes the bottle from you, drinking from it a bit herself. “ You know that he’s a romantic and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this with him.” She hands the cold glass back to you while you think back to the other times that you’ve felt this. The latest being your birthday three months ago when Hyunjin whisked you away to the next city for a mini getaway.

You stayed in the same hotel room and on the night of your birthday you had a bit too much to drink. He carried you up to your room since you were too out of it to walk but you weren’t too far gone to forget the way that he handled you with such gentle care.

He brushed your hair out of your face when he laid you on your bed and took your make-up off with such a tender touch that it made you want to kiss him. You almost kissed him.

“I don’t like him like that.” You shrug and she sighs.

“Whatever you say, ice queen.” That damned nickname makes you cringe but Minho is bursting through the door before you can rebuttal.

“Jisung and Bin just got here, come on.” You stare at him with confused eyes and he crosses his arms as he stares back at you. “Well? Get up, you wanted to do this.”

“Do what?” You look over at Isa who’s already getting up from the bed.

“Did you not call her asking for a get-together? People are getting here so come on. I’m not hosting this by myself.” Your heart drops and you stare over at Isa who looks back at you with her own look of confusion until it all sinks in.

“You meant for it to be just us, didn’t you?”

Hyunjin is a cautious person, anyone who knows him knows that about him. He doesn’t like when things go wrong because of him. It eats him alive until he can fix it and if he can’t he lets the anxiety consume him until a part of him dies with the memory of it all.

His cautious nature is what prompted him to drive home after he got that call from Jeongin. It brought him right to his bedroom where he dropped his bag by the foot of his bed and laid back against the mattress with a death stare set on the dull ceiling. It stared back at him, reflecting his thoughts back to him for him to analyze.

His brother left for the get-together as soon as he walked through the door and Hyunjin was tempted to follow him down to Seungmin’s car.

He was tempted to drop his bag and turn on his heels and come straight to you but he knew better. He knew you better than you knew yourself. If he shows up at that get-together you’ll avoid him like the plague. You’ll feel trapped by his presence and any hope that he has of fixing this situation will die right in front of his eyes.

His cautious nature is what’s keeping him on his bed. It’s what’s grounding him to this spot and sating the burning desire to chase you. The problem is that the fire in his chest is bigger than he can handle. He’s seen how you treat the men you want to avoid on campus, he’s seen you take the long way home just to avoid a conversation and the thought of you doing that to him makes him wilt. He can’t let that happen.

His feet are carrying him across his room before he can even fully process it. He opens his closet and pulls out the brown flannel along with his brown beanie. They’ve become comfort items for the both of you at this point, especially the flannel. It feels like a thread connecting you to him and him to you. He needs to save that connection.

He sloppily throws on the items while he checks the clock. He’s nearly two hours late but there’s still time.

Hyunjin has never gotten a speeding ticket but he was nearly positive that he’d get one tonight. He made it to Minho’s place in record time but he’s panting when he knocks on the door like he’s ran there. His heart is hammering when Isa answers the door and the look on her face when she takes him in only makes his heart beat faster.

She forces a smile, inviting him in and telling him where everything is but he already knows all of that and she knows that he does. “She doesn’t want to see me does she?” Isa sighs, giving him a look that answers each and every one of his questions all at once.

“Thanks for letting me in.” He walks past her with a nervous huff, making his way into the small party and searching for you immediately. He finds Changbin and Chan before he can find you and the two quickly drag him into a conversation about gods know what while wedging a glass bottle of mystery liquid into his fist.

Hyunjin’s eyes wander in an attempt to find you as he ignores his friends' conversation. Luckily it didn’t take long for the sound of your loud laughter to echo through the room. His eyes were on you in an instant once he heard it. You’re right in front of him sitting in the truth or dare circle with a can of something strong in your hand. You’re always the loudest in the room but right now you seem to be the drunkest too, you shouldn’t be playing that game you’ll do something reckless.

He wants to go over and pull you up, he wants to tell you that you’re going home and that you need to sober up. He wants to get you to talk to him but he ignores everything he wants and watches you instead. He stays cautious and keeps his distance.

“Y/n, truth or dare.” One of your few girl friends, Harvey asks from across the circle. You answer ‘dare’ with a wide smile, it’s no surprise, you always pick that. The raven haired girl looks over to Mingi for assistance since she’s known for picking terrible dares. After a couple seconds of deliberation the blonde perks up with an idea.

“I dare you to kiss whoever this bottle lands on.” Mingi dares with a nonchalant smile and you shrug, the alcohol in your system is surely boosting your confidence but it’s not like you’ll remember any of this tomorrow so who cares, right?

He spins the bottle in the middle of the circle and everyone watches with quiet anticipation as it lands on the copper haired boy sitting three people away from you. It’s Jeongin.

He stops in the middle of sipping from his cup and flashes you a small innocent smile but what you return to him is nothing less than a look of raw seduction. You’re on your feet in an instant, making your way over to him with low and hazy eyes. You straddle him swiftly, getting comfortable in his lap like you’ve done this a hundred times.

“You sure about this, noona?” His hands rest on your thighs, he brushes his thumbs over the bareskin and you can feel a shiver down your spine. It almost reminds you of how Hyunjin touched you on your birthday.

“Do you not wanna kiss me?” You tease him with a slight slur to your voice. You know he wants to kiss you, everyone does except for Hyunjin, right?

Just as that thought passes your eyes flicker up and meet those of the very man on your mind. He’s watching you with an angry gaze as he fists the neck of the glass bottle in his hand. Your mouth goes dry as you take him in, when did he get here? You feel stuck staring at him, everything around you is suddenly muted and the people around you disappear. It’s only you and Hyunjin.

Both of your hearts are pounding in your chest.

Both of you feel like you can’t breathe.

Both of you are about to do something that you shouldn’t.

“Kiss her already!” Ryujin instigates from across the circle and you snap out of your haze and blink down at Jeongin. You both share a smile, one more genuine than the other, before he’s leaning into you. His lips just barely brush against yours before you’re interrupted.

A firm grip on your shoulder startles you and the man under you. You both look up to meet the eyes of the angry Hyunjin above you.“Get up.” He practically growls with a slight tug on your arm. You stare up at him with glassy eyes though you are feeling a bit more sober now. “Get. Up.”

You’re being pulled up before you can process it. Your feet fight to keep up with him as you stumble towards the bedroom he’s leading you to. You can feel all eyes on you, you can feel the room getting smaller once he locks the bedroom door behind the two of you and pulls his flannel off to drape over your shoulders, something that he does to comfort you.

“What the fuck?” That’s all you can manage to get out of your mouth as you stare over at him. He stares back with his arms crossed and his chest rising and falling with what you perceive as anger but he would describe as anxiety. Pure fear.

“Do you understand what you were about to do?” Hyunjin tries to be mindful of his tone. He tries to limit the waver of his words and calm the frantic thoughts in his head. He’s trying. “Why would you kiss him?”

“I didn’t.” The alcohol in your system takes over again and you thank the ridiculous amount of soju you’ve consumed for coming to the rescue. You tug on the flannel resting over your shoulders, pretending that its warmth would protect you from the buzzing in your head and inevitable burning in your chest.

“You would’ve if I didn’t stop you. What happened to you not being into Jeongin? What happened to you not wanting to hurt him?”

You groan, stomping your foot like a child being scolded by their guardian. Like the little girl who punched the brunette boy in the face for chasing her. “Why don’t you mind your business?”

Hyunjin scoffs, his anxiety grows in his chest and he takes a step back. “You are my business.”

It’s silent for one, two, three heartbeats before the dizzying emotions burning in your chest fill in the silence for you. “Well maybe I shouldn’t be. You’re way too attached to me.”

Hyunjin feels frozen even though he’s stepping back from you. He’s creating more space between the two of you just like you seem to be doing. What do you mean by that? You’re rambling on before he can ask. “You do all of these things that make me feel like I can’t breathe. You call me pretty and you touch me softly and you hold me close and… and you just make me feel hot. You suffocate me.”

Hyunjin whispers through the bubbles forming in his throat. He’s gentle with the way he speaks, he is a cautious person after all, especially when it comes to his art. “Is this about what I said at the gallery?”

His question goes in one ear and right out the other. Your brain formulates words quicker than you can process them, creating a violent episode of word vomit that threatens to spill over your lips and onto the carpet but you swallow hard and condense it all into one simple yet seering sentence. “You keep making my heart race, it’s not fair. You need to go, just go.”

Hyunjin’s blood runs cold and his temples throb like you’ve hit him. Like you’ve punched him in the face. Anxiety bubbles in his veins and swells behind his eyes. It’s his turn to ramble, the word vomit seems to be contagious.

“I’m not leaving.” His gaze is frantic, cautious, scared. “I am too attached, you’re right. I have been for a while. I’ve loved you for a while and I tried to hide it but I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t be scared that I’ll lose my best friend if I tell her that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“No, you are not confessing to me right now. Don’t you dare do that.” You pace to the left then the right in a hurried attempt to escape his words before they could reach you. He can’t be doing this right now. You needed to get out of here.

“I am. I am confessing to you. I need you to hear me say that I love you because I do and it scares me just as much as it scares you but you are the reason that it’s scaring me. Losing you is the reason that I’m afraid and I need you to tell me that that isn’t going to happen.” His voice is shaky just like your hands. He watches you like a dog being dropped off at the pound as you physically try to escape him. He knew this would happen, this is what he was afraid of.

“Stop. Just stop it, Hyunjin. You’re doing it again, I can’t breathe when you’re this close to me.” He stares over at you from the other side of the room and you stare back at him. This doesn’t make any sense. He isn’t next to you but you still can’t breathe. It doesn’t make any sense. “I have to go - I have - just… just leave me alone.” You turn towards the bedroom door but he speaks up before you can make your escape.

“I’m not going to chase you.” Hyunjin is unmoving. His feet are still planted to the floor like a statue as he slips his fists into his pocket. “I don’t want to push you further away but don’t you dare go home and convince yourself that I don’t care just because I let you go.”

You listen to him over your hammering heart with your back turned to him and your unsteady gaze trained on the worn door knob. “I’m letting you go with the hope that you’ll come back. You know where to find me.”

Your feet threaten to betray you, they try to turn you around and drive you over to him but your heart is screaming. That white flame is burning in your chest and begging you to run. Run as fast as you can and find safety, but your safety is standing behind you. It’s watching you with teary eyes that are desperate to meet yours.

A tear slips down your cheek as you grab the doorknob and pull it with a quick twist. You follow your heart and rush out of the room with tears decorating your face and your hand over your mouth. You let the burning win again.

You rush past everyone, Isa tries to stop you and Minho even catches you for a minute but you fight him off of you and make your way to the front door. You don’t get too far before the last layer of your resolve snaps, You turn onto the next dark block and sink to the ground. Sobs rip through you as Hyunjin’s words hang in your head. He loves you. He wants you but you left him. You left everything you’ve ever wanted behind you.

A heavier sob escapes you as the truth of it all comes crashing down. You love him too, don’t you? You’ve loved him for so long. Since your birthday and beyond that but you’ve been avoiding it. You’ve avoided your feelings just like you have everything else. You’ve punched yourself in the face, you’ve chased yourself into a corner and now you might just lose everything you have left. You might lose your best friend.

The storms over the next two days swirl the skies into mysterious clouds of pink and white as rain soaks the grass the same way that you’ve soaked your pillow for hours. You’ve opted to stay in, avoiding anything or anyone that could remind you of Friday’s catastrophe.

You’ve debated texting Jeongin and apologizing for what you remember of the situation. You almost called Isa to spill the fears bubbling in your lungs to her so that she could help you sort through them but she can’t. This is up to you. You need to make a choice. Will you run away from the fire or towards it?

On the other side of campus Hyunjin sits in the abandoned studio with paint stained hands and dried tears on his cheeks. He’s left his previous painting incomplete. The bright blushing rose sits across the room with the others just like it while he touches his brush to the canvas and smears a smoky mauve to the pristine white flesh. His lines are messy and uncalculated. Far from cautious.

For a moment he considers that he was only ever careful because of you. Your lack of control over your emotions inspired him to fill in the blanks for you. Now there’s no need for caution without you.

The rain carried into Monday along with the emptiness in your chest. You’ve typed and deleted paragraphs to Hyunjin who has done the same as he sat on the studio floor.

He stayed in the dusty room until midnight each day that he was without you and you stayed up well past then. He poured himself into painting and you poured yourself onto the carpet of your dorm room. You made lists and mapped your emotions until it all started to make a bit more sense. Until the love that burned alongside your hot white fear was glowing pink in the mirror.

You skipped your classes on Monday, your feet drove you over to the dead side of campus through the violent rain. You stood in the hallway outside of Hyunjin’s studio. The worn copper doorknob stared back at you like it knew what you were here to do. Like it was daring you to go inside. You suck in a breath as you grab the metal, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

The studio is empty when you walk inside. The fading warm light of the lamps that you and Hyunjin bought and snuck in illuminate the space the best that they can given the dull pink skies. Your eyes catch on the new piece sitting up on his easel. It’s dark and runny, it’s raw and it feels like it’s calling your name.

“Hi.” Hyunjin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. His voice is small and surprised as he stares over at your frame clad in that famous brown flannel and sweatpants.

“Hi.” You whisper back. He looks like a mess. Brown hat, pulled too far over his head and his hair spilling from every exit it can find. “More roses?”

He stares passed you and over at the wilting petals on the canvas with a sad smile. “It’s like I’m in love or something.”

Your guilt tinged heart beats a bit faster when he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. He drops his bag next to the door and stares at the dinghy tile with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. For everything, for the party and everything with your brother and for everything that I said.”

The word vomit is back. It spilled over your lips before you could attempt to swallow it back but you’re almost thankful for it. You have no clue how you’d get your words out otherwise. “You just made me feel… I just felt..” You kick at the cracked tile as if it holds the answers you’re looking for but Hyunjin beats you to it.

“Suffocated.” His eyes are on you now, they’re low and shadowed in a longing sadness. “I’ve seen this happen a million times to other guys and I thought that I was being careful enough to avoid it.”

“This is nothing like the other guys.” Your bag slumps off of your shoulder and you carelessly allow it to hit the floor. “Your confession just -” He cuts you off with a tight smile.

“I know. It ruined everything.” He sighs, sad eyes examining the space between the two of you. “I ruined everything and I’m sorry for that, rose. I really am.”

“It didn't. It didn’t ruin anything, it just scared me. I felt suffocated, yes, but not by you. It was by what I felt for you. That’s why this isn’t like what happened with any of the other guys. I never wanted them. Avoiding them was easy but you… avoiding you..” Hyunjin watches your heaving chest with the caution that he thought had abandoned him. He’s quiet, allowing you time to gather your thoughts. He doesn’t want to corner you, he just wants to hear you.

“Why do you call me that?” You whisper once your breathing has steadied. “Why did you start calling me rose?”

Suddenly he’s looking past you then down at the tile under his feet. He leans against the door behind him, a faint smile decorating his sad face. “You were wearing one in your hair on the day that I realized I love you.” He looks over to where his easel is set up. “We were sitting right there and you had a pale pink rose behind your left ear. You picked me one to match and I told you that it was my favorite flower because in that moment it was. It was beautiful but you…your beauty is hard to beat.”

Your heart is thumping in your ears, it’s a sound that you’ve grown comfortable with over the past few days. The clutter of the abandoned room almost seems to disappear as you process his words. The burning in your chest makes itself known along with the newly identified pink flame. The white walls of the studio almost seem brighter as you receive Hyunjin’s confession. You let it sink in and drown out the tension little by little. “So when you paint them…”

“I’m painting you. I’m always painting you.” The thumping is deafening but Hyunjin is clear over the noise. He has always been the only one who can cut through it all, even in your dreams.

You can feel yourself falling just like in your nightmare only it’s forwards. You’re falling forwards as your feet carry you to him. You run. You run to him and you fall into his arms that have been desperate to catch you for months. The burn in your chest is paralyzing, it’s seering and fighting the pink flame for dominance.

You cry into his chest, you sob as the pain of running into the fire engulfs you. It swallows you whole and you stand in it with him, you cling to him before you burn to ash and he holds you like he knows it all. He cradles the back of your head like he can feel the fire ripping your flesh apart.

You’re flush against him, tears soaking his shoulder and burning all over until he does what no one has done before. He puts it all out. A simple kiss to the top of your head dowses the flame and reduces it to a measly spark of fear overshadowed by an uncontainable pink and white glow of love in your chest.

You gasp at the cooling effect. Air rushes into your lungs and you can finally breathe, he’s the oxygen you needed. He’s everything you’ve needed but now you want to give your air away again. You want to give it all to him.

You pull away from his shoulder in one swift motion, your eyes are shut tight as your lips find his and you pull him into a hard and messy kiss. The sound that escapes you both is desperate and beautiful. His lips move with yours in an uncoordinated rhythm that makes your lungs burn comfortably. They burn the way that they’re supposed to.

Hyunjin cries into the kiss. Tears stream down his cheeks as he cradles you against him like you’d vanish if he didn’t. He drinks it all in, he allows himself to live in this moment that he’s been dying to have with you for what feels like an eternity before he reluctantly breaks the kiss.

His eyes are still closed when he pulls away. He whispers to you, careful not to crack the shell of this delicate moment. “I thought you -”

“I don’t want to keep running. I can’t, I need you. I can’t lose you.” Your eyes flutter open at the same time as his. He stares down at you with that smile in his eyes. That smile he has when he sees something beautiful, when he’s utterly enamored by the sight before him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do any of this, I only know that I want to do it with you.”

He’s quiet for a couple of seconds before a smile sneaks up on him. It fades just as quickly as it came and his eyebrows pinch together. “You want me?” You nod and the smile shows itself again.

“I want you.” He leans back in, cupping your cheek as he kisses you hard. His body pushes against yours and you move with him as he walks backwards towards one of the few empty desks and lifts you onto it.

His hands explore every inch of you that he can reach. He balls his fist over the baggy flannel hiding your body from him while your fingers tangle in his hair and scratch over his shoulders and up his arms.

He breaks the kiss to run his lips over the flushed flesh of your neck, he whispers into your skin between each kiss “Tell me to stop.” He pulls at the collar of the flannel to kiss the curve of your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this, please tell me to stop. Tell me to wait.”

You push his head further into the crook of your neck as you tilt your head further to give him better access. “I don’t want you to.” He sucks a mark into the skin right below your ear and you pull his tucked in shirt from his pants with an elated moan.

His clumsy fingers fight to unbutton the oversized flannel as yours attempt to unbutton his jeans. You reach your goal before he does and waste no time capitalizing on your victory. You dip your hand in just enough to fish his growing erection from his briefs and wrap your hand around it.

Hyunjin moans at the stimulation, leaning his forehead against yours and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. “Fuck, please don’t, I wont - I can’t last.”

You kiss his temple softly, whispering reassurance that you don’t care to have him last, you just want to have him. Once he’s centered himself again he continues his struggle to expose your body to him. The final button falls open like the curtain to a play and he stares down your scantily clad torso like an audience in awe.

His hand moves on its own as he admires you. It dips into the waistband of your sweatpants and swipes over your clothed clit.

Your head falls forward to rest on his shoulder with a quiet moan as he groans into the air. Your grip on his cock tightens a bit in response to the sensation and he hisses. “Please tell me I can feel you. Is it okay? Can I?”

He doesn't want your first time to be here but he wants you. He needs you.

Hyunjin hooks a finger into the damp gusset of your panties and pulls it to the side just enough to slip a finger into your waiting cunt. You pant in his ear, wanton moans bubble over the brim of your lips as his free hand cradles the side of your neck. “Look at me, please look at me, baby.”

He runs his thumb over your cheek, brushing over the path of your dried tears. “So pretty, this must be a dream.” You shake your head. Speaking between moans. “Not a dream, baby.”

He slips in another finger as you circle your palm over the head of his cock and you both moan. “Please tell me I can.” He leans his forehead against yours, his desperate eyes reflect the look in your own.

“You can. Please, I want you to.”

“Have you ever thought about it?” He’s asking before he can process it and you’re shaking your head before he can even finish his sentence. A shy glaze washes over your desperate gaze as you watch him undress you.

“You’re all I ever think about.” He whispers as he hooks his thumbs into the band of your pants. “You’re all I’ve wanted for the past year.”

“I’ve loved you since my birthday.” You blurt out, vulnerable eyes peering into his. “Maybe even before that.” He runs a finger over your clothed cunt and you shudder under the touch.

“I wanted to kiss you the night of your birthday. You looked so beautiful but you were wasted. You wouldn’t have remembered. I just stared at you, I took your make-up off and I brushed the hair from your face and you stared back at me. I was just dying to kiss you. I was dying to confess.” Your hand runs slowly up his shaft and he swears that he feels electric.

“I wanted to kiss you too.” He’s quiet, staring back at you with a smile. “That’s why I was staring”

“I kissed your forehead when you fell asleep.” He pulls your panties down your legs, allowing them to pool at his feet with your sweatpants. “I knelt by your bed and whispered my confession to you.”

His fingers are filling you again and you gasp while staring into his eyes. “I wanna hear it.” You whisper through a moan.

“You want to hear my confession?” You nod, your gently fucked out gaze stares into his like your hypnotized by the moment. He scissors his finger into you, stretching you out just a bit before you’re gasping from the stretch of him replacing his fingers with his length.

“Fuck, you’re inside of me.” Hyunjin stills with a groan. His forehead rests on your shoulder while he silently begs himself not to come undone just yet. He sucks in a breath before he recites all that he can remember.

“You’re everything that I thought it would be to fall in love.” He whispers as he pulls back, thrusting into you slowly. “You really snuck up on me, I don’t know what I expected though.” He lifts his head to look at you as he sinks back into you. “You became my world so quickly. So effortlessly.”

You cup his face with both of your hands as you bite back your moans. You want to hear him loud and clear. You want to remember every word. “I should’ve known that I’d fall in love when I first met you.” He picks up the pace, falling into a messy rhythm that’s accompanied by a fit of moans and grunts.

He struggles to keep his eyes on you. They flutter shut with each thrust as he feels himself float closer and closer to his climax. “Baby, I won’t last.” You wrap your arms around his neck and one of his wraps around your waist while the other rests on your thigh before creeping over to softly pinch and rub your clit.

“Hyune, you’re gonna make me - gonna -” He cuts you off with a sloppy kiss, his tongue brushes over your parted lips to request access before making room for itself against yours.

“If you tell me that you’re gonna cum I won’t last another second.” He whispers against your lips and you moan against his.

“What if I tell you that I love you.” Hyunjin’s eyebrows pinch at the confession. That’s way worse than telling him that you’re close. “I’ve loved you back for as long as - as long as you’ve loved me.”

“Rose, baby, you’re gonna -” It’s your turn to kiss him now, it’s a mess of teeth and tongue but you love it. You love him and him you.

You both pull away in tandem, twin moans ripping through your chests as you both announce yourself to the other.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Hyunjin pulls out of you, painting your thighs in his sticky white release while his fingers toy with your clit to ride you through your orgasm. It’s loud and messy and beautiful. A romantic elegance that you want to live in for as long as it’s available.

Once you’ve both come down from your high Hyunjin kisses your sweaty forehead and you kiss his. He pulls his bottoms up before grabbing the cleanest paint rag he has to clean you up. A comfortable silence settles around you as you ground yourself and take in the space.

“You didn’t finish that one.”

He follows your gaze over to the painting of the pale pink rose. The middle of the canvas contrasts the rest with nothing but dull line art to show the completed picture. It looks like a work in progress. “I know, but I think I like it like that.” He looks back over at you and you at him.

“It looks like you."

It’s been seven months. Graduation has come and gone in the middle of your blooming relationship with Hyunjin and you’ve dedicated each and every second of your budding love to taming the flame.

Each kiss from him has kept the spark of fear at bay and each touch has taught you how to stop running. It’s been a slow and cautious process that he is more than proud to be a part of. He takes pride in it. He takes pride in being with you.

The smooth breeze of late summer brushes against your skin as you step out of your car. The white dress that Hyunjin picked out for you sticks to you like paint on a canvas as you make your way up to the art gallery.

It’s buzzing inside, people stand and stare in awe at each piece while whispering and pointing to their favorite details. You stop and stand in the middle of it all, taking it all in with a slow spin on the balls of your feet. You take in every corner until you turn around completely and you’re met with the face of the artist himself.

“Hi.” Hyunjin smiles down at you, brown baggy flannel hanging from his shoulders.

“Hi.” You stare back at him with a gleaming smile in your eyes. You take in every inch of him, scanning him like he should be framed and hanging on the walls around you.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Hyunjin wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I like staring at you.” Your response makes him beam a shy smile.

“You should be staring at the art. The artist might get sad if you don’t.” He kisses your forehead before letting you go. Some people around you stare over at the two of you with curious eyes. They’re eager to put a face to the muse of the showing artist.

You take his hand and lead him over to the piece that a couple is walking away from. You stand in front of it hand in hand as you study it for what feels like the millionth time. “This one is my favorite.” The incomplete pale pink rose stares back at you.

“And why is that?” Hyunjin has that smile in his eyes as he stares up with you. The memory of this piece's origin plays behind his eyes like a memorized movie.

“I’ve been told that it looks like me.” You lay your head on his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. A chill runs up his spine and he blames it on you. You and the love he feels glowing pink and white around you.

“There you are.” History repeats itself as the lady that you’ve come to know as Dalia interrupts the two of you. “I wanted to check in with you, how does it feel to finally have your own exhibition?”

Hyunjin smiles at her politely, turning towards her a bit with his fingers still threaded through yours. “It’s amazing. Thank you, you’ve done a wonderful job putting this together.”

“Oh, please, it’s nothing. This is all you.” You watch her as her eyes smile just as they always have. Her hand brushes over his arm in a carefully calculated move. She’s still shameless and unprofessional. “This piece is my favorite. The unfinished look is unique and raw. What inspired this one?”

You grin to yourself as you listen to her. She’s trying so hard that it’s difficult not to laugh.

“Actually.” Hyunjin pulls your hand a bit, leading you forward so that you’re right next to him. It’s impossible for Dalia to ignore you now. Her eyes scan you reluctantly and the smile on her face falters for a second before she pulls it together. Gosh, that's gratifying.

“My lovely rose here is the inspiration for it all.” Hyunjin looks over at you with a glow that is unmatched even by the largest of flames. “None of this would be possible without her.”

It’s like Dalia disappears once Hyunjin looks over at you. You’re the only two in the room as far as you’re concerned. “Oh, well that’s just - that’s wonderful.” Her staggered speech pulls you both out of your loving haze.

“Such a … sweet profession of love.” She glares over at you though you’re sure that in her head she’s doing a wonderful job at hiding her contempt. “I should make sure that everything is running smoothly. Please excuse me.”

She clears her throat awkwardly before she departs, you and Hyunjin both bid her smiling farewells before turning to each other with wide smiles. “Show off.” You push his shoulder playfully and he laughs.

“I didn’t do anything.” You roll your eyes as you both wander over to the next piece on the wall. You stare up at the two pink roses in a lone vase, a shadow of sunlight casts down on them both as they rise towards its shining glow.

A comfortable silence blankets the two of you while you listen to the soft buzz of the people around you. You squeeze his hand softly and he squeezes back just as you open your mouth to speak.

“She still wants to fuck you.” He smiles

“Shut up.”

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theereina · 2 months ago

Text

The "Itch"

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2.7K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of Daddy, and other pet names (lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), oral (female receiving), fingering, spitting, slight an*l, double penetration/stimulation, spanking, Soft Dom!Terry

A/N¹: This is a single one-shot with no planned sequels. This is my first time focusing on sub-dom, so please be nice.

A/N²: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

Nadia had gone to bed earlier than usual. She had taken her first Pilates class today and foolishly went to the gym after. Every part of her body ached as a reminder of her session. She loved it, nevertheless. Her fiancé, Terry, had gifted her a 3 month membership at the local Pilates studio. She had shown interest after trying it at home using YouTube videos and equipment from Amazon. Terry had gone out and bought all her equipment and outfits way before her first class was even scheduled. This is why she loved him. His ability to breathe life into her hobbies and invest in her selflessly.

Nadia was lying on her belly with her arm under the pillow. Her hair was braided back into two puffy braids. She had sweated her hair out and was NOT in the mood to even touch it after the gym.

Nadia heard the faint sound of Terry's truck pulling onto the gravel driveway. She tossed in her sleep, facing the window in their upstairs master bedroom. His headlights flashed across the room as he drove closer to the house. She heard the truck come to a stop and the engine cut off. Terry opened and closed the doors of his vehicle collecting his things before walking to the front door. She heard his keys before the front door creaked open. The house went silent as Nadia waited for his presence.

She could hear his footsteps ascending the stairs. Nadia turned to rest on her back. His footsteps were— different. They weren't light and graceful tonight. They carried a nagging weight. A weight Nadia could register from a mile away. Nadia sat up in bed, resting her back against the plush headboard. Her satin gown hung from one shoulder, and she wasn't wearing any underwear as Terry had always requested for bedtime.

She could hear his footsteps moving closer to the bedroom door. They were much louder than normal. Terry opened the bedroom door to find Nadia sitting up waiting for him. He paused to take in the simplicity of her natural beauty. Her natural hair braided back will always be one of his favorite hairstyles on her. It didn't matter if it was messy or professionally done. It made her look like an angel to him. The way the light brown satin gown lay on her glowy brown skin made her look like the finest of chocolates— smooth and sweet. The way that single strap hung off her shoulder slightly exposing the top of her large breast was the icing on the cake for him. He needed his Nadia— his baby girl. The yearning within Terry rose with every second that his gaze lingered on her.

Nadia waited with her hands in her lap while Terry stood in the doorway taking ALL of her in. Terry's eyes reflected the moonlight that glowed through the window. Nadia followed Terry's eyes up her body until they met her's. She nodded and smiled. Terry nodded back.

Terry admired that she was waiting for him without him asking. Terry looked into Nadia’s doe-brown eyes with enough lust to ignite the fire between her legs. Terry approached the bed and patted the edge. Without saying a word, Nadia pulled the covers back and crawled to the foot of the bed. She sat on her knees. She assured that she was close enough to feel Terry's energy but not touch him. She needed permission for that in these situations.

He leaned over and kissed the top of Nadia’s head and her forehead. He cupped her chin in his hand and brought her face to his. His stare was heavy and demanding. He bit his bottom lip before speaking. “Daddy's got an itch, baby girl,” he said kissing Nadia’s lips. Nadia placed her hands in her lap and drew in a breath. “What's your remedy, Daddy?” Nadia said playing with the bottom hem of her gown. It was barely covering halfway past her thick thighs and from the right angle he could definitely see she had followed the no panties rule.

“First, are you okay?” he said placing his hands on the sides of her neck. “Yes, sir. I'm okay,” Nadia replied with a nod of her head. “Alright, baby girl. You okay with Daddy being hands-on during this session?” he asked. “Yes, sir. If hands-on is what Daddy needs, we can begin when he's ready,” Nadia said looking at Terry with the softest eyes.

“Thank you, baby girl. Wait right here, okay?” Terry said, standing up straight. Nadia nodded and looked down at her hands. She watched as Terry's work boots disappeared from her line of sight. She could hear him enter the bathroom. She heard the sink turn on and off. Terry was all about cleanliness whenever possible, so she assumed that he had washed his hands.

Terry returned from the bathroom shirtless and carrying his belt in his hand. “Eyes up,” he demanded. Nadia’s eyes rose to find his. “Are you gonna be a good girl fa’ me?” he asked crossing his arms. Nadia's eyes watched the belt as it rested on his chest. “Yes, Daddy. I promise,” Nadia said softly. “Baby girl, we use our big girl voice in this room!” Terry said shifting his weight to one side. “Sorry. I promise to be a good girl,” Nadia said louder. “Thank you, baby. Turn around. Flatten out. Arms out in front of you. You know how Daddy likes it,” he said while uncrossing his arms and dropping the belt since there was no longer a need to restrain her.

Nadia turned around and put her ass in the air. She flattened her body as much as she could against the mattress, deepening her arch. Her arms stretched ahead towards the headboard with her palms faced down. Her gown instantly rose over her ass, exposing all of her to Terry's hungry gaze.

“That's my girl. Ass up, face down. Remember to breathe,” Terry said inching closer to Nadia's backside. He began to rub and palm her ass cheeks. He pushed her gown up further so that it was around her waist. “Do you remember Daddy's rules?” Terry asked massaging her lower back. “Rule number one: count out loud. If I don't and Daddy can't hear it, it doesn't count. Rule number two: keep my hands to myself. That includes keeping them off of Daddy and me. Rule number three: Daddy doesn't like quiet bitches. He wants to hear me. Rule number four: Don't interrupt Daddy while he's having fun. Rule number five: I am a princess and slut. Act like it!” Nadia called out the list with pride as a smile spread across Terry's face.

Terry was a soft dom. He had no interest in being “hard”. He liked things light and playful, yet sexy and spicy. Nadia’s words carried more weight than his needs. “No” meant “no”, and he didn't believe in coercion. Nadia's answers were final. That's why check-ins and consent were so important to him. He would never make her do anything she didn't want to. Even if Nadia desired to do it to please him, it made him uncomfortable. In Terry's mind, this was really Nadia's playroom, and he was just the keeper.

“Ready, love?” Terry asked adjusting himself between her legs. His thighs rested against the edge of the bed. Nadia nodded. Terry cupped her chin and turned her face towards him. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Sorry. Yes, sir. I'm ready,” she said turning her head back to face the headboard. He pushed her lower back down gently and angled her ass higher. He wanted to see all of her.

From this angle, Terry could see her pussy already beginning to glisten. He palmed her ass with one hand as he slid his fingers in between the lips of her pussy grazing her clit over and over again. Nadia let out a soft moan. Terry slid two fingers inside her pussy. “Does baby girl want a reward? I think you earned one. Daddy didn't even have to tell you to be waiting. Do you know how that makes Daddy feel, baby girl?” Terry said pushing his fingers in slowly. Nadia moaned and began clenching her fists.

“Like the king he is,” Nadia said lifting her head. She wanted to make sure Terry heard her. “That's right, princess. Good girl,” Terry said as he began to slowly fingerfuck Nadia. He curved his fingers upward aiming for her g-spot. Nadia clenched around his fingers. “Is that where my baby wants it?” Terry said working his fingers against the same spot over and over. “Yes, Daddy!” Nadia moaned out. “If that's what my baby wants, that's what she gets,” Terry grunted. His fingers began to pick up speed. Nadia’s body jerked forward slightly pushing Terry's fingers out. “Noted,” Terry said in a low grumble.

That meant Nadia had made a mistake. An amount was added to whatever Terry decided— spankings, orgasms, denials, etc. With her in this position, she was adamant that a spanking was happening shortly. “Sorry, sir!” Nadia blurted out. Terry tapped her lower back, letting her know he at least acknowledged her apology. There was no such thing as deductions.

Nadia could feel herself approaching her climax. This orgasm was going to be a strong one. She could feel Terry shift behind her. Terry leaned his head down and opened his mouth letting saliva fall onto Nadia’s pussy. He removed his fingers and dragged them down towards her clit. He began to use the pads of his fingers to rub her swollen clit. He pushed the thumb from the same hand into her pussy.

He leaned over to glance at the side of Nadia's face. Her bottom lip was stuck between her teeth. “Your reward,” Terry announced. He dragged the thumb from his other hand over her asshole and pressed lightly. He knew that one of Nadia's biggest kinks was double penetration/stimulation. Nadia’s moans immediately grew louder. Terry pressed his thumb into her asshole a little more, passing the rim. Nadia began fisting the bedsheets in front of her. A smile spread across Terry's face. He loved it when she reacted like this. Terry began making small circular motions with his thumb still inside her.

His other hand was still playing with her pussy. “For being such a good girl, you can cum whenever you like,” Terry said quickening the pace of his hands. He needed Nadia to cum hard. He loved making her orgasm. “Daddy, I'm close!” Nadia whimpered loudly. “I know baby. I can feel it. Can you let Daddy have it? Let it out, baby,” Terry cooed. It was as if that was all it took for Nadia's pussy to explode. She came all over Terry's hand that was covering her pussy. He rubbed her clit faster pushing her orgasm out.

Terry smiled at the moans Nadia was releasing as each one egged him on. “That's my baby. You did all that for Daddy,” he said leaning down and kissing up her spine. With each kiss, Nadia released more small moans. “Fuck!” she yelled out.

Terry leaned back up. He watched as she came down and leveled her breathing. “It's time, princess,” Terry said massaging Nadia’s lower back with both hands. She quickly repositioned herself. “Good girl. Ready?” Terry said flexing his fingers. “Yes, Daddy. I'm ready,” she replied closing her eyes. She had learned that anticipating the hits made them hurt worse. She loosened her hips and spread her legs a little more. She liked when his hits got a little wild and struck her pussy just a little.

“Begin,” Terry announced.

smack

“One!”

smack

“Two!”

smack

“Three!”

smack

“Four!”

After every couple of smacks, Terry would gently massage Nadia’s ass cheeks. Once they were past fifteen, Nadia’s pussy was aching again.

smack

“Sixteen!”

smack

“Seventeen!”

smack

“Eighteen!”

Nadia was feeling the throb of every hit. She knew that she was welting or bruising by now.

smack

“Nineteen!”

smack

“Twenty!”

“Last one for your earlier indiscretion!” Terry called out.

smack

“Twenty-one!” Nadia whimpered again. Her hands were lost in the tangled sheets she had been fisting.

“That's my girl. Breathe,” Terry said taking notice of Nadia's pussy clenching on nothing. “You need something?” Terry asked stroking her clit again. “I'm so close, Daddy. Make me cum again, please!” Nadia screamed. She moaned as soon as Terry's fingers slipped inside of her again.

Terry leaned over and placed his free hand on Nadia's waist. He pulled closer to him while fingerfucking her pussy. He got down on his knees behind her on the floor. Using nothing but his flattened tongue he licked from her pussy to her asshole. His fingers left her pussy and found her clit again. He pointed his tongue and inserted it into her wet pussy. He moved his head back and forth while his tongue was inside her, thrusting into her like he was searching for her orgasm.

He wanted her to cum on his face, and he wanted it now. He pressed harder on her clit while continuing to pad it with his fingertips. His tongue went into overdrive. He wiggled his tongue along her walls as far as he could reach. Nadia was screaming now. “Daddy! Oh, fuck. I'm…ahh. Please, I'm…ughhh!” Nadia yelled. Her juices squirted out of her and flooded Terry's open mouth. He held his mouth over her catching everything he could. He licked over her entrance over and over again.

Once he was finished, he stood up from behind Nadia. He tapped her lower back before speaking again, “Turn over, baby.” Nadia flipped over so that she was on her back. Terry leaned down and grabbed her hands. “I love you, baby girl. You know that?” Terry asked, smiling down at her. “Yes, Daddy. I love you, too!” Nadia said panting.

Terry leaned over her body and began kissing all over her chest and neck, causing her to giggle. “I’ll take care of you in the bathroom and before you go back to bed. For now, rest. Okay, love?” Terry said locking eyes with her. His gaze was much softer now. Those greenish hazel eyes were gleaming. “Yes, sir,” Nadia answered leaning up to peck Terry on the lips.

Terry rose from the bed and walked into the bathroom. She heard the bath turn on. She could hear him searching through cabinets, opening and closing each one. “Eucalyptus or lavender?!” Terry yelled from the bathroom. “Both!” Nadia yelled back. She placed her hands on her chest and closed her eyes. This was the most intense session she and Terry had done in a while.

Returning to the bedroom, Terry walked into their closet and grabbed two towels and her robe taking them into the bathroom. “Ready, baby?” Terry asked walking back out. “Yes, sir,” Nadia said letting out a yawn. “Tired?” “I was asleep when you came,” she said as Terry picked her up bridal style. “Sorry for waking you up,” he said kissing her forehead. “You can wake me up like this anytime you want!” Nadia laughed as they entered the bathroom. The steam rose from the bath. She could smell the essential oils he used. “Mmm,” she let out, taking a deep breath.

Terry put her down and stepped into the tub first. He held out his hand to guide her in. “Thank you,” she said. She sat down first with him sitting behind her. His back rested against the edge of the large Jacuzzi tub. Bubbles were beginning to cover their bodies. Terry reached around Nadia to turn off the faucet. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush to him. “Thank you, my love,” he said kissing her lips. “Anytime,” she said sinking back into his chest.

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @persethegawd @keyaho @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theglamclosetsl @nayaesworld @ariiijestertheklown

@androgynousgaz @insidefeelingofanadult @blyffe @mymindisneverhere @writingsbytee @revealingco @pocketsizedpanther @creartivefairy @disc0fairy @uzumaki-rebellion

@planetblaque @kindofaintrovert @notapradagurl7 @vivaalenaa @5headsupremacist @slutsareteacherstoo @gg-trini

@beenathembo @babybratzmaraj @sageispunk @gwenda-fav @blowmymbackout @megamindsecretlair

@helloncrocs @chasingsunlight

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igot-the-juice · 2 months ago

Text

Blood of A Rose - Part 1 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Summary - (Y/n) is an aspiring artist, but rather than mainstream, she captures what she considers to be the beauty of death. She has been fighting with the industry and local art museums to publicize her work. Reaching negative publicity, a particular clown takes an interest.

Masterlist

Notes - I see a lot of smut with little plot to build up to it so decided to write it myself. He’s always portrayed as aggressive and hasty with it, but I took a different take on it since he’s always so methodical and takes his time with what he does and I feel like that would stay the same in the bedroom or wherever else with his wild ass. Slow and torturous smut, ladies. Let me know if you’d like a continuation of this!

Word Count - 5,602

Warning(s) - Gore, depictions of graphic art, morally ambiguous reader, smut/sexual themes, no harm to reader

Song Inspiration -

IAMX - Bernadette

Ice Nine Kills - A Work of Art

The brush stroked gracefully along the canvas, a symphony of strings playing in the background as she worked. A multitude of shades of red took precedence over the piece, hints of yellow and skin tones sprinkled in where she thought was necessary.

She cleaned off her brush and took a step back, admiring her newest work, eyeing it for flaws or hints of emptiness. When she found none she smiled to herself, untying her apron and leaving to enter the house to wash herself clean of any unwanted paint that caught her skin.

She turned on the faucet, pumping soap into her hands and began to scrub. She watched as the red began to drain down the sink, sighing in delight at the sight of it.

(Y/n) had always been captivated by the concept of death. Not in the way people feared or avoided it, but in the way she saw its eerie elegance. Growing up in a household that celebrated perfection and the beauty of life, her fascination with decay and the passage of time was met with silence, sometimes disgust.

As a child, she’d spend hours sketching wilted flowers or photographing the abandoned cemetery near their house. Sometimes she found dead animals which was always a treat for her. She found beauty where others saw only ruin and death. Her parents had tried to correct her, and her teachers had labeled her work disturbing. But (y/n) remained drawn to the delicate balance between life and death.

As she grew older, the fascination deepened, and she poured it into her art. Her paintings had always included blood in one way or another, whether it was an aging object, haunted landscapes, or human forms twisted in the stillness of death. On the other hand, her photographs captured the fleeting beauty of nature’s quiet end. The decay of a flower, the pale tranquility of a body.

However, the world around her wasn’t ready for her vision. Critics were quick to brand her work as grotesque, calling it an abomination, and galleries refused to showcase her art. News articles labeled her as disturbed, questioning her mental health rather than her talent.

But for (y/n), it was never about horror. She saw beauty in the inevitability of death, in the idea that all things must come to an end. To her, it was a reminder of the fragility of existence and the raw, unfiltered truth of the world. Yet, each harsh critique was another nail in the coffin of her confidence, driving her further into herself.

She became more reserved, speaking less in public, avoiding eye contact at exhibitions - if she even attended. She longed to defend her work, but the voices of her critics echoed in her mind, silencing her before she could even begin.

Despite the noise, (y/n) still clung to her vision, working tirelessly in the small, dimly lit studio that was the garage of the small house she currently rented. Surrounded by the eerie stillness of her creations.

She began to change into something more fitting for the colder October weather, slipping on a coat to bury her hands in and walking into the crisp autumn air. As her feet tapped through the night’s atmosphere, she closed her eyes for a moment, the smell of the dying trees and asphalt sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She didn’t live far from the heart of Miles County, quickly reaching it and taking joy in the quietness of it all compared to the usual bustling energy during the day that she preferred to avoid.

She passed a display lined and stacked with TVs, some of them turned on and broadcasting different channels.

“- another piece was released just days ago with another overwhelming amount of negativity -“

She stopped promptly, turning her head towards one of the TVs closest to her and seeing a portrait of herself display.

“Be advised, the image is disturbing.”

Her last work was then shown. She admired it, not from an egotistical standpoint, but more from the genuine beauty of the concept.

A flower pot, chipped and cracked. An elongated and decaying finger was the stem of the flower in the pot, bloodied thorns sticking out of it every which way. Ears made up the petals, an eyeball at the center in place of a typical pistil. A radiant glow shone from behind the flower, its rays of light praising its beauty in all of its wretched glory.

Her eyes began to water as they threw out carefully constructed insults, indirect but still noticeable enough to catch.

However, what (y/n) didn’t notice was the tall, slim monochromatic figure standing behind her just feet away. Gripping the overfilled black trash bag hanging over his shoulder, he curiously watched the same TV, head tilted slightly in fascination.

She brought a balled hand up to below her nose, keeping it from running as a tear fell. Too caught up in the screen before her, she failed to notice the man that now stood next to her, watching the TV from next to her rather than behind, his bag now on the sidewalk.

Having had enough of their cruel remarks, she turned to walk back home, but gasped when she nearly collided with the strange man.

Her eyes slowly trailed up his form, landing on his white painted face, accented by the black paint around his eyes and mouth. She took in his features with curiosity and fascination, taking note of his exaggerated hooked nose, cheekbones and pointed chin.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed and quickly wiped at her tears. “I didn’t notice you there.”

His head slowly turned towards her and his mouth widened into a dramatic smile, flashing his black-coated teeth. It suddenly turned to surprise, shaking where he stood with excitement and pointing to the TV.

“You… Do you like it?” She asked, unbelieving. He nodded enthusiastically and pointed to her, then the TV, then back to her. She caught on. “Oh, um… Yeah - yeah that’s me.”

His hands shook with another wave of excitement, his hands representing the beat of his heart, then giving a chef’s kiss.

“Well, thank you,” She sniffed again. “That means a lot to me, actually.” She gave a small giggle of amusement at his mannerisms.

He then stopped suddenly, putting his hands on his hips with a disapproving look. He ran a finger down his cheek to simulate a fake tear, then pointed to her, then the TV.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m used to it by now.” (Y/n) waved off, but the mime knew better.

He held up a finger, his mouth forming an ‘o’ with eyebrows raised, then turned to rummage through his bag. She watched curiously, wondering how this was even happening. He suddenly turned back around, presenting a rose to her with a large smile.

Again, she couldn’t help but giggle and grew bashful, her cheeks tinting red as her fingers lightly grazed his own to take the flower from him. She brought it up to her nose to smell it, a smile gracing her lips. She then felt something drip down her hand and looked down at the flower again, seeing as a drop of blood made its way down over her fingers.

“Nice touch. Thank you.” She complimented and her smile widened.

He folded his hands in front of himself, swaying as if to show he himself was bashful.

“Are you mute?” She asked curiously out of the blue.

He nodded and she smiled in understanding.

“Well, I think you’re quite charming regardless.” She spoke softly and he waved a hand at her, then raised it to his cheek as if he was blushing. Her giggles turned into laughter. “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

(Y/n) watched as he looked up in thought, tapping his chin. He then stuck a finger up to show he had an idea and dipped a finger into the blood of the rose, turning to the glass pane with the TVs and began to write.

“Art?” She asked and he nodded eagerly, making her laugh once more. “It suits you.” He shrugged dramatically in response. (Y/n) sighed, looking at her watch reading 10:34. “As much as I love this interaction, I should head back home.” She looked back up at him and he pouted and looked down, then shot up with another idea.

He made a walking motion with his fingers, pointed to himself, then to her and pointed in the direction she came from.

“You want to walk me home?” He nodded.

She stood in thought for a moment, wondering if she should really trust the monochromatic clown. He seemed sweet enough, and it wasn’t a lie when she said he was charming. She couldn’t deny that there was something oddly attractive about his facial features, either.

Against her better judgment, she looked back up at him and gave a shy smile. “Okay.” Art clapped with glee and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and motioning for her to lead the way.

The walk was quiet, save for (y/n) making casual conversation every now and then. It wasn’t an awkward silence when she didn’t speak, and Art seemed to be just as content as he happily walked alongside her. She couldn’t help but sneak looks at him along the way, and though he seemed blissfully oblivious he caught every glance.

She felt a pang of pity when they reached the smaller house, walking up to the door and turning to him to see him pouting once more. “Thank you for walking me. It gets lonely sometimes, to be honest.”

He looked down, swinging with sadness at the end of their walk.

“Well,” She sighed in thought. “I mean, I suppose you know where I live now. Maybe you could visit some time? I never really have company, anyways.”

His excitement reappeared, making herself happy in the process. He nodded vigorously and she laughed for the umpteenth time.

“Be safe out there, okay?” He nodded again and waved at her as she opened the door to go inside. “Goodnight, Art.” The door closed and she leaned against it, wondering what the hell just happened.

Of all people, she befriended a clown. But it was nothing against him. She supposed she just attracted the oddballs of the world given that she was deemed one herself by society.

She mindlessly prepared for bed, running through her interaction with the man over and over repeatedly. It was the only thing she could think about. No amount of distraction would keep him from her head. (Y/n) sighed as she stared up at the ceiling, hands folded over her abdomen.

When she woke up the next morning, preparing breakfast in the kitchen as the TV hummed in the background, her ears caught something rather peculiar.

“- found dead in their home just last night after neighbors reported screaming to the police. We were told photographs of the scene are too graphic to broadcast and were not provided.”

(Y/n) walked over to the TV, seeing a picture of the news anchor who insulted her work the night before, along with his family. As much as she pitied them, she couldn’t help the tsk of her tongue when they refused to provide the photographs. She had recently been relying on such photos as inspiration for her pieces, and she couldn’t do much but grow more and more curious about them.

After eating her breakfast and freshening up, she went to her desktop computer and powered it on. Having made note of the name of the news anchor, she began to search the case in hopes that they posted the photos online and came across an image that baffled her. In the middle of the article was a sketch of the suspect.

The clown she had encountered.

She stopped reading and sat back against her chair, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. He knew where she lived, and she invited him to visit. Granted, she figured if he wished her harm, he would just bust through a window or the door itself regardless of invitations.

But then she couldn’t shake his goofy mannerisms, how he showed her more kindness in one night than anyone had in all of her (y/age) years. How he showed her how much he loved her art, giving her the rose to cheer her up.

Then she remembered. Art was with her when the news anchor was insulting her work. Now he and his family are dead.

Could he have…?

Coincidence. (Y/n) shook her head.

(Y/n) stood and made her way to the garage, checking if her latest work had dried up. To her delight, it did, and she removed it from the easel to prop against the wall holding her countless other works.

The rest of the day was wasted away, filled with cat naps, snacking and binging shows. She thought of going out and doing something for herself, but the thought of being surrounded by people immediately put her off. So she decided on lounging until the sun set and could truly be in her element.

Time seemed to mock her, dragging on and on enough to make her think that it froze altogether. But alas, the hues outside grew darker and she began to prepare for her night out.

Throwing on a sweater dress, pantyhose and her shoes, she picked up her digital camera that sat on a nearby table, hanging it around her neck before making her way outside. When she turned to face the street, she jumped at the sight of Art standing nearly directly in front of her with the same oversized bag and wide grin.

(Y/n) froze, wondering if things should change between them after finding out what he did. What he could do.

She figured it was already too late if he indeed wished her harm. He knew where she lived and could easily find her. So why should she give him further incentive? And he hadn’t done anything to her personally to be rudely snubbed. The memories of the night before ran through her head, an innocent and friendly encounter.

So she indulged herself until fate decided the outcome.

“Hey, Art.” She greeted him with a gentle smile. He waved excitedly at her, then pointed at the camera around her neck with a questioning expression. “Oh, I’m just going on a walk. Trying to see if there’s anything interesting to photograph for my next piece.”

He tapped his chin and looked off, thinking. He perked up with a finger, eagerly motioning for her to follow him. Unable to contain her curiosity, she walked up to him and began to follow.

“You know a place I could find something?” He grinned mischievously at her, a silent ‘yes’.

After some walking, they came upon an older building. The walls actively rotted away, windows broken and some boarded up. He stopped with her when she paused at the front, looking up at the building in awe.

Perfection.

She reached for her camera, but his hand quickly came over hers to stop her and heat rushed up to her face. He pulled away and motioned to the building, then placed his hand over his heart endearingly. “Is this your home?” He nodded. “Oh! I’m sorry, I won’t take pictures.”

He patted her shoulder as a thank you and motioned for her to follow once more, leading her into the building.

The smell was horrid to anyone else, but to (y/n) it was just another day of work. With the countless rotting animals and even occasional mutilated body she’s encountered, she had no choice but to grow used to it. By now, the smell reminded her of her work and provided a sense of comfort in a twisted way.

However, standing in what was the killer’s home, it also struck her like a bolt of lightning. The familiar smell of blood and rot was in his home, which could only mean one thing.

“You wanted to show me something in here, didn’t you?”

Art’s smile grew impossibly wide, pointing at her to show he was impressed that she caught on quickly. He dropped his bag and held out his hand in an exaggerated gentlemanly fashion, leg kicked out and foot up on its heel, holding the same sadistic smile when she met his eyes. (Y/n) delicately placed her hand in his, his own only grasping onto her fingers with a surprising gentleness as he led her through the dark building to a separate room.

The smell grew stronger the closer they drew to the room as more and more of the all too familiar red hues began to reveal themselves.

When they finally entered, she gasped at the sight before her. Art presented his own ‘masterpiece’ to her with excitement, taking in her every reaction.

Sat on a chair in the center of the room was the remnants of a decapitated man, chest cavity wide open. Blood covered the body from neck to toe, stains coating the walls and floor around it.

At first she was frightened, but as he presented it to her she realized something. She realized that they shared the same fascination. Granted, he had a more methodical way of showing it, but artists always vary in accordance to what mediums they used, right?

“You did this?”

Art nodded eagerly, practically vibrating where he stood as he impatiently awaited for a verbal response. As she took in the sight before her shamelessly, he urged her with his hands to spit out what she was thinking.

“It’s beautiful…” She whispered breathlessly. And it was the truth. It felt as if she was staring at a blank canvas for her to mold and create into something new, with his permission of course. The possibilities were endless as they ran through her head, too many to keep track of.

Ever observant, he took notice of the turmoil and his almost innocent excitement turned into something more wicked. Something clicked in his brain as he practically watched a butterfly emerge from its cocoon before his very eyes.

He motioned to (y/n), then to the body, then with widespread arms he motioned at them together.

“You want me to create something?” She wondered if he ever suffered whiplash from nodding so aggressively, at least with her. “May I walk around to see what you have that I could use?” Another nod.

(Y/n) looked around the room, finding it completely empty besides the chair and body. She then left to wander, Art following her like a lost puppy, eager to watch her work. After searching through three other rooms, she finally found a flower pot. It had a chunk missing from the back, but she could easily turn it to where it wasn’t visible.

She turned to Art. “Do you have a cup or something to fill it with dirt?” He thought for a moment, then gave her a sign to wait before disappearing.

Her eyes wandered around what she assumed used to be a bedroom. An old mattress in the corner with an equally rotting dresser, nightstand and standing mirror.

When he reappeared, he held out a tin can to her and she gladly took it, making their way outside with the pot to fill it. He watched as she did so, taking note of the way she avoided getting herself dirty. He silently laughed to himself, pointing at her as her dainty hands refused to muddle with the soil. “What?” She questioned with her own chuckle.

He mimicked her avoiding the dirt and grime as he continued to laugh and she rolled her eyes.

“The work I showcase does not reflect my behavior. You’d be surprised how much I hate getting dirty.” (Y/n) giggled as she finished filling the pot, mindful of the missing chunk so as to not let any dirt spill. “Where did you get the rose from yesterday? Was it around here?”

He motioned for her to follow, looking back at her every now and then as he led her around the building to the back. A single rose bush was planted with only a few fully-bloomed flowers left intact. He offered to cut one of them off, and doing so he held it delicately to himself.

“Could you hold this for a second?” She held out the pot to him and he nodded. “Careful of the back, I don’t want anything to spill.” He nodded again and watched as she wandered, looking around for other plants to add to the pot. She settled on a few weeds, picking a handful of petals off of the other roses on the bush before heading back to the room with Art.

He softly set the items down in the corner as she cradled the petals in her hand, looking at the body with a tilted head. Art stood next to her, mimicking her mannerisms as he tried to understand what she was thinking of. He watched as her mouth moved to speak, but nothing followed until a few seconds after.

“Um…” She pointed to the body, looking at it for a few more seconds before turning her head to him. “Could you, um…” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could do a couple more things to it for me?”

His face twisted into mischief, as if to say ‘I thought you’d never ask’. His palms pressed against each other, fingers twiddling as he waited for what she wanted.

“Could you flatten the top and remove the um…” She motioned to the abdomen. “What’s inside…?” His mouth made an ‘o’ in a surprised expression before shifting into the same smile, booping her nose before leaving the room, she assumed to grab supplies.

He soon returned with a hacksaw and scissors, making his way to the body to do what she asked. Her stomach grew queasy once he began and she averted her gaze out of habit.

The noise suddenly stopped and she looked back to see him standing upright with a frown. She felt a pang of fear and dare she say guilt, thinking he was offended.

“I-I’m sorry, I love the end result, but I just get squeamish with the process, is all…” She whispered almost pitifully.

He watched as her face paled and she was left baffled when he made his way over to her, saw still in hand. However, he simply pushed her out of the room into a wide open area that was further away, holding up a finger to tell her to wait before he disappeared to finish.

Her face grew hot at the gesture, stomach fluttering as a bashful smile reached her lips. When (y/n) turned, she was met with a workbench, worn stool sat in front of it. She wandered over with curiosity, eyeing the rusted tools, nails and screws that sat on top of it.

A few jars were scattered along the back of it against the wall, reading the labels. Most of them were some form of acid, others she refused to guess the result of the compound mixture.

(y/n)’s eyes lit up when she found small circular candles akin to what would be put in a pumpkin, grabbing a couple along with a match from a box sat next to them and put them in her pocket.

She jumped when the sound of metal clattering to the floor invaded her ears and she whipped around to find Art standing there, saw next to his comically large shoes. He waggled his fingers at her in a wave, motioning for her to head back to the room to which she obeyed. She passed him with the same bashful smile, remembering his kindness from earlier.

When she entered, she saw that he did indeed do as she asked and turned to Art with a wider smile. “Thank you.” The clown tipped his hat and she giggled. “Could you hold these please?” She asked of the petals and he held out his cupped hands for her to place them in.

Eyes following her like a cat, he watched as she knelt by the pot, planting the rose in the center of it followed by the other plants she picked along the way, standing and making her way to the body. She placed it in the now empty cavity of the abdomen, then turned to take the petals back from Art. She sprinkled them over the body, some inside where the pot was.

She then pulled out the candles, placing them methodically inside the abdomen, making a point to avoid touching the body itself. Igniting the match, she lit the candles and stood, looking for the light switch to turn off the overhead lights. Art caught on and immediately turned them off somehow. (Y/n) looked at him with a confused expression to which he just shrugged with a wide grin.

She shook her head and giggled, lifting the camera from around her neck, checking the settings before testing different angles through the lens, snapping photos when she came upon the ones that satisfied her. (Y/n) made her way next to Art who shook his hands with excitement.

He stood against her with their closeness, practically his entire side brushing against her from behind as he looked down at the photos she clicked through. The beat of her heart picked up, blood rushing to her ears at the realization.

“Which one do you think is best?” She asked softly, turning to look up at him to see him already looking at her.

The candlight shone ominously against his features, pale eyes piercing through her own, her smile dropping as his nose nearly touched her own. His eyebrows quickly rose and dropped, head turning as his eyes squinted with his smile. His hand slowly rose, carefully prying the camera from her hands and setting it down. As he stood back to his full height, she craned her neck to look up at him, their bodies slowly turning to face each other until he took a step towards her, (y/n) taking a step back.

Taking his time, he walked her back until her body was pressed against the wall and his figure was the only thing in her field of view. Her breath shook as his bloodied fingertips reached up to caress her jaw, settling delicately under her chin to hold her gaze.

He leaned closer, tilting his head as his nose tickled her face. The hand under her chin then moved down to her neck, his feather-like touch changing pressure as it wrapped itself around her, increasing just enough to make her gasp and he finally closed the gap between them.

The kiss was surprisingly tame for how brutal he was, her eyes closed as she gave in to the intoxicating feeling and the only thing she could think of or feel was the man that held her. As for him, his eyes remained open, taking in and savoring her every expression.

The expressions of the same twisted mind that complimented his own work, turning it into breathtaking beauty that was beyond comparison. His mannerisms grew more eager, more desperate at the thought of whatever else they could create together, his free hand finding her waist and squeezing enough to release air from her lungs audibly, a plea for more.

His tongue slid against her teeth and she welcomed the invasion, parting her mouth to take him in as his hand ran over the hump of her arse, fingers digging into the fat and muscle enough to bruise. His wanton thoughts grew to become an obsession, anger rising at the thought of her parting from his life.

Their breath mingled, his mouth moving down to her jaw, then to her pulse point where he bit down just enough to release a trickle of blood and she cried out, hand squeezing his forearm of the hand still wrapped around her neck. As he sucked at the blood, the hand moved from her neck down to her breast, kneading and toying with it as her head leaned back, swaying at the pleasure.

Her leg lifted as his other hand slid from her arse down her thigh, hugging it close to him as he shifted his leg to apply pressure at her core. He pulled away from her neck, teeth still bared in its grin but his eyes clouded with lust and greed as he took her in. Her lips were parted with need, vulnerable and exposed before him in a gamble of trust and fate.

She felt his leg shift and she whined, a shiver running down her spine once she finally opened her eyes to look up at him. The sight before her sent a pulse to her center, clit throbbing as his hand slid down from her breast to her hip, her eyes following as he slowly dropped to his knees before her.

The thigh he previously held was now over his shoulder, hands sliding the skirt of her dress up to her hips to bury his nose into her clothed pussy. She sighed at the feeling, hands moving to hold the skirt for him. Suddenly, she heard a rip, cold air hitting her core as he tore her pantyhose open to reach her.

(Y/n) watched as he looked up at her with a mischievous grin and wiggled his eyebrows, disappearing back under her skirt when she felt his warm muscle drag along her leaking center. She felt his breath fan over her, his nose tickling her bud as his tongue dipped into her, teasing her entrance before plunging into it.

The woman gasped and her back arched as he toyed with her, her hand coming down to grip one of his own that squeezed at her thighs. He shook his head eagerly as he continued his feast and she moaned at the action, rolling her hips against him. His tongue then removed itself, moving to settle on her clit and she trembled at the sensitivity.

His free hand inched towards where his tongue had been, playing with her lower lips and providing a tickling sensation before he dipped a finger in, pushing to the knuckle. His finger began to move in rhythm with his tongue, practically digging into the spongy area that drove her mad with desperation.

She let go of his hand when she felt him move it, followed by the sound of a zipper coming undone as he pulled out his hardened member, continuing to chase her high and begging to himself to hear her scream.

She felt the coil begin to build and tense up, her heart racing as her skin grew hot in anticipation. The two of them locked eyes and his own squinted, encouraging her to fall over the edge. His gaze alone was enough, her chest heaving as she leaned her head back against the wall with a cry.

She struggled to catch her breath, panting and watching Art with a fucked-out expression as he rose to his feet with a deep hunger in his eyes. Her eyes flicked down to his erection, then back up at him with brows knit in anticipation. He slipped an arm behind her, pulling her in to press her against him.

Holding her gaze, he teased his member against her entrance, brow twitching as she tried to move against his strength. His smile suddenly dropped as he impaled her with his length, mouth open as he mocked her expression with great pleasure. His grin returned as she gripped onto his shoulder, one of her legs moving to hook around his waist.

He snatched her chin when her eyes began to close, forcing her to watch him as he began to set an agonizingly slow pace. He wanted to hear her beg. Needed to hear her beg. His cock twitched at the thought of it and she moaned.

“Art…” She called breathlessly and he tilted his head to listen. “Please…” The word shook as it left her lips. The leg hooked behind him pulled him in closer and his mouth twitched as she pleaded him once more.

He lifted her other leg to wrap around him, carrying her as if she was weightless, his display of strength only deepening her arousal and need as both of her hands settled behind his neck. He suddenly began to plunge into her repeatedly, a feral noise escaping from her throat as he watched on with animalistic desire.

He angled their bodies effortlessly, paying attention to her every expression and vocal flux in order to throw her over the edge for a second time. Her moans heightened their pitch, growing louder as her grip on him tightened and his eyes somehow darkened further, thrusting harder and harder with an inhuman amount of strength and stamina.

“Art -“ He gave a single nod with a sadistic grin as (y/n)’s hands shifted to his shoulders, nails digging into the satin of his suit before she crossed over into her orgasm. One of his hands snatched her jaw, slightly squeezing at her cheeks as their noses touched. He practically stared into her soul as he soon found his own release, baring his teeth as she felt his warm stream of seed fill her.

She sighed in exhaustion as Art silently huffed to himself. He then brought his head next to hers, licking the shell of her ear.

His mind was made up. Her fate was sealed.

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eclipsethemagic · 13 days ago

Text

Just best friends? |Lee Felix|

summary: Felix loves being friends with you so much that he doesn't want to lose you.

paring: idolfelix x!reader

Genre: fluff, a little bit of Angus

Song of the day: Gold by offonoff ft. Dean

(m.list)

wc: 2,224

Every time Felix looks at you his heart beats. Every time Felix looks at you his smile brightens. Every time Felix looks at you his day gets a little brighter. Just like today, when you walk into his room with the biggest smile on your face, it's contagious and he too, smiles at you. "I brought you mini donuts. I hope you like them." You told him as you walked over to his desk next to his bed and set them down. Felix nods and drops his phone to the side, moving his plushie from beside him so you can sit down.

"Thank you muffin." Felix had many nicknames for you, rose, pedal, and beautiful. But muffin was your favorite from the Australian. Just the way it rolled off his tongue when he said it made your stomach do flips. "How was going to the studio with Chris?" You hear him let out a snort, bringing his arm behind his head before answering you. "Good, annoying but Good. You know how he is though. He wants everything to be perfect for stays." And it was true. His leader worked day in and day out to make their fans happy. "How were classes?" Did Felix mention that you were a college student? It was your senior year, graduating next spring to become a journalist. You even interviewed him a few times for a project or two. Maybe that's why he loved you?

"Good." You sigh and lean back against his chest. "Don't think I passed my final exam though. I'm sorry but math just isn't for me." Felix lets out a deep laugh that you hear from the middle of his chest. "Well we know that- ow!" Felix yells as you hit him in his chest. Felix and you have been friends for about two years. Meeting you online under his private account on Instagram. You had posted a funny meme about him that he had to like it. Which made him also curious about what else you did.

Looking through your pictures randomly at night he noticed you loved photography, you loved taking pictures of just about anything. From you walk to the river near the trees. He also found out that you weren't from Korea, in fact, you lived in New York your whole life and moved to Korea for school. But what shocked him the most was that you loved his music. Most if not all of the posts you did post were either music from him or another artist you seemed to enjoy.

So Felix had to meet you, but he couldn't be so straightforward though. So he texted you, trying to get to know you, and then before he knew it he was outside your dorm room getting to meet you for the first time. And you were beautiful, the most gorgeous person he ever laid his eyes on, made his cheeks feel hot. That's when he knew he had to keep you in his life forever. Even if he couldn't tell you about his silly little crush that all his members knew about.

"Lix?" You called out to the Australian as he spun in his desk chair, popping a mini donut in his mouth. Felix lets out a hum, stopping his movement to look at you. "You're home for Christmas aren't you?" Ah yes, every Christmas Felix is never in Korea, he's either busy doing promotions or he's at home visiting family. But this year he's here which he kind of did on purpose but you'll never know that. "Yes, I am beautiful why?" Your cheeks start to feel hot at the pet name. After being around Felix for so long you could never get used to him calling you beautiful. If anyone was beautiful it was him. From his eyes to his nose Felix was beautiful in every shape. You loved how his freckles kissed his cheeks to his nose. You loved how his eyes were shaped like little chocolate almonds, and when the sun shined in his face he looked like a damn god.

"Do you want to go ice skating? Or come over to my house for Christmas? Unless you and the guys doing something?" Felix was quick to shake his head no. "That'll be great, I'm free. All the members won't be here this year so it can just be me and you." Them simple words made you feel all warm inside and you didn't like that.

Felix would hate to admit it but he hates it when you post pictures with other people, especially men he hasn't met before. He was in the studio scrolling on his phone when stops to see a picture you posted from two weeks ago. It was random really because you never mentioned going on a date. Not that you had to, but when it was something like this you'll never keep it a secret. And that made his blood boil. It wasn't like he should be mad, you two weren't together and yet he was angry, annoyed even. "Will you quit sulking and hand me my notebook," Christopher says when he looks over at his best friend. Felix rolls his eyes and turns his phone off before grabbing his friend's notebook and handing it to him.

"I wasn't sulking."

"Yeah, and I was the first one to walk on the moon." He mumbles, "No but really what's bothering you? It isn't y/n isn't it." But the face Felix makes gives him his answer. "Oh my god, it is. Lord, what happened this time?"

"A picture of her and a very handsome man is what happened. She never told me she went out on a date last week." Felix's lips form into a pout. "Why should she have told you? You aren't together Lix." A bitter taste formed in his mouth when it was said out loud. Felix knew that. He knew you two weren't together, he knew that you had every right to go out and date, because who wouldn't want to date you? Someone so beautiful, so funny, so- god you were everything and yet he didn't have the balls to make you his and only his.

"Because, well because." Because she's mind. That is what he wanted to say. "You're right why should she." It hurt to say really. "You still haven't told her have you?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

"Yongbok." Felix lets out a whine when his government name is called. He hears Chris sigh before getting up from his desk chair to sit beside Felix on the couch. "I'm sorry I just, Chris it's hard. Everything about it is hard to do. What if she says no? What if she does say yes and then it doesn't work out? I can't lose her. My friendship with her means way more than this stupid crush that can pass." Deep down Felix didn't think he could handle losing you, deep down Felix knew he was so far deep in this crush that he felt like if he did say he liked you I'll send him in a spiral if you rejected him. "And it's okay to have these doubts lix, I mean the more you stress over it the more you end up not doing it. This isn't just some silly crush you can get over; if it was, it would have been gone. You love her dude. And I know because you look at her like she's some sort of angel that fell from heaven to you and if that angel leaves you too will be too heartbroken." Shit. Chris really knew how to make Felix want to be hit by a bus, a truck even. But he wasn't wrong. Maybe he did love you? I mean he wouldn't be surprised if he did.

You quite literally spend time with each other 24/7 out of the 7 days of the week. And when he can't spend time with you he'll get all moody because he can't see you. Yeah, he was way too far gone. So maybe when he goes over to your house he'll just tell you. The worst you can say is no. Right?

The night was great up to this point. It was the day before Christmas and you thought it would be a great idea to have a sleepover. Felix had just come over not too long ago, with his cute little pj pants. And everything was fine. You too sat and watched a Christmas movie, drinking hot chocolate. He even made cookies with you. But Felix should have known that this wonderful, night would turn so fast when you brought up the guy you had been going on dates with.

"I don't understand why you're upset about this Felix?" Yeah, Felix's mood completely changed the moment you brought up the guy, the sexy tall guy who he wanted to punch his beautiful face. Fuck. Why is he so beautiful? Why would you want to date anyone like him? Why not me? Is what Felix wanted to scream. But he couldn't. He just fucking couldn't. So he sat in front of you with the biggest frown on his face. "No reason." He mumbles. And I guess that answer set you off.

"Well it's something if you have an attitude about it."

"No? What attitude? Y/n I'm tired."

"See! Right there you just said my name, you never say my name." Felix wanted to die. He really did. Seeing you so angry, so hurt, and yet all Felix just sits there. "I-, look can we drop this please?" He begs. His whole face changed in a matter of minutes. You and Felix never fought. And when you did it never lasted long. But it felt like this argument would. Specially from the way your fist clutched, and the way he could see your body language change. You get up, bring your mug with you, and walk to the kitchen. "I'm sorry Princess," Felix speaks again, but you don't answer. "Are you though? Are you really? Because this isn't the first time Lix. You've done this multiple times, all in separate accounts."

"And it's not even like you care, shit. Can I not go out? I have sexual needs too Felix! Have I ever done that to you? All them times when you would leave me to go and fuck a bitch at your hotel room. But when I go out I'm wrong. Alright. Felix, I can't wait for you forever. I can't." Wait what. What does she mean by that? Felix blinks at you, he's not sure what you said if he heard right. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You like me?" That is all he could mumble out. "I- yes. Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to make a move? Since last summer." How was he supposed to know that? Okay, maybe he should of. "How was I supposed to know that y/n? You never said anything along those lines, and it wasn't like you showed me either."

"Yes, I did Felix." You throw your hands in the air as you walk back into the living room. As mad as you wanted to be at him maybe you didn't show him. Maybe the stubble touches, the wishing him good luck on tours, maybe the visiting him every summer wasn't a good enough sign either. So why did it hurt so bad to know he didn't notice?

"When?" He looks at you, before looking down at his hands. "Do you know how much I wished for you to notice me? And the girls I brought? I only said that so you could get jealous. I mean I'm guessing it worked. Y/n you don't know how much I truly do like you. How I'll do anything to make you happy, smile even. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing you, especially at Christmas. A holiday you love so much." All you could do was smile, a very goofy smile. He might be an idiot, that you knew, but he was your idiot. You walk over to him, before sitting next to him. "Just kiss me, you big idiot."

"Huh-" before he can even react you bring your lips to his with full force. A grunt leaves his lips as you bring your hand to his cheek. His lips and yours move together, his hand resting on your hips as he pulls you closer. Felix's heart was beating out of his chest, he felt like he was on a cloud nine, a high he could never get off of. Your lips felt so soft against his, that and your sweet cherry chapstick that made him go crazy.

When you two pull away, no words are spoken, and he couldn't find his voice. "One thing is for sure, you're a good kisser." A laugh leaves his lips before he pulls you into another kiss, this time taking your breath away. "You too muffin, you too." He smiles when he pulls away from you, a giggle leaves your lips and you bring your finger to his lips wiping off your chapstick. "Does that mean we're together?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?" Felix gives you a small smile. "Yeah. Merry Christmas baby."

"Merry Christmas Lix."

#kpop #oneshots #christmas #lee felix #skz x reader #bang chan #felix x reader

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phoward89 · 10 months ago

Text

Based on this ask

Coriolanus Snow knew firsthand the deadly risks of childbirth, considering he watched in horror as a young child when his own mother and baby sister died, but he knew that he needed an heir to carry on the Snow name. When he planned on marrying for hate, well, he could care less what happened to his wife during the delivery.

But, somehow, all his plans and views on marriage changed when he met you. You were hired as his secretary, so you spent a lot of time with him. Coriolanus never planned on falling in love with you, but he did. Hell, he even killed your boyfriend in order to make you single again so you'd be able to go out with him.

And when you accepted his offer of dinner, which came with a single white rose, a few months after the death of your longtime boyfriend, he did everything in his power to make you fall in love with him. Coriolanus was successful, you fell hard and fast for him. He was too charming not to let wiggle into your heart, and into your bed.

The president needed a first lady, so he proposed and married you. But it was a bit scandalous, considering you were his secretary. After a couple of negative articles in the media, well, Coriolanus got rid of the writers and made sure that the studios and printing presses in the Capitol (all of Panem actually) knew that if another foul word was printed about his relationship with his wife then he'd kill every single person in the media office.

Safe to say, only articles praising President Snow and First Lady Snow’s love and glamorous life hit the press after that.

And then, of course, came the subject of children. After discussing it, you stopped taking birth control. And you ended up getting pregnant right away.

Seeing you so round with his child gave Coriolanus joy. Gave him an ego boost because he was the one to plant his seed in you. You were carrying his child. His precious baby.

The baby was no longer looked at as an heir, but as a baby to love.

And it was all because of you.

“Coryo, I have my top list of baby names finished.” You told your husband, who was lounging in bed wearing only a pair of sleep pants.

Coryo watched as you sat across the room, placing his fountain pen back into its holder after writing down the final name on your baby name list.

After discussing it, you both decided to wait until the baby was born to discover the gender. You wanted to be surprised and Coriolanus just wanted you to be happy.

“Are you going to let me see it, my darling?” Your platinum blonde husband asked as you slowly stood up from his corner desk.

Placing a hand on your large belly, you smiled, “Of course I'm going to let you see it.”

Grabbing the list, you slowly walked over to the bed. After getting into bed, you handed the list to your husband. “Tell me what ones you like, Mister President.”

Coryo kissed your cheek and smiled. “Of course, First Lady Snow.”

He read over the list, only to discover that you had more boys' names than girls written down. After giving it some thought, he told you, “Cassian Xandros is perfect for our son. It's a strong name.” Mulling it over, he pointed to a name on the paper and announced, "Cersei sounds nice for a girl.”

“It's not nice, Coryo, it's beautiful.” You countered, pulling the list out of his hands. “Looks like the baby has a name; all we need to do is wait for it to come.”

The day your daughter Cersei Snow was born was the day that your husband decided to hate her.

The day didn't start out with him hating his baby girl.

No, it started with your water breaking and a trip to the hospital. Coriolanus canceled all of his meetings, briefings, and work for the day just to be by your side.

He was very supportive during your labor. Letting you hold his hand during painful contracts, smoothing your hair back away from your sweaty face with a damp rag, and buzzing the nurse multiple times for both ice chips and pain medication for you.

The nurses all gossiped amongst each other about how President Snow was the perfect doting husband and and father to be. That he'd make a very good father.

Little did they know.

Little did anyone know what would happen once the doctor came into the room and announced that it was time to start pushing.

Coriolanus was by your side as you pushed and pushed. With every push he noticed you were getting weaker and it worried him.

Looking between your weak, pale form, and the doctor that was sitting at the bottom of your bed, Coriolanus asked, “Dr. Wellock, my wife's growing weaker. Is there something you can do to get the baby out?”

“There's nothing to be worried about, President Snow. Labor’s a strenuous event; many first time mothers grow fatigue and can push for a while before the baby crowns.” The doctor told your husband, more or less blowing off his concern.

You were exhausted but determined to have your baby. Even tho you were feeling dizzy, you continued to bear down and push every time you were told to.

Then, when you felt that you didn't have any more strength coursing thru your body, you gave birth to your baby.

You saw Dr. Wellock hold up the baby and announce, “It's a girl.” Suddenly, your vision began to get fuzzy as you heard the doctor ask your husband, “President Snow, would you like to cut the cord?”

Coriolanus was about to answer whenever he saw you faint, paired with blood pooling around your legs and staining the bed.

“What's wrong with my wife?!” Coriolanus asked, fear filling him as the doctor quickly cut the baby's cord and tossed her to a waiting nurse. “Dr. Wellock, is my wife dying?!” Coriolanus asked in a panicked scream, while the nurse quickly cleaned the baby and wrapped her into a blanket.

“Your wife's hemorrhaging, President Snow.” Dr. Wellock told your husband, only to point to the nurse and tell her, “Give him the baby and get him out of here.”

So, the nurse dumped the baby in Coriolanus' arms and pushed him out of the door. Before the president could blink, the door was slammed shut I'm his face.

As Dr. Wellock and his nurse worked to staunch your bleeding; save your life, your husband stood outside of your room with your newborn baby girl in his arms.

Coriolanus looked down at the tiny baby wriggling and crying in his hold, only to look at the door of your room and realize that you're dying because of the thing in his arms.

Cersei’s what the two of you decided to name her, when she wasn't a danger. Wasn't the reason you're dying.

Coriolanus felt disgust and hatred for the newborn in his arms. He didn't want to hold her anymore. She was the reason why you're knear death right now.

So, your husband found a nurse to pawn the baby on.

Coriolanus swore to himself that he'd never touch that evil little creature ever again. That he'd never love her.

It didn't matter if you lived or died, he was going to hate your daughter until the day he died.

You didn't die in childbirth, but it was a close call. The doctor explained that you had bad hemorrhaging due to your uterus not contracting correctly after the birthing process, causing uncontrollable bleeding. You were given a blood transfusion, once Dr. Wellock managed to stop the bleeding, due to your blood pressure being too low after such a large blood loss.

You were out of it for days, but you survived.

You were happy to be alive and with your family. Coriolanus and Cersei.

But it didn't take long for you to notice that Coriolanus never picked up your daughter. He never held her, hell, Coryo never seemed too interested in her.

Unless it was for a photo op. Then he turned into the perfect hands on dad that would pose for pictures. But as soon as the cameras stop flashing, the president stops caring about his daughter.

You thought that Coriolanus would get over it; would come to accept your daughter in time. But…sadly…your daughter's first birthday is fastly approaching and your husband still doesn't seem interested in her, unless it's for a photo op.

It saddened you, knowing that Coriolanus was offish to Cersei because she wasn't the son he probably wanted to carry on the Snow name. You loved your daughter and you were sure that your Coryo loved her too, but was just disappointed that she wasn't the strong son he probably had his heart set on.

He did pick out a boy name right off the bat when you handed him your list of baby names last year.

Maybe if Coryo had a son to carry on the Snow name, he'd be happier in his role of fatherhood?

Coriolanus walked into the sunroom only to cringe when he saw you coddling Cersei. The damn little creature nearly murdered you during the birthing process, but you were holding her as she napped on you.

Goodness, there was a portable cradle in the room for a reason.

“She's nearly a year old, you shouldn't be letting her sleep on you like that.” Coriolanus told you, taking a seat at the small tea table. He never even tried to hide the disgust in his voice.

“There's nothing wrong with holding her, Coryo? She's my baby girl.” You responded, causing your husband to just shake his head while reaching for the teapot that was in the middle of the table.

“She's a toddler now, darling. She's not a baby anymore.” Coriolanus scoffed, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Do you want to have afternoon tea with me, or are you going to coddle Cersei all day?” He asked, grabbing a macaron and placing it onto the small plate that was in front of him.

“I'll have tea with you, Coryo.” You thinly smiled, only to rise from your spot on the sofa and place your daughter into her portable crib.

As you made your way over to the table, your husband fixed you a cup of tea and plated you macarons. When you sat down, you decided that now was the time to bring up the subject of having more children.

Little did you know, after your near death experience, Coriolanus got himself snipped. So…it was impossible for you to have any more children.

But he wasn't going to tell you that.

Reaching for your teacup, you told your husband,“Coryo, I think we should have another baby.”

“No.” Was Coriolanus’ quick and cold reply.

“But, we could have a son this time “ You pressed, knowing that your husband wanted a son. Wanted the Snow name to live on.

But you were wrong. Coriolanus didn't want a son to carry on the Snow name, he wanted you alive to be by his side. He loves you to the point of obsessive possession. The love Coriolanus has for you is all consuming, like a plague of locusts devouring an entire field of crops in District 11.

Coryo took a long sip of his tea, only to cut eyes with you over his teacup and firmly say, “I said no, Y/N.” placing his teacup down, he gave you the lame excuse of, “I'm a very busy man, my little dove. Being president takes much of my time away from my fatherly duties; we can only handle raising one child. More than one would be too much for us, considering you refuse a nanny.”

“I told you when I was pregnant with Cersei that I want to raise our kids. I don't want somebody else raising them, no matter how it might be easier considering your role in politics.”

“My role in politics?” Coriolanus chuckled, biting into his macaron. “I'm the President of Panem, that's more than just a role in politics.”

Sipping on your tea, you sighed, “Fine, Cersei’ll be an only child.”

Grabbing your hand in his, Coryo promised, “Our daughter will never want for anything. She'll be showered in a life of luxury.”

That wasn't true. Your daughter grew up wanting her father's love, but she never got it. Coriolanus was always so distant and cold with Cersei.

She hated him, but that was fine with your husband since he hated her right back.

You always thought that your husband resented your daughter for not being a son, for not being able to carrying on the might and noble Snow name.

But that wasn't the case at all.

Coriolanus Snow hated his daughter, Cersei, because you nearly died in childbirth with her. Nothing would every change that. He'd hate her til the day she died.

At least when your daughter died, it was bringing your beautiful granddaughter into the world.

A granddaughter Coryo named Celeste Snow, since your daughter was unwed at the time of her unexpected death.

Your husband was a better grandfather than he was a father. You thought that he might've felt guilty for being so distant and busy during Cersei’s childhood, that he decided to right his wrongs while you raised Celeste.

Little did you know, Coriolanus loved his granddaughter because she killed her mother in the birthing bed.

President Snow was a horrible, heartless man with a soul darker than a black hole. But at least he loved you and loved his granddaughter.

Too bad he hated his only child her entire life.

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five-rivers · 7 months ago

Text

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to. He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away. “I wanted to wait. I want to wait. It’s just–” He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists. “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done. Jazz got married, you know? She’s pregnant. If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly. “I would have liked to see that, too. And have a career. Travel. I know you wanted to do that, too. But–”

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud. Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose. He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “This is why I have to go. I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you. I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now. The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.

The wind kicked up again. There was ice in it.

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine. It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD. Appropriate. No one fully living would be here tonight. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet. And it wouldn’t be safe for them.

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio. There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind. The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there. The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name. All things needed for a burial.

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments. Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire. Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood. Plush footstools. Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this. Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling. Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion. Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.

(Danny still had to look up at all of them. He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood. This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.

But those consequences were bad enough. He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.

“Yes,” said Danny. He looked around the shrine, nervous. He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next. Not in any detail. “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora. “Not unless you feel the need to. The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.

Danny nodded.

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead. “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place. “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.

Then, Clockwork came up. He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two. “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk. Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars. There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire. Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.

He held the mug out to Danny. “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug. He kept his tone light. Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite. “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life. This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him. He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were. Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind. But those were children.

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink. It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary. There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted. He could feel them. One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body. But they weren’t there. Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact. He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin. There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away. Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time. He didn’t feel anything yet.

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question. He should probably just. Not talk. Especially not with drugs in his system.

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.

Of course. Danny nodded. The mortuary shrine… wobbled.

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars. It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another. He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly. But then, his movements seemed to… blur. His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt. By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body. Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing. Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar. Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb. Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth. Some of them were patterned, others plain. Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin. Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet. It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else. By someone he knew. He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse. He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent. But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment. It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough. When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted. They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles. Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing. His movements were slowing, growing smaller.

He should be panicking. The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required. But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions. His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him. Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.

Danny's heart twitched to a stop.

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities. He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again. Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present. He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could. He was in danger. He was dangerous. He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it. He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips. He drank. It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness. With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying. By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite. “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny. Jazz was an MD. He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled. Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first. He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted. It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward. The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest. The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate. The dead did not move to help. They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again. The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling. Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace. They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar. It was soft, piled high with cloth. They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head. Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth. Or, no, not quite the top one. The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees. He wondered what they were for.

He didn’t have to wonder for long. Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion. The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery. He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles. The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect.

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way. But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar. They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them. Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris. Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn. A drop of blood welled up. Blood, not ectoplasm. Danny stared, surprised. But he didn’t get to stare long. Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.

It all felt very secure.

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat. But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him. He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could. The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face. It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive. Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant. To say something. He could do it. He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences. He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head. She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips. He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin. It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them. If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been. It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue.

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed. There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh. Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice. For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice. No, kneeling. No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete. He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs. He knew them.)

This was the right decision.

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation. The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder. All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask. A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face. Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features. His lips, his nose, his eyebrows. He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed. The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened. Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose. More perfume. He inhaled. Exhaled. Stopped.

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place. The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin. It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow.

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons. Some, he could identify by touch. The ticklish barbs of a feather. The cold roundness of another, smaller coin. The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear. Others, his powers identified for him. The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite. The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice. The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated. He hadn’t known they’d kept that.

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone. He could make guesses. Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like. His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad. The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now. Helpless, but unburdened.

Clockwork started to speak. None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer. This one was old. Old old. Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts. They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights. Or golden ones.

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him. Wound around him. It was a winding sheet. Of course. Of course. The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet. Then, the next. Cerecloth and cerements.

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were. They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now. Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones. Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar. Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of. He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways. Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity. Was he bordered by flowers? Pillows? Both? He couldn’t tell.

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him. He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone. It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart. “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously. It was almost enough.

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny. Another. They were nailing him in. Another restraint. Another limitation. Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual. Almost. Almost.

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.

(He had been snug before. Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound. There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake. His body was cocooned in every way possible. There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting. None of his choices would change what would happen to him next. Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved. He knew where he was going. Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular. He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.

They stopped. He was lowered. Down. Down. Stopped again.

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm. Restful.

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder. And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered. These were buried as thoroughly as the others.

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down. Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.

Then there was nothing. Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept. Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over. No, that wasn’t any good. He made a face. There was something on his face. He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.

That roused him further. This… he did not think this was his bed. It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply. Dust. Salt. Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.

He breathed, remembering. His mouth tasted like silver and sugar. His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.

This was his grave. His coffin.

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow. The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders. His mask was a thin shell. The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes. The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places. The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong. He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.

He’d made it. He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death. He breathed out, breathed in. His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin. It looked strange there. Disproportionate. But of course it did. His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form. Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different. Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand. He was awake.

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over. He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil. Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented. So were portals. And most powers, really.

He’d have to dig his way out.

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid. The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was. Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way. So.

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away. He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body. He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward. Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage. Still, his hand hit free air. Grass tickled at his fingers. He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.

The dirt did not want to let him go. It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live. He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position. “Daniel,” said Clockwork. A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.

A cup was raised to his lips. He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite. “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely. He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder. It took some to get it there. It was further away than he’d thought.

He was smaller than he had been. Not entirely unexpected. Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go. But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine. The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar. The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors. Danny stared. He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body…

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt. It had been wings. He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better. They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae. Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.

“Are you?”

Clockwork chuckled.

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork. “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror. He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter. His antennae matched the color pretty well, too. Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that… There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones… They looked about the same as they had when he was young. Except… softer, somehow. More neutral. The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form. But… later. Later.

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny. “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid. She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz? Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork. “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed. The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end. He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.

“Of course.”

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2024 #dannymay 2024 day 21: funeral

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goryhorroor · 8 months ago

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What are some underrated horror films? I have watched all the popular ones and need more! Thanks!

mentally prepare yourself because im ready to give a gumbo list (this has been sitting in my inbox because i had to ask all my friends and this is the list we came up with):

curse of the demon (1957) the serpent and the rainbow (1988) paranoiac (1963) the old dark house (1932) countess dracula (1971) golem (1920) haxan (1968) island of lost souls (1932) mad love (1935) mill of the stone women (1960) the walking dead (1936) the ghoul (1933) tourist trap (1979) the seventh victim (1943) ganja & hess (1973) dead of night (1945) a bay of blood (1971) let's scare jessica to death (1971) alice sweet alice (1976) the deadly spawn (1983) the brain that wouldn't die (1962) all about evil (2010) black roses (1988) the baby (1973) parents (1989) a blade in the dark (1983) blood lake (1987) solo survivor (1984) lemora: a child's tale of supernatural (1973) eyes of fire (1983) epitaph (2007) nightmare city (1980) slugs (1988) death smiles on a murderer (1973) intruder (1989) short night of glass dolls (1971) the children (2008) alone in the dark (1982) end of the line (2007) the queen of spades (1949) the housemaid (1960) tormented (1960) captain clegg (1962) the long hair of death (1964) dark age (1987) the crawling eye (1958) the kindred (1987) the gorgon (1964) wicked city (1987) baba yaga (1973) 976-evil (1988) bliss (2019) decoder (1984) amer (2009) the visitor (1979) day of the animals (1977) leptirica (1973) planet of the vampires (1965) lips of blood (1975) berberian sound studio (2012) a wounded fawn (2022) matango (1963) the mansion of madness (1973) the killing kind (1973) symptoms (1974) morgiana (1972) whispering corridors (1998) dead end (2003) infested (2023) (this just came out but im adding it) triangle (2009) the premonition (1976) you'll like my mother (1972) the mafu cage (1978) white of the eye (1987) mister designer (1987) alison's birthday (1981) the suckling (1990) graveyard shift (1987) messiah of evil (1987) out of the dark (1988) seven footprints to satan (1929) burn witch burn (1962) the damned (1962) pin (1988) horrors of malformed men (1969) mr vampire (1985) the vampire doll (1970) contracted (2013) impetigore (2019) eyeball (1975) malatestas carnival of blood (1973) the witch who came from the sea (1976) i drink your blood (1970) nothing underneath (1985) sauna (2008) seance (2000) come true (2020) the last winter (2006) night tide (1961) the brain (1988) dementia (1955) don't go to sleep (1982) otogirisou (2001) reincarnation (2005) mutant (1984) spookies (1986) shock waves (1977) bloody hell (2020) the den (2013) wer (2013) olivia (1983) enigma (1987) graverobbers (1988) manhattan baby (1982) evil in the woods (1986) death bed: the bed that eats (1977) cathy's curse (1977) creatures from the abyss (1994) the dorm that dripped blood (1982) the witching (1993) madman (1981) vampire's embrace (1991) blood beat (1983) the alien factor (1978) savage weekend (1979) blood sisters (1987) deadly love (1987) playroom (1990) die screaming marianne (1971) pledge night (1990) night train to terror (1985) the devonsville terror (1983) ghostkeeper (1981) special effects (1984) blood feast (163) the child (1977) godmonster of indian flats (1973) blood rage (1980) the unborn (1991) screamtime (1983) the outing (1987) the being (1983) silent madness (1984) lurkers (1988) forver evil (1987) squirm (1976) death screams (1982) jack-o (1995) haunts (1976) a night to dismember (1983) creaturealm: demons wake (1998) the curse (1987) daddy's deadly darling (1973) nightwing (1979) the laughing dead (1989) the severed arm (1973) the orphan (1979) not like us (1995) prime evil (1988) the monstrosity (1987) dark ride (2006) antibirth (2016) iced (1988) the soultangler (1987) twisted nightmare (1987) puffball (2007) biohazard (1985) cameron's closet (1988) beast from haunted cave (1959) the she-creature (1956)

#answered #horror #horror movies

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tobbesdiscordkitten · 13 days ago

Text

Guns N’ Roses Fic: Joyride

Summary: You and Axl take a long car ride together, along the winding country roads, hoping it'll cool down his grouchy mood. When that doesn't work, you decide to take matters into your own hands and cuddle with him. This exacerbates the whole situation, causing Axl to take his frustrations out on you, to the point where you use your safe word. Requested by anon.

Characters: Axl Rose and (female) reader.

Pairing(s): Axl Rose/female reader, Axl Rose/ reader.

Rating: Explicit, 21+

Word Count: 3,186

Warnings: Cussing, physical altercation, childhood trauma, fingering, anal penetration, humiliation, degradation, oral sex, water sports, and cutting.

A/N: This is considered dark fiction. Please, DO NOT read if a physically rough Axl isn't your cup of tea. If it is, I hope you enjoy!

It was a cold October day. The wind rustled through the trees, forcing red, orange, and yellow leaves to fall on the ground like snow.

You sat in the passengers seat of Axl’s car, watching the scenery unfold in front of your peripheral vision. Then your eyes wandered over to Axl where he kept his focus on the road, not daring to look at you, while gripping the steering wheel tightly and clenching his jaw. He was vexed. You did notice a slight shift of tension fuming in the air this morning, but weren’t able to pinpoint what caused his irritation.

Unlike Axl’s usual days, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, in a fowl mood, not bothering to say “good morning,” or greet you with a sweet, tender kiss. During breakfast, he ignored your presence by pretending to be lost in thought as he idly picked at his scrambled eggs with a fork like a picky child. When you asked what was bothering him he let the silence fill your ears of his vacant troubles. It stumped you. He was never this quiet. He always ranted and cursed on and on about what made him furious. Was he angry at one of his bandmates? Did you do something wrong? Did he have a bad dream? Were you the one who induced a nightmare on his behalf? So many questions swarmed your head, yet, none of them were answered.

You didn’t notice any behavioral changes last night. He came home from the studio, ate dinner with you, chatted, shared a bottle of wine, and went to bed. Maybe he drank too much and was experiencing a mild hangover? Or maybe he stored away his problems to be dealt with the next day? You couldn’t be for certain.

“Babe,” your voice cut through the quietness like a knife. “Talk to me.”

A few seconds passed before Axl muttered a reply. “‘Bout what?”

You shrugged. “About you. What’s got you so upset?”

You could see the gears turning in his head as he thought of a response, or perhaps a lie. “Nothing. Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s none of your damn business anyway,” he grumbled.

“I want to make it my business.” You insisted playfully, showing your pearly white teeth in hopes it would lighten his mood.

Unfortunately, Axl never broke eye contact from the road. He exhaled a huff through his nostrils and repositioned his hands on the wheel.

“You’re not mad at me, are you…?” It felt like you were treading on thin ice. You didn’t want to annoy Axl by bombarding him with questions, but you also wanted to know who, or what, pissed him off, and help him cope. It tore you apart whenever you saw him fighting his own demons alone. You wanted to remind him that he didn’t have to battle any of his hardships by himself. You were there by his side and were willing to help, no matter the circumstances. Even if it meant getting scorched by the flames.

“Just drop it,” he cautioned.

You were beginning to feel the ice crack below your feet. One more word and you could plunge into the deep, cold, dark abyss. Leaning back in the seat, you watched the green hills and cattle roll past. If he was shut off from words, maybe physical affection might help warm his heart, you thought.

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling his body stiffen at the contact. “Shh, shh.” Your delicate, slim fingers traced over his Celtic cross tattoo, rubbing small circles on the skull version of himself. You loved cuddling him and feeling the heat radiate off his body into yours. It felt comforting.

Axl grunted and shoved you away from his shoulder with such force that your head thumped into the window. “Ow! What the fuck?!” You yelled, covering your head where it throbbed.

“Don’t fuckin’ try me!” He warned.

You were shocked your head didn’t break through the glass, or at least crack the pane. You stared at him and saw no lines of remorse etched into his features. If he wanted to be rough and take it out on you, fine. But you weren’t gonna allow his temper to bring you down to his level. Two opposite attractions could play at this game. Your only hope was to win over his gentle side.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you launched yourself at Axl by wrapping your arms around the side of his neck, and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Within an instant, you felt his jaw unclench, causing your lips to sink further into his smooth skin. Your eyes widened in surprise and were convinced you solved his problems. All he needed was a simple kiss to make his issues disappear!

However, within another beat of a second, Axl slammed on the breaks, swerving across the road, as the car shrieked to a halt. You clung onto him for dear life as you tried not to get catapulted out the windshield. Once he put the car in park, he peeled your arms away, grabbed you by the shoulders, and threw you over the backseat of the car. Landing on your back, the air was knocked from your lungs, and the next thing you saw was Axl climbing over the seats, pinning you down with his body.

“Wanna fuck with me, huh? You stupid bitch!” He taunted, slapping you across the face. “Fine. Then get fucked by me.” Forcing your body over, he hoisted your ass in the air, stripping your waist of your skirt and panties. You could feel his hardened erection, through the seam of his jeans, press into your butt.

Knowing he would ram into you without providing any saliva as lube, you tried scurrying away. But Axl used his hands to hold your hips in place. You weren’t prepared to experience this type of punishment. “Axl, wait-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He undid his leather belt, unzipped his pants, and freed his cock. Axl hovered over your backside, using both his thumb and index finger to pinch your clit. You jolted at the intense sensation.

“This is what you get for not listening to me,” he growled into your ear.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“Yeah? You should be.” Letting go of your clit and repositioning his hips against your ass, he sheathed his cock into your cunt, making you wince at the rawness. Axl held your upper body down, pushing your face into the leather seat, as he sucked on his middle finger to slide it up your ass.

You scrunched your face together and whined against the seat, muffling your cries. You hated anal penetration.

When you were a child, your parents gave you enemas to soften your stool, but that backfired, and resulted in you screaming at the top of your lungs while thrashing on the floor until it was over. From that day forward you always questioned how others found anal sex pleasurable. It made you cringe every time one of your friends talked about their own experiences.

But here you were, as an adult, laying face down, but instead of an enema, it was Axl’s finger. Luckily, his finger was slim so it didn’t hurt as much. However, if it was his cock, then it’d be crossing the line.

Axl slowly pumped his finger in and out of your hole, feeling the way your pussy clenched around his cock like a glove every time his finger slipped in and out. He managed to fill you up on both sides and remind you who was in charge.

Axl noted how quiet you became, minus the subtle whimpering, and tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “You gonna be a good girl?”

You nodded, not wanting your ass to feel invaded like this ever again.

“Are you lying?”

You immediately shook your head. “N-no!”

“You sure?” He licked his lips and pulled both his finger and cock out, making you feel empty.

“If you’re lying, babygirl…” Axl teased the tip of his cock near the rim of your butthole, pushing it in a little.

“No, stop!” Before he could continue and slide his dick in, you remembered your safe word - the one you used for bedroom activities. “Nightrain! Nightrain! Nightrain!”

Axl stopped, furrowing his eyebrows together. “What?”

“Nightrain. Please, Axl…don’t do this.” You were worried the safe word wouldn’t apply to punishments like this, but he was also overstepping your boundary, and you needed him to stop before it escalated any further. “I’ll be a good girl for you, okay? I promise.” You begged your heart out, hoping he could be convinced. “I’ll drop it and pretend nothing happened.”

Upon hearing those words, he leaned his face closer to yours while his warm breath tickled your ear, making you quiver. “Damn right nothing happened. If you don’t want my dick up your ass then do me a favor.”

You sniffled. “Anything.”

“Take off the rest of your clothes.”

You hesitated at the request but complied. You took off your blouse and unclasped your bra.

A small smirk formed across Axl’s lips. “Good girl. Now, step outside.”

Your heart began beating rapidly in your chest. You peered through the window and found no other cars occupying the road. You exhaled a sigh of relief and stepped out onto the asphalt, covering both breasts with your hands. The outside bore a sharp breeze, making your entire body shiver, and form goosebumps. If any passerby’s saw you, you were sure it would make your temperature rise.

Axl got out of the car, opened the trunk, and motioned you to come closer. You gulped and did so at your own pace, dragging our feet to postpone the forbidding dread that sank into your stomach.

“Get in,” he ordered.

“…Axl-“

He snapped his fingers. “Get in. Or do you want my cock up your ass?”

“Neither!”

He stepped forward, his face a few inches from yours. “You don’t have much of a choice. If I were you, I’d do it this way,” he advised.

You pouted. This wasn’t fair, it was embarrassing. Why couldn’t he just bend you over his knee, tan your ass with a spanking, and drive home like all his other punishments? Why was he trying something new? The bastard…

“How come?”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s part of your punishment, baby.” He sensed your unease which made him feel a little guilty. He never meant to take things too far, but whenever he did, it seemed impossible to retrace his steps and start over from square one again. “Look, I know you’re scared, but don’t be. I ain’t gonna hurt you, or crash the car, or plunge it into a river.”

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips. That made you feel a tiny bit better but you still held your doubts. You lied down in the trunk, curling into a ball to stave off the coldness.

Axl went into the car, retrieved his leather jacket from the front seat, and came back to drape it over your nude figure. “Better?”

“Yeah…”

“Count some sheep, honey. You’ll be out of there before you know it.” He closed the trunk and drove off.

You huddled yourself underneath his jacket while imagining a cloud of sheep jumping over your head. “One…two…three…” Not only did it help keep your mind occupied, but it also made you feel less claustrophobic.

The rattling of the car acted as white noise. Your body gently swayed left and right whenever Axl took a turn. He was careful not to turn the car too sharply because he knew your body could accidentally get bruised. He figured he crossed a line with you and regretted it. It was difficult to control his actions whenever his anger overpowered him. It’s like his body was on autopilot and he’s forced to watch, through a red lens, all the horrific things he’s doing to you until his rage dissipated. He wanted to make it up to you, and he knew the perfect way to do it while keeping you fooled that it was still a punishment.

Once you counted 200 sheep you felt the car come to a halt, hearing the front door open. Rock music was playing in the background while you heard distant chatter. Were you at a dive bar? In a parking lot somewhere? You couldn’t tell. Suddenly, you felt Axl - or at least you hoped it was him - get back in the car, shut the door, and drive away from whatever place you two stopped at. Another question rang through your mind…and it wouldn’t stop nagging at your conscious. What did Axl buy?

Minutes later, Axl opened up the trunk, revealing your figure before his lust-hungry eyes. You squinted, allowing your eyes to adjust to the natural glow of the sunset while noticing you weren’t at the house, parked in the driveway. Instead…you were at a vacant park. No parents or their children were around the playground area. It was empty. It almost looked abandoned. From a faint distance, you could see rust on the metal monkey bars. The place was definitely worn down by weather and everybody who touched it.

You looked at Axl as he sat down next to you, pulling away his leather jacket from your body. “It’s cold-“

“I know it’s cold, baby. Your punishment is almost over,” he reassured.

Rubbing you hands over your arms to create friction, you asked, “What else do I have to do?”

“Nothing. Just lay there and close your eyes.”

This made you suspicious. “You’re not gonna do anything, are you…?”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he repeated. “I think you might enjoy it. Lay back and close your eyes for me.”

Since when were punishments supposed to be enjoyable? You decided not to waste anymore time, mostly because it was cold and you didn’t want to get frostbites, you laid down and closed your eyes.

“Good girl,” he praised.

You heard the rustling of plastic. Axl was taking something out of a plastic bag. Wherever he stopped the car at, he bought something to use on you, or against you. You hoped the latter wasn’t the case. Was it a vibrator? A whip? A paddle? A gag? You weren’t sure. But you were gonna find out.

Suddenly, without warning, you felt a cold trickle of liquid cascade across your chest, flowing over your breasts, and down your pubic bone. “What the-“ You opened your eyes and saw Axl pouring a bottle of champagne over you. “Axe! What are you doing?!”

“Keep your eyes closed!”

“I’m freezing!” You protested, closing your eyes again. This certainly wasn’t the type of punishment you had in mind.

“Aww, is the little girl cold?” Axl sneered, setting the bottle of champagne down on the grass. “Here. Let daddy help warm you up.”

You felt Axl hover above you, the same way he did in the car earlier, and latched his lips onto the mound of your breast, licking away the champagne. Upon feeling his heated breath on you, your eyes widened, causing your lips to release a surprised gasp.

He pulled away and placed his mouth on your other breast, cleaning away the alcoholic nectar. “Mmm~”

“Augh, Axe…” You moaned.

After releasing your other boob, he used his tongue to lick a trail down your body, tasting the sweet, bubbly champagne on your skin. He kept traveling down until he reached your pubic mound. Reaching for the champagne again, he tilted the bottle downward, allowing the liquid to hit your clit, similar to how a showerhead would.

Your breathing increased as you bucked your hips against the champagne stream, stimulating your clit. Axl noticed your eagerness and tilted the bottle upward, taking a quick swig for himself, before throwing the bottle on the grassy knoll. “This pussy’s gonna taste fantastic.”

“Mmff…it’s all yours, cowboy.”

“Damn right it’s all mine.” Setting your legs onto his shoulders, Axl inched closer to your cunt until you felt his hot breath waft over your swollen clit. He dove in, licking up and down your slit at a gradual pace, causing your eyes to roll back into your head.

“Fuuuuck…”

The sweetness of the champagne combined with your own slick juices created a perfect flavor that Axl couldn’t deny. He could drink it forever and get wasted on it. He suctioned his lips around your clit, sucking on the perked bud, making you squirm and squeal beneath him as his eyes bore into your twisted facial features.

Axl flicked his tongue over your clit, adding pressure on the sensitive gem to heighten your buildup while swirling his tongue clockwise, then counter clockwise, around it.

"Oh my god!" You shrieked, bucking your hips against his mouth which caused his nose to make contact with your clit. "I'm close, so close...."

Axl used his final seconds to remove his mouth from your clit and replace it with his thumb, stroking the nub effortlessly until you came undone.

You arched your back, screaming his name, and scraping your nails on the bed of the trunk while your toes curled from the orgasmic bliss.

Axl repositioned himself again to collect the stream of hot nectar that flowed from your cunt onto his sharp tongue, gulping away your cream.

Your body fell limp. A dark shade of crimson colored the palette of your flushed cheeks. You haven't came that hard in a long time. You sort of forgot it was even possible to experience such an orgasm...until Axl reminded you tonight.

Looking up at the sky, you saw stars, not from being dazed, but from space, as the small specks of white light shined down on the two of you. You were so entranced by the beauty of it, you forgot Axl was even sucking away your cum like a leech. You didn't feel him remove himself or anything. But you did hear a bottle break in the distance, and then you felt a glass shard cut into your inner thigh, breaking your focus from the night sky. "Ah! Fuck!"

After Axl saw the blood oozing out of the mark, he cleaned your fresh wound with his tongue, causing you to flinch at the sudden pain.

"What the hell was that for?!"

He grinned. "It's a reminder for you not to misbehave again."

You were baffled by his words. "Trust me. I won't misbehave ever again."

"In case you do, look into the mirror and remember this cut. Though, if it does slip your mind, I won't show you any mercy next time, capisce?"

You rolled your eyes. "Yes, daddy. But I'm confused. Was this my punishment...?"

Axl sighed, cupping the side of your face with the palm of his hand, and stroking your cheek, the same cheek he had slapped. "It was a reward for surviving your punishment in my trunk."

It dawned on you. Your punishment was either the trunk or having him ram his dick inside your ass unforgivingly. He allowed you to have a choice - unlike the previous punishments - and it appeared you made the right decision with this one. "Oh, charming."

He smiled and kissed your bruised cheek. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “C’mon. Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.” He carried you, bridal-style, to the passengers side and drove off into the night.

The safe word saved you. Hopefully it could save you again on another night?

Taglist:

Side-note: if anybody wants to be added on my taglist for certain eras/characters, let me know!

#axl rose #axl gnr #guns n roses #guns n’ roses #axl rose x reader #cine writes

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muddyorbsblr · 1 year ago

Text

let me hear you part 1: acting like a stranger

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Summary: Your world comes crashing down when you finally start feeling the full weight of the 'name curse' that was placed on a world a few years ago.

Pairing: Loki x Reader (eventually); Steve Rogers x Reader (briefly)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: cheating (not Loki he would never); language; angst

Things to be aware of: pining…yearning…

The whole world considered it a bane, a devastation even, when a few years ago a sorceress from another realm walked through a portal and into your world and placed a curse upon everyone who inhabited it. No matter if they were human or otherwise, it touched everyone.

The curse? Only the people that irrevocably love you can say your name. People who have proven themselves deserving of your trust, regardless of your reciprocation. And once that trust was broken, your name would be erased from their mind completely.

They would know who you are and what you meant to them, but the blatant proof of their betrayal would be on display for the world, and yourself, to hear. Or in this case not hear. They would have no other name to call you by, and you would not be able to utter their name in turn. The curse would act as if it held your tongue captive if you attempted to do so.

Studios fell quiet. Chanted names in stadiums became player numbers and monikers. Offices became buzzing cubicles of people calling each other by their employee numbers.

Relationships were shattered.

But the way you saw it, it was a blessing. Because in its wake, a culture of unmitigated honesty was established. You watched how couples proudly said each other's names as a way to show the world, and to one another, that their devotion knew no bounds. They stayed loyal and true to one another and much as others would look upon them with a bitterness in their eyes for they no longer heard their names, seeing such couples brought a smile to your face.

Because you still constantly heard your name every day in the Avengers Compound from the lips of your boyfriend, the team's fearless leader, Steve Rogers. You two did away with your casual friendly nicknames for each other the day he walked into the kitchen one day and said "Good morning, Y/N." And you'd been inseparable since.

You were in such a blissful state that it seemed as if nothing could bring you down, and nothing outside your rose-tinted bubble could even barely register to you. Such as a briefly wandering eye whenever one of the new recruits walked by, the lingering touches, the excessive praise. You had no reason to doubt him, after all. He hadn't broken your trust. You would know if he had. Everyone would know if he had.

There was another that noticed it, however. Perhaps it was simply his keen observational skills and his predilection for gathering and storing away potentially scandalous intel for a rainy day. Or perhaps it was that he'd consistently butted heads with the Captain due to their clashing personalities and beliefs. Or perhaps it was that he so deeply coveted something that Rogers had.

Perhaps it was that Loki had fallen so irretrievably in love with you that he'd shocked even himself a few weeks after you'd begun your relationship with the ridiculously star-spangled spandex clad soldier, and he found himself needing to hold his tongue from uttering your name when he was simply bidding you goodbye after a successful mission in Beirut. He could feel every ounce of blood in him turn to ice as he waited for you to start making your way to Rogers' apartment before he attempted to whisper your name into the dark.

Since that night five months ago, he'd given into the fantasy that every time he called you 'little mortal' or 'darling' that he was truly calling you by your name. And that perhaps if you listened closely enough, beyond the words he uttered, you could hear his heart calling out to you.

Much like it was doing now as the god walked into the kitchen area of the compound and found you on your lonesome, nursing a cup of coffee. "Good morning, little mortal."

You looked up from your handheld library, giving him a smile made even more brilliant with the way the rays of morning sunlight struck you at just the right angle. It had his mind racing down a dangerous path. One where he imagined how you would look illuminated by the sun in the halls of Asgard, dressed in robes set in his colors as you walked hand in hand so that he may introduce you to his mother.

"Good morning, Mischief." You raised your cup in his direction. "There's about half a pot left. Better hurry before your brother gets a whiff of it."

"No Captain today?" he queried as he poured out his own cup before occupying the seat next to yours, fighting against the urge to lean in closer to you.

"Nah, he's out on a solo recon mission Downtown. Pulled an all-nighter. Should be back soon."

The cheery tone in your answer and the information you imparted simultaneously had chills running through his body and made his ache to hold you that much worse. You deserved to have someone comfort you through what was coming.

"Darling…there was no reconnaissance mission last night," he told you slowly, trying to keep his tone even despite the rage that was steadily building in him. How could Rogers have done this to you? You, that greeted him with the brightest smile of all ready with an embrace and a kiss whenever he'd return from legitimate missions.

That sat dutifully by his side in the medical wing whenever he'd return with injuries that couldn't be slept off so easily despite his enhanced physique. Even if you had to sleep in uncomfortable positions that had you wincing the next morning from the aches throughout your body, you took it all without complaint.

Dread had settled into the pit of Loki's stomach as the smile dropped from your face, the seeds of doubt beginning to creep in to your features. Doubt that he surmised was pointed both at Rogers as you questioned the validity of this 'mission', and at himself for even planting the idea in your head.

"Mischief, what are you implying?" You'd placed your device face down on the counter, lacing your fingers together in a tight grip as if you were trying to hold yourself back from saying or doing anything too rash.

"I'm simply saying that as of last night, there were no missions on our side of the board. At least any reconnaissance missions that only needed an Avenger."

"That's impossible," you breathed out, the smile on your face looking more forced than when he first saw you just moments ago. The sight of the evident strain in your eyes filled him with the bitter taste of guilt. "Maybe you just didn't see it."

"Are you insinuating I've made an error?" he prodded you in a jesting tone, attempting to alleviate even a fraction of the tension that he'd started to see creeping into your system.

You shrugged at him, the smile warring with a grimace and contorting your features in a way that physically pained him to see. "I'm just saying maybe there's a first time for everything, I don't know…" The clear uncertainty in your tone had Loki physically aching to hold you. To assure you that no matter what happened, you would not have to face your impending heartbreak alone. That you had him.

He was seconds away from reaching for your hand when the near soundless footsteps of the Widow walking toward you gave you something else to focus on. "Morning, babes." She walked over and pulled you in for a quick embrace and pecked a kiss to your cheek. "What's with the gloom and doom? America's Ass fall asleep on you too quick? You frustrated? I know a guy that can get you some toys to help--"

"No no, babes. Nothing like that," you answered with a bit too much snap in your tone and the way that you shook your head. As if you were trying to physically shake the denial off of you. "Just a solo recon mission Downtown. I miss him is all."

"What recon mission?"

He heard your pulse quicken, the fragile skin of your neck moving frantically with the beat of your heart. "The…the one that came up last night. Downtown. The solo mission," you repeated. Your voice had become smaller, your doubt and lack of confidence seeping in to every syllable you uttered and worsening the ache in the god's heart, every nerve in his body screaming to wrap you in his arms to keep you from falling apart.

The Widow's expression began to mirror the rage he was fighting to keep at bay, the corner of her jaw twitching as if she was holding back from hunting down the traitorous Rogers. "I didn't see any recon missions on our board last night, babes. On any board, actually." The sound of the doors to the common area bursting open called everyone's attention, the sounds of Rogers' motorbike engine powering down making you sit up straighter, as if you were on guard.

"Listen I'm sure this'll all be cleared up when he gets here," you stated with an evidently plastered on confidence, back straight and ready to greet the soldier as he walked into the common area with an obvious unease about him as well. Eyes scanning the room frantically until he met yours. "How was the mission?"

"Same old same old. Just another Tuesday," the blond exhaled, relief seeming to take over his features as he made his way to you and proceeded to pull you towards him for a kiss that looked to be more possessive and harsh than perhaps even he intended. It made the god that still sat mere feet away from you begin to taste bile in the back of his throat from just witnessing it, and made his ears twitch at the sound of your wincing from the force of the impact. "I'm just happy to be back home and see you again, angel face."

Whatever hope still illuminated your face shattered at the mention of the nickname; anyone watching even from a distance could see how the light significantly dimmed in your eyes and the sheer strength it was taking for you to keep your smile from fading. "Wh…What's with the nickname? You haven't called me that in months."

Rogers shoulders were practically made of tightly coiled wire as he rubbed his neck trying to ease some tension that had made its presence felt while he walked to the coffee pot. "I just think it might be making everyone a little sick of us if we keep using it, you know? Rubs in the loneliness more than we need to."

Your face contorted into a pained expression that Loki never wished to see again. It was as if he could see your heart shattering in real time. "You're not making any sense. Why are you acting like this, St--" When your voice fell muffled at the attempt to say his name darkness fell over your features. Suddenly regardless of the harsh light of the morning washing over the floor, it was as if that light didn't dare touch you. Afraid you would snuff it out if it even got too close.

"You fucking idiot," Romanoff seethed, squaring her shoulders and approaching the soldier with pure murder in her eyes. "Don't even try to deny it. The look on her face says it all."

"Hey hey wait a minute what's going on here? Sun's barely up and we have an assassin ready to commit murder on the kitchen floor?" The Winter Soldier had walked into the area ready to defend his best friend at a drop of a hat until he spotted you, hunched over in your seat with your arms around yourself as if you were physically trying to hold yourself together. Or make yourself smaller. "What's wrong, little doll? Why the tears?"

"I ca--" you choked out, fat tears falling from your lashes and darkening the fabric of your pajama bottoms. "I can't say his name."

The expression on Barnes' face eerily mirrored the Widow's when he looked up at the blond super soldier. "Make that two assassins ready to commit murder," he seethed, glowering at his friend. "We were raised better than this, you goddamn punk. If your mother were here she'd make sure her pots and pans held an indent of your stupid face for what you just did."

"I didn't do anything!" he lied through his teeth, jerking his hands up as if in surrender.

"Then say my name," you said simply, a coldness taking over your demeanor as you stood and approached them. "If you didn't do anything, and whatever's happening between us right now is my fault? Say my name."

"You're putting too much faith in that curse, come on! It's me! Angel face please--"

"You can't say it, can you?" To an untrained eye, with your back facing them, you seemed the picture of cold calmness, as if you were simply being informed that your contract had been terminated and now you were simply settling mere semantics because of protocols. But if they looked close enough then they would find the violently shaking hand, hear the tremble in your voice as you spoke. Your shortness of breath as if you were fighting with all your strength for every inhale. "You can't…because you don't know it anymore."

"Of course I know it!" You tilted your head ever so slightly, as if telling him you'd wait until he could prove it. Instead the buffoon looked around at his friends' faces as if in expectation of a defense from one of them. The defense never came, and the hideous truth of what he'd done made quick work to deal its consequences devoid of subjectiveness.

Your name had been wiped from his mind.

The sound of your hand clapping over your mouth, followed by a muffled sob, caused a part of Loki's heart to splinter. That sound may very well haunt him for the rest of his days. You turned to face him, your other hand clutching your stomach as if you were about to be sick. "You were right," you said with a squeak. "I'm sorry that I doubted you."

Your words squeezed violently at his heart, your name practically fighting to fly out of his mouth as you stood before him with your eyes drowning in the sorrow that Rogers' betrayal had wrought. "Little mortal," he said shakily, fingers twitching, aching, to reach for you. "You need not apologize you did nothing wrong--"

"So it was you," the soldier seethed, charging in this direction before Barnes blocked the way and pinned him in place with his metal arm. "You poisoned her mind against me, that's why she can't say my name anymore!"

"Then explain why you can't even remember it, you goddamn punk," the other soldier retorted, pressing his arm harder against the fidgeting blond. "This isn't her fault and it turns my stomach you even tried to blame the consequences of your dumbass decisions on anyone other than yourself. I'm embarrassed to know you right now." He pointed his other hand in your direction. "She's better than you will ever deserve. And you threw it all away because what? That junior agent batted her eyelashes at you? God damn it you're pathetic--"

"Serge," you broke through Barnes' tirade, brown pitying eyes with rage swimming just beneath the surface meeting yours. "Stop. Before you say something that brings you two to the end of the line."

"You didn't deserve this--"

"If you really wanna do something about it, Serge, keep that one away from his apartment for three hours." Your tone was deceptively calm, the only indicator of your pain was the slightest waver in your voice when you referred to your former lover. Then you turned to face Rogers, your stance mirroring that of when you were preparing yourself for battle. "All traces of me will be gone from your place by then…Captain."

You made your exit from the common area so swiftly that Loki nearly felt a gust of wind from your path. The monotonous chimes of the compound's AI affirming that it will sound an alarm when the three hours were finished followed shortly after a door slammed in the general direction of the Captain's residence. Your former lover let out a whiny disapproval at the sound. "She broke my door! Come on, you two, at least let me make sure she didn't throw a fit and trash my place!"

"You'll be fortunate if that is all she does, you insipid blubbering excuse of a man," the god seethed, storming toward him, conjuring a blade in his hands ready and more than willing to draw blood. "You fool. You had her. You had her and you threw her aside as if her fealty, her love, meant nothing to you."

"And what's it to you, puny god?" he spat out. "I suggest you back off before I call on Banner and ask him nicely to go green just for you."

"Yeah, sorry Cap but fat chance of that happening," the scientist's voice traveled throughout the kitchen area. "I heard enough to know who's side the kids will be taking in the divorce and it's looking a little bleak for you."

"Honestly we should start calling you America's Asshole from now on. Fucking hell I can't believe you had the sheer audacity to take a relationship where you can actually say each other's names and you shit on it for what? Little Miss Tinkerbell with the perky tits and the Oh Captain you're so big and strong bullshit?" The kitchen became more crowded as Stark entered the area, joining in on the imposition. "You do know that she tried it with Point Break, too? The only difference between you and him is that he's loyal to Lady Thunder at an immovable level. He would never be caught dead doing what you just did to your ex."

"Please, she's not--"

"If you honestly think that she's gonna be anything other than done with you after this, then you need to sign yourself up for stand-up comedy because I didn't know you had jokes, Captain," Stark cut him off, his tone dripping with disgust that he was trying so hard to pass off as merely sarcasm.

"She just needs time to come around." Despite the bravado that Rogers was trying to use as a crutch to put up a pitiful confident front, his voice faltered. As if he knew that this truly was the last that he would be hearing from you in any remotely romantic sense. As if he knew that he had lost you.

And deservedly so.

The faint sound of drawers banging shut had Loki fighting back a smirk. Yes, my darling Y/N, he thought to himself. Don't fight your rage. Let it flow through you. You need not hold it in any longer.

"That's assuming she doesn't make a complete mess of our home first."

"When will it register in your impossibly dense skull, Captain, that you have squandered your chance with her? You no longer share a home with her. She is erasing herself from your life as effectively as you have wiped her name from your mind the moment you gave in to the attempts of that would-be temptress." To even think that anyone would look elsewhere when they already had you was truly baffling and infuriating to the god, causing him to grip his blade even tighter.

"You know what, blue boy, you're really starting to get on my nerves," Rogers seethed, starting to surge forward only to once again be thwarted in his attempts by Barnes' metal arm. "This is none of your business. I bet you haven't even known the honor of getting to say someone's name since this curse started, so save your high horse act for someone who'll be stupid enough to buy it. You keep talking about how I threw my chance away, well at least I had a chance. Which is more than I can say for the likes of you."

Loki gritted his teeth, charging foward and poising the tip of his blade an inch away from the adultering Captain's chest. "The only reason I hold back now…the only reason I'm not driving this blade through your heart? The only reason that you're still breathing is that your untimely yet arguably warranted demise would still devastate Y/N."

The mention of your name had everyone's gaze turn sharply toward Loki, who'd chosen to stash his blade away back in his pocket dimension. Shock overtook their features as he turned away from them and took off in the direction of Rogers' apartment. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He could give your former lover grief any time he wished, but right this moment his priority was ensuring that you were alright.

Reassuring you that no matter how dismal things seemed, that you would not be navigating your betrayal alone. That you had him. Even if you knew not the magnitude of how you had him.

A/N: So…welcome to yet another series that happened because I got inspired by a TikTok POV🥴 I can't wait for y'all to see what I have in store for this! And if you're ready to throw the nearest heavy object at Rogers, trust me there's a line and Loki's at the very start of it

‘everything’ taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki angst #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #let me hear you #muddyorbs writes

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sirenedeslily · 6 days ago

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VIDEO OBSESSION〻ᯇ # matthew sturniolo

✦ SEARCHING FOR PROFILES… two results found !

result ONE out of TWO — @FallenAngels

Y/N GREENBLATT, streamer known for her gaming skills and pretty visuals. seven stars cigarette. moon during a snowstorm. mtl › nyc. thé matcha 26. nyx cold brew lip liner. ‘03 stargirl. coy. cinephile. back tattoos. vanilla vodka infused. alluring. chrome heart uggs. silver jewelry. white orchid. dazed. tangled & wired headphones. black cat. sirene gaze. sullen girl by fiona apple. sweet talker. guarded. shows care in subtle ways. handwritten letters. sensitive. classic black eyeliner, smudged like a memory. mushishi. overpriced coffee. blue velvet (1986). her dream collab? a limited-edition hoodie with cibo matto album art, designed by a tumblr artist she once reblogged. midnight ‘silent hill 2’ streams.

VICTORIA WALKER, cheetah print. manicured nails. dean blunt. monchhicci. started off streaming with y/n, now focusing on her music. tumblr girl gone global. fur boots. london › nyc. betty boop. tom ford vanilla sex. pocket-sized camcorder. ‘01 baby. rick owens. reclusive but magnetic. spider lily. ipod nano. minecraft. angels by a$ap rocky. paradise kiss. 11:11. chrome heart grills. dream collabs? yves tumor, peggy gou, and a track with a.g. cook that’s “still in the works.” mismatched tiffany bracelets. unreleased a$ap mob.

AERI UCHINAGA, pink-haired enigma. macbook photobooth. mean lesbian. twitch streamer turned cultural icon. cherry blossom. prettiestproblem on and offline. perfect blue (1997). harajuku streetwear. retired scene kid. björk. self-released ep titled “petal circuit”—a mix of shoegaze and hyperpop with haunting vocals. tokyo › nyc. widowmaker main. paranoia agent soundtrack. byredo’s blanche. ‘00 doll. two weeks by fka twigs. synth lab streams with modular glitches. dating ning yizhuo; model. domo.

HAMZAH SALEH, slush puppie. bone comics. vintage quiksilver tees. duct-taped backpack. messy. tony hawk fingerboards. his youtube history? “how to ollie without looking lame”. polar bears. co-runs slushy noobz; a youtube channel. created a subreddit called r/CherrySlushiesAnonymous. circa ‘02. napoleon dynamite (2004). cherry airheads. sega dreamcast he won’t shut up about. ck one. spider-man pez. xbox 360. unbrushed curls. owns a lego keychain of marah; his girlfriend. scrawny by wallows. steve lacy.

MARAH ADEL, doll eyes. celestial paradox. possession (1981). iced lavender lattes, leaves the last sip untouched “for the spirits”. heaven by marc jacobs. medieval angelology. ethel cain. ‘03 angel. tattoo artist of the hidden soul, her studio, melancholie, drips in velvet, candied amethyst light, and the faint hum of dusty jazz vinyl. etruscan art. dario argento films. night drives to nowhere. secretly hid a chipped rose quartz under hamzah’s bed. antique heart lockets. soft leather boots. faded polaroids. sparse. mtl › nyc. messy bangs. labdanum no. 3. seperpentskirt by cocteau twins.

back to masterlist! - profile two @ChromeHearts

🖥️𓈒ིུ✧꫶��᳝͟ᰭ✿⃨ TRENDING NOW ! matt sturniolo was known for many things: his striking looks, his dominance in the gaming world, and his complete inability to keep his cool around beautiful women. so it’s almost poetic—almost—that his fiery temper explodes during an intense fortnite match, broadcasted live to thousands, only to discover later that the player who completely shattered his pride was y/n greenblatt, one of the most beloved streamers in the community—and undeniably beautiful.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ plsplsplspls send asks about these characters !!!

TAGLIST ( open ) ; @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @waitforyrlove @elizabebabe @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @secretlocket @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet @strnilolover @xoxo4chrisss @ifwdominicfike @emely9274 @maggot3647 @fratbrochrisgf @2augustsago @sturn777

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jungaji · 1 month ago

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ghostbusterヾ(ﾟДﾟ;ヾ) | k.jw

synopsis: in the week leading up to halloween, you're haunted by dreams of a faceless man who promises you'll meet soon. but things aren’t as simple as they seem, and the line between dreams and reality begin to blur when cryptic messages and strange events unfold on the night of haechan's halloween bash. you're left questioning: who—or what—is this mysterious man?

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem!reader feat. mark lee & lee haechan

genre: one-shot social media au, written portions (7 dream journal entries), supernatural, comedy

authors note: hihiii this was meant to be posted on halloween LMAO oh well ANYWAYS this smau is my baby 🥹💖 im finally getting it out of the drafts and into the world waaahh i hope you’ll enjoy!!!

also disclaimer, this is really long (i got carried away ToT) reblogs & replies are greatly appreciated <33

YN’S DREAM JOURNAL

DREAM ENTRY #560

28/10/2024

i dreamt that i worked at an ice cream shop with this guy named, woo? he didn’t have a face (kinda creepy) but he had pretty pink hair and he was really tall! we had to work together to design a new logo for the shop & we fought over making it olaf inspired or spiderman inspired (mark is corrupting my mind) we played rock, paper, scissors to decide and i obviously won!!! he told me we needed to have a rematch when we see each other again (?) anyways, the spiderman ice cream logo turned out really cute & our manager loved it. 10/10 dream

DREAM ENTRY #561

29/10/2024

dreamt of woo (the faceless guy) again today! we were playing dress to impress together & the theme was halloween. he dressed as a ghost & i dressed as a zombie! we duo-ed & hit pose 28 as a team and some kid in the server told us we had no taste & woo went crazy on them 😭 we got kicked out of the server after & we were somehow transported to some kind of harry potter universe (?) hyuck was there too & i tried talking to him but he ignored me & tried to KILL ME instead!!! woo swooped in to protect me though, he killed dream hyuck & told me he would steal me away from hyuck when we meet (?) because i deserve better friends

DREAM ENTRY #562

30/10/2024

i had the perfect life in last night’s dream!!! i had like a million friends & i was super rich 🤑 the only factor was that i was a vegetable (?) oh! & woo was in my dream again today too (third night in a row) anyways, we were both some kind of vegetable & we had to compete in a vegetable eating competition? (so basically cannibalism..) we won the competition though & we got transported to this super cute studio ghibli inspired house >.< woo mentioned how we should binge all the movies together when we meet!

DREAM ENTRY #563

31/10/2024

i dreamt that i was an idol! but i was also a mosquito (?) woo was with me once again, as well as jaehyun! (which is odd considering i haven’t seen him in a long time) anyways, the three of us just flew around and sang together, it was cute 🥹 jaehyun had a schedule after so he left first, & me and woo went to watch the sunset!!! it was so pretty, an ombre of orange & pink (my favourite colours ToT) — woo kept talking about how he would bring me to watch the sunset when we meet! usually i would wake up right after woo says something like that but i didn’t last night so i asked him what he meant by meeting (?) & he told me to look for someone dressed as olaf at hyuck’s halloween party tonight (i guess i’ll be anna then :p)

RECENTLY DELETED

DREAM ENTRY #019

31/10/2021

i dreamt that i was grocery shopping with woo! he kept talking about some guy named, yuno (?) i thought it was his boyfriend at first but he assured me that they were just good friends (also, roommates? i think.) anyways, we bought soo much halloween candy & we went back to my place to watch ghostbusters!!! before i woke up, i asked woo what he was wearing to hyuck’s party so i could spot him easily & he told me he would be dressed as rose..? from titanic 😭 (i don’t wanna be jack but when duty calls!!!)

DREAM ENTRY #119

31/10/2022

dreamt that i was cycling with woo at hundred acre woods! it was so fun >.< we talked to winnie the pooh & he even shared some honey with us !!! but after we ate the honey, the whole scenery (?) changed & it became that one winnie the pooh horror movie 😭 we got chased by him and piglet i woke up in cold swear (NO joke) also didn’t get to ask woo if i would meet him at hyuck’s party tonight or not :(

DREAM ENTRY #390

31/10/2023

i dreamt that i was baking a cake with mark! but when i turned to ask him where the sugar was, woo was standing there instead of mark Ö it was confusing at first but we just continued baking & woo kept talking about ghostface (?) ,, halfway through the conversation, we were suddenly sucked (?) into the cake 😭 we were inside of this cake house (chocolate cake!!!) & woo started eating all the funiture HAHAHA anyways, after eating we got tired so we laid on the chocolate bed & i asked if i would meet him somewhere soon and he mentioned hyuck’s party! he said to keep an eye out for that girl from twilight & then i woke up :( (guess i’ll be edward for tonight)

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lunargrrrl · 3 months ago

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Lights, Camera, Magic

Agatha Harkness sits in the director's chair of some of your favourite movies. Your world suddenly turns upside down when you're invited to audition for her latest screenplay, "Witching Hour".

And yes, yes I did get the entire idea for this fic from that one WandaVision GIF where Agatha turns around and is in the director's chair all along.

agatha harkness x fem!reader | slow burn | power dynamics | eventual smut... promise | oh and agatha is a top in this, ofc

You pace around the wooden floor of your bedroom. You’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. When your agent called you to tell you you’d been shortlisted to audition for the next Agatha Harkness movie, you couldn’t quite believe it. Your favourite director, and what could potentially be your “big break”.

You’d never imagined that you’d end up in Hollywood. When you were younger, you were always more into books than looks, more into the stars in the sky than the stars on TV. However, you’d been scouted one Tuesday morning whilst grabbing coffees for your office at your dead-end job, the office of which just happened to be near Sunset Boulevard. You were working your first proper job out of college; you hated your boss, and you counted down the days until the weekend.

You thought that the guy in the coffee shop had been joking when he asked you to come along for headshots and see if you could act, then handed you his business card. Maybe it was the fading British accent that he’d picked up on when you were ordering coffees—since moving to the US, if there was one thing you’d found, it was that people just loved to hear you speak. You’d also been told often that you looked like a “classic English rose”, whatever the hell that meant.

Either way, you couldn’t quite believe it when you landed an agent and were suddenly lined up to audition for a supporting role in the next movie that Agatha Harkness directed. It all happened so fast. You’d spent the past couple of weeks rewatching the director’s catalogue of movies (you were particularly fond of the Coven of Curses, and its sequel Cauldron of Chaos…). They were often dark, thrilling, romantic, and more often than not, witchy.

Ironically, that’s also how your friends described you. Witchy. Maybe it was your dark hair and striking green eyes, or perhaps it was that somehow luck always seemed to magically turn in your favour. Spent your time as a kid wishing you could move to the States? No problem, your dad just happened to land a job in California when you were younger. Hating your first proper job out of college? Don’t sweat it, you’re suddenly scouted by one of the best agencies in Hollywood and are now auditioning for the next Agatha Harkness movie.

Manifesting had always worked in your favour, and you’re hoping that this audition brings more of the same.

You gulp as you take a last sip of your iced coffee, you pick up your phone ready to call an Uber. It’s showtime

The drive to the studios is a blur. The traffic out of Santa Monica isn’t too bad, however you suddenly hit bad traffic heading into downtown LA. Then, as if by sheer luck, space opens up in the next lane just before a bottleneck forms. The Uber driver glances at you in the rearview mirror.

"Looks like you’ve got some good timing,” he says with a surprised chuckle.

You force a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Your hands are clammy, and your heart is thumping in your chest. You’d been to a few auditions before—small ones, commercial work, and even landed roles in some indie shorts—but this... this was different. You’re about to audition for Agatha Harkness, the woman whose films have made waves not just in the industry, but in your life. There was something about the way she captured the delicate line between darkness and beauty, how her characters walked through worlds of magic and mayhem yet stayed so human.

And now, you might get to be part of it.

The Uber pulls up to the gates of the studio. As you step out of the car, you try to shake the jitters that have been slowly creeping up on you. You take a deep breath. You’re here for a reason.

The receptionist at the front desk hands you a visitor's pass, and you make your way through the labyrinthine halls of the studio. You catch glimpses of movie posters lining the walls—some of Agatha’s work, others from blockbuster hits you’d grown up watching. Everything feels bigger, louder, more alive than you imagined.

You stop in front of the casting office, where a line of other hopefuls waits in nervous silence. You join the queue, clutching your script, trying to stay calm. Every person that walks out of the audition room looks either relieved or shattered. You wonder if you’ll be one of the lucky ones.

Finally, your name is called. The door opens, and you’re ushered inside.

The room is surprisingly minimalist. A large wooden table stretches across the centre, with three people sitting behind it. But it’s the woman in the middle who commands your attention—Agatha Harkness herself. Her presence is even more striking than you imagined. Dressed in a purple jumper, her dark brown hair cascades over her shoulders, and her sharp blue eyes are fixed on you. At her collar sits the iconic cameo brooch she’s renowned for wearing. She sits with confidence—one arm draped over the back of her chair, the other resting on the table, holding a pen. She gives a slight nod, acknowledging you, and your breath catches in your throat.

"Whenever you're ready, hon," she says in that cool, measured voice you’ve heard a hundred times in interviews and director’s commentaries.

You steady yourself, standing tall, refusing to let the casual term of endearment throw you off, and begin your lines.

The scene is tense, a moment of confrontation between two witches—one whose power is on the rise, the other on the brink of losing everything. You channel every ounce of focus you have, letting the words flow through you, drawing on the same energy that had always made your friends jokingly call you "witchy."

As you finish, the room falls silent. Agatha's eyes never leave yours, and you have no idea what she’s thinking. She leans forward slightly, fingers steepled, and you can feel your pulse in your throat.

Finally, after what feels like an age, she speaks.

“That was... intriguing,” she says, her tone even. “Tell me something. What draws you to this character?”

You swallow hard. This was the moment that could make or break everything. But instead of the anxiety you were expecting, something else rises in you—confidence.

“She’s more than just timid,” you begin, your voice steadier than you feel. “She is fiercely intelligent, but she’s also deeply afraid of what she desires. She craves knowledge and power, yet she hides that ambition beneath her shy exterior. There’s this constant struggle within her—a fear of losing herself to the darkness she senses growing inside her," you explain. "I think we’ve all felt that at some point—fear of losing ourselves to something bigger, something we can’t understand.”

Agatha studies you for a moment longer, and then, to your surprise, she smiles. It’s a small, secretive smile, but it feels like a victory.

"Interesting perspective," she says softly. "You can wait outside."

You nod and turn to leave, your legs feeling weak as you step out of the room as ordered. The door clicks shut behind you, and the reality of what just happened hits you like a wave. You did it. You stood in front of Agatha Harkness, delivered your lines, and survived.

As you sit in the waiting area, time stretches on, and the nerves return. A few more people are called in, but none of them seem to come out with the same look you did. Finally, after what feels like hours, the casting assistant reappears.

"We’ll be in touch,” she says, handing you a folded piece of paper. "Agatha wanted you to have this."

Your heart leaps as you unfold the note. In sharp, striking handwriting:

I see a spark in you. Let’s nurture it.

Beneath it is a signature:

A. Harkness

You stare at the note, your hands shaking slightly. Did she mean what you think she meant? And even then, what was it that you think that she meant?! Or was this just a cryptic way of keeping you on your toes? Either way, one thing was certain—you were now on Agatha’s radar. And in Hollywood, that was more powerful than any spell. You walk out of the studio, note still clutched in your hand, your mind spinning with the events that just transpired. You’re not even sure how your legs are managing to carry you across the parking lot, your body running on some kind of post-adrenaline autopilot. The cool LA air hits your face, grounding you just enough to keep you moving.

“I see a spark in you. Let’s nurture it.” Agatha Harkness herself saw something in you. You read the words over and over again, trying to hold onto their meaning, but the more you think about them, the more elusive they become. Your eyes examine the cross of every “t”, the bold signature. You can’t help but feel starstruck each time as your index finger traces over the black ink.

A. Harkness

You reach your Uber and slide into the backseat, still holding the note tightly between your fingers. The driver doesn’t say much this time, probably picking up on your dazed expression. The car pulls away from the studio, but your thoughts remain trapped in that minimalist room with Agatha.

As the cityscape of LA blurs past the window, you can't stop wondering: what happens next? Will they call? How soon? And most importantly, did you really impress her, or was she simply intrigued by your potential?

The rest of the night passes in a blur. You try to distract yourself with mindless scrolling on your phone and the muted sound of the TV in the background, but your thoughts keep circling back to the audition. Your roommate comes and goes, her laughter and chatter drifting through the apartment as she talks on her phone to whichever guy has caught her attention this week, her voice fading into the haze surrounding you. In a city where rent prices soar to astronomical heights, sharing a space is a necessity for most twenty-somethings, even if it means listening to the ups and downs of someone else's romantic escapades.

As you lie there, your mind wanders to Agatha Harkness. You can’t help but wonder where she calls home—surely somewhere extraordinary. Perhaps a stunning hillside home in Beverly Hills, vines climbing the walls, offering a glimpse of the sprawling city below. What would her taste be like? Would it mirror the dark, mysterious themes of her films, or would it lean more towards minimalist elegance? These thoughts swirl through your mind, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality. At some point, you fall asleep, Agatha’s words echoing in your dreams like a whispered spell. You can almost feel her blue eyes on you just like they were during the audition, a weight that lingers even in your dreams.

The next morning, you're woken by the buzz of your phone. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the name (or lack thereof) flashing across the screen: No Caller ID.

With a deep breath, you swipe to answer.

“Hello?”

“Is this—” a voice asks, but you cut them off in your excitement.

“Yes, yes this is she!”

There’s a pause, then a soft laugh on the other end. “Good morning to you too, hon.”

It’s her. Agatha Harkness. Her voice is unmistakable—smooth, commanding, dripping with a confidence you can almost feel through the phone.

Your breath catches. “Agatha… I—good morning.”

“I don’t normally make these calls myself,” she begins, her tone matter-of-fact. “But I wanted to tell you personally—you’ve made an impression.”

Your chest tightens. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

You hold your breath, stomach flipping. This could be it.

“I’ve decided,” she continues, her voice measured, teasing even, “that I want you for the part.”

For a moment, the world seems to tilt, and all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears. “You—you do?”

“Mm-hmm. I see something in you, hon. Something raw, untapped. I think you’re going to bring something special to this role.”

You have to steady yourself against your bedside table, biting your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Really.”

“You’ll know what to say when you’re on set.” There's a pause, and you can almost feel the weight of her eyes on you, even through the phone. “But just a heads up—I’m not easy to impress twice. You’ll need to bring your A-game.”

Her words send a thrill through you, the challenge sparking something in your chest. “I will. I promise.”

“Good girl,” she replies, her tone softening just a touch, almost cooing. You feel your stomach flip at the sound of her praise, heat rushing up your neck. “Welcome to the team, superstar.”

Woah boy, it has been a LONG time since I wrote a fic. I went back-and-forth for the POV on this, settling on second person fem!reader, however I was close to making the protagonist of this fic Rio instead. Thoughts? Comments?! Perhaps this idea is too niche. Can you tell that I've also recently rewatched Mulholland Drive? Highly recommend watching that if you fancy getting more of a feel for this fic. ANYWAY, I felt inspired to write for the first time in so long, I just had to get this down. If anyone does read/like this, I love experimenting with my fics, so any feedback is appreciated!

Chapter 2 is almost finished, coming later today...

#agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha x fem!reader #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha all along

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