#chains art masterlist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

isuckatwritingsobenice · 11 months ago

Text

Infernal Shadows 02

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: HAUSER - Adagio (Albinoni)

A/N: I’m so glad part one did well! I really liked this idea and hoped other people would too. As always comment if you want to be tagged and I will tag you in the next post! I wanted this to be three parts, but depending on how much I can fit in this chapter and the next one, I’ll see if I need to make four parts. The song at the beginning of this chapter is meant to be played when the line “ The music picked up” Is read. Skip to 5:35 for it to play smoothly, or as smoothly as possible.

Word count: 3.k or something over that idk I got too lazy to count :(

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part three.

Within, the grand foyer unveiled itself, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail in stark contrast against a black and white color scheme. Crystal chandeliers, dangling from lofty black ceilings, cast their brilliance upon white walls adorned with ornate mirrors. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich black and white fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, establishing cozy settings for guests to assemble and engage in enriching conversations. Each room murmured tales of a past era – intricately patterned black and white wallpaper, frames gilded in black to showcase classical art, and a subtle aroma of aged wood and lavender lingering in the air, harmonizing with the monochromatic elegance. The guests walking in all marveled at the details of the mansion.

Charlotte and Vagatha both stepped in, Charlotte in awe of the detailing. A shadow figure bent down slightly to offer her a drink, to which she happily took.

“Vaggie this is all so beautiful. I hope I can make a good impression.” Charlotte said, turning to her partner to ease her nerves. Vagatha just smiled, a hand on her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re gonna do great babe, besides, there’s so many people here, if one likes it I’m sure other people will get on board too.” Vagatha said.

“Or they can laugh at you if one person points out how ridiculous it is.” Husk said, chugging his drink before placing it back on the servers tray.

“Thanks for the kind words Husk.” Vagatha said sarcastically. He just shrugged, looking towards the bar area which was practically calling him over.

Upstairs in your room, you stared at yourself in the mirror as your shadows made the finishing touches on your outfit. Draped in a long, elegant black gown that gracefully embraced your commanding figure, the fabric cascaded like shadows. Delicate chain motifs intertwine with the dress, creating an alluring dance of darkness. A chain belt cinches your waist, a subtle nod to your captivating ability to ensnare and command over your shadows. Completing the regalia, silver chain cuffs adorn your wrists, reflecting both power and refinement.

“Madame, the guests are all in the lobby awaiting your arrival.” One of the shadows said. You nodded, stepping down from your showcase, winking to yourself in the mirror before chuckling to yourself. A shadow approaches you, bowing in respect before holding out a tray with your drink, a contrast to your dark colors. You take the glass in your hand, another shadow lightly putting a thermometer in your drink so it’s the perfect temperature for you, fifteen point five degrees Celsius. The liquid is a light yellow-ish green, Lafite-Rothschild, an expensive French wine you tried in 1906 when you were alive. Lifting it to your lips, you take a long sip and sigh, the spicy and earth notes, mixed with a hint of tobacco and red Barrie’s dance on your tongue like a performance of Gavotte. You pull back with a sigh, setting the glass down, a perfect Ridel Vinum Bordeaux, personally crafted for you as the bottom of the glass is a Smokey black, fading into clear glass towards the top.

“Let’s get this Gala started shall we~?”

In the lobby, guests were socializing amongst themselves. Velvet, Vox and Valentino had split for a short while. After the incident outside, the two overlords wouldn’t stop tantalizing the picture box about his fit of frustration dealing with the Radio Demon. From the lobby, there were large crystal doors revealing the back exterior of the house. The greenery was just perfect, with cobblestone flooring revealing another bloody fountain. Vox stood with his drink, speaking to some sinner he couldn’t remember the name of, about how well his business was going.

“You ever get,” Vox asked, eyeing one of the shadows who stood in a corner, white eyes soulless as they held out drinks to guests. “Creeped out by those, things?” Vox asked, turning back to the sinner. He just scoffed.

“Please, they’re always around and as far as I know, harmless.” The sinner said. At that, a shadow appeared between the two, taking their empty glasses and replacing it with new, full ones. Vox tried his hardest not to seem alarmed at this, and took the glass silently, sipping his drink slowly as it floated away. It was then he took in the shadows appearance. They all looked the same. Tall figures, Smokey outlines, but no feel or hands, just a faded end to their limbs. Their eyes were white and soulless, almost as it they were vacant, a shell of what they used to be. There were no facial features, just two white circles and a thin white line for their mouth. Each one however, had a light Smokey chain around their chest, wrapped in the shape of an X.

“What are the chains for then? They’re pretty much smoke, what do they need chains forever?” Vox asked. The associate laughed, but before he could answer, another overlord stepped in.

“They have chains because they’re claimed souls.” Fredrick Von Eldritch says, his sister Bethesda in toe. The two grin, a shadow following behind them with a tray of their drinks. “If you get invited to the gala long enough, you get a personal one.” He said with a wink, gesturing to the shadow behind the two.

“They’re quite cute once you get used to them.” Bethesda said with a smile, cooing at the shadow lightly. Yet, it still remained expressionless.

“Actually, now that you say that.” The sinner says, looking around for a moment. “It’s been awfully quiet with a laugh track being played.” He says, referring to Alastor. Vox just rolls his eyes.

“Who gives a shit about where that old timey freak is?” Vox asks. Fredrick and Bethesda snicker to each other, catching Vox’s attention.

“Probably hunting for his dear Madame.” Bethesda said dramatically, laying her head on her brothers shoulder and batting her lashes playfully. Fredrick and the sinner laughed at his sisters antics, but Vox grew serious.

“What does that mean? He knows her?” Vox asked, to which Fredrick scoffed, finishing his drink before reaching for another off the shadows server tray.

“Of course he does. She died before him, and they’re the closest overlords in time period. Well, aside from Zestial and her.” Fredrick explained. Vox didn’t say anything else, instead looking to the red ‘moon’ of hell, before glancing at the blood fountain. He had heard rumors about being at the Madame’s table, and how she gave the inside to all her projects and plans before the next extermination. Apparently, this year was supposed to be ‘different’ as people had been talking.

“When does this dinner start anyway? We’ve been standing out here for two hours.” Vox said annoyed.

“In a few minutes, Madame will make her grand entrance. She will socialize with the guests as it is polite to have one on one time with them. Then she will spend the rest of the time while the orchestra gets together deciding on contenders to sit at her table.” A shadow walking by said, stopping to stare at Vox. “Madame is always watching.” It then said, turning to serve other guests. Vox said nothing, instead turning on his heel and making his way inside the mansion. How could someone feel suffocated outside? Fredrick and Bethesda said nothing, watching him go, but sharing a glance between each other before making their leave too, leaving the sinner all by his lonesome.

Inside, Charlotte and Vagatha conversed about how she could get people behind her project.

“Maybe if I sing-“

“Please no. These people are too…” Vagatha said, glancing around the room. Everyone seemed too, fake. Vagatha knew Charlotte being herself around these people would do absolutely no good to the hotel, and though she hated telling Charlotte these things, she knew her kindness would be frowned upon, and made fun of. “Serious for that kind of thing.” Vagatha finished, taking a sip of her champagne. She settled for champagne in a flute while Charlotte drank water, wanting to hydrate herself in hopes to calm her nerves.

“I heard that Madame might be making her entrance soon.” Charlotte said nervously, looking around. She half expected her parents to show up, but knew how they rarely liked getting involved in overlord affairs. She’d be surprised if they showed up.

“Then when she does you can try to pitch your idea to her.” Vagatha said supportively. Charlotte just smiled and nodded, hoping someone would listen to her. She had tried practicing on two sinners moments ago, to which they both laughed and called her delusional. The defeat was beginning to get to her, and she hadn’t even started yet.

With Velvet, she began studying the interior of the old-styled mansion. She was trying her hardest to not be too rude about it, but of course she had her comments, but ultimately kept them to herself. Cramoisie, your fashion line, was the top fashion brand in hell, everyone wanted a piece of it. Velvet had never had an article for herself, despite trying her hardest to get something, anything, even a sample. But people feigned for it like drugs. Velvets line was successful sure, but with your validation and guidance, she could become perfection, the same way you were. Everyone in hell looked up to you, shit, you had even gotten Lilith’s praise as she was photographed wearing a custom piece you designed for her. Your work was art in its purist form, and Velvet kept a close eye on her other colleagues to make sure they didn’t fuck your chance up. Velvet had her assistant hold samples and sketches of designs Velvet had been working on, wanting to show you her best work in hopes of winning you over. She could brag about having you support her line, and her fans would die of excitement. Maybe, she could get you to design her a custom piece, or Velvet could design one for you. The possibilities were limitless, if you agreed to meet with her of course. But that was all the more reason why she needed to make sure she had a seat at your table tonight. She needed to get close to you.

“Are you fucking high?” Velvet whispered to Valentino, who just chuckled softly at her.

“What’s the matter hermosa? Just enjoy the Gala, we’re here to have fun right?” He asked with a giggle. Velvet huffed, deciding to find Vox, hoping he could straighten Valentino out. Valentino would not fuck up her chance tonight.

Near the large staircase in the middle of the room, Alastor stood, glass of whiskey in his clawed hands. He smiles, humming to himself while quietly back up into a wall, careful to scan the room quickly before he disappears into the shadows. Then, moments later, appears in a room separate from the gala. It’s a study, your study. Alastor takes a step forward and quickly the shadows in the room seemed to deepen, casting larger, more dramatic silhouettes that seemed to dance on the walls. The interplay of darkness and light only heightened the mysterious allure of the study. In the midst of this chiaroscuro ambiance, Alastor found himself surrounded by an atmosphere that mirrored the complex nature of the figure depicted in the portrait hanging above the fireplace, which was in the far back wall of the study. It was the only light source in the room. Black wooden shelves lined against the tall walls, showcasing famous pieces of literature, all hand picked and to your liking. The fire place, crafted with dark marble, commanded his attention. Above the mantel, a striking portrait of Madame hung, capturing his focus, like a trance. The image portrayed a being universally admired, yet equally feared; someone who elicited both admiration and intimidation all at once, you.

“Hm, hiding now are we?” Alastor asks with a grin, tutting lightly. “That’s not very proper of you Madame~” He says, calling out to you. Seconds later, a dark shadow appears in the corner of the room, taking up the entire corner, before a shadowy figure steps out. Similar to the servant’s out in the lobby, Alastor’s eye twitch’s slightly.

“Oh don’t be so pissy. You know no one gets to see me before my entrance.” You say, the shadow expressionless, but Alastor can hear your tone through the figure, taunting him. He sighs, setting his staff on a slant along his foot.

“And here I thought I could connect with an old friend.” Alastor said with a chuckle, staring down the shadowy figure, hoping his gaze would ease you to show yourself to him. But alas, stuck in your ways, you didn’t show yourself, instead laughing, though the figure did not open its mouth, making your ‘shadow a-presence’ all the more eerie.

“If you really want to speak with me it can wait until my entrance. I should be done soon.” You say, before Alastor just smiles, tossing his staff from hand to hand.

“Well if you’re really going to make me wait, mind you speed the process up a bit? You know it doesn’t take much to make you look breath-taking.” Alastor compliments, but earns a scoff from you.

“Oh please, don’t start with me ‘Radio Demon.’” You mock, before the shadow figure begins to step back.

“Wait, a moment before you go.” Alastor says, standing his staff on the floor. The shadow figure stops, before you speak again.

“Make it quick. You know how much energy it takes to keep this up.” You say.

“So, about this hotel business. I know she’s planning to talk to you about it.”

“Yes the idea you tell me so much about.” You say sarcastically. Alastor had told you bits and pieces about the princess’s project, but didn’t tell you what it was for exactly, leaving you to wonder how important it really was if even he wouldn’t speak on it.

“Well you know how much I crave entertainment. Is it possible to make a request for the seating arraignment tonight?” Alastor asks. You laugh, figure still unmoving.

“Humorous to think you even have a seat. You’ve been gone for what? Seven years?” You say with a scoff.

“You’ve been gone decades my dear, you didn’t even show up to your last twenty gala’s, having your pity shadows do it for you. I doubt you should be speaking on the matter.”

At that, you chuckle to yourself before the shadow begins to back into the corner, black smoke enveloping the corner like a cloud. “I presume you would be correct. Well, I’m off now. Don’t sneak into my quarters again.” You say finally before disappearing. Alastor just grins, stepping into his own shadow, joining the other guests.

The shadows had slowly but, eventually ushered the guests into the lobby, everyone gathering around the staircase as the shadows lined up against the railings, the orchestra playing the music you had specifically requested. You were about to make your grand entrance, something you hadn’t done in centuries. Everyone stood around, awaiting your arrival, the shadows momentarily disappearing to give the guests more space to crowd around. Candles lit along the walls, as well as floating lights appearing going up the staircase. There, the shadows took their place, two on each step on opposite sides, facing each other. The music picked up, the lights focusing at the top of the stairs. Black smoke began to roll down the steps slowly, the anticipation for your arrival growing. The music gets calm for a moment, a larger shadow figure standing at the top of the staircase. It’s larger than any of the other shadows in the room, standing at fifteen feet tall. It speaks in a monotone voice, but loud and commanding.

“Thank you all for your attendance tonight. The Crimson Gala is held once every year to start the new year with all those who survived the extermination. This being said, Madame would like to say her personal congratulations for not being apart of the bloodshed this year. While the past years she has used me to say that she will unfortunately not be in attendance, I am pleased to say that tonight, along with all the new guests, she will make her grand entrance. Presenting to you, the prowess of darkness and queen of shadows, Madame.”

The lights shine bright, and the shadow vanishes quickly. Velvet shushes Vox and Valentino, eyes practically bulging out of her skull to see you. Alastor just stares, waiting in anticipation. Charlie claps her hands quietly to herself while Vaggie just smiles. Rosie sips her glass, eyes waiting to see what outfit you’ve put together this time. At the top of the staircase, a large black smokey circle opens at the bottom of the floor, smoke swirling upwards slowly in a tornado form, smoke getting quicker as it swirls around itself. It gets larger, and guests closer to the stairs have to back up a bit as the wind picks up. Carmilla turns her face to the side, not wanting the wind to mess up her hair too much. Finally, the music picks up again, the peak point in the song, which lasts eight seconds, before the smoke falls to the side in one swoop, leaving you in the midst, now on display for all guests to see. The music continues, the chains against your dress glistening under the light. The music continues the play as you take steps down, looking at the guests. There’s a serious expression on your face, but somehow neutral all the same. Your shadows had added last minute black lace gloves, which went up to your forearm. The bottom of your dress had a lace trimming, as well as the bodice being laced with trim along the bust area. The jewelry was a simple black diamond crystal on a metal chain around your neck, paired with black diamond earrings. The cuff links on your hand remained all the same though. Finally reaching the end of the steps, everyone clapped, now finally being graced with your presence.

Velvet was in awe, staring at you with wide eyes like a child being gifted the most precious thing. Her excitement grew enormously, watching you shake hands and socialize with guests. She had never seen you before, after you had gone ghost for centuries, hardly anyone had photos of you. Hell she didn’t even know what you sounded like.

Charlie was so excited to meet you. She hadn’t seen you in, forever, and was now finally excited to be seen as your equal. Well, that was what she had hoped at least. Having seen a portrait of you in her parents' home when she was younger, she learned of the close relationship between Lilith and you. The anticipation had built over the years, and now, finally, she looked forward to being seen as your equal. Her hope was to hopefully get your support for the hotel, aiming to elevate her standing in the eyes of others. With your backing, she believed people would take both her and the redemption project more seriously, fostering a genuine desire for redemption. Maybe it would even work.

Husk smiled as he watched you socialize with guests. He was glad to finally see you back out again. He never knew why you went into hiding of course, but he never had the balls to ask, so he just stood quiet. When you disappeared, it was after a particularly rough extermination, and he knew something had happened, he just didn’t know what. Since then, the world only had glimpses of you to go on. Some sinners were starting to think you were a myth, since you never showed your face at the Crimson Gala, especially since you were the host.

Vox was taken aback, a sense of confusion and unease settling within him. Your presence had caught him off guard; he had anticipated something different, perhaps an older figure. The unexpected impact left him feeling uneasy, realizing the gravity of your influence. It dawned on him why Velvet had stressed the importance of making a favorable impression. Apart from Zestial and the twins, you stood as one of the strongest and most enduring overlords. In Vox's mind, securing your alliance was imperative for the success of his company. Your potential support would make his endeavors foolproof. Everything had to be flawless – not for any personal reasons, of course, but solely for the sake of his company. He needed you.

Making your rounds to guests, you began to get closer to your colleagues. With a wave to Stolas, and a nod to Zeezie, you run into the Radio Demon himself, Alastor. He grins, sharp teeth getting you. He smiles and nods his head, and you nod back. Alastor takes in your stoic expression, before carefully taking in your outfit.

“My, my, Madame, you’ve truly outdone yourself tonight. Your choice in attire is as captivating as ever – a perfect blend of elegance and sensibility. Quite the spectacle for the grand event, don’t you think?” He asked, holding his arm out to you. You take it, and the two of you walk around the lobby together, conversing.

“Well you don’t look to bad for yourself. Maybe going into hibernation was perfect for you.” You say back, and he grins.

“You’re too kind darling.” He says, dead heart quickening. He puts a hand to his chest, mocking fragility. “Your words leave me breathless my dear.” He says with false dramatics. You roll your eyes and smack his arm playfully.

“Oh please, your ego is quite large enough already, yes?” You ask. He doesn’t say much else, but instead, gently moves you to the side while you look at your shadows, now waltzing around in the middle of the lobby, putting on a performance.

“Did you plan that?” Alastor asks. You shake your head.

“No, but the music is perfect for it, so I let them be. They’re already trapped with me, I might as well make them useful.” You say, and Alastor just hums, a laugh track playing. However, as the two of you walk, his track screeches to a halt upon seeing Vox approach the two of you.

“Madame.” Vox says, nodding his head. His expression is serious, and though you’ve heard of him, you’ve never seen him.

“Ah hello. Vox I presume?” You ask, free hand reaching forward to shake his own outstretched hand. The two of you shake hands, and Alastor can’t ignore the way he fights to keep his smile. Why he could just shove his staff right into that flace faced fuckers scree-

“Alastor, I suppose you’ve met Mr.Vox before, correct?” You ask. Alastor nods with a smile, and you notice the way it stretches almost painfully across his face. It makes you uneasy, but you ignore the feeling. He’d surely tell about what this is about later on in the night you supposed.

“Why yes we have! I’ve made him loose his signal quite a few times.” Alastor says with a laugh, his laugh track playing. Vox doesnt say anything, though he doesnt have too as his eye twitching had given enough away. The two clearly did not like each other. Than again, you had felt the same way about Alastor when you first met him, so the feeling was understandable.

“Madame, a dance?” Vox asked, turning his attention back to you. You thought for a moment, before untangling your arm from Alastors and nodding to Vox, taking his outstretched hand to you and leading you to the dance floor, which now had a couple other sinners dancing as well. Alastor held onto his staff tight, but relaxed as you discreetly slid him a card. In white with black lettering, cursive font. Seat number five. He was invited to your table. Guaranteed a seat. That was enough to have him back in light spirits, now searching out his dear friend Rosie to share the good news.

Velvet had been looking for you all over, her assistant close in toe. She had tried her hardest to get to you when you initially made your enterance, but alas you had been too overcrowded with people for her to get to you. She had heard rumors about how you hated rudeness and disrespect. That meant no interruptions, and no loud speaking, or vulgar language. She was sure to keep herself in check, and that meant her colleagues too. So, naturally, you could imagine her shock upon seeing Vox dancing with you on the dance floor, black dress twirling at your feet. You looked so regal, so elegant, flawless. She wanted to be just like you. She waited patiently on the sidelines, waiting for the dance to end. She could see the two of you having a conversation, but couldn’t pinpoint what about.

“So, I presume you’re one of the, newer overlords?” You asked as the two of you danced. Vox chuckled, leading you slowly.

“New? Well, maybe to you I would be. I heard you haven’t really left your own head for quite some time.” Vox says lowly. You nod, letting him dip you.

“Yes that would be correct. So what are you supposed to be exactly?” You ask, quite unsure of his purpose. Overlords are meant to have a strong leading purpose in hell, so what was his?

“Well, you’re looking at the head of Vox Tech. A software company.” He says, and you hum in understanding.

“So modern technology.” You confirm, and he nods, pearly whites shining brightly back at you.

“You’re looking at the future Madame.” Vox says, spinning you quickly, before bringing you close by your hip.

“Interesting. So, what’s your social influence?” You ask. Vox thinks for a moment, before laughing to himself.

“People have televisions in all their homes. Any piece of modern technology comes strictly from me. With a little mind control, there isn’t any influence I don’t have.” Vox says, noticing a sinner walk by with a smart watch, to which he holds a finger up to you, sending himself through it, and then to another sinner with their smartphone, making his way around the room in seconds before he’s back in front of you, stepping in time for the next number. “See? Nothing I can’t do.” He says with a wink. You nod slowly, looking around the room. Being back out in the spotlight after being gone for so long makes you feel a bit, behind. But with an overlord like this in your circle, maybe this could be a way for you to keep up with the current world, get you back up to pace. The dance finally comes to a close, and the two of you bow to one another, before you summon a card, handing it to Vox. Seat number nine. Vox grinned at you, giving you a nod. You nod back, before looking at another sinner who’s asked to speak with you. With that, you leave Vox at the dance floor, white card in hand. His spot at your table was secured. But, this made his emotions churn even more. What was this feeling he had? He was happy yes, but for the companies sake. But, maybe for once, he could mix just a little business with pleasure.

Charlotte had lost her partner at the bar and had been looking for her for quite some time. However, instead of finding Vagatha, she found you instead. You had seemed to be finishing a conversation with Vox, and though she disliked him, she took her chance the moment she saw you walking away.

“Excuse me, Madame- Miss- Um.” Charlotte said quickly, causing you to stop in your tracks. She got closer to you, now a few inches away. It was then she realized how tall you were compared to her. You were easily around seven feet, or just under that. With your heels that was. You looking down at her made her feel intimidated, small, like the child. But, feeling her nerves rise, she began to ramble again. “I know you probably have a lot to do tonight and I don’t want to take up your time, I just want you to hear me out, if that’s okay with you of course.” Charlotte said quickly, pausing to inhale. You narrowed your eyes at her, snapping your fingers and causing a shadow to appear next to you, singular glass on the tray. It was the same tall shadow from earlier, with the same drink. Again, using testing the temperature of the drink, before nodding to you so you could take it. You lifted the glass to your lips, maintaining eye contact with Charlotte as you drank the wine in one go, putting it down on the tray with a sigh.

“Go on.” You replied, now intrigued. You knew who she was. “You’re the girl with the hotel? Lucifer and Lilith’s child, correct?” You asked. Charlotte smiled, stars appearing in her eyes as she gushed.

“You know who I am?” She asked surprised. You nodded, cracking a small smile for the first time tonight, causing many eyes to stare in shock. You hardly ever smiled. In fact, there were three counts ever of you smiling in hell. Once, when you first got to hell, killing and claiming territory, and smiling once you finally settled down. The second being after World War One, when so many souls came to you seeking ‘help’ yet only being met with contracts. Third, being just before the extermination you disappeared after. You had gone through your belongings from Earth that managed to get brought to you from the surface, and was looking at family photos with one other overlord. Zestial. Now, at the gala, here was Lucifer’s brat, as some would call, making you crack a grin at her giddiness.

“Of course I know who you are. Do you forget I know your mother? You’re practically a niece of mine at this point.” You say, motioning at Charlotte to walk with you. “Now, what is this hotel I’ve heard about?” You ask. She beams at this and follows excitedly.

“OkaysobasicallyIhavethishotelandit’scalledthe’HazbinHotel’whichisforsinnerswhowantobebetterandredeemthemselvestotryand-“ You stopped her, allowing her to take a breath of air after rambling for so long. You lead her outside, finding a nearby bench to sit on. With how quickly she spoke, she needed all the ‘fresh’ air she could get right?

“Why are you speaking so quickly? Also, sinners who want to better themselves? Where would you find those?” You ask with a laugh, the same tall shadow appearing with a glass for you. Again, you sip on your drink as Charlotte collects herself together.

“Usually if I explain slowly people cut me off and I never get to finish, so I’ve gotten used to just saying everything as quickly as possible so they don’t cut me off and actually listen to what I have to say.” Charlotte says, again rather quickly. “Like I was saying; the Hazbin Hotel is a place for sinners who want to better themselves to possibly try to get into heaven through redemption, and I know what you’re thinking, we’ve all died and got sent here, but I believe people can change and that everyone deserves second chances.” Charlotte explained. She saw the look of confusion on your face, and began to speak again. “We already have two residents, who are making strides to be better people every day with group activities and I believe it’s working. If I could just get other people on board, people like you on board who actually believe in my cause, then we can get rid of extermination and maybe save some people here.” Charlotte explained. You thought for a moment, and the fact you hadn’t laughed in her face yet gave her some hope that maybe she had gotten through to you. You stood up, setting your empty glass on the tray before the shadow disappeared.

“Honestly,” You said with a sigh, looking around, your eyes landing on your shadows serving other guests. “The entire project sounds delusional.” You said sharply. Charlotte looked down at this, defeated, before standing as well.

“Well, thank you for hearing me out I guess. You’re the only other person who has aside from Alastor. So, thank you for your time.” Charlotte said, turning to walk back inside the gala, head hanging low with tears brimming her eyes. Maybe it was the connection to her mother, maybe it was because she reminded you of her mother. But, something had to change.

“I didn’t say we were done speaking Charlotte.” You said sharply again. She stopped and tensed up at that, before turning around, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek.

“W-what?” She asked. You stepped forward to her, putting your hands flat together before smoke encased them. Then seconds later it was gone, and in your hands was a white card. You handed it to her with a nod.

“It sounds delusional. But, maybe someone will like that about you.” You said. She read the card, face dropping once she realized what it meant.

“So, so I can sit with you tonight? I can pitch my idea?” She asked excitedly. You nodded, patting her shoulder.

“Yes you may. I’ll allow you to have your time. You get thirty minutes, there will be overlords and royalty there, I’m sure someone is bound to take an interest in it.” You say. Charlotte squeals excitedly before jumping up and down, clapping her hands.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so so so much!! You won’t regret this I swear!” Charlotte said, and you just nodded.

“Of course I won’t. I don’t make mistakes.” You say, before walking past her. “Oh, and thank Alastor for that. He was insistent you be present at my table tonight.” You say to her. She’s left standing outside in shock, watching as you walk back into the lobby to socialize with other guests.

It seemed Velvet had finally caught you, rushing her assistant to follow you as she made her way over to you.

“Madame, you look absolutely breathtaking tonight! Your presence here is like a beacon of individuality and charisma,” she exclaims, eyes sparkling. You look her up and down for a moment, stopping in your tracks to listen to her. Something feels, odd about this one. “I’ve been ardently following your unique style for ages, and it’s truly an honor to be in your presence. The way you effortlessly blend boldness with subtlety, it’s unparalleled, truly outstanding. Now, I’ve ventured into a daring new fashion brand, and I can’t help but envision you as the unrivaled star in my collection. Picture it: the illustrious Madame, gracing the world with a revolutionary expression of style. This would be the perfect way to make your way back into the public eye, and of course you would look ravishing doing so.” Velvet said, her assistant handing you sketches of Velvets designs, and photographs of some of her work on her models. “So, what do you say Madame? Will you be the luminary of a new era in Hell’s fashion?” Velvet says. You grow quiet for a moment. Aside from Rosie, you’ve had no other overlord come into the fashion realm, and Rosie is only partially in it as a side hustle, but everyone knows it’s your thing. The designs are things you would never wear, bold and odd colors together, like a child’s clothing line.

“Is this for children?” You ask. Velvet nearly chokes and her assistant tenses up.

“No Madame. It’s modern fashion.” Velvet says cautiously. She knows what she’s doing. Correcting you. No one ever does that. You don’t need to be corrected because you know what you’re looking at. A sad fashion designer who wants you to slap your name on her sloppy work so if it goes up in flames it’s your reputation taking the fall, not her’s.

“So all your models look like they came from a whore house? Correct?” You ask. Velvet’s jaw drops and her assistant hides a laugh. Velvet, inhaling softly, tries her hardest not to cry on the spot. You’re her idol. She can’t fuck this up.

“No Madame! Not at all!” She says, showing you a design she had made personally for you. Based on your other collections, she knows your favorite color is black, so that’s a plus. All she had to do was add a bit more, of her flair to it. It was a black jumpsuit, with a fur coat that dropped down to the knees, black with white fur around the edges of the coat and the cuffs. The sketch wasn’t half bad, and quite frankly better than the others. Maybe it was the forgiving mood Charlotte had put you in. Velvet hands you the design and you skim over it, taking in the details, the hair and eye makeup, the shoes and jewelry notes written on the side. The sketches aren’t bad, but modern fashion isn’t your fashion.

“I’ll consider it. Do you mind if I keep these?” You ask. Velvet shakes her head, handing you the folder from her assistants hands.

“Please, take whatever you’d like Madame!” Velvet says. You nod, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll hear from me soon. In the meantime, I want new sketches of these designs. Modern fashion is fast fashion. Nothing stays memorable that way. You want to be good?” You ask her, and she nods quickly. “Then be better. Modesty and elegance are what people strive for. It radiates power, and everyone is greedy for that. If you can sell that through an item, you won’t ever go out of style.” You say, handing her back the folder, keeping the sketch she’d done for you. Well, at least you liked something. Vevelt nodded her head and watched you walk away, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Um, miss?” Her assistant asked.

“What?” Velvet asked annoyingly.

“She left a card on the folder.”

At that , Velvets eyes snapped down at the folder, before she screamed in excitement. Seat number six. She was invited to your table. Mission accomplished. Now, with only six seats left to fill, you were off to talk to your other guests. The night had proved to be interesting, and you knew your encore would not disappoint.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere vox #yandere vox x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #isuckatwritingsobenice #isuckatwritingsobenice infernal shadows

3K notes · View notes

heart-of-the-morningstar · 10 months ago

Text

✨Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) x f!sinner reader Smut Masterlist✨

I thought it would be a good idea to put all of my short stories (and headcanons) for our favorite Short King in one post so they can be easily found! This will be updated if or when I write more! Thanks for all the love on these btw, I never expected this much engagement for a genre I’ve never written about, I appreciate all of you 😭💖

Headcanons

Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Headcanons

Lucifer Morningstar NSFW Alphabet

One Shots

His Queen

Opening Up

Sensitivity

Desperation

Feathers

Pretty Boy

Lucifer in Lingerie artwork by the lovely @yuckypuppie

Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal

The Engagement Ring artwork by the lovely @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis

Teasing Lucifer artwork by the lovely @bat-boness

Dress Up, Part 2: The Ceremony

Lucifer and OC Cuddling Scene artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Lucifer and Husk at the bar artwork by the lovely @luci-lover-forever

Lucifer and OC Wedding Attire artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Kiss the Bride artwork by the lovely @yourlocalcryptidbee

Lucifer Wedding Attire artwork by the lovely @bat-boness

Dress Up, Part 3: The Honeymoon

Double Trouble artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Triple Trouble artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Dress Up, Part 4: The Anniversary

Meeting with Asmodeus artwork by the lovely @luci-lover-forever

Bucking Bronco based on this Cowboy Lucifer art by the lovely @bat-boness

Behind (Not So) Closed Doors

Lead Us Into Temptation

Snake Tongue artwork by the lovely @sora-712

Falling For You (Again) - Lucifer x f!fallen angel reader

His Forbidden Fruit - Angel!Lucifer x f!Huamn Reader

Angel Lucifer artwork by the lovely @the-other-soup

Lucifer and The First Woman artwork by the lovely @sora-712

All Dolled Up

These one shots are all on my AO3 account too!

My Ko-Fi

Asks/Drabbles

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (short dialogue segments) - NSFW

Cowgirl Imp OC artwork by the lovely @fluffypinkpillows

Lucifer w/ reader who's never received oral before - NSFW

Full Body Length Mirror - NSFW

Lucifer w/ an ace/sex repulsed reader - NSFW

Lucifer w/ a virgin reader - NSFW

Foreplay w/ Lucifer - NSFW

Reader catching Lucifer touching himself to them - See "Behind (Not So) Closed Doors" for a full short story - NSFW

Lucifer w/ a devout reader (corruption kink) - See "Lead Us Into Temptation" for a full short story - NSFW

Lucifer loves reader's laugh - SFW

Lucifer w/ a shy s/o who has a hard time taking compliments - SFW

Lucifer w/ a bigger s/o - NSFW

Lucifer w/ reader who isn't as ready as previously thought - NSFW

Lucifer and the love languages- SFW

Lucifer w/ an s/o with scars - SFW

Lucifer doesn’t know he’s on a date - SFW

Lucifer in a rut - NSFW

Lucifer loses his s/o in an accident- Angst

Lucifer x reader in heat - NFSW

Lucifer x reader in his penthouse - NSFW

Lucifer tries to hide his demonic traits -Hurt/Comfort (slightly spicy)

Lucifer x reader dry humping/thigh rubbing - NSFW

Lucifer turns cockwarming against you - NSFW

Lucifer x virgin reader - Loving One Night Stand -NSFW/Slight Angst

Lucifer x Reader - Markings - NSFW

Lucifer x Insecure!Reader - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Sleep Talking - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Impatient - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Chains - NSFW

Needy Lucifer x Reader - Morning Routine - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Trapped - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Use Your Words - NSFW

Lucifer x Reader - Nowhere To Run - NSFW (Dark themes)

Lucifer x Reader - A Gift For You - NSFW

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #my writing #masterlist #ao3 #thank you guys 💖

1K notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 10 days ago

Text

Entertain Me

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,800+

Art by @skullfacedlady, who this fic is dedicated to.

Synopsis: He was bored. He was tired. He was... Lonely. What is a giant to do, but make a nuisance of himself before entertainment was given to him by the hands of the wardens who placed him in his chains. And what pretty entertainment you make for him.

Themes: Loki (Elbaf) x f!reader (no pronouns, can be read as afab), oral (reader), dub con, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+, size difference (large), dark themes (implied cannibalism).

Notes: I am in love with this terrible man.

Thump.

Rocks shook with each rolling shudder of the giant’s shoulders and spine meeting with the large boulder they were bound to. The banished prince had been placed in his cell to rot in for too long, and solitude had finally begun to consume him. He figured if he was bored, he might as well wreak havoc to the natural flora and fauna population above his confinement by causing a landslide or two with his great strength.

Or, perhaps, something could happen. Something like-... What was happening presently.

The gates of the side of his enclosure had swung wide, a body shoved in, and promptly closed and locked behind them. The smaller figure ran to the gate and screamed to let them out while rattling the bars. Their desperation caused Loki’s brow to arch beneath the bandages before he rose to take a better look at his little guest.

“Oh…? And what is this little runt…” Loki purred with the deep rumble of his thick baritone reverberating throughout the confined prison cell, “...something for me to chew on, perhaps? Something for me to eat?” In a few short strides, Loki approached, his new spark of entertainment, and crouched to bring the figure closer to his large, beaming smile.

“Come now,” he teased, leaning ever closer, “Let me take a closer look at my new little thing, hm? Step closer to me, sweet thing. Let me see what I get to pick out of my teeth later.”

You made yourself as small as you could be. Turning to face him, you sunk back into the bars of the cell and clawed at them in fear. Your hands shook in fear, alongside your lip quivering in petrification. Darting your eyes over his, you came to terms with the man that would be your death.

This was it.

This was where you would be laid to rest. Another skull that the banished prince would sit atop. Another skeleton he would use to pick his teeth with. Another snack he would consume to entertain his solitary confinement, hopefully pleasing him enough to no longer continue to cause damage to the local community above his enclosure by rattling the rockface.

“Do you not talk, little one?” He goaded you, wrapping one of his bound hands around your scantily clad body. Thick fingers easily closed in around your waist as he picked you up to bring you closer. “That's fine. You don't need to talk.” Loki hoisted you up into the air while using his other hand to rip the sheets of material covering your body.

“I just need you to scream.”

“No-!” You yelped while kicking your legs out from under you, “No! No, please-!” Tears welled in your eyes and fled over your lash line as you descended into his mouth. Helplessness overcame you as the giant lulled his tongue out and widened his jaw.

He was going to eat you. The banished prince of Elbaf was going to claim your soul and gnaw on your corpse until you perish. Loki was going to tug your limbs off and destroy the last semblance of yourself you-...

“...-Stop resisting. I'm not going to hurt you,” he barked gruffly up at you. Tugging your legs apart, he chuckled at the position of your exposed cunt quivering over his porus tongue. You shrieked as he placed you atop the slippery surface and dragged you backwards and forwards to settle you. “That's it. Little screams while you ride me.”

“W-While I what?” You scrambled forward, placing your hand on the bridge of his large nose to find ground. “W-What?”

Removing his tongue from your core, he breathed his confession into you with a smoothness you were not expecting from the giant. Careful and intimate whispers were fled from his lips like poetry recited before a betrothed lover, regardless of the content of his words.

“I want you to scream for me. A minor entertainment to me while I waste away beneath the kingdom,” he smiled while gently brushing the tip of his nose over your belly, “You can grind on my tongue and cum in my mouth, or I can fist my cock with you wrapped around it. The choice is yours, little runt. What is it going to be?”

All thoughts of prior consumption for nourishment had left your body, which was now overcome with a new unnerving curiosity. When he ripped your garments from you, you assumed it was due to digestion in his stomach acids - not to place your quivering and sensitive pussy on his body and watch you grind against it to meet your ecstasy. Absolutely not to swipe a tongue that matches the size from the top of your head to your toes, sliding seamlessly between your folds and forcing you towards your climax.

“T-... Tongue,” you whisper, turning your face away from the giant to hide your shame. He chuckled while moving to recline against the rockface he was lying bored against moments prior and settled down with you still in his grip. He took your form in a clawed grip and pressed you against his cheeks, slowly rubbing his face with your smaller frame while inhaling deeply.

“We… Are going to have so much fun together, little one,” he breathed deeply, enjoying the flush of your frightened skin against his revealed flesh, “That’s, if you do a good job.”

You shuddered, bracing your hands out in front of you to stabilise you against his face. At that expression, you gave him a puzzled look and rapidly batted your eyelashes in hasted succession.

“If I-?”

“-You are going to ride my tongue, little one,” he purred with a rasped growl in his tone, “And I am going to sit back and enjoy the show. Go on,” he rolled his shoulders against the pale boulders and lulled his head back on a nook within, “Entertain me.”

Without further warning, he thrust your body against his tongue, spreading your folds apart and dragging the porous surface against your cunt in a tentative lick. He held you firmly and adjusted your hands to perch on his nose and removed his hands completely from your body. Loki splayed himself out to the sides and focussed his breath while you steadied your mount on his tongue.

Furrowing your brows, you slowly gave a tested grind against his face, attempting to pay no mind to how large his teeth were to your much smaller frame. The fear continued to hold you back while you timidly began to rock to and fro on each follicle decorating his palate.

“Don't test me,” he growled with a muffled bark in his tone, “Ride my tongue and cum on it. Let me taste that sweetness you're hiding from me. Entertain me.” The rumble of his voice vibrated his tongue and forced a moan out of your lips at the shockwave pulsing through your body. True to form, you gripped his nose and began to form a steady rhythm grinding your pussy over his tongue.

You focussed on anything else: any other mirage your mind could focus on. Picturing your bedroom and placing a pillow between your thighs, you pretend to be back in that space against your mattress and grinding your cunt against the material. Slowly back and forward to chase the mounting pleasure of your clit caressing the cotton sheets instead of-.

“-That's it… that's it. Find that pace and ride me.”

You shook your head, finding the image of your bedroom to slowly dissipate in favor of reminding you where you truly were. You were not in your bedroom. You were not on your bed. You were not grinding your sensitive heat over a pillow and dampening it with your slick essence.

You were riding Loki, the banished prince of Elbaf, by grinding on his slippery tongue and feeling it pry your thighs apart with every thrust.

Loki’s cock lay untouched and throbbing in his pants, begging to be freed and pumped by one of his large fists. He felt the waves of lust come over him, but chose to rest his hands beside him, palms up and humble while his new little toy used him the way you pleased. Sensing the apprehension, he gave you a warning growl to refocus your momentum.

“Ride. Me.”

You gulped back your shame and bore down onto the bulbs and surface of his tongue, chasing your high and forcing yourself to focus. Do a good job, and he'll let you live. Entertain him, and he might treat you well. Cum on his tongue, give into the feeling, and feel the sparks of your muscles contract and throb against his palate.

The slippery organ began to feel good against your body. The feeling of giving yourself completely over to this primal urge caused you to cast aside all embarrassment and fear in favor of the sparks teetering in your vision. Your stomach bound in knots while your lips began to gasp and sigh softly.

“Louder.”

You flinched at the order, but obeyed the giant. Your sultry moans fled your lips while your clit dances against his muscle. Mewls and cries continued to flee you as you gripped hard on his nose. Your stomach flexed and thighs clenched around him, bucking wildly to chase that final wave as the coil inside you bound tight enough to break.

“Cum. Cum for me.”

The world split and shattered like a mirror against slate. Sparks of silver and rings of gold fizzed and erupted as your cum splashed onto his much larger tongue. You screamed out at the intensity while rocking, grinding and bucking to ride it out on your captor’s tongue - just as he had instructed you to do so.

Loki felt his cock twitch, sticky precum dampening his briefs and screaming for just a little touch. His eyes rolled back as he felt you use him completely, becoming hypnotised by the sweet melody spilling from your lips while you came hard. He could find himself coming quite accustomed to this pretty song thrust into his ears a few times a day - if not all day. Anything for a little entertainment in his captivity.

As you came down from your high against the giants tongue, you curled forward and slouched against his lips and nose. His tongue gave you a few lazy licks from ass to clit and back again to smear your slick over his to clean you. Slowly closing his lips, you felt the ridges of his smiling teeth below your spent cunt. Placing you on his upper lip, he steadied you while whispering softly up at you.

“Just you relax for a moment, little one,” he cooked at you, moving his hands over the buckles and furrs of his belt to unburden his cock from its confines, “Just you catch your breath.” He fished his achingly hard cock out of his pants and began to languidly stroke the engorged mass, smearing the precum over his shaft and chuckling as you recovered.

“We're going to have so much fun together.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

#one piece #x reader #one piece spoilers #loki x reader #op loki #elbaf loki #loki elbaf #elbaf spoilers #banished prince loki #one piece smut #prince loki

296 notes · View notes

jezebelblues · 25 days ago

Text

live on tour (interlinked) | h.s | 2

pt 1, pt 2 (complete)

summary: we don't talk about it, it's something we don't do—cause once you go without it, nothing else will do.

cw: smut18+ unprotected (piv), degradation if u squint, choking, weed, alcohol, angst, sort of a slowburn idk, fem!reader, hs1rry

word count: approx 8.8k

| okay so here’s pt 2, smuts at the end LMFAO. sorry if u hate ! tumblr (right as i’m about to post) is like sorry too many words 🤪 so i had to SPLIT anyway

masterlist

Outside, rain drizzled. The show ended an hour ago, Harry was busy with greetings and photos. She stood in the doorway of the side exit, the breeze cool and carrying the scent of wet pavement and grass.

A cigarette hung loosely between her fingers, stains of her lipstick kissed against the filter. She thought it’d quell her nausea, the pins and needles in her fingertips—but all it did was make her chest feel lighter. Everything else stayed.

She’s heard the song a thousand times, rehearsals the entire summer, soundchecks, shows. But it was different this time. He pulled her to play with him for a reason, their unspoken games—it was a message.

Her breath hitched as she jumped slightly, a gentle hand against her shoulder. It was Harry, a quiet greeting as he settled beside her, along the wall next to the door. His eyes swept over her face, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes slightly glossed over.

They had just stared at each other for a while, like their eyes held more words than their mouths could. She took her bottom lip between her teeth as she let the cigarette drift onto the gravel outside, watching the embers burn out under the rain. “Harry.” She sighed, her eyes soft, a frown on her lips. “This needs to stop.”

He leaned his head against the cement wall, his gaze unwavering. “What does?”

She swallowed hard, shifting to lean into the opposite side of the door frame facing him, the heavy door still propped open. The wind danced in her hair, goosebumps cascading down her bare arms. “Whatever this is. Us. This is just work, Harry, I don’t get it.”

“Just work?”

She paused, averting her eyes from his to glance back outside. There wasn’t much of a view, gravel, smooth pavement, a large chain-link fence that shook and sang in the wind. “I don’t get it. None of my other jobs have been like this. We tour, we play and it’s easy. Hell, half of the people on the Floyd revival were on coke and it was easier than this.”

He studied her for a moment, his breaths heavy although he tried to lighten them. His eyebrows knit together, a glint of light shimmering along the edge of his pupil that painted him a tragic work of art. “Easy.” He managed, his voice ragged, as if it was a struggle to get the words out. “This isn’t a gig, or a studio session—we’re a band. A team. It isn’t supposed to be easy.”

She clenched her jaw, snapping her eyes back to his. “Don’t. It’s not about the band, it’s about you. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“You get under my skin, Harry! And then you just fucking stay there and pick pick pick until you avoid me again.”

“You do the same!” He was exasperated, his eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “That night in Nashville. It was normal, it was easy.” He echoed the word, mocking. “And you just pushed it away. S’constantly a step fucking toward, two steps back.”

Her belly continued to twist, her frown deepening. “Cause I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”

“What I want—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair as his voice cracked slightly. “You think I know what I want? This isn’t exactly easy for me either, YN.”

The admission stunned her into silence, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.

For a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else—something raw and vulnerable—but it disappeared just as quickly, replaced by his usual guarded expression. “You’re not the only one trying to figure this out.”

The silence between them thickened, pressing down like the weight of the rain-soaked clouds above. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What was there to say?

Harry pushed off the wall, his movements deliberate but tense, his eyes still locked on her. For a moment, it looked like he might step closer, might reach for her, but his hands stayed stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

“You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse, like it hurt to say the words. “You think I’m trying to mess with you? I’m just—” He stopped, jaw tightening as he looked away, toward the gravel outside. His hand raked through his hair again, his frustration palpable.

She crossed her arms tighter, trying to shield herself from the chill in the air—or maybe from him. “Then what? What are you just, Harry? Because all I see is you dragging me into something I didn’t ask for, and then acting like I’m the one making it difficult.”

His head snapped back toward her, a spark of anger flaring in his eyes. “You think I wanted this? You think I planned for this?” He motioned vaguely between them, his voice rising just enough to make her flinch. “Do you know how easy it’d be for me to just… not? To let this all go?”

“Then why don’t you?” she shot back, her voice sharp as she straightened up, uncrossing her arms.

The question hung in the air like a dare, but Harry didn’t take it. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but whatever it was, he swallowed it down. Instead, he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looked away again. “That’s the thing,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost to himself. “I don’t know how.”

Her chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking into her ribs. But she refused to let him see the crack in her armor. She turned her face toward the rain, her jaw clenched, her breaths slow and measured.

“Well, maybe you should figure it out,” she said, her voice quieter but no less sharp. “Because I can’t keep doing this with you.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. His shoulders rose and fell with a deep, uneven breath, his face unreadable as he started to turn. “Fine,” he said, the word clipped, bitter. “Guess I’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t look back as he walked down the narrow hallway, out to wherever he was going.

She stayed frozen in the doorway, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her heart pounding too loud in the quiet. The door swung slightly with the wind, creaking on its hinges as she leaned against the frame.

She bit down hard on her lip, a sharp pang of regret bubbling up inside her, but she shoved it down, stuffing it into the same corner where all the other unspoken things between them lived.

The cigarette embers had long since faded, leaving only the faint smell of ash and rain.

Once you go without it, nothing else will do.

The bassline thumped steadily, drowning out conversation and vibrating through the floor of the packed venue. Laughter spilled over from corners where small groups huddled close, their faces flushed with warmth and the buzz of alcohol. Fairy lights strung haphazardly along the ceiling flickered, giving the room an ethereal glow that blurred edges and softened harsh lines. It was October second, a free evening before they had to start gearing up for Toronto, and they had found themselves at this party—an impromptu gathering of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

They had a few days to rest before they geared up for the Toronto show.

YN moved through the throng like a thread of color in an otherwise monotone fabric. Her dress clung to her in all the right places, its silky material catching the light with every movement. Her makeup was immaculate, her lips a striking shade that dared anyone to look away. Heads turned as she passed, her heels clicking faintly against the hardwood floor beneath the relentless pulse of the music.

Across the room, Harry caught the glance of a mutual friend before his gaze settled on her. She hadn’t noticed him yet—or perhaps she was pretending not to. That had been their dynamic since the DC show—stolen glances, sharp words, and an undercurrent of something unresolved that simmered just below the surface. Tonight wasn’t much different. If she felt his eyes on her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she let herself be led toward the bar by a guy whose name she couldn’t quite recall but whose interest in her was overtly clear.

Leo—or maybe it was Geo— was tall, broad-shouldered, with a smooth voice and easy laugh. He leaned in close, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm as he spoke, and her lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t that she found him unappealing—he was attractive enough, charming in a way that was disarming—but she was using him. His attention was a distraction, a convenient shield from the simmering tension she refused to address. She wasn’t about to let Harry consume her thoughts tonight.

“Another drink?” Leo–Geo asked, his voice warm against her ear.

She nodded, watching as he flagged down the bartender and ordered for her. When the drink came, he handed it to her, his fingers grazing hers deliberately. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into him, tilting her head to laugh at something he said. She wasn’t entirely listening, but it didn’t matter. She let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor, where the music was louder and the lights flashed in dizzying patterns.

His hands found her waist as they swayed together, the rhythm of the music guiding their movements. She felt his breath against her skin as he leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. It was easy, his touch, his attention. It dulled the edges of her thoughts, made the heat of Harry’s gaze on her back easier to ignore.

For a moment, she let herself get lost in it.

But Harry was watching. He stood near the edge of the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. The muscles in his jaw worked as he watched her laugh at something the other man said, her hand brushing lightly against the stranger’s chest. His stomach twisted, anger and something else—something sharper, more possessive—flaring within him. He told himself to leave it alone, to let her do what she wanted. But then he saw them moving toward the door, her hand loosely clasped in the other man’s.

Something in him snapped.

He moved quickly, weaving through the crowd with single-minded determination. She didn’t see him coming, not until his hand closed around her arm in a firm grip.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the anger in it.

She froze, her wide eyes meeting his for the first time all night. Her companion, caught off guard, let go of her hand and stepped back.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her voice laced with irritation.

“I said, what the hell are you doing?” he repeated, his grip on her arm tightening slightly.

“Let go of me, Harry,” she snapped, tugging her arm free. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her a step closer, his green eyes boring into hers.

“Do you even know his name?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

Her lips parted, but no answer came. She didn’t know his name, and they both knew it.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry muttered, his jaw clenched. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”

“Harry what—no!” Her voice was louder now, drawing a few curious glances from the people around them. “You don’t get to decide what I do.”

He only ignored her.

“Harry—”

“Go,” Harry said sharply, cutting her off as he turned his attention to the other man. “Now.”

The man hesitated, glancing between them before holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, mate. She’s all yours.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them alone in a small bubble of tension that felt ready to burst.

“Are you happy now?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger, eyes threatening to gloss over.

“You were about t’leave with a stranger,” he said, his voice still low but tinged with frustration.

“So what if I was? What does it matter to you?”

“It—“ He paused, voice barely above a whisper. His hand finally dropped from her arm, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. “Forget it, YN.”

The music pounded around them, but neither of them moved. The weight of his words hung heavy between them, unspoken things simmering just below the surface. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

And then, abruptly, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the crowded room, her heart racing and her mind spinning.

After a while, she found her way back to the bar. YN perched on the edge of a high stool, her fingers wrapped around the cold glass of a freshly poured Midori Sour. She wasn’t sure why she kept ordering them—maybe because they were sweet enough to soften the edges of her mood. Maybe because the tang of melon lingered on her tongue in a way she liked. Or maybe because she knew it annoyed him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harry approaching, his strides long and purposeful, the faint clink of his rings catching her attention before anything else. He stopped beside her, leaning against the bar with an infuriating casualness, his profile sharp under the low-hanging lights.

“Another one of those?” he asked, his voice low but distinctly mocking. He gestured toward her drink with a tilt of his head. “You’ve got the palate of a teenager.”

YN didn’t even glance at him. “And you’ve got the personality of a Jack and Coke. Bitter, basic, and way too predictable.”

The bartender chuckled as he slid Harry’s drink across the counter. Harry’s lips twitched at the corners, not quite a smile but enough to tell her her barb had landed.

“Predictable, am I?” he asked, lifting his glass to his lips. His voice was softer now, dangerous in the way it dripped with quiet confidence. “At least I’m not clinging to a sugar high like I’m at prom.”

YN finally turned her head, meeting his gaze dead-on. Those green eyes of his were sharper than the whiskey he was sipping, and the way they pinned her in place made her chest tighten—not that she’d ever admit it.

“At least I’m not controlling your night to avoid saying what I really want to say,” she shot back, her voice steady but low, just for him.

Harry blinked, his brows raising slightly in surprise before he composed himself. He set his glass down on the counter, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And what exactly is it you think I’m hiding?”

The word love slid off his tongue like a taunt, curling around her like smoke. It wasn’t affectionate—it was a challenge, one that dared her to push back. And god, did she want to push back.

YN leaned in too, her face just close enough to his that she could smell the whiskey on his breath, warm and heady. “I think you’ve got a lot of things you don’t say out loud,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise of the bar. “But don’t worry, Harry. I’m not dying to know.”

The tension between them was suffocating now, thick and electric. She saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed against his glass like he was resisting the urge to reach for her instead. Her pulse hammered in her throat, each beat daring her to stay in this dangerous little game they’d started.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” Harry said finally, his voice like velvet lined with steel. “But you’re wrong, YN. Dead wrong.”

Her name on his lips was her undoing. She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag and tossing a few bills on the counter. “Why are you here again, Harry?” She muttered, “Your jealousy, which you refuse to admit, is insufferable. You ruined my night and I want to drink.”

Silence.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing this.” Her voice was low, laced in anger as she spun on her heel and headed toward the back of the bar where the restrooms were tucked away.

But of course, he followed.

She could hear him behind her, the weight of his footsteps matching the rhythm of her pounding heart. She ignored him, turning a tight corner.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he shouted, his voice low and gravelly. He was close—too close—and she could feel the heat radiating off him, suffusing her skin like a fever.

“Go away, Harry,” she said through clenched teeth, still nearing the bathroom doors that seemed to get farther and farther away with every step she took.

He stepped in front of her, one large step he made quickly and without effort. “Not until you tell me what your problem is,” he snapped. His hands smacking against the walls abruptly, caging her in. His chest was barely an inch from her back, and she could feel the way his breath hitched, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

YN whirled around, forcing him to step back just enough to meet her glare. “My problem?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to cut. “My problem is you. You’ve been a thorn in my side since June, and I’m sick of it. Sick of the looks, the comments, the—”

“The what?” Harry interrupted, his voice rising. “The fact that I actually give a shit about what you’re doing? The fact that I care if you’re about to make a mistake?”

“A mistake?” she echoed, her eyes blazing. “What the hell do you care if I—”

“What was his name, YN?” He spit, an echo from earlier, nostrils flared and jaw tight. He already knew the answer, she didn’t know.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her anger to a low simmer. “Fuck you.”

They didn’t just hold each other’s gaze. They gripped it. Like a rope stretched between them, fraying under the strain. Her scoff sliced the moment clean, and she ducked under his arm, her stride sharp, deliberate, toward the bathroom door.

Her fingers curled around the knob, twisting it with the kind of force that spoke louder than words. The door swung open, her heels clicking against the tile, a precise rhythm against the muted bass thumping somewhere beyond the purple-painted walls. She spun, gripping the edge of the door, and shoved it back with all the fury her body could muster. But it didn’t slam. It hit something solid—a thud, then a jolt.

His hand, metal rings against wood.

The door ricocheted toward her before she even registered what had happened. He stepped in, the breadth of him filling the space, his palm swallowing the knob as he pushed it shut behind him. The twist of the lock was a gunshot in the silence, louder than the music bleeding through the cracks.

“Are you fucking serious?” Her voice was a hiss, low and venomous, the kind of sound that cut through everything. Her chest heaved, each breath shallow and sharp, the thin sheen of sweat glinting along her collarbone like glass shards catching the light.

The room was alive, though barely. A flickering bulb above them glowed warm and harsh, its glass casing distorting the light into fractured halos. Yet, there were blues bleeding from LED's in the corner, washing them in warmth and cobalt—fire and ice.

His gaze dragged down her body like he couldn’t stop himself, like she was a work of art, damning and divine all at once. She was something out of a fever dream—wild, furious, her beauty distorted by the tension in the air. “We didn’t get to finish.”

Her laugh came hard and bitter, her nostrils flaring as she raked her fingers through her hair. “Finish what? This?” She threw her hands out, exasperation dripping from every gesture. “This isn’t fucking worth it!”

But he wasn’t looking at her hands. His eyes were on her lips, her eyes, back to her lips—then lower. Her chest, rising and falling. Anger looked good on her, he thought. Anger looked good enough to ruin him. “You didn’t hear me,” he said, quieter this time.

He stepped closer, and the air between them shifted. Compressed. Heavy. Her back hit the wall before she realized she’d even moved, the cool tile shocking against the heat rolling off her skin. She pressed her palms flat against it as though the room was tilting, threatening to spill her out into some uncharted void.

He loomed over her—it was foreboding, yet, it made a heat pool between her thighs.

“Get out.” She murmured, but her voice cracked under the weight of her own trembling breath. There was no steel in the words. Only rust.

“Say it like you mean it.” His voice was smoke, burning slow and low, roughened edges catching on her nerves. He was too close now, close enough that she could smell him—whiskey and spearmint, aftershave, and something deeper, earthier. The heat of him radiated against her skin.

Her eyes darted to his mouth, to the thin line of his jaw, then lower—to the silver chain around his neck. The pendant at the center gleamed faintly, catching the light like a drop of molten metal. It glimmered orange, blue—a ripple in the ocean bathed in harvest moon. “Harry—” she started, his name trembling on her lips.

But before she could say more, his mouth was on hers.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was raw, like barbed wire snapping, cutting deep and fast. She gasped against him, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into her fists as if to keep herself upright. His body molded into hers, chest to chest, hip to hip, the press of him heavy and solid and absolutely inescapable.

“I hate you,” she muttered, the words breaking into his mouth, dancing onto his tongue. Her fingers were already tugging at the buttons of his shirt, feverish and clumsy, her frustration bleeding into every movement.

He moaned into her, guttural, reverberating from the bottom of his throat. “I know.” He breathed, his lips brushing along her jaw, down her neck.

Her head tipped back, hitting the tile with a soft thud, her hands shoving his shirt open. Her fingers traced his chest, dragging across the heat of his skin. “Fuck—you’re an asshole.” She bit out, her voice shaking with something between anger and desperation.

His lips curved into a crooked smile, amusement tugging at the edges even as his breath hitched. “Keep going,” he urged, his words strained but teasing, his hands finding the curve of her waist. His grip was firm, grounding her as if the tension might otherwise consume them both.

Her mouth crashed against his again, this time harder, rougher. Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging like she wanted to hurt him, to punish him for every maddening, chaotic feeling he’d pulled out of her. Every shiver. Every breath. Every ache.

“I hate how much I want this,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with something raw and unfiltered.

“Yeah?” He sighed, his lips brushing hers, his voice cracked and ragged. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking with hers, his gaze searing. “Hate me all you want, but you’re not stopping. Are you?”

Her only response was another kiss, pulling him closer, harder, until the line between them blurred. Until all the anger, the longing, the fire consuming them burned the world around them into ash.

Her fingers found his belt with a kind of determination that burned. Leather sliding through brass, sharp and deliberate. Her nails scraped his stomach as she pushed the belt free, her movements jerky, impatient. Every tug of her hands felt like a challenge, every drag of her fingers against his skin like she wanted to leave a mark.

"You think this is gonna fix anything?" she spat, her voice low and trembling, caught somewhere between anger and something that tasted sweeter. Bitter edges trying to cut through the heat swelling between them.

"Never said it would," he murmured, his voice rough, a rasp that settled low in her chest. His hands were already under her dress, sliding up the backs of her thighs. His grip was firm, too tight, bruising—like he was trying to make sure she wouldn't slip away.

When he bunched the fabric over her hips, the sound of it pulling free from her skin filled the air between them.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" she bit out, her words sharp and breathless, her desire, her anger tearing through her. Her hands shoved his pants down, knuckles brushing against him in a way that made her stomach twist.

His laugh was dark, rasping out like a rough scrape of metal. "Says the one tearing my clothes off."

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her even as she glared up at him. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Sure, it doesn't." His words dripped with mockery—a blade under silk. His mouth brushed against her neck now, teeth grazing her skin. "Keep saying it, YN. You're real convincing."

Her head tipped back as he bit at her skin, the scrape of his teeth followed by the heat of his tongue. "You're so fucking–“ she started, but her words dissolved into a sharp gasp when his hand slid between her thighs, dragging over the thin barrier of lace that still clung to her.

"What was that?" He hummed, his tone laced with dark amusement, his fingers pressing into her just enough to make her hips roll forward, chasing him. "Didn't quite catch it."

"Don't," she managed, though her voice wavered, her breath catching as he moved against her again, more deliberate this time.

"Don't what?" he teased, his lips brushing her ear now, his free hand gripping her thigh and pulling it higher around his waist. His body pressed against hers, the hard line of him undeniable, the heat radiating off him making her skin burn. "Don't stop? Don't touch you?"

Her hands tangled in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth. "Don't act like you have the upper hand," she shot back, though her voice was shaking, her chest rising and falling against his as though the air between them had thinned.

His laugh rumbled against her skin, low and rough. "Petal, l've had the upper hand since the second you let me touch you."

"You're delusional," she snarled, but her body betrayed her again, arching into him as his fingers slipped beneath the lace, her cunt slick with arousal. A broken sound escaped her throat, and her nails dragged across his scalp.

"Yeah?" he breathed, his voice darker now, tinged with something ragged, unsteady. His lips caught the corner of her jaw, moving toward her mouth but stopping just short. "Then why are you shaking?"

"God, you're insufferable."

"And you're not going anywhere.” Harry's hands found her waist with the kind of grip that could bruise, his fingers digging in as he spun her around without warning. The breath caught in her throat as her body collided with the edge of the sink counter, her palms bracing against the cool marble.

She caught his eyes in the mirror, dark and feral, locked on her like she was prey.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice low and rough, like gravel scraping the edges of his throat. His hands moved to her hips, holding her still as he pressed himself against her. The solid heat of him burned through the fabric separating them, and she bit down hard on her lip to stop the sound threatening to escape. "Desperate for it, huh?”

"No.” she quipped, but her voice wasn't as sharp as she wanted it to be. Her reflection gave her away—her lips parted, her chest heaving, her thighs trembling just enough to notice. "You're so goddamn cocky. It's disgusting."

He ignored her, or maybe he loved it—she couldn't tell. His hands left her hips briefly, his fingers moving to his slacks, shoving them all the way down in a rough, impatient motion. The sound of the fabric brushing against his legs filled the space between them, quick and deliberate.

Harry's hand slid up her front, rough but with ease, fingers curling under her chin. His grip was firm, enough to keep her still, his thumb brushing just once over the edge of her jaw before tilting her head up. The mirror stared back at her, unforgiving and vivid, and his chest pressed hard against her back, pinning her in place. "Eyes up," he muttered, low and commanding, his breath hot against the side of her neck.

His fingers flexed under her chin, urging her gaze to meet their reflection. "You're gonna watch, yeah? Gonna see exactly what I do to you."

She didn't answer—couldn't. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her body shivered under his touch.

His free hand slid lower, over her stomach, down between her thighs, where his fingers paused, resting just above where she needed him most.

He tutted, staring her reflection down. "Dripping mess already." He smiled, slow and wicked, his lips brushing her ear. "You think that guy could do this to you? Hm? Think he could get you this wet?"

"Shut up," she bit out, though her voice lacked conviction, trembling just like the rest of her. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white against the cool marble, desperate for something solid to hold on to.

Harry's laugh was dark, rich, vibrating against her back. "That's not a no.” He drawled, dragging his fingers down, brushing over her slick folds in a featherlight touch that made her legs shake. "What is it, then? You just don't wanna admit it?"

"Admit what?" she shook, her tone sharp, though her hips betrayed her by rolling forward, chasing his hand.

"That no one else could make y’feel like this." His fingers pressed in harder now, slow and teasing as they circled her clit. His other hand kept her chin steady, forcing her to watch as his fingers moved, dragging against her in slow, maddening circles. "Look at you, YN. Fucking dripping for me. You see that?"

Her eyes flicked to the mirror, catching the way his hand disappeared between her thighs, the glint of wetness coating his fingers as they moved. Her cheeks flushed hot, but she couldn't tear her gaze away, her body betraying her with every soft sound slipping from her lips.

"Harry—“ she gasped, but her voice broke into a moan as he pressed his fingers harder, rolling them against her with deliberate pressure.

"There she is," he smiled, his tone mocking but warm, like he'd been waiting for her to break. "That's it. Don't hold back. I want you t’hear yourself, yeah? Want to know what y’sound like when it's me making you fall apart."

Her hands shook against the counter, nails digging into the marble as his fingers slowed again, agonizingly teasing. Her body jerked, desperate for more, and he smiled, smug and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

"H, please–“ she whined, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"Please, what?" he tutted, his voice dropping lower, rougher. His fingers dragged down, slipping inside her cunt just enough to make her gasp, then pulling out again. "Use your words, YN. Tell me what y’need."

"I hate you," she muttered, but it sounded hollow, the tremble in her voice giving her away entirely.

"Not what I asked," he growled, and his teeth scraped against the curve of her shoulder, a sharp bite that made her head snap back. His fingers pressed into her again, this time deeper, curling just right, and a loud moan broke free from her chest, her body arching against him.

"Look at that," he whispered, his hand still steady on her chin, holding her in place. "Look at you, petal. Such a pretty little slut for me." His thumb brushed over her clit now, slow but deliberate, and her hips rocked into him, chasing every movement. "You like watching, don't you? Like seeing what I do t’you."

Her only answer was another moan, louder this time, her lips parting as her head fell forward—but his hand caught her, tilting her chin back up. "No," he murmured, soft but firm. "Keep watching."

Her reflection burned into her vision—the way her mouth hung open, her cheeks flushed and glowing, her body pressed tight against his. The sight of his fingers moving, disappearing into her before dragging back out, glistening with her arousal.

"Good girl.” He breathed, his voice rough now, almost reverent. His free hand slid to her hip, holding her steady as he shifted behind her, his body pressing closer. "Now, keep your eyes on me. I'm not done with you yet."

Harry's fingers slid out of her slowly, teasing the slick heat between her thighs, a deliberate rhythm that left her trembling. The pressure was enough to keep her on edge, never enough to tip her over.

Every moan she tried to swallow only fueled him, and he made sure she knew it. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his voice a low rasp against her ear. "Falling apart on my fingers, and I haven't even fucked you yet.“

"Shut up," she breathed, but the bite in her tone was fading, her resolve crumbling with every slow, maddening drag of his fingers. Her thighs quivered, her knees barely holding her upright, and her hands gripped the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Thought so," he said, smug and soft, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a wicked grin. His thumb circled her clit, slow and firm, drawing a whimper from her lips she couldn't hold back. "No one else knows how to ruin you, do they?"

Her body jerked against him, hips pressing into his hand despite the defiance still burning in her eyes. She wanted to tell him off, to push him away, but her voice broke every time she tried, each sound melting into a moan.

"Thought you were tougher than this," he taunted, his breath hot against her neck, his chest firm against her back. "Guess I was wrong. Just a mess for me, aren't you?"

Her head tipped forward, a choked sound escaping her throat, but his hand was there again, his fingers curling under her chin, tilting her face up to meet the mirror. "Uh-uh," he snapped. "Don’t let me see you do that again.”

Her reflection was a blur of flushed skin and trembling limbs. Her lips were parted, swollen and wet, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

His chest, exposed by the open shirt still hanging from his shoulders, pressed against her back, radiating heat. The sight of his hand moving between her legs, glistening with her arousal, was almost too much to bear.

"Harry—" she gasped, her voice cracking, her fingers gripping the sink harder, her knuckles white against the marble.

"Say my name again," he growled, his tone dark and dangerous, his fingers pressing deeper, drawing a broken moan from her lips. "Go on, petal. Let’s hear it.”

Just as her hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, he pulled his fingers away, leaving her empty and trembling. She let out a frustrated whimper, her nails biting into the counter's edge, but before she could snap at him, his hand slid to her throat, curling around it in one firm, possessive grip.

"Patience,” he murmured, though his tone dripped with mockery, his lips grazing the curve of her jaw as he pulled her tighter against him. "Want it so bad? I'll give it to you, but you better fucking take it."

She felt him behind her, his hard cock pressing insistently against her, the rough fabric of his boxers catching on her skin before she shoved them down. The anticipation coiled tight in her stomach, her breath hitching as he pushed them down just enough to free himself.

His free hand guided himself to her, dragging the head of his cock along her slick folds, slow and deliberate, just to make her squirm. He laughed when her hips rolled back against him, desperate for more.

"So fucking needy. Bet you'd beg for it if I made you."

She gasped, her voice shaking as her body pressed into his.

The words caught in her throat, tangled with the moan that escaped when he finally moved, thrusting into her with one hard, unrelenting motion. A cry tore from her lips, loud and unrestrained, her body arching against him as he filled her completely. He groaned low in her ear, his hand on her throat steadying her, his other hand gripping her hip so tightly it felt like he was branding her.

The stretch was slow, deliberate, the sharpness of it stealing the breath from her lungs as he filled her inch by inch. “So fucking tight—y’feel that? How perfect y’are for me?”

Her nails scratched against the smooth marble as he moved, each thrust deep and deliberate, pulling sounds from her she couldn't control. Her body arched into him, her head tipping back against his shoulder, her resolve finally shattering. "God, you're so fucking good like this," he rasped, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Taking me so well. Look at yourself, angel. Look how fucking gorgeous y’are right now."

Her eyes fluttered open, catching their reflection again—her body against his, his shirt hanging loose on his frame, his hands commanding her as though she was his entirely. The sight burned into her, sending heat pooling low in her belly, her thighs trembling as he kept pushing her further and further.

And despite everything—her anger, her pride, her sharp tongue—she couldn't hold back the moans spilling from her lips, louder now, desperate and broken, as her body gave in to him completely.

Harry didn't ease up, not for a second. Each thrust was deep, rough, his grip on her hips bruising as he yanked her back into him, forcing her to take every inch. The slap of skin on skin echoed in the small room, mingling with her ragged breaths and broken moans, her body arching under his hands like it was built for this, for him.

"Love this cock, don’t you?" he growled, his voice gravel and heat, his chest pressing harder into her back. "Like how I fucking ruin you?"

"Please," she bit out, her voice sharp, defiant, even as it fell out as a moan. Her fingers clawed at the sink counter, nails scratching the smooth surface as her legs quivered beneath her. But still, she smirked, tilting her head just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror. "I’ve been fucked harder.”

Harry's laugh was low, a sound that rolled through her chest. "You're really gonna start with that?" he grunted, his voice a rasp of rough edges and heat. His hand slid up her back, the weight of it pushing her down until her cheek brushed the counter. The angle shifted, sharper now, and when he thrust again, a cry ripped from her lips before she could choke it back.

"And there it is," he moaned, his tone mocking, pleased. "That shut you up quick, didn't it?"

But she didn't give in. She never did. Her smirk twisted into something sharper, her breath coming in uneven bursts as she rolled her hips back against him just to prove she could. "Yeah," she slurred, her voice thick, daring. "What a waste–“ she paused, a moan emitting from the top of her throat. “–of a cock if–“ another pause, “if–if you fuck like this.”

His thrusts faltered, just for a moment—a slip that was more telling than anything he could've said. She'd gotten to him, and the flash of frustration in his eyes was enough to make her smirk widen.

"You just don't know when to shut that mouth, do you?" he snarled, his voice dripping with tension as he stilled entirely, his chest heaving against her back.

"Guess not," she shot back, her tone cutting despite the quiver in her thighs. "Maybe you're not man enough to–“

Before she could finish, his hand left her back, gripping her throat as he yanked her back up toward his chest again. He found her jaw with a force that made her gasp. His grip was firm, commanding, as his fingers pressed into her cheeks, forcing her mouth open.

"Open," he ordered, his tone low and unrelenting, the kind that left no room for argument. When she hesitated—just for a second—his grip tightened, his gaze locking hers in the mirror. "I said open."

Her lips parted, her glare defiant even as she obeyed.

"See? You do listen," he muttered, his lips curving into a wicked grin. His index and middle finger slid past her lips, pressing down hard on her tongue. Her eyes widened slightly, a muffled protest bubbling in her throat, but he just smirked. "That's better. Quiet suits you, angel."

Her teeth grazed his knuckles, her tongue squirming under the weight of his fingers, but she couldn't pull away—not while he still held her jaw firmly in place. His hips moved again, hard and unforgiving, each thrust making her body jerk forward against the sink.

He moaned, watching their reflection like it was some kind of twisted masterpiece. "Still trying t’fight me, even now. Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

She glared at him in the mirror, her teeth biting down lightly on his fingers just to prove she still could. "Go on," he sighed, his tone amused as his fingers pressed down harder, making her gag slightly. "Bite me. Won't change a damn thing.”

Her body betrayed her-again. Her moans, muffled by his hand, spilled out in broken fragments, her hips pushing back to meet his thrusts even as her mind screamed at her to resist. The tears stinging her eyes weren't from pain, but from the overwhelming heat building low in her belly, threatening to swallow her whole.

He grunted, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers slid from her mouth, wet and slick—a mess of whimpers and moans escaping with it. "That's what you sound like when I've got y’completely undone. Maybe next time, think twice before y’run your mouth."

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but it never made it past her lips. Not with the way he pulled her against him, harder, faster, his hand returning to her throat, keeping her flush against his chest.

Her hands left the edge of the sink, trembling as they reached up to find him. She gripped his forearm, her nails digging into his skin, desperate to feel the solid strength beneath her fingers. Her body jolted with every thrust, her movements uncoordinated, but her claws pressed hard enough to leave marks she knew he'd see tomorrow.

Harry didn't flinch. If anything, her desperation only made him smirk. His hand on her throat stayed steady, holding her firm, keeping her close. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the coiled strength under her palms, and she knew he wouldn't drop her. No matter how rough he got, no matter how far he pushed, he had her.

He growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice as rough as the pace of his hips slamming into her. "You begging for more?"

Her nails dragged down his forearm, leaving a trail of red crescents in their wake. She gasped, head tipping back against his shoulder, her teeth catching her bottom lip as a moan slipped free before she could stop it. "You'll tire out before I do."

His grip on her throat tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her feel it, to keep her grounded against him. His other hand slid down her stomach, fingers pressing between her thighs again, circling her clit.

"Feel that?" he muttered, dragging his fingers in slow, deliberate circles, contrasting with the brutal rhythm of his hips. "That's not me getting tired, petal. That's me making sure you'll remember this tomorrow."

Her nails clawed deeper into his forearm, and her hips bucked forward, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation only to slam back into him. Her mind was fogged with heat, her body trembling under the dual assault of his fingers and the relentless thrusts that sent shocks up her spine.

"Fuck, Harry," she whimpered, her voice breaking in a way she hated, in a way he loved.

"That's it," he grunted, almost tenderly, though his actions were anything but. His lips brushed her temple, a cruel contrast to the way he dragged her closer to the edge.

Her grip on his forearm tightened, her nails biting into his skin hard enough to draw a hiss from his lips. But he didn't pull back. He wouldn't. His hold stayed firm, steady, a constant against the chaos he was dragging her through.

"You're so fucking close," he growled, his voice dark and ragged, his lips kissing her temple.

Her head fell further into his shoulder, her lips parted in a choked moan. The mirror showed everything—the way her body arched, her dress bunched high around her hips, his hand between her thighs. The sight of his fingers working her, his other hand wrapped firm around her throat, holding her steady as he pounded into her, was too much. It was filthy, mesmerizing. It was them.

"You're beautiful like this," he muttered, his breath hot against her cheek, his voice shaking with the effort to hold himself back. "Fucking perfect.”

Her hands clawed at his forearm, her nails raking over his skin as her body tensed, her thighs quivering against his. A sharp cry tore from her lips, unrestrained, as the tension inside her snapped all at once, her release washing over her in waves.

He slowed his movements just enough to drag it out, his fingers never stopping. His thrusts turned deep, deliberate, milking every last tremor from her body. "Good girl—just like that."

Her breath came in short, broken gasps, her body slackening in his arms as her hands slipped from his forearm to brace herself against the sink again. But Harry wasn't done—not yet.

His hand slid from her neck, resting briefly on her back to steady her as he pulled out. His release was a low growl, heavy with restraint, as he bent her forward over the sink again, her cheek pressing against the cool marble.

His hands tugged the bunched fabric of her dress, pushing it higher until it gathered at the small of her back.

She heard the wet sound of his hand stroking himself, the heat of him close enough to feel but just out of reach. He cursed under his breath, his voice rough and raw, his pace quickening as his own release built.

"Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his eyes glued to her reflection. His free hand slid down her back, his touch possessive, reverent.

The first hot spurt of his release hit the small of her back, a low groan tearing from his throat as he finished, his hand working himself through the aftershocks. He stayed there for a moment, his breath ragged, his chest heaving, the sight of her still bent over the sink keeping him rooted.

Harry let out a long exhale, his hand sliding up her spine in a firm, grounding touch as he leaned over her, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

The air felt thick now, heavy with the remnants of what just happened. The muffled bass of the music outside thumped distantly, but the bathroom was silent aside from their labored breaths. Neither of them spoke.

Harry stepped back, his hands dragging over her hips as if reluctant to let her go, before he turned his attention to himself. He pulled his slacks back up, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet, followed by the faint clink of his belt as he buckled it.

She stayed bent over the sink for a moment longer, her forehead pressed against the cool surface, her chest heaving as she tried to steady herself. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her back, but she didn't dare look up. Not yet.

Harry moved to the paper towel dispenser, yanking a mess of them free without a word. He returned to her, his footsteps deliberate, and she startled slightly at the first cool touch of the towel against her skin. He didn't say anything as he wiped her clean, his movements uncharacteristically gentle now, precise, careful, like he was undoing what had been rough and unforgiving moments ago.

When he finished, he tossed the crumpled towels into the trash. His hands returned to her thighs, sliding the lace of her panties back up, his fingers brushing against her skin as he smoothed them into place. He let his fingers linger there for a moment, his thumbs grazing the red marks he'd left behind on her hips.

Her thighs bore the shape of his hands, faint but unmistakable, and when she finally straightened and caught herself in the mirror, she saw the full extent of it. Her skin was marked—her throat faintly bruised from his grip, hickeys scattered along her neck and collarbone like splashes of color against her flushed skin. The swell of her hips ached where his fingers had dug in, and she knew the prints he'd left would bloom darker by morning.

The silence in the room wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, suffocating, a tension neither of them knew how to cut. Harry leaned against the wall like it was holding him up, his head tilted back, his shirt hanging open, and his chest still heaving like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. The air felt different now—charged and heavy, yet hollow at the same time.

She stared at him for a moment, at the way his jaw was clenched tight, his gaze fixed somewhere else. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something quieter, something guarded. He didn’t move to fix his shirt, didn’t even glance at the mirror to see what a wreck he looked like.

She didn’t think before stepping forward, her hands finding the loose edges of his shirt. His eyes flicked down to her, dark and unreadable, but he didn’t stop her. She tugged the fabric into place, smoothing it over his shoulders before starting on the buttons, working her way down.

Her fingers brushed against his skin, still warm from her touch, but she didn’t let herself think about it—couldn’t. The weight of what they’d just done hung between them, heavy and unspoken, something that felt too big, too raw to touch.

He stayed still, watching her, his arms limp at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to move. Like touching her again might unravel everything.

She didn’t dare look at him, her gaze focused on her hands as she reached the last button. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed the fabric flat, brushing out the wrinkles before finally stepping back.

They didn’t speak.

They wouldn’t speak.

It was something they didn’t do—not about this.

Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy, her pulse still racing from the way he’d made her feel. She smoothed her hands over her dress again, though it was already straight. The mirror behind her caught their reflection—two people standing too close but pretending the distance was enough.

Her lips parted, maybe to say something, maybe to breathe, but nothing came out. She glanced up, catching his gaze for the briefest second before dropping it again.

His chest rose and fell in uneven beats, and when he finally pushed off the wall, his fingers brushing through his hair, he let out a long, shaky exhale.

We don’t talk about it.

The words sunk into the hollow space between them like a quiet truth neither of them would ever admit out loud.

It’s something we don’t do.

Because if they did—if they said it, defined it, made it real—there’d be no going back.

And that terrified her almost as much as the thought of losing this, losing him.

Harry moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for the door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand on the handle, his head tipping forward as though he might say something. But he didn’t.

She watched him go, her stomach twisting in ways she couldn’t untangle.

Once you go without it, nothing else will do.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles angst

369 notes · View notes

brummiereader · 7 months ago

Text

Uptown Girl

(Masterlist)

Summary: A woman from high society, never needing or wanting for anything. Your world of jewels and silk gowns comes crashing down around you when your father's mounting gambling debts catch up with him, and he is forced to relinquish your home Arrow House before his untimely death to his biggest creditor, Tommy Shelby. But with your name on the deeds, and the land of your childhood home your only bargaining source of income to escape the union arranged since your birth to a monster of a man from your own class. You make your intentions of staying put stubbornly known to the Birmingham gang leader, as you clutch to your only remaining hope of freedom from the inevitable chains of a violent marriage. With neither one of you willing to budge on the matter until the iron clad documents of Arrow House are reviewed, you are both begrudgingly left without any other choice but to live together. What will become of your unusual living situation with the notorious gangster, and the arranged marriage you want to be free from? A way out, friendship, lust...love? One thing is certain. Tommy Shelby's abrupt appearance into your life will open your curious eyes to a whole other world that had been shielded from you since the day of your noble birth.

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff, mutual pining, smut, domestic violence, mentions of suicide, violence

Authors Note: I basically took Alfie's passing statement of how Tommy acquired Arrow House and the trope "One bed, two people" and turned it into "One house, two strangers" and ran with it! The idea for this series and it's storyline, is loosely based off the lyrics to the well known song "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel.

Teaser Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine (completed series)

Gif credit: @mushroomseb. Go check out their wonderful works of art!

820 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 8 months ago

Text

Gingerfucker - Eris x Rhys’s Sister!reader Masterlist

Banner by @milswrites | Note: these are in chronological order by content, not by posting date. This is an ongoing series and will be updated.

Summary: no one is more surprised than Eris Vanserra to find that he is capable of much more than just political ambition

Some art of the babies: (Nyx and Atlas) (All the gingersnaps) (Atlas and Leif) (Atlas) (the family)

Art by @dawneternal: Eris during the events of Cold was the steel of my axe to grind, portraits of the gingersnaps, art of Eris and Atlas

Gingerfucker week 2024 blurbs

Moodboard

It’s just to satiate the bond - an agreement to have sex just to satiate a mating bond neither party wants is a great idea. Surely no one will get hurt, right?

One single thread of gold tied me to you* - Eris accepts the mating bond and is incredibly touched by the effort you put into cooking him the meal from scratch

All’s well that ends well to end up with you - fears and doubts cause you and Eris to do your first irrational act together: a secret mating bond ceremony

I am ash from your fire - Surprising Eris one evening, you’ve turned up in the dead of night to let him know that your brother had figured out your secret relationship, offering you an ultimatum.

Cold was the steel of my axe to grind - centuries of plotting and scheming come to a head when his mate unexpectedly arrives in Autumn and Eris is desperate to set his plans in motion, least she become a piece for Beron to use against him

Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons - Eris leaves his mate alone in the Forest House, telling her to trust no one but his mother. The two women are ill-equipped to provide frontline fighting, but surely they can help Eris in their own way. *companion piece to ‘Cold was the steel of my axe to grind’

Hell was the journey but it brought me Heaven - in the immediate aftermath of Beron’s death and the thrum of power in his veins, Eris’s mate forces him to, at the bare minimum, bathe

Secret exchanges - a few weeks after the aftermath of Rhys’s banishment, your mate, the new High Lord of the Autumn Court, has a secret meeting with someone from your family.

Blood moon in Autumn - fae cycles are no joke, but your mate is always there to provide you comfort in the best way possible: by being your personal heating pad

Have I found you, flightless bird? - a reflection of a life of secrets and expectations and how, despite it all, a flightless bird found home in an unlikely place

Ferocious beasts with soft bellies - Eris’s hounds know you’re pregnant before either of you do, driving the two of you wild with their newfound devotion to you.

Starfall in Autumn - based on the prompt for Starfall week “characters a and b realize they won’t make it to Starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate”

Laborious anxieties - Eris is riddled with anxiety leading up to your labor, but what happens when some of his worst fears come to fruition?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed - your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Amber eyes, looking into mine - Eris finds something in his study that triggers him into a frozen state of panic. Who better suited to pulling Eris from his past than his future?

We started alone, in the end we’re okay - on a rare night alone, Eris reflects on his long life and the lonely nights that haunted his youth. And how he’s a long way from the person he was and the person he had to be.

Fireling - every father’s dream is to be there the day his son first uses his powers. Luckily for Eris, he gets just that.

How the kingdom lights shine just for me and you - Eris tells his sons a story, letting them know how a strong knight defeated an evil dragon and saved the kingdom.

Loving parents, harmless fun - Modern!Gingerfucker - slice of life where Eris takes his family on a roadtrip and is only slightly annoyed at his son’s choice of car game

* = smut

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #acotar writing #eris vanserra fanfic

951 notes · View notes

mrsshabana · 3 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅!𝐆𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎 ⛧ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Everyone told stories of his kind, but you chose to ignore them. You got so used to how tame your werewolf boyfriend acted around you that you forgot how dangerous he is. But when a full moon rises, his instincts become undeniable, and you quickly learn what he's truly capable of. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, hunter/prey, size difference, forbidden romance ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.3k words

༺ Art ༻

⇢ Chapter two ⇢ Chapter three ⇢ Chapter four ⇢ Kinktober Masterlist

This is unusual behavior for your boyfriend. You haven't heard from him in days.

It's only been a couple of weeks that you've officially been his partner, but enough time has gone by that you feel like you know him enough to know this isn't normal.

Maybe that's just how werewolves are? You've never gotten close to a monster before, let alone a species that has a reputation for being dangerous to humans. But you never cared, you started having feelings for Gyutaro after the first time you met him. Everyone talks about how dangerous his kind is. But how could you resist those big fluffy ears, yellow golden eyes, and a mouth full of sharp teeth?

He may look like a big scary wolf, but around you, he acts like a golden retriever. Always so sweet and happy to be in your presence. All you have to do is walk into the room and his tail starts wagging.

He just can't help himself, you were the first person that didn't treat him like an outcast.

As Gyutaro got older he started to realize that he was destined to be alone. The chances of him finding a mate within his species were slim to none. A female would never accept him as a suitable partner due to his appearance. The spots on his face and body were something that no one was willing to pass on in their bloodline. It seemed like a silly concept to you, but for werewolves, these things are very important.

So when Gyutaro started having feelings for you he was more than happy to give your relationship a shot regardless of you being a human.

You never felt accepted by other humans, and he never felt accepted by other wolves. So when the two of you met it was like you finally found someone that understood you. However, both of you knew that your relationship was forbidden and would never be accepted, so you'd meet in secret.

He usually hangs out around your house after midnight, waiting for you so the two of you can disappear into the woods. Or at the very least, if the two of you aren't able to spend time together, he'll leave little gifts at your doorstep. Wildflowers, shiny rocks, or even the occasional dead rodent.

But it's been days since you've seen him or received any of his unusual gifts. It's like he just disappeared.

And now you're left a worried mess. He's never gone so long without speaking to you, it makes you think that maybe something happened to him.

In a last-ditch effort to find him, you search in the woods behind your house. Knowing that he loves running around and exploring there, it's the only place you might be able to find him at this time of night.

"Gyutaro!" you call out as you walk through the forest.

As you go deeper, you begin to hear what sounds like howling.

"That must be him!" you gasp, running towards the sound.

Once you get closer the howling stops and he picks up on your scent. Yellow eyes look back at you from within the trees.

"Gyu!" you smile and run towards him, "I was so worried about you!"

But he says nothing and just stares at you with wide eyes - panting like a stressed animal.

"Wh-what's going on...?" you say as you look at the strange scene before you.

Gyutaro has a chain attached to his collar and is tied to a large tree. It's sad to see him chained up like some kind of pet.

You can't tell if someone did this to him or if he did it to himself. There's no sign of anyone else, but you can't imagine why he would chain himself to a tree like that.

You reach out your hand and he immediately lunges forward with barred fangs. Looking like a feral stray as he snaps at you. But the chain chokes him, preventing him from getting to you.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" you mutter as your eyes begin to water.

Never have you seen him behave this way towards you. He's usually so gentle and sweet, you would have thought he wasn't capable of showing violence. However, at the end of the day, you know what he is and you should never forget what he's capable of.

And that's when you notice it. The full moon peeking from above the trees. How could you have been so naive?

Gyutaro must've chained himself up to protect you, knowing that he'd go feral on a full moon... and who knows what he may do to you.

Your stomach drops and your blood runs cold. Looking down at Gyutaro as he snarls and claws at the dirt, trying to get to you. You don't want to imagine what he will do to you if he breaks loose. He has a wild look in his eye, unlike anything you've ever seen before and it strikes fear into you.

You can hear the metal of the chain bending, it will snap any moment now.

You don't have any time to think about your boyfriend, this thing is no longer your boyfriend. For all you know, he could kill you if he gets loose.

Run. Run. Run. That's all you can think about as your fight or flight response kicks in. And you're sprinting deeper into the forest before you even realize it.

The branches cutting your skin as you run through the trees don't even bother you. You just need to get away from him.

After running what you consider to be a good distance, you look back to see that Gyutaro is gone and the chain lies snapped on the ground.

"Shit," you curse under your breath, realizing the danger that you're in. You have no other option but to keep running, and running, and running until you can't feel your feet anymore and your lungs burn.

A twig snaps, and you instantly turn to see those beautiful yellow eyes looking back at you. Stalking you like prey.

It only makes things worse when you run, causing his hunting instincts to kick in even more. In his eyes he no longer sees his girlfriend, all he sees is prey.

You cry and sob as he chases you, knowing that it won't be long until he catches up to you. And you're right, he quickly pounces on you. Trapping you beneath his large muscular body, looking down at you with hunger in his eyes. The size difference alone is enough to make you freeze with fear. It never dawned on you just how much larger he is than you. And as you lay there helplessly pinned beneath him you realize just how terrifying a seven-foot-tall werewolf can be.

"G-Gyutaro, please!" you sob, "It's me, Y/N! I'm your girlfriend, remember?" You desperately try to remind him of who you are, make him remember that he would never hurt his precious girlfriend.

But he doesn't remember, and even if he did he wouldn't care. Because the full moon makes him go feral and blindly follow his instincts.

From this angle, he no longer looks like your boyfriend. He looks like a monster. The monster that everyone said he was, but you never listened. Maybe if you did you wouldn't be in this situation right now.

Drool drips down his chin as he snarls, showing off his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth that could easily wrap around your pretty little neck. He breathes heavily, panting as the fur on the back of his neck stands on end. He looks like he wants to devour you, but he doesn't.

For a moment you're confused. But then you see it.

The erection between his legs - so painfully hard that it's ripping the seams of his pants.

You thought that he wanted to eat you, but you were wrong. He wants to breed you.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyuutarou #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou x reader #gyutaro smut #gyutaro fanart #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut #kinktober #kinktober 2024

360 notes · View notes

slightly-knot-insane · 18 days ago

Text

MASTERLIST

Neutral monster

[ Warm Embrace ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Wet Pillow ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Never Satisfied ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Signature ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Marking You ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Defeated Monster ] (m!monster x f!reader) +tw!

[ Chained ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Sleepy Lover ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Hidden in the Basement ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Missing You ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Feast in Bed ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Breaking a Promise ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Lazy Autumn Day ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Just Perfect ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Arrival ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ Under Your Cold Fingertips ] (m!monster x f!reader)

[ What a View ] (m!monster x f!reader)

Werewolf

[ In Heat ] (m!werewolf x f!werewolf!reader)

Demon

[ New Acolyte ] (m!demon x gn!reader)

[ New Toy ] (m!demon cat x gn!reader)

Sea monster

[ First Breath of Water ] (m!sea monster x ftm!reader)

Human

[ Subordinate Prince ] (m!human x f!dom!reader) +art!

Gargoyle

[ Stone and Flesh ] (m!gargoyle x gn!human)

Hybrids

[ Orange Cat Himbo ] (m!cat hybrid x gn!reader)

Extra

MONSTERTOBER 24 MASTERLIST

#monster #monster lover #monster fucker #monster fuqqer #monster smut #monster imagine #teratophillia #terat0philliac #terato #exophelia #slightlyknotinsane #ski.bla #ski.masterlist

188 notes · View notes

fishfooddude · 28 days ago

Text

Mr. Berzatto

Just a brainworm I had at my internship the other day.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

You were reviewing a social media post by the register when you heard the bell above the door ding. Signaling a customer had come into the little vintage store you owned with your best friend, Sammy. “Hey, let me know if you need help with anything!” you called as you quickly finished what you were doing on your laptop.

As you closed your computer and looked up, you were surprised to see a man who’d been coming in consistently over the past month or so. “Oh, hey you,” you smiled, “How’s it going?”

The man nodded and offered you a grin as he approached the jewelry case you and Sammy had effectively made into a checkout counter. He was the classic stereotypical Italian American man. You could tell his thinning hair used to be sandy brown, but he tried to style it to disguise the fact that he was balding. Like the last time he’d come in, he was well dressed. He wore a pair of well-fitting slacks and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. You noticed the glint of a gold Figaro chain peaking out of his collar. He placed his hands against the jewelry case and looked down to see what you had in stock. He hadn’t formally introduced himself, but you were developing a rapport.

You closed your laptop and slipped it under the counter before side-stepping to give the man your full attention. “We got some new chains in,” you commented as he examined the top-row case. He nodded, and you gestured toward the intricately stacked boxes Sammy had set up to display some of the chains and a few men’s rings. The man’s eyes widened when you moved your left hand toward the display.

“That’s new,” he commented, pointing out the gold art deco engagement ring on your finger. You laughed at his comment and moved your hand to show him the ring in a better light. “Who’s the lucky man?”

You smiled, “You shouldn’t assume it’s a man,” you playfully teased, making him shake his head. But yeah, my boyfriend proposed to me over the weekend. It was our three-year anniversary.” The man nodded and shifted his eyes back to the display.

“What’s he like?”

The man’s question took you by surprise, but you answered. “His name is Carmy- that guy, actually.” you gestured toward the picture of you, Carmy, and Sammy by the register when you and Sammy opened the shop. The man nodded, silently requesting more information. “He’s a chef. Owns The Bear over in Lakewood.”

“The Bear?”

“Yeah- he inherited and redid that sandwich shop, The Beef,” you answered, and the man nodded again.

“Is he a good man?”

“He is.” you smiled as you thought about Carmy, “You’re bein’ real chatty, aren’t ya?” the man hummed in response, and you could tell he was holding something back as you were about to ask him if he wanted a closer look at anything the entrance bell dung again. You glanced toward the entrance and saw Richie walking in carrying a box with a large tote bag on his shoulder.

“Yo, Y/N, Bobby Flay wanted me to-” Richie stopped in his tracks when he saw the customer standing before you. The man went pale and quickly bustled out of the shop without another word. Richie closed the distance between the two of you and put the box down on the counter, “Did you talk to that fucker?” he scowled as his eyebrows knit together in frustration.

You shrugged, “Yeah, he’s sorta a regular- why?”

“That fucker is Carmy’s deadbeat Dad.”

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto fan fiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear series #the bear fan fiction #the bear fan fic #the bear imagine #richie jerimovich

206 notes · View notes

starcrossed-lov3rz · 7 months ago

Text

An Equal

Feyd Rahtha x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, some violence (not very graphic), there is a moment where reader is touched without express consent (NOT FEYD THO)

Words: ~ 1.1K

Description: Feyd sees you as an exotic pet. Something to collect. Something to brag about. Until, one day, he finds out about human’s lethality. Being almost killed by you in a fit of rage, he realizes that you are not just an alien. You love him. - Based on this request

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“I feel like a fucking zoo exhibit.” You mutter, pulling at the ridiculous assortment of jewels and silks draped across your body. Zoo exhibit didn’t even remotely describe it….you were more like a piece of art on display.

Every day, Feyd sent a darling to your rooms with the clothing he picked for you. They ranged from intricate to barely-there wisps of gauzy fabric. But today? He’d really outdone himself today. A silk skirt hung low on your hips, and the matching bra fit like a glove. A sheer shawl draped crossed your shoulders. Feyd spared no expense with jewels today. Delicate gold chains wound around your exposed waist. Your arms decorated in gold bands.

“You look beautiful,” Feyd’s darling praised. “He will be pleased.”

You roll your eyes as the darling coils your hair into a loose updo. Of course Feyd would be pleased. His little pet is dolled up and ready to show off to every disgusting bureaucrat and diplomat here for the fight.

Feyd fought often, but you’d never seen him spar in the arena before. He insisted the darlings keep you away from the arena so he didn’t ‘break your weak earthling spirit’ too soon. You should be honored at how delicately Feyd treats you, given his awful temper and violent tendencies. You were anything but. It didn’t matter how often you tried to lash out and annoy him, Feyd always laughed at your antics.

“Come with me, he wants to see you before the fight.”

Numbly, you follow the darling as she guides you through the maze of hallways.

“My darlings,” Feyd greets you both. He’s standing amongst a group of diplomats, towering over most of them.

“Is this her?!” One of the more brazen diplomats steps forward, examining you like some prized show animal. You grit your teeth in annoyance as he pokes and prods you, hands lingering suspiciously long. Looking to Feyd, it’s clear you’re not the only one upset with the display. Feyd’s eyes are glued to where the diplomat’s hands rest on your hip.

You roll your eyes, batting his hand away and moving to stand beside Feyd. “Where’s your leash, pet?” He asks, tilting your head up with a hand on your chin. Feyd’s fingers trail down your throat, toying with your delicate gold necklace.

“I left it next to yours,” you offer dryly.

Feyd’s smirk dims, his hand instantly moving to grip your neck. The pressure is noticeable, but nowhere near the strength you know Feyd is capable of. “Watch your tongue, pet.”

Sarcasm probably wasn’t the best move today. Normally, you would shy away from any behavior that could irritate Feyd. Not today. The lack of autonomy was wearing on you, slowly stripping whatever sense of self preservation you had left. Your eyes flick up to Feyd’s, choosing to stare him down rather than respond.

The world melts away as you both refuse to back down from the silent challenge. The same diplomat from before breaks the tension. He bows quickly before addressing Feyd. “na-Baron, you were telling us earlier how well your earthling can play the baliset, I believe as our most gracious host that you should offer us so entertainme-”

“No.”

You fight the urge to react, but you’re just as shocked as the diplomat. Feyd frequently made you perform for guests.

“But, na-Baron-”

“No,” Feyd said. “The fight will begin soon. That will be entertainment enough.”

Of course. Feyd wasn’t refusing because the diplomat had mistreated you earlier. He just didn’t want to delay his precious fucking fight. You step back out of Feyd’s reach. “You should go prepare for your fight, na-Baron.”

“You wound me,” Feyd smirks. “Are you not going to wish me well for this fight?”

“I believe the drugged slaves in the arena are luck enough, na-Baron.” Now you’re definitely playing with fire. Feyd’s fists clench and he reaches for the knife sheathed on his thigh.

You brace yourself. This is it. You just couldn’t be satisfied with pretty dresses and Feyd’s condescending affection. The novelty has worn off, and he’s going to kill you. You shut your eyes, waiting for a blow that never comes. Instead, you hear the knife clatter against the floor.

“Pick it up.” Feyd orders.

“What-”

“Pick it up.”

“I-”

“Pick it up or you will take my place fighting those ‘drugged slaves’ in the arena.” Feyd’s tone is even, no hint of humor or whatever passes as a sick joke for him.

You crouch slowly, your face heating in anger and shame as you hear laughs from the group of guests.

“na-Baron, she would be better suited as a prize for the victor.” Your hand tightens around the handle, and you see red. You recognize that voice. The disgusting diplomat. With the wandering hands.

Trying to calm down, you force yourself to breathe evenly. Feyd’s eyes never drift away from you, his calculating stare watching your every move. As you straight up, you feel a hand grope your ass. “Let me take her place in the arena, na-Baron. I should have her cunt as a reward when I win.”

You snap, letting instinct and rage take over. Pivoting your stance, you drive Feyd’s knife into the stomach of the diplomat behind you. His hand drops from you as he screams in pain. “You bit-”

Feyd is silent. He hasn’t moved a muscle to help his guest.

The diplomat scrambles back, tripping over his robes and falling to the ground. You can hear screaming from the onlookers, but everything sounds as if it’s underwater. You drop on top of the diplomat, stabbing him again and again. You let it all out. The anger. The frustration. The embarrassment. You pour everything you’ve bottled up from months of captivity into every stab.

The knife slips from your hand, dropping to the floor.

Your gaze focuses again.

He’s dead.

You look up.

Everyone but Feyd has fled.

He’s leaning against a pillar. Arms crossed as he watches the display with an unreadable expression.

Feyd pushes off of the pillar, walking towards you. He kneels beside you, picking the blade up and offering it to you.

“Keep it.”

You laugh through the tears. Somehow those two words meant more to you than all the empty praise and gifts. In that moment, you're more than some pampered pet.

An equal.

NOTE: Two uploads in two days? Is this Christmas? No, it's a request I finally completed!!! Sorry, no smut here! I was really feeling this prompt and it didn't organically develop into smut. Serious writing isn't something I normally do, so I hope it did your prompt justice!! ~ Lacie <3

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

#dune #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #dune fanfiction #feyd x you #reader insert

321 notes · View notes

ninguitar · 28 days ago

Text

୨୧　𝓧O TATTED ALL OVER HER BODY　˒˒　MMB

─── ﹙🎱﹚wanting to get your first ever tattoo, you take a recommendation from one of your college friends' on which parlor to go to, and which specific tattoo artist—meret manon bannerman, who was ultimately drop-dead gorgeous.

pairing. tattoo artist!manon x f!r genre. fluff wc. 1.7k+ notes. missing manon sb nd i JUST saw the clip of her w dominic fike w a cigarette in her hand. 💔💔 all the freaks on twt nd tt hating on her gmfu 😒 ⚠️ PLEASE NOTE THAT I DO NOT CONDONE THE DEPENDENCE ON ANYTHING NICOTINE-RELATED—IF EVER USED, USE IT AT A MODERATE PACE. ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ timeless by the weeknd, ft. playboi carti

THE BUZZING OF TATTOO GUNS spread across the parlor, as manon runs a hand through her hair, adjusting her white tank top and leather jacket. a cigarette remains slack in between her index and ring fingers, a sigh drifting from her lips. contrasting her cold demeanor was the hello kitty lamp sitting on her desk accompanied by a tattoo gun.

grabbing disinfectant spray, the ghanaian girl meekly disinfects all the surfaces, sterilizing all her equipment. tattooing other people's bodies—leaving parts of herself and her art forever on them—always seemed magical to manon, and so, she started in highschool, buying a shitty tattoo gun online. eventually, while at high school parties, she'd take commissions from people begging her to etch designs into their skin, usually taking cash as payment—sometimes nicotine, even.

simple, rugged designs on random people's skins at parties eventually turned into nights spent in her bedroom, practicing her apprenticeship by cross-hatching designs on mannequins. every night, the ghanaian girl would be at home, cornered in her bedroom—sometimes with her friends to keep her company—shading with pointillism from designs she found.

meret manon bannerman was never the type to really think about tattooing newbies, especially with the way her temper sometimes ran short, barely able to have the patience to deal with their face. however, because of her charming character, her co-workers usually assigned her to tattooing newbies, never letting her protest.

grabbing her phone, a myriad of notifications pop up on her lock screen. her eyes narrow at seeing daniela's name pop up, as she swipes up.

dani: turn the lights off before u leave manon. dani: if i see that the electric bill is high again im gonna fr gonna pocket ur paycheck

manon huffs, though a smile tugs the corners of her lips, before her thumbs move a mile a minute, typing back cheeky responses.

manzanita: i willll promise 🤗🤗 manzanita: pocket my paycheck nd im telling ur mom.

the ghanaian girl plops her phone onto the counter, setting it face down. the bell at the front door rings, making manon slightly jolt up, a chain of shivers running down her back. a muffled curse escapes her breath, as she whips her head towards the front door, noticing you gingerly leaning against the front door.

"i- one of our mutual friends, lara, suggested for me to come here. i don't know if she told you considering the look on your face," you shrug, your voice barely above a whisper. with the ghanaian girl nodding, you saunter towards her, a meek smile on your face.

"yeah, she told me—just didn't think you would be so… gorgeous," she bluntly drawls out, making you cock your head to the side. a giggle escapes your breath, both your cheeks and ears tinted with flushness. a small puff of amusements leaves your plush lips, shaking your head.

"look at you—talented, creative, and stunning," you reciprocate her energy, a wide grin painting your face. the ghanaian girl pats the seat beside her at her station, beckoning for you to sit down. you slowly sit down, your heart practically pounding—your first tattoo, and it was done by the most gorgeous girl ever?

an unbearable grin quirks up at the corners of her lips, your words garnering a chuckle from her, "yeah, you think so? you new—to tattooing, i mean?" her eyes trail from your eyes down to your lips, her gaze piercing. with your eyebrows furrowed and knitted together, you nod sheepishly at her question.

"no need to worry 'bout the pain; you got me," she lets out a giggle, making your heart tremble at the thought of a tattoo gun against your arm, held by a pretty girl, at that. the ghanaian girl crushes the cigarettes in her hand, disposing it into the ashtray by the window. she continues, "trust me; i've gotten a few tattoos and piercings."

"you got any ideas?" manon asks, as she disinfects her supplies once more, being cautious, especially with somebody who was only getting their first tattoo. that same smile lingers on her face, wanting to try to rid the worry lines creasing your forehead.

you shake your head, "still dunno what to get, i just know i want it on my hand. any ideas from you? i know you have good ideas in that head of yours." your eyesbrows furrow in question, your eyes fixating on the girl's features. a smile dances on her cheeks, almost elated to recommend any.

"what category? like funny, memorable, y'know," manon bites the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from just pressing your velvety lips against hers. her eyes scan your features, trying to think of an idea.

"surprise me?" you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper, as your gaze softens, your breath hitching in anticipation. and manon was just a simple girl—a girl who couldn't help but indulge in your pleas, especially when you were the textbook definition of adorable.

and so, over and over again, the needle of her tattoo gun hits against your delicate skin. sometimes it breaks, though other times, your skin is left raw and swollen. her dark eyes bore into your face, chuckles escaping her breath at the way you tried to suppress your winces.

a smile dances at her cheeks, "you okay, pretty?" making your heart pound. you nod, your eyes bright, as you ease into manon's touch, the needle lifting every few minutes to give you some clarity. she rubs your shoulder gently while pausing, before continuing.

while she continued, you mindlessly rant on and on about work, your mouth running miles a minute. words spill from your lips, as the ghanaian girl softly hums, showing indication that she was listening. every few minutes, she makes small, humorous quips, playing along to your jokes.

"y'know hand tattoos can fade away easily," manon hums, her hand rubbing against yours to soothe your worries. she sucks a breath in through her teeth before continuing, "it's a shame, isn't it?"

"i could always come back to you—no big deal," you shrug, taking deep breaths to suppress the sounds of pure pain escaping you.

"already wanna see me again? i'm just that great, aren't i?" she teases, as she wears a shit-eating grin on her face. that same grin morphs into a smirk, the corner of her lips lifting into one hastily. manon cocks her head to the side, her eyebrows slightly raising.

the ghanaian girl continues, faking a questioning face, "well, i don’t know. you may have to convince me to do a touch-up on it." she scrunches her eyebrows, giggling.

a pout juts on your lips, "i could take you out for dinner, or well, advertise you! the same way lara does—always talkin' about your beautiful self and your work." you taunt, giving her a gentle smile.

"trying to bribe me now—wow! did not expect that," manon coaxes, as her gaze fixates back on your hand, the needle leaving marks on your hand. as she finishes it up, she softly hums. standing up, manon grins at her work.

the tattoo had come out flawless, the cross-hatching done by the girl practically perfect. you blink your eyes, almost shocked at the sheer precision and patience needed for the perfect thickness of the lines; you knew manon was talented, but fuck.

on your hand was a crown etched onto it; you didn't know the meaning of it at all, but you could tell it meant something to the ghanaian girl. breaking your train of thought was her gentle, melodic voice.

"you like it?"

"'course i do! holy shit," you exclaim, immediately standing up, and pressing yourself against manon, wrapping your arms around the ghanaian girl's neck. safe to say, you were practically over the moon.

raising her fists, manon reciprocates your sheer enthusiasm, "i've won! you ought to take me on that dinner date, y'know." your eyes widen at her request, your eyebrows shooting up, alongside your smile wide. excitement bled from you, traveling through your veins.

shameless, without little thought in your head, you plea, "really? we have to!" your pleas elicit a series of chuckles from manon, the girl rubbing your shoulder. catching her breath, she nods.

"you and i, tomorrow night. i get off my shift earlier tomorrow," the ghanaian girl proposes, her eyes scanning your face for any indication of emotions. in response, you press your lips against manon's cheek gently.

"see you then, pretty girl," you drawl, slipping your payment into her pockets, as you saunter away.

tucked away in a small, up-scale restaurant in the heart of the beach, you and manon made quip remarks towards one-another. with your cheeks and ears flushed, you kept a lingering smile adorning your face. the moon hung low in the sky, as you two look out the window, your gazes' tracing the stars. a giggle escapes your breath, as your hand cups manon's jaw, gently drawing patterns on her cheeks.

shortly, though, the ghanaian girl dragged you to the waves, swinging you around in exhilaration. sitting down on the sand, you two ease against one-another's touch, interlacing hands. the beach ripples crashing harshly contrast your guys' gentle touches, the dark, midnight-hued water glimmering.

"thank you for this date," manon murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as she swallows a lump down her throat, "maybe i'll actually touch-up your tattoo now." her words elicit a giggle from you, as you nudge her.

feeling the breezy, cold air hitting against your skin, you take deep breaths—only for the ghanaian girl to cover your shoulders in her jacket. a wide, animated grin plasters her face, making you swoon in endearment.

"what was the crown for anyway?" you mumble, turning your head to face the girl, as you raise your hand up, your new crown tattoo now in sight. she shakes her head, her gaze softening.

"it's like, a light of hope—just a small touch from me to you," manon rasps out, leaning further towards you, as her eyes were practically of hearts while etched on your lips. your lips fall open, as the ghanaian girl presses her lips against yours, her touch firm and precise.

her hands find its way to your hips, your breath hitching. a playful glint appears in manon's eyes, as she nips at your lower lip, her kisses fervent and magnetic. your hands meet her neck, the ghanaian girl shivering at the trifling lace of your cold hands.

"i better get that touch-up for my tattoo if it fades away," you playfully assert, now straddling the girl's lap, as you cup her cheeks, tenderly squeezing them. before you could press your impatient lips against manon's, her phone blares out a ding.

dani: you forgot to turn the lights off today.

xo tatted all over her body, yeah (body, yeah)

she just wanna roll, and i don't mind it, yeah

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

#fics 　.#kpop imagines #kpop x reader #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye manon #katseye manon bannerman #katseye manon x reader #katseye manon bannerman x reader #manon bannerman x reader #manon x reader

163 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

Text

Snail Navigation Masterlist

Hello and welcome, I'm Snail!

I write mainly "x reader" for the One-Piece fandom, all catalogued below the cut in a series of individual masterlists. Some of my work is NSFW, meant for 18+, so please minors do not interact.

I hope you enjoy your time on this page. It is an absolute pleasure carving out worlds that you get to be placed in the middle of.

Commissions: Closed.

Request: Temporarily closed.

Gift Swapping: Temporarily closed.

Tobiuo: One Piece Original Character: Heart Pirate Security Chief.

Chains & Gallows: One Piece Original Characters: Death Janitors of the universe.

Pirate Snail: Gift by @/remisloves @/torao-chan. I love this snail, and I love the beautiful person who made it for me.

Divider Links: waves, 18+ by @/firefly-graphics

I have divided up my large collection of fics and drabbles into their own categories. Each fic has a description within their own Masterlist, including content warnings should minors be present. I hope you enjoy your time exploring my writing, and happy reading!

Straw-Hat Masterlist

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, & platonic crew

Heart-Pirate Masterlist

Law, Shachi, Penguin, & platonic crew

Kid-Pirate Masterlist

Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, & platonic crew

Red-Hair Pirate Masterlist

Shanks, Beckman

Donquixote Masterlist

Doflamingo, Rosinante / Corazon, Caesar Clown

Cross-Guild Masterlist

Sir Crocodile, Dracule Mihawk, Buggy

Misc & Marines Masterlist

Koby, Helmeppo, Sabo, Kuzan, Bogard, Garp, Marco, Zeff

Giants Masterlist

Katakuri, King, Loki (Elbaf)

Drabbles Masterlist

Shorter fics for light reading

Pollen Masterlist (NSFW 18+)

Dust from the lust-plant burrows into the lungs of all that inhale it, prompting desperate and primal urges to eclipse their natural senses. All that inhale the pollen need aid in navigating through their urges, some urges stronger than others.

Dreaming of You Masterlist (NSFW 18+)

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. NSFW, mdni, 18+

Dance Series Masterlist

A series of one-shots where you, the reader, get to dance with your favourites. Written with a f!reader in mind, but can be read gn.

Yandere Masterlist

To love so much it makes you sick with blind devotion and intense infatuation. Sweet, caring, and innocent before switching into someone who displays an extreme, often violent or psychotic, level of devotion to a love interest. You are that special person, and they will stop at nothing to make you theirs, and keep you close.

The Kissing Booth

A selection of kisses with you as the blindfolded recipient.

2024 Birthday Event (NSFW 18+)

Drawing Masterlist: One Piece Original Characters

WIP List: My works in progress.

Fic Recommendations: a collection of works I find myself returning to, written by some beautiful authors.

Glimpses: parts of my life I share.

Art with my fics: short dialogue

Fic Inspo: mood boards, clips and prompts for all to use.

Ko-Fi: If you feel so inclined to support me as I keep creating works, this is a link to enable that should you so desire.

Side blog: @sultrysnail for content away from One Piece

2K notes · View notes

igot-the-juice · 2 months ago

Text

Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future.

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered.

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it.

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin.

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something.

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there.

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg.

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state.

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain.

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day.

“Is it… Is it still the same night?”

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself.

“How long has it been?”

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work.

“One day…? But how?”

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her.

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?”

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head.

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?”

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again.

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?”

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes.

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer.

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities.

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake.

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully.

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked.

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal.

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them.

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped.

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking.

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered.

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads.

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed.

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.”

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every -

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in.

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck.

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again.

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum.

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from.

Then he spotted them.

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms.

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut.

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa.

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked.

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength.

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her.

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled.

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless.

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped.

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready.

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.”

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled.

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found.

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded.

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge.

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed.

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed.

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched.

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness.

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored.

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him.

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm.

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen.

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out.

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep.

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence.

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront.

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together.

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated.

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced.

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly.

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit?

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.”

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off.

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call.

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried.

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.”

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it.

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated.

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least.

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it.

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child.

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted.

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown.

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him.

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it.

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong.

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

191 notes · View notes