#unique white chandelier ideas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elikajinnie · 2 days ago

Text

Cold Touch, Sharp Mirror - P.S

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Sunghoon X Survivor!Reader (recommended age 17+)

Warnings: Death, Murder, Suggestive Content, Blood/Injury, Obsession, Chasing, Fixation, Temperature Play?

Synopsis: You’ve always liked snow, but you never liked the idea of being chased through it—too loud, too slippery. Luckily, the Entity’s maps were more muddy than snowy. That is, until a new killer arrived, bringing with him a snowy map. And it seems like he’s fixated on finding the perfect beauty to complement him and you're exactly what he’s looking for.

a/n: im so happy my pookies @aceheexx and @concerned-terrapin got dbd :3 also i went a bit overboard with the ending???

heeseung version | jay version

now playing: like a dream by thomas larosa | frzzn by ozzie | chills -dark version by mickey valen

Now, normally, you loved snow. Back before you were taken by the entity, you’d always be thrilled when it snowed—watching the snowflakes drift from the sky, each one unique and delicate, settling on the ground and transforming it into a soft, white wonderland. It felt comforting, like nature’s own little gift. But time doesn’t follow the same rules in the entity’s realm. Seasons don’t change, and winter becomes a distant memory, a concept rather than a feeling. You haven’t felt real snow in what feels like forever.

So, when you first saw it again you felt a flicker of joy. You landed on the ground, expecting that chill on your skin, the cold air filling your lungs. But instead, you were met with something... wrong. The snow didn’t fall naturally, but seemed to be pasted onto the world, cold only in appearance. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t alive. The snowflakes didn’t twirl through the air, and the ground beneath your feet felt too solid, too still. No crisp bite in the air, no damp chill seeping through your clothes. Just a hollow echo of the winter you once loved. The excitement quickly faded, replaced by a bitter disappointment. It wasn't real. It never was.

You didn’t expect much when you were called for a trial. They were all the same at this point—different maps, same routine. But as soon as you arrived, something felt… off. The air was sharp and biting, your breath fogged in front of you, and a chill ran down your spine as you took in your surroundings. You were standing outside a massive manor, its roof blanketed with thick snow and sharp icicles hanging from the edges like teeth. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, it was quiet and the crunch of snow under your boots felt too loud. You hugged yourself against the cold, shivering as it nipped at your skin.

This was new.

Your eyes scanned the manor, its grandness both stunning and foreboding. You didn’t recognize it from any previous trials, and that only made your chest tighten. This map was new. And if it was new, there was only one explanation.

A new killer.

You took a hesitant step forward, your nerves on edge as you climbed the steps to the manor’s entrance. The door creaked open with little effort and your heart sank as you took in the strange décor. The walls were lined with mirrors—some shattered, their jagged shards glinting menacingly, others cracked just enough to distort your reflection. A few were pristine, their surfaces smooth and unbroken, but something about them felt wrong. The reflections didn’t look quite right.

Your breath came out in quick puffs, the cold seeming to seep through the walls themselves. You forced yourself to keep moving, knowing you had to find a generator. The sooner you started, the sooner this trial could be over.

Your search led you to a massive ballroom, and your breath caught in your throat. It was unlike anything you’d seen before. The floor was a sheet of ice, polished to a mirror-like shine, and the room seemed to stretch endlessly. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, but instead of glass, it was crafted entirely from icicles, their razor-sharp points glistening as they swayed ever so slightly. The windows—or where the windows should have been—were replaced with cracked mirrors.

You stepped carefully onto the icy floor, your boots slipping slightly as you made your way further in. The cold seemed to deepen here, clawing at your skin and making you shudder uncontrollably. You glanced around, half-expecting to see a generator, but there was none in sight.

You huffed in frustration as you slid across the icy floor, your footing unstable. The sharp cold gnawed at your fingers and toes, even through your clothes. Just as you steadied yourself, a scream tore through the air, slicing through the quiet like a blade. It was distant but blood-curdling, the cry of a survivor encountering the killer.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you moved forward, walking through a pair of wide, icy double doors that led to a balcony. The scene that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

Below you stretched a massive, frozen garden. Rows of tall hedges loomed like the skeletal remains of a long-dead maze, their branches brittle and crusted with frost. The labyrinth twisted and turned, the pathways obscured by fog that clung to the ground like ghostly tendrils. Scattered throughout the garden were ice statues—figures frozen mid-motion—but the distance made it hard to tell if they were just art.

Movement in the maze caught your eye. You squinted and leaned over the balcony’s edge. It was Nancy. She was running through the labyrinth, her hands flailing as she waved desperately in your direction. Panic was written all over her face, her wide eyes darting between you and something behind you.

It took a moment for you to process what she was trying to convey. That’s when it hit you—a cold breeze that wrapped around your body like icy fingers. Your breath caught as you shivered violently, your teeth chattering. Slowly, as if against your own will, you turned around.

And there he was.

A tall man loomed behind you, unnervingly still, his presence so cold. He was clad in a tailored suit, though it was torn and frayed in places. An icy sheen coated the fabric, frost clinging to him as if he were part of winter. His hair was white, and the tips seemed frozen, as though frost had begun to consume him from the edges.

But it was his face that sent chills down your spine.

The left side of his face was hauntingly beautiful—sharp, elegant features carved from pale skin, veins of icy blue tracing faintly on his neck. His lips, pale and slightly blue, parted slightly as a frosty mist escaped with every breath, and his eye, an unnatural, glowing blue, fixed on you with an intensity that rooted you in place.

The right side of his face, however, was hidden beneath a mask of cracked mirrors, the shards reflecting distorted images of yourself. The fragments shifted slightly, catching the dim light as if they were alive, twisting your reflection into a grotesque parody.

In his right hand, he held a massive shard of glass, its edges jagged and sharp, covered in frost that glittered like deadly diamonds. Ice crawled along the surface, spiraling down to the hilt where his gloved hand gripped it tightly. His other hand, bare and pale as death itself, hung loosely at his side, frost coating his fingertips.

He tilted his head slowly, the motion unnatural. You couldn’t tell if the sound you heard was the creak of his neck or the faint crackle of ice forming in the air around him.

Your breath hitched as you took a shaky step back, the icy floor beneath you making it nearly impossible to find stable footing. The cold wasn’t just external anymore; it was inside you, crawling through your veins almost like a parasite.

The killer took a step forward, the shard of glass dragging across the ground, leaving a thin trail of frost in its wake. The sound it made was sharp and grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

The only thought screaming in your mind was run.

And you didn’t hesitate. Your survival instincts kicked in, and you pushed off the icy floor, sliding awkwardly toward the edge of the balcony. Without a second thought, you vaulted over, your heart leaping into your throat as you braced for the impact below. The landing was rough but the adrenaline forcing you to ignore the ache.

As you straightened up, you glanced back over your shoulder, just for a split second, and froze.

He was leaning over the balcony, his hand resting on the icy railing, his head tilted again. He wasn’t rushing after you. He wasn’t angry or even fazed. Instead, he watched you with a cold calmness, like a predator confident in its prey’s inevitable capture.

That made it worse.

You didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. Turning on your heel, you took off running into the labyrinth, the snow crunching loudly beneath your boots. Every step a reminder of how exposed you were.

You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Away from him. Away from the cold and the glass shard that promised pain and death. Your breath came in quick, visible puffs as you ran, your lungs burning from the freezing air.

The labyrinth was a maze in every sense of the word, the fog making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. You turned left, then right, your boots sliding on patches of ice hidden beneath the snow. Your mind raced as you tried to recall the layout you’d glimpsed from the balcony, but it was no use. Every path looked the same—dead and endless.

Another scream rang out, sharper and closer this time. Your heart sank. You couldn’t tell who it was, so you forced yourself to keep going, your legs burning with the effort of running on the uneven, frozen ground.

Your legs burned, your lungs screamed for air, and the cold gnawed relentlessly at your skin. You finally skidded to a halt, leaning against the icy hedge for support. The snow beneath you crunched as you shifted, each breath coming out as shaky puffs of mist. You sniffled, shivering as you tried to gather your thoughts.

That’s when you saw it.

To your right, standing innocently against the frozen hedge, was a tall mirror. It was pristine, untouched by the cracks, the frame was silver, almost shimmering, and frost curled delicately along its edges like it had been painted there. The glass itself was so smooth it reflected everything perfectly, capturing your wide-eyed, disheveled image with startling clarity.

You tilted your head, your breath hitching as you stared. It had been so long since you’d seen your reflection—so long since you’d stopped to even think about what you looked like. The sight was strange, foreign even. You didn’t recognize the exhausted, frost-bitten figure staring back at you, but something about the mirror pulled you in.

Your feet moved before your mind could stop them, carrying you closer. You stood before the mirror, your breath fogging the glass slightly as you studied yourself. Hesitantly, your hand lifted, trembling as your fingertips hovered just above the icy surface. You shouldn’t touch it. You knew you shouldn’t. But something about it was calling to you, drawing you in like the lure of a siren.

The instant your fingers brushed the glass, it happened.

A sudden force yanked you forward, your breath stolen as your vision blurred. You didn’t even have time to cry out as the cold wrapped around you, dragging you into the mirror. The world flipped and spun, shards of glass and light flashing all around you. Your reflection fractured into countless pieces, each one distorting your image—your face twisted, stretched, broken in ways that made your stomach lurch.

When you finally came to, the spinning stopped. You opened your eyes, but the sight that greeted you was nothing like the labyrinth you’d been running through.

You were inside the mirror.

The world around you was endless and disorienting. Shards of glass floated in the air, twisting and turning, each one reflecting a fractured image of you. Some pieces were small, no larger than a coin, while others were enormous, towering over you like walls. Each shard seemed to hum faintly, a sound that vibrated through your skull and made your head throb. You reached out to steady yourself, but there was nothing solid to hold on to—just the endless, shifting glass.

You felt dizzy, your legs weak as you struggled to comprehend where you were. The reflections moved strangely, showing parts of yourself that weren’t in the same position as the rest of you. It was like watching a puzzle where the pieces didn’t quite fit.

Then, a voice.

It cut through the humming like a blade, low and smooth, with an icy edge that sent a chill straight to your core.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the voice purred, dripping with mockery. “So eager to touch what you shouldn’t. Did you really think the mirror was just for show?”

You whipped your head around, searching for the source, but there was no one there—just more glass reflecting your panicked face.

The voice chuckled, soft and cold. “Do you like it in here? It’s my little masterpiece. Every broken shard tells a story, you see. And now, you’ve become part of it.”

You spun in place, your breaths coming faster. “Where are you?!”

The laughter grew louder, echoing all around you, each shard vibrating with the sound, but he did not answer you.

Instead the glass around you began to shift, the shards rearranging themselves into new patterns. They moved closer, boxing you in, the reflections multiplying until it felt like you were being watched by a thousand versions of yourself—and something else.

In one of the largest shards, his reflection appeared. The killer.

He stood just on the other side of the glass, staring at you with a calm expression. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand and pressed it to the glass, the icy surface fogging slightly under his touch.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled back, you moved until your back hit something solid—the mirror you’d touched before.

Before you could process what was happening, the glass behind you pulled you in again. The world spun, shards flying past your vision as you felt that same sickening tug. A freezing chill washed over you, and then suddenly—

You were out.

Your feet hit solid ground, and you collapsed forward onto your hands and knees, gasping for air. The disorientation left you dizzy, your head pounding as you tried to steady yourself. The cold still clung to you, biting at your skin like a lingering phantom of the mirror world.

You forced yourself to your feet, legs shaky and unsteady, your breath coming out in frantic clouds. As you looked around, you froze.

This wasn’t where you’d been before.

Instead, you were in a dark, underground section of the estate. The air here was thicker, heavier. The walls around you were frozen, their icy surfaces glinting faintly.

Above you, sharp icicles hung dangerously from the ceiling. They were long and jagged, some as thick as your arm, and looked as though they could fall at the slightest provocation.

You took a cautious step forward, the crunch of snow under your boot echoing unnaturally loud. Your eyes darted upward, watching the icicles sway ever so slightly. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. One wrong move, one too-loud sound, and those deadly spikes could come crashing down.

“Stay calm,” you thought to yourself.

You continued forward, your steps careful and measured. The way revealed more of the icy corridor ahead, branching off into several paths.

Then you heard it.

A faint, distant crack.

Footsteps.

Your blood ran cold. He was here.

You turned, your eyes darting around for any sign of an escape, but you were offered nothing more but dead ends.

Then his voice cut through the air, smooth and taunting.

“You can’t run forever.”

You turned sharply, picking a path at random and running, your boots sliding on the slick ground.

Behind you, the footsteps quickened, you didn’t dare look back, the sense of him closing in enough to keep you moving forward.

You rounded a corner and skidded to a halt.

A dead end.

And the only way out was the way you’d come. You spun around, your back pressed against the frozen wall, your breath ragged as you watched the corridor you’d just come from.

The footsteps stopped.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, he stepped into view, his towering frame filling the narrow passage as he took a step forward.

You pressed harder against the wall, your fingers numb from the cold, your mind racing for a way out. But there was none.

He stopped just a few feet from you, his breath visible in the icy air.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gloved fingers brushing along the edge of the mirror shard in his hand and slowly, his gaze began to travel downward, starting at your face, moving over the trembling rise and fall of your chest, your arms clinging tightly to yourself, and finally down to your legs and boots, still trembling slightly from your desperate run.

A low hum escaped his lips, soft and almost contemplative, a sound that sent chills crawling up your spine, as if he were truly appreciating what he saw.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmured, his voice smooth. He took another step forward, closing the already-small distance between you. You pressed harder against the frozen wall, your entire body stiffening as he leaned closer.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

His pale hand rose slowly, as if to savor the moment. You flinched as his fingers brushed against your cheek, and the touch was so cold it burned. You froze entirely, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The air left your lungs in short, visible puffs as your body tried in vain to fight the cold spreading from where his hand lingered.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, his tone almost... tender. He tilted his head again, his lips curving into a faint, chilling smile. “No need to be afraid, my dear. I wouldn’t dare ruin something so... beautiful.”

You stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling, your body refusing to obey your frantic thoughts screaming at you to move, to run, to do something. But the cold was paralyzing.

His hand trailed along your cheek, the frozen burn spreading as he brushed his thumb over your jawline, tracing the edge of your face with unsettling care. “Your face... so delicate. So perfect.”

His cold breath brushed against your face, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Your eyes...” His thumb stopped, resting just beneath one of them, his frosted breath clouding in the air between you. “So full of life. So bright, even now. You’re unlike any I’ve seen before.”

You couldn’t respond. The cold had stolen your voice, your teeth chattering too hard for you to form words. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he appeared amused by your silence.

“You’re trembling so much,” he murmured, his hand shifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, the motion almost... gentle. “Is it the cold? Or... me?”

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispered, “Perhaps both.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him away, to do anything, but all you could do was stand there, trapped in his icy grip. You felt like you were being frozen alive.

His hand moved to your neck, his fingers grazing your skin as he chuckled, his breath like a biting winter wind. “I could keep you here forever,” he mused, his tone almost dreamy, as if the idea truly pleased him. “Frozen, perfect, untouchable. Just... mine.”

His words sent a wave of panic crashing over you, momentarily snapping you out of the icy haze clouding your mind. Your body twitched, an instinctive attempt to break free, but his grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how powerless you were in this moment.

“You’re frightened,” he said, his tone shifting to one of mock sympathy. “Good. Fear suits you.”

And just as the tears began to sting your eyes from the cold and helplessness, his fingers left your skin, and he pulled back slightly. He studied you for a moment longer, as if committing every detail of your face to memory.

Then, in a soft, almost wistful tone, he murmured, “Run.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your mind barely processing the command before his smirk widened and he stepped back, his hand once again gripping the icy shard at his side.

“Go,” he said, his voice sharper now, like the crack of frozen glass. “Let’s see how far you can get.”

The moment your body allowed it, you bolted, stumbling past him and into the freezing corridors, his cold laughter echoing behind you like the toll of a bell.

Your legs carried you forward, slipping and stumbling over the icy ground. The sound of his laughter followed you, echoing through the frozen halls. It was as though it bounced off the very walls, coming at you from all directions, mocking your panic and desperation.

The floor beneath you shifted unexpectedly, the ice slick and uneven. Your foot slipped, and you went sprawling to the ground with a sharp gasp. The impact jarred your body, pain shooting up your arm as you braced your fall. For a moment, the world spun, the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already,” his voice called out, closer than it should have been.

Your head snapped up, and you realized the light above you had shifted. You turned your gaze slowly upward, and there he was, standing just above you.

“You’re quite resilient,” he mused, his icy voice calm, almost teasing. “But you’re slowing down. The cold is catching up to you.”

Panic surged through you, overriding the pain in your arm as you scrambled to your feet. You bolted again, ignoring the way your legs screamed in protest.

Then you spotted it.

A faint glow ahead—warm and flickering, like firelight. Fire.. fire meant heat, warmth and safety.

The glow grew brighter as you neared it, and you realized it was coming from an arched doorway. Beyond it, you could see the orange flicker of flames. You practically threw yourself through the opening, your body collapsing in front of the roaring fireplace in the center of the room.

The warmth hit you like a wave, washing over your frozen skin and sending sharp, painful tingles through your fingers and toes as the feeling began to return. You gasped for air, curling into yourself as the heat began to thaw the icy grip that had taken hold of your body.

But the relief was short-lived.

You turned your head slightly, and your stomach dropped. The room wasn’t empty.

Surrounding you were tall mirrors, each one angled slightly toward the fireplace. They reflected the room in perfect, chilling detail. And in every single one, he was there, standing behind you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you whipped around, but the room was empty.

The mirrors, however, told a different story. He stood just behind your reflection, his piercing blue eye meeting yours through the glass.

“Did you think the fire would save you?” his voice echoed around the room, no longer calm but mocking.

The flames in the fireplace flickered violently, the warmth suddenly waning as frost began to creep across the floor toward you. The temperature plummeted, the ice spreading like veins across the room and snuffing out the fire entirely.

You stumbled backward, heart racing as you turned to face one of the mirrors. He was no longer just standing there—he was moving. Slowly, deliberately, his reflection stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and yours.

Before you could react, a hand shot out of the glass, his icy fingers gripping your wrist with inhuman strength. You screamed as the cold burned your skin, his grip dragging you closer to the mirror.

“Don’t fight it,” he said softly, his voice echoing in your ears as the shards within the mirrors began to hum again. “You belong with me now.”

You struggled against him, your free hand clawing at the icy surface of the mirror as it began to pull you in. The frost crawled up your arm, spreading rapidly as the world around you began to distort, shards of glass spinning wildly in your peripheral vision.

With one final yank, he pulled you through the mirror.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was your own reflection, frozen in terror, staring back at you as the shards swallowed you whole.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your body trembling violently. The cold was overwhelming, gripping you like an unrelenting vice, and as you looked around, your heart sank. You were back in the mirror realm.

The shards around you showed you in unnatural ways. Every angle of yourself felt alien, wrong, like the mirror was trying to break you down piece by piece.

“No,” you whispered, voice weak and trembling, your breath fogging up the air in front of you. Your legs were shaky, but you forced yourself to stand.

There was no time to waste. You spotted another mirror—a whole one this time—standing pristine just a few feet away. Summoning every ounce of courage, you stepped toward the mirror. This time, you didn’t pause to study your reflection. You didn��t let yourself think. You pressed your palm flat against the cold, smooth surface.

The pull came instantly, like an icy wind yanking you forward. Your body jerked as you were sucked into the mirror’s depths once more. The same nauseating sensation returned and you clenched your teeth to keep from screaming.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

You stumbled forward, your feet catching against a thick rug as you fell to your knees. You blinked, the room slowly coming into focus.

It was another part of the manor, entirely different from where you’d been before. The walls were still coated in frost, but it was quieter. You looked up to see a grand fireplace crackling with warm, golden flames. A luxurious couch sat nearby, its velvet cushions looking inviting, though a thin layer of frost clung to the edges.

You didn’t hesitate. The fire called to you like salvation itself.

You dragged yourself to your feet, stumbling toward the fireplace. The warmth hit you in waves, and you let out a shuddering breath as you collapsed onto the rug in front of it, stretching your trembling hands toward the flames.

The heat seeped into your frozen skin, painful at first as the biting cold fought to stay. You held your hands closer, rubbing them together desperately as you tried to thaw yourself.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. Your body still shook from the adrenaline and cold, but the warmth was soothing, grounding you.

You took a glance around the room, taking in your surroundings. It was richly decorated, though the frost and time had dulled its once-luxurious beauty. A massive portrait hung above the fireplace, but the frost obscured the faces in the painting, making it impossible to make out who—or what—it depicted.

The couch loomed nearby, its plush cushions tempting, but you didn’t dare sit. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down for long, not when he could appear at any moment. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, despite the fire’s warmth.

You stared back into the flames, your mind racing. The mirrors... they were clearly part of his power, his trap, but they also seemed to be a way to move through the manor.

But even as you thought that, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

Your heart leapt into your throat, the warmth of the fire suddenly feeling far too distant. You froze, every instinct screaming at you to move, to hide, but your body refused to obey.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the chill creeping back into the room, the warmth of the fire retreating as if it couldn’t stand him.

“Found you,” his voice purred, low and laced with amusement.

Your body tensed as you slowly turned your head toward him, your breath hitching in your throat. He was closer than you expected—far closer. You hadn’t even heard him cross the room, but there he was, towering over you.

You gasped, your back pressing harder against the rug as though you could somehow melt into the floor to escape him.

He reached out, trailing dangerously close to your face, but he stopped just short of touching you. His icy breath curled in the air as he tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe.

“I should end this,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, but there was an edge to it—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “You’re the last one left. There’s no one else. No one coming to save you.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. The others were gone. Nancy, the others—they’d all fallen to him. You were alone.

He crouched suddenly, leaning over you with a grace that felt almost unnatural. His free hand came to rest on the floor beside you, pinning you in place with his sheer presence. You tried to scoot back, but the icy chill radiating from him seemed to freeze you in place.

“But…” he continued, his voice softer now, contemplative, “I can’t bear to ruin something so… perfect.”

His words caught you off guard, and your eyes widened as he his hand brushed your jaw, his cold fingers gripping gently but firmly. You sucked in a sharp breath, expecting the freezing touch to sting, to burn like the cold always had before.

But it didn’t.

Instead, his touch was… comforting. The cold seeped into your skin, chasing away the ache from the fire’s heat. It was strangely soothing, like the cool side of a pillow on a restless night, or the air of an early winter morning.

Your body reacted involuntarily, your tense muscles relaxing slightly despite the fear coursing through you.

It all left you disoriented.

“You see,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly against your jaw, tilting your face up so your eyes met his. “There’s something about you, survivor. Something… different.”

His gaze roamed your features with an unsettling intensity, his icy breath brushing against your face. You tried to look away, but his grip kept you firmly in place.

“You’ve caught my attention,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, almost intimate. “And that doesn’t happen often.”

You didn’t even respond—couldn’t even respond.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice soft but commanding, “are you afraid of me?”

Your heart thundered in your chest, but the answer wasn’t as simple as it should’ve been. Fear clung to you, yes—but so did something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

When you didn’t answer, his lips curled into a faint, chilling smile. “No matter,” he murmured. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

His hand trailed down to your throat. The cold seeped deeper now, sending a shiver down your spine. His grip was firm but not constricting.

“You’re lucky,” he said softly, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze again. “I’ve decided to spare you. For now.”

“But don’t think for a moment that you’re free,” he added, his voice colder now, sharper.

Before you could even react, his cold, strong hands gripped your waist. A startled gasp escaped your lips as he hoisted you effortlessly into the air, slinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“W-What?” you stammered, your breath hitching as you felt the solid, cold muscle beneath his tattered suit.

He didn’t talk, nor did he falter as he began walking, his movements steady. You squirmed slightly, your hands pressed against his broad shoulder in an attempt to push yourself free, but his grip on you was firm, unyielding.

It was then that you noticed something strange—the ground beneath his feet was transforming. With every step he took, the floor froze over, leaving a trail of ice in his wake.

Behind him, the mirror shard he dragged in his hand left another trail, the jagged glass carving faint grooves into the icy floor. It gleamed faintly, catching the dim light of the room, but it was the strange magic in it that drew your attention. The frost along the edges seemed alive, swirling and shimmering in ways that didn’t seem natural.

And the mirrors along the walls reflected your current state back at you. It was almost unrecognizable.

Your hair was dusted with frost, strands glittering like they were laced with snowflakes. Your lashes and brows were coated in icy crystals, and your lips… they looked pale, almost blue, like the color had been drained by the biting cold. Even your skin had taken on a frosty tint, its natural warmth replaced by something delicate and ethereal.

You blinked at the reflection, your breath catching. For a moment, you almost didn’t look like yourself. You looked… otherworldly, like you belonged here, in this frozen hellscape he commanded. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and not just from the cold.

“I see you’ve noticed,” his voice rumbled, deep and laced with amusement. You jolted slightly at the sound of it, and your gaze darted to the back of his head.

“What—what’s happening to me?” you demanded, though your voice came out shaky, far weaker than you intended.

“It suits you,” he said simply, his tone calm, almost admiring. “The frost, the cold. It brings out something… exquisite.”

His words sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through you. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered or horrified.

“Let me go,” you hissed, though there was little force behind your words.

“No,” he replied, almost lazily, as though the very idea amused him. “Not yet.”

His footsteps echoed as he carried you deeper into the manor. You couldn’t tell where he was taking you, but the icy walls became thicker the further you went.

The air felt colder than ever when he suddenly stopped, and without warning, he threw you down, the impact rattling through your body as you hit the frozen ground. A hiss escaped your lips at the cold biting into your palms, but the sting didn’t linger for long—because that’s when you saw it.

The hatch.

It was right in front of you, its familiar wooden frame stark against the glistening frost around it. Your heart leapt in disbelief. He was letting you go.

You looked up at him, confusion and suspicion warring within you. Was this some sort of trap? But when your eyes met his, he was already staring at you, his calm, piercing gaze sending shivers down your spine.

He crouched down, his movement eerily graceful, and brought his hand to your cheek once more. The coldness of his touch was no longer unbearable—almost like your skin had adjusted to the frost.

“You survived, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and low, laced with something unidentifiable.

His breath curled in a frosty mist around your face as he leaned closer, his lips just a whisper away from your ear.

“I’ll see you real soon.”

Before you could say anything—before you could even think of a response—he rose to his full height, turned, and walked away.

You didn’t wait to see if he would change his mind. Scrambling forward, you gripped the edge of the hatch and pulled yourself in.

The cold vanished immediately as you fell, the icy chill replaced by a strange weightlessness. For a moment, you floated in nothingness, then, with a thud, you landed on the soft, familiar dirt of the survivor’s camp.

Warmth washed over you instantly, and you sucked in a deep breath, relief flooding through you. You looked around, the familiar sights of the campfire, scattered supplies, and makeshift shelters grounding you. It was over. The trial was over.

But as you sat there, staring into the fire’s comforting glow, the memory of his voice lingered in your mind. His words. His touch. His frost.

He had let you go.

Your next few trials were nothing short of a nightmare—though, what else was new? First, it was The Trapper, he had almost caught you at the exit gate, but a perfectly timed flashlight save from one of the other survivors gave you just enough time to slip away.

Then, there was Ghostface. His knife had grazed your back once, almost claiming you as you worked on a generator, but somehow, you managed to outmaneuver him, staying just steps ahead of his blade. The trial ended with you sprinting through the exit gate, heart pounding and lungs burning.

But just when you thought you could catch your breath, the Entity had other plans.

The next time the fog swallowed you up and spat you into a new trial, the familiar chill hit you like a slap to the face.

Your boots crunched against the snow as you took in your surroundings, your breath already visible in the icy air. Dead, frostbitten hedges towered around you, stretching into a labyrinth.

Your stomach dropped.

His map. Again.

You took a cautious step forward, trying to steady your breathing as the icy wind bit into your skin.

It didn’t take long before the sound of a generator humming faintly reached your ears. You turned a corner in the maze, spotting one sitting in the center of a small clearing. A teammate—Claudette—was already crouched by it, working diligently.

Relief washed over you as you made your way to her. If you could stick together, you’d have a better chance of survival. But as you reached her side and knelt to help, you couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Your hands trembled slightly as you worked, the cold making it hard to grip the wired properly. Then, without warning, Claudette stiffened beside you, her eyes widening in panic.

“Run,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

You didn’t need to ask why. The frost on the ground spreading, creeping toward you like a living thing, said as much.

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

The Frost Warden. At least that is what you and the other has started calling him.

You bolted at the sight of him, the snow crunching loudly beneath your feet as you tore through the maze. The icy wind whipped at your face, stinging your skin, but you didn’t dare look back.

The sound of Claudette’s scream echoed faintly behind you, and guilt clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t stop now.

You turned another corner, your lungs burning from the cold air, and skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling when you saw it—a generator, partially hidden by the frost-covered hedges. Relief mixed with panic surged through you. You had no idea where the others were, but you couldn’t let this chance go to waste.

You ran to it, skidding slightly on the icy ground, and immediately knelt by its side. Your fingers, stiff and numb from the cold, fumbled as you began working. The gears groaned faintly, resisting your touch, but you forced yourself to focus, biting your lip to keep your hands steady.

The sound of the Frost Warden’s footsteps had faded behind you, but you knew better than to assume he’d given up the chase. He didn’t need to run to catch you. This map was his domain, and you were just another mouse trapped in his frozen maze.

The generator sputtered as you fixed another wire, the hum growing louder with each successful connection. Your breath clouded the air in front of you as you worked, the sound of the engine beginning to mask the distant howling wind.

But then, a faint shimmer in the corner of your vision made you freeze.

You glanced up, heart sinking, and spotted a mirror embedded into the wall of the hedges just a few feet away. Its surface rippled faintly, like water disturbed by a pebble, and your reflection stared back at you—pale, frostbitten, and wide-eyed with fear.

For a second, nothing happened. The mirror was still, almost taunting you. But then, the rippling grew stronger, and your blood turned to ice.

You didn’t wait to see what would come through. You turned back to the generator, frantically working to finish it, but your trembling hands slowed you down. The gears groaned again, protesting against your haste.

Behind you, the mirror shimmered one last time, and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the snow filled the air.

Slow, deliberate, and far too close.

“Fixing something, are we?” The Frost Warden’s icy voice was low and calm, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

You whipped your head around, your heart leaping into your throat. He stood just a few feet away, his tall figure looming over you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His piercing blue eye studied you, sharp and calculating.

“I have to admit,” he said, taking a slow step closer, “I enjoy watching you struggle. It’s... captivating.”

You scrambled to your feet, hands trembling as you backed away from the generator. He tilted his head slightly, his calm expression never faltering, and took another step forward. The frost beneath his feet spread outward with each step, creeping across the ground and curling around the base of the generator.

You wanted to run, to put as much distance between you and him as possible, but your legs felt like lead. The cold seemed to seep into your bones, rooting you in place as his icy gaze bore into you.

“Go on,” he said softly, gesturing with the shard. “Run. Fight. Survive. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

His words felt like a taunt, and something inside you snapped. You turned on your heel and bolted, the sound of his low, icy chuckle following you as you disappeared into the labyrinth once more.

Your boots slipped slightly on the frost-slick ground as you sprinted deeper into the labyrinth. Every turn you made felt like the wrong one, the frozen hedges looming high around you, cutting off your sense of direction.

You refused to look back. You couldn’t.

Panic clawed at your chest as you skidded around another corner, narrowly avoiding an ice-coated statue that seemed to glare down at you like a silent sentinel. Your breath was visible in the air, coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

A faint light caught your eye—another generator. This one stood in the center of an open clearing, its dull hum barely audible over the wind. You didn’t hesitate. Sliding to a stop, you crouched beside it, your trembling hands fumbling as you grabbed your tools.

Your fingers were numb, making it even harder to work, but you forced yourself to focus. The wires were stiff and brittle, like they might snap under too much pressure, but you managed to connect them, one by one.

The generator sputtered to life, its engine coughing loudly as it struggled against the cold. You winced at the noise, glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing there, watching. But there was no one. So you took that chance.

Standing up up you sprinted back through the labyrinth, turning sharply around a frozen hedge, when a faint hum caught your ears. Another generator. Your heart leapt with a sliver of hope, and as you rounded the corner, you saw him—Bill.

He was hunched over the last few wires of the generator, his rough hands expertly finishing the job. Sparks flew, and the machine roared to life just as you skidded to a stop nearby.

"Bill!" you gasped, barely able to get the word out as you stumbled toward him, your breath clouding in the icy air.

He looked up sharply, his cigarette dangling from his lips, and his eyes widened when he saw you. "Kid, what the hell are you doin'?" he barked, but before you could answer, the faint crunch of footsteps made both of you freeze.

You didn’t need to say a word. Bill’s face hardened instantly, his sharp instincts kicking in. “Go. Now,” he growled, stepping between you and the sound of approaching frost.

“Bill—”

“Don’t argue with me! Get your ass outta here!” he snapped, pulling his flashlight from his belt.

After a moment of hesitation you turned and bolted, your feet slipping slightly on the frozen ground as you took off deeper into the maze. Behind you, you heard Bill shout, “Come on, you bastard! You want someone? Come get me!”

You risked a glance back just in time to see the Frost Warden emerge from the mist, his tall figure cutting an imposing silhouette. His icy blue eye locked onto Bill.

“Come on dammit!!” Bill yelled, his voice fierce.

You didn’t look back after that. You ran, your legs burning as you pushed forward, weaving through the labyrinth. The sound of their confrontation grew fainter with each step, replaced by the distant hum of generators and the faint howl of the wind.

It wasn’t until you burst through a gap in the hedges and saw the glowing lights of the exit gate in the distance that you realized you were finally in the clear. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning from the effort, but you forced yourself to keep going.

As you reached the gate, you found one of your teammates already there, working frantically to pull the lever. They glanced at you, relief washing over their face as the gate screeched open with a metallic groan.

With one last glance at the icy maze, you stepped through the gate, the warmth of safety washing over you.

You hated the smug, talkative killers. The ones who couldn’t just do their job silently but instead had to taunt, flirt, or throw out some sarcastic quip every chance they got. It wasn’t enough for them to hook you or slash at you—they had to make it personal, priding themselves on the mental games they played.

Killers like that were rare, but when you encountered them, you dreaded every moment of the trial. They made it unbearable, turning what was already a desperate fight for survival into a drawn-out performance where they were the star of the show.

The worst part? They always had that air of superiority, acting as if they were untouchable. They thrived on your frustration, your fear, and sometimes even your silence.

“Aw, don’t run now. We were just getting to know each other!”

You could hear their voice ringing in your ears even now, a mocking lilt that made your skin crawl. Some of them flirted, their words dripping with twisted charm as they chased you through the trial, their weapons raised.

“You look so cute when you’re terrified.”

Others just talked endlessly, like they needed you to know how clever or sadistic they were. They’d narrate every move, every mistake you made, as if you weren’t already painfully aware of how close you were to getting caught.

“Really? That’s the best you can do? You should’ve vaulted back there—might’ve lasted a bit longer.”

And then there were the ones who wouldn’t shut up when they hooked you, leaning down like they had all the time in the world, their breath hot against your skin.

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. It’s just business… though you do make it so much fun.”

You hated them. All of them.

It wasn’t just the humiliation—it was how they got under your skin, how their words stayed with you even after the trial was over. You could still feel the phantom weight of their hands brushing against your skin as they carried you, hear the mocking laughter as they walked away from the hook, leaving you there to struggle.

And yet, even if he wasn’t as insufferable as the others, he still had that pridefulness about him—this confidence that made him believe he was better than you, better than all of you. He didn’t need to taunt or jeer with endless, childish words like some of the others, but when he spoke, his voice carried weight. His words lingered, cutting deep, mocking you with a sly edge, and worse, when he flirted… it wasn’t just for show.

There was no humor in his tone, no casual arrogance like the smug Ghostface or the loud-mouthed Trickster. When he spoke to you, it felt like there was intent behind every word. Like he meant it.

That’s why, when you dropped into the Hawkins Lab, you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming the Demogorgon was the killer this time. The mechanical hum of the underground facility echoed faintly, and you thought maybe you’d gotten lucky for once.

But then you felt it—the subtle, growing thump of your heartbeat.

You froze.

The air changed. A chill crept over your skin, one that was unmistakable.

The frost.

Your breath hitched as your eyes darted around the dimly lit corridors, and when you saw the faint mist curling along the ground, your stomach dropped.

It was him.

He was the killer this round.

Your pulse quickened, the memory of your last encounter with him flooding your mind. You didn’t know if you were ready to face him again. But ready or not, he was here. Somewhere.

And he was already hunting.

You crept through the winding halls of the lab, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the steel walls. The chill in the air followed you, prickling at your skin as if a warning.

Finally, in a quieter part of the lab, tucked into a dead-end room, you found a generator. Relief washed over you as you crouched beside it, letting your fingers hover over the familiar knobs and wires. You could do this.

Your hands worked quickly, tightening bolts and rewiring panels, the sound of the generator humming softly beneath your touch. But then, from somewhere deep in the lab, a scream pierced the silence.

It was sharp, panicked, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

One of the others had found him—or, more accurately, he had found them.

Your instinct screamed at you to stop what you were doing, to run and hide before he got too close. But you couldn’t afford to waste time. You couldn’t leave the generator unfinished, and there was no guarantee you’d find another quiet spot like this again.

So you stayed.

Your fingers trembled as you twisted the last wire into place, forcing yourself to focus on the task. Every tick of the generator felt like an eternity, each movement of your hand making your heart pound harder.

And then you felt it—the subtle change in the air.

The frost crept in, curling along the edges of the room like icy tendrils reaching for you.

Your breath fogged as the chill kissed your skin, and your stomach sank just as the generator roared to life, cutting through the silence of the lab.

And then you saw it.

To your left, just beyond the doorway, the faint red glow.

Your heart sank.

The telltale light killers carried with them—always a warning, always a death sentence if you weren’t fast enough. And just past the glow, you saw him.

He stood there, completely still for a moment, then his head tilted slightly, almost curiously, before he took a single step forward. The frost beneath his feet deepened, spreading faster across the floor, as if it were alive and hungry to reach you.

"Impressive," he murmured, his voice smooth and cold, yet carrying a dangerous edge. "You finished the generator all alone? Clever little thing, aren’t you?"

Your legs finally obeyed you, and you stumbled backward, your shoulder hitting the wall as you tried to put distance between yourself and him. But there was nowhere to go—no other exits, no windows to climb through.

He stepped fully into the room now, the red glow of his presence bathing the small space as he closed the distance with unnerving calmness.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as his free hand reached out, his frosted fingers brushing lightly against the wall beside your head.

"I’ve been looking forward to this," he whispered. "Don’t disappoint me now."

Well.. he said it.

With your back against the wall and his towering figure leaning in too close, you knew there was only one way out of this.

Before he could react, you drove your knee up with all your strength, slamming it into his stomach.

He staggered back, a sharp groan tearing from his throat as his hand instinctively moved to his abdomen.

"Really?" he hissed, his voice low and laced with irritation.

But you didn’t stick around to hear what else he had to say. The moment you saw him falter, you bolted.

You sprinted past him, your boots skidding slightly on the frosted floor as you rounded the doorway and darted back into the dimly lit hallways of Hawkins Lab.

You could hear him behind you now—not running, but walking. Slow, deliberate, as if he wasn’t worried about catching up.

And that made it worse.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and immediately regretted it.

He was there, just a few meters behind you. “Running again, are we?” he called out. “You should know by now—you can’t outrun the cold.”

You turned sharply around another corner, your breath hitching in your chest, but suddenly—bam!—another survivor came barreling around the corner.

“Watch it!” they hissed, just as panicked as you. It was Meg, her red hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her eyes wide with fear. But before either of you could exchange another word, an icy gust cut through the hallway, and Meg’s eyes widened further.

“Run!” she shouted, but it was too late.

With a flick of his wrist, the shard slashed across Meg’s side, cutting through her jacket and drawing a scream from her lips.

You stumbled back, gasping as you watched in horror.

“Pathetic,” his cold, deep voice echoed, reverberating through the hallway. He stood over Meg, who writhed in pain at his feet, clutching her wound. “So flawed… so imperfect.” His tone was cutting, condescending, as if she were beneath him.

“You’re not worth my time,” he added, tilting his head as he stared down at her, his frostbitten fingers twitching.

Meg groaned and tried to crawl away, but he pressed the tip of his shard into the ground beside her, the ice creeping out in sharp, jagged patterns. He didn’t strike again, though—he didn’t need to. His words alone cut deeper than the shard itself.

“You’ve already been broken,” he sneered, stepping away from her as if she were nothing more than a discarded object.

From his side, he produced a small shard of mirror, its surface gleaming. He turned it in his hands with a strange gentleness, his icy fingers trailing along the edges of the shard as if it were a delicate treasure.

Meg whimpered, flinching as he tilted the shard toward her face. The distorted reflection that appeared in its surface made your breath hitch. It wasn’t just her face—it was a fractured version of her, revealing her deepest insecurities, her doubts, and fears. Her lips trembled as she stared at the cruel image, her reflection seeming to cry out silently as if begging for release.

"You see," he murmured, his voice quiet yet cutting, "this is what you truly are. Flawed. Fragile. Broken beyond repair."

Meg tried to look away, but he held the shard steady, forcing her to confront the image.

And then, with cold, unflinching precision, he drove the shard into her chest.

Her body arched with a strangled cry, her breath coming out in shallow gasps as the mirror shard pierced her heart.

Meg's movements stilled, her eyes glassy as the frost crept across her skin. He remained kneeling over her, watching as her life slipped away, the satisfaction in his expression subtle but unmistakable.

Standing slowly, he looked down at her lifeless body, his frosted hands carefully wiping the shard clean. He inspected it briefly, as if ensuring it was free of imperfection before tucking it away.

Then, he turned to you.

His icy blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You however,” he said softly, his voice like frost creeping over glass, “are nothing like that.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he began to move toward you, his steps slow and deliberate.

“So perfect,” he continued, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But even perfection can be elevated.”

He stopped just a few feet away, his presence overwhelming as he tilted his head. “How much more beautiful you’d be…” His voice dipped, a cold whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “…as part of the ice.”

Before you could move, before you could even think, he was on you. His cold hand pressed against your shoulder, driving you back until your spine hit the wall with a muted thud. The opposing sensations—his cold and the warmth your body clung to—warred within you, leaving you frozen in more ways than one.

His gloved hand remained firm on your shoulder, holding you in place, while his other hand brushed against your cheek. The frost that followed his touch bloomed across your skin like a winter’s kiss, cold yet strangely… soothing.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, each word curling around you like an arctic breeze. “The warmth of life… fighting so desperately against the cold I bring.”

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your skin like a whisper of frost. “It’s beautiful… the way your body responds. How it resists, yet…” He tilted his head, “you don’t pull away.”

Your teeth chattered as you tried to speak, but no words came.

“You’re so… fragile,” he continued, his voice soft yet laced with a dangerous edge. “So alive. And yet…” His hand moved from your cheek to trail along your jawline, his touch featherlight but freezing. “…it would take so little to turn you into something eternal. A perfect sculpture of ice.”

Your chest heaved as you struggled to keep your composure, the weight of his words sinking in. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours now, his cold breath mingling with your warm exhalations.

“But not yet,” he whispered, his lips curling into that same pleased smirk. “Not when you’re this… captivating.”

His hand lingered for a moment longer before he suddenly stepped back, releasing you. The frost clinging to your skin and the wall behind you melted away almost instantly, leaving you trembling.

He turned away without another word, his presence still heavy in the air. For a moment, you thought he was leaving you, but then he glanced over his shoulder, his icy gaze piercing through you.

“Run,” he said softly, the word laced with chilling intent. “Let’s see how long that warmth of yours can last.”

Your breath hitched as the word settled in the air like a command, and without hesitation, your body obeyed. You pushed off the wall and bolted.

A sharp whoosh cut through the air, and you instinctively ducked, feeling the chilling breeze of his mirror shard slicing the air just behind you. It didn’t hit you—no, it never did—but it was close enough to send shivers crawling up your spine. He wasn’t trying to injure you. He wanted you to feel the cold, to know how close he was, to remind you that you were his to chase.

You rounded a corner, vaulting over a low counter in a desperate attempt to create some distance, but when you landed on the other side, his red light loomed just behind you. A low, cold laugh followed, echoing in the empty halls.

You made a sharp turn, vaulting over another obstacle, and finally, finally, you saw someone. A flash of movement—another survivor! Relief flooded through you as they ran toward you, their eyes wide with panic.

It was Jake.

He looked at you, then past you, his expression hardening as he realized who was chasing you. Without a word, he stepped forward, drawing the killer’s attention as you scrambled to the side, ducking into another hallway.

You hesitated for just a moment, watching as the killer’s calm gaze shifted to Jake. He didn’t speak this time, but there was something in his posture as if he were almost… displeased at the interruption.

Jake shouted, waving his arms to draw the killer further away. “Come one!” he yelled.

With one last glance, you turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, the sound of their footsteps fading behind you.

Eventually you found a dark, quiet corner where you could catch your breath.

You slumped against the wall, your body trembling from adrenaline and the lingering chill of his presence. Jake had bought you time, but you knew it wouldn’t last forever.

You stumbled into another corridor, your heart still racing as you scanned the area. The faint hum of a generator reached your ears, and you followed it like a lifeline. Turning a corner, your eyes landed on a half-finished generator sitting in the middle of a secluded room. Relief washed over you.

Quickly, you moved to it, crouching down and setting to work. Your hands shook, partially from the cold and partially from the lingering adrenaline, but you forced yourself to focus.

You flinched at the sudden distant sound of a scream. Someone had gone down—it was hard to tell who in the chaos of the trial—but you couldn’t think about that now.

Finally, the generator sparked to life, the room lighting up with the mechanical glow and you allowed yourself a small, shaky exhale of victory.

But then, the warmth in the air shifted.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the icy feeling grew stronger. You froze in place, barely breathing, your eyes darting around the room.

The ground near your feet began to frost over, thin trails of ice spreading across the floor.

Panic surged through you, and your eyes scanned the room desperately. There—a locker, tucked into the corner. Without hesitation, you sprinted for it, careful to avoid making too much noise. You slipped inside and shut the door as quietly as you could, pressing your back against the wooden wall.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from making a sound, every muscle in your body tensing as the steps grew louder, closer. The frost crept higher on the walls, spiderwebbing like cracks in a mirror.

You crouched lower in the locker, your eyes fixed on the small gaps in the slats. Through them, you could see his figure moving closer, the frost trailing in his wake. It spread across the walls, over the floor, and finally, onto the locker itself.

You could feel the chill seeping through, making the air inside colder and colder. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried desperately to stay silent, but the icy metal at your back made it nearly impossible to stay still.

Through the small gaps, you watched as he stopped right in front of the locker. He stood there for a moment, his back partially turned, scanning the room.

You thought he might leave, but then he turned back, facing the locker directly, standing perfectly still, only inches away from where you were hiding. For a moment, he seemed to just stand there, listening, the silence pressing down like a weight.

The frost continued to spread, climbing up the locker door and along its edges. The cold bit into your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. And that was your mistake.

The faintest sound of your breath slipping past your lips was enough.

His head tilted slightly, his sharp blue eye narrowing as he leaned forward. From the small gap, you could see his mouth curl into a smirk.

“I know you’re in there,” he said, his voice a soft, chilling whisper that made the frost seem warmer in comparison.

You stiffened, pressing your back harder against the frozen wood as he tapped a single finger on the locker door. “Are we playing hide-and-seek now?” he continued, his tone laced with amusement. “I thought you’d know by now—” he paused, leaning closer, so close that you swore his frosty breath was fogging the slats, “—I always win.”

For a horrifying moment, you thought he was going to rip the door open, his hand hovering close. But instead, he straightened up, taking a step back.

You let out a shaky breath, thinking for a second that he might leave. But then he raised his mirror shard and dragged it lightly against the edge of the locker door, the screech of ice making you wince.

“You know,” he began, his voice smooth and quiet, almost too calm, “there’s something about you… something that exhilarates me.” He let out a low chuckle, dragging the shard along the door one last time before stopping. “I’ve encountered many survivors, and they all blur together after a while. But you…” He paused, leaning closer so his breath frosted the slats of the locker. “You’re not like that.”

You could barely breathe, your entire body frozen—not from the cold, but from his words. The way he spoke wasn’t like the other killers you’d faced. There was no mockery, no irritation at your defiance.

“You’re so... special,” he murmured, the shard now resting against the locker as if he were caressing it. “Every time I see you, it’s like I’m looking at something perfect.” He chuckled again, low and chilling. “It makes me want to keep you forever. Preserve that beauty. Make it mine.”

Your heart stopped as his words sunk in, your breath caught in your throat. Before you could think to do anything—before you could even try to scramble or scream—the door to the locker swung open.

“Caught you,” he said softly, as if this was nothing more than a game.

You gasped as his arms reached in, effortlessly grabbing you. The frost where his hands touched your skin seeped into you immediately.

“Struggling won’t help,” he said, almost teasingly, as you tried to push against him. “Not that I want you to. I quite like the way you tremble.”

Before you could protest, he hoisted you up with a strength that made your attempts at resistance seem laughable. Your world tilted as he threw you over his shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. Before he started walking through the lab, while you squirmed in his hold, but it was no use.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he shifted you off his shoulder and set you down with surprising care onto a cold, metal control table in the center of the lab. The frost beneath his boots crept up the legs of the table, spreading like spiderwebs across the surface and surrounding you in a halo of icy mist.

You tried to sit up, but he leaned forward, his hand pressing against your shoulder to keep you in place. “You’re quite predictable, you know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a tinge of amusement. “Always fighting. Always running. But here you are under me again.”

His lips curved into that same faint, knowing smirk that made your chest tighten. He shifted slightly closer, his free hand resting on the edge of the table, boxing you in.

“You’re the last one left again,” he murmured, almost like he was savoring the words. “Everyone else has fallen. And yet… here you are. Stubborn as ever.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. The others were gone. You were the last survivor again, and there was still one generator left to finish.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, your pulse thundering in your ears as you glanced around the room, searching desperately for some kind of opening, anything to get away. But his body blocked most of your view, and the frost on the walls behind him seemed to spread as if sealing off any potential escape.

“Such a mouth,” he teased, his voice almost a whisper now, his frosty breath grazing your lips. “But I like your fire. It makes it so much more satisfying to snuff it out.”

His hand moved slowly to rest on your chest, the chill of his touch sinking deep into your skin. A shiver ran down your spine as you watched in wide-eyed disbelief. Frost spread outward from where his palm met your chest, intricate patterns blooming like frozen flowers across your skin. It didn’t feel painful—it was cold, yes, but strangely gentle, almost mesmerizing. You couldn’t help but stare at the crystalline designs etching themselves over you.

“You see?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with a quiet satisfaction. “Perfection.”

Your gaze snapped up to meet his as he stepped back slightly. His free hand rose, tugging at the edge of his cracked mirror mask. With a deliberate, almost theatrical motion, he removed it, letting the light fully illuminate his face for the first time.

He was… beautiful. His features were sharp and striking, carved with the same precision as the frost he wielded. A few thin scars adorned his face, faint but noticeable. His eyes glowed faintly, studying you intently, as though you were some kind of masterpiece he’d just completed.

“You complement me so perfectly now,” he said softly, as his eyes lingered on the frost spreading over your skin. His gaze was equal parts admiration and possessiveness, as if you were a creation he had shaped with his own hands.

You wanted to speak, to tell him to stop, to push him away, but the words caught in your throat. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it impossible to move.

“You’re so beautiful” he continued, his cold fingers tracing a line along the frost-covered patterns on your arms. “Now… now you’re mine. A canvas perfected by my touch.”

Your breathing hitched as his hand paused, his icy fingertips resting just over your racing pulse. His face was so close now that you could feel the frost in his breath, mingling with the warmth of yours.

“You’ve always stood out,” he said, his tone softening, almost tender. “Among all the others, you are the only one worth keeping.” As his hand rested on your chest, he leaned closer, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I wonder,” he mused softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “how much more beautiful you’ll be… once the ice fully claims you.”

Before you could react, he leaned in, his cold lips pressing against yours. The icy chill of his kiss sent a jolt through your body, and you gasped sharply, the frost on your skin seeming to tighten as if it were alive, responding to his touch. His lips, though cold, were strangely soft it left you reeling, unsure whether to pull away or melt into it.

His hands moved swiftly, capturing yours as your instincts kicked in to push him away. He intertwined his fingers with yours, locking them together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was firm, as though he was making sure you wouldn’t escape. The frost from his hands seeped into yours, spreading the intricate, shimmering patterns further up your arms.

When he pulled back, his lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could see his breath crystallizing in the cold air between you. “You even sound so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though sharing a secret meant only for you. His thumbs brushed lightly over the backs of your hands, sending another shiver coursing through your body. “I could get used to hearing the sounds i could get out of you.”

You tried to tug your hands free, but his fingers tightened slightly, holding you there. “Why fight it?” he whispered, tilting his head, his tone almost coaxing. “You belong here. With me. Look at yourself—you’re already becoming part of the ice.”

Your gaze flickered downward for a moment, catching the glittering frost climbing your arms, wrapping around your wrists like delicate, frozen chains. It was as if the cold itself was claiming you, binding you to him.

“Don’t you see?” he continued, his voice filled with a chilling certainty. “No one else could ever understand your beauty the way I do. No one else could ever deserve you.”

His hands tightened just slightly around yours, pulling you closer as his lips brushed against your ear. “Let me show you how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his breath icy against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine.

His hands suddenlt slid to the hem of your sweater, the cold of his fingers making your breath hitch as he slowly pulled the fabric upward. The icy chill wrapped around you like a second skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

As the fabric bunched up, exposing more of your skin, you felt his lips brush against your stomach—a fleeting, ghostly kiss that left a trail of frost in its wake. His kisses were cold but delicate, as if he were crafting something beautiful out of your very existence. The frost spread wherever his lips touched, etching intricate, crystalline patterns onto your skin like a frozen work of art.

You shivered, your teeth threatening to chatter as the frost claimed more of you, but the chill didn’t burn.

“You don’t even realize how perfect you are, do you?” he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing along the curve of your collarbone. His voice was softer now, almost tender. “Each mark I leave… it suits you. Makes you mine.”

His hands trailed along your sides, the frost blooming under his touch like winter flowers. You gasped softly as his lips pressed against your chest, leaving behind more intricate frost.

“I could cover every inch of you,” he continued, his voice deepening as he leaned back to admire his handiwork. His eyes sparkled with an unearthly glow as they traced the frosty designs now covering your skin. “You were made for this. For me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in again, his lips brushing yours so faintly it was maddening. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered, his voice as chilling as his touch. “You’re already mine.”

The frost tightened its hold on you, the cold sinking deeper into your skin as if binding you to him, you couldn’t tell whether it was fear or something else entirely keeping you from pulling away.

a/n: my mom is sick so i was filling up a hot water bag but i squeezed too tight so i spilled the water on my chest :p pray my piercing dont get irritated...

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

Perm taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine @badtzsan @anushkaaaiaiiaiaia

@heeseungbabydoll @wondash @renjiishot @demigodmahash

@strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @honeybunnee @jjongstar111

@enhaprettystars @zorange13 @jiminie-08 @chocowonnie

@enhamonsterghoul @mrsjjongstby @lunaritex @kiripimaspillow

@sumsumtingz @norucking @tunafishyfishylike @txnwvc

@jakeluvrrs @antoinettenotfound

Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

221 notes · View notes

starillusion13 · 1 year ago

Text

Under the moonlight

The above beautiful Hwa edit is from @whiteblackswan

Pairing: vampire! Seonghwa x f! reader (ft. Hongjoong)

Genre: Vampire au, Angst, Smut

Warnings: marriage under lies, fake mate, poisoning, mating, bonding, blood, biting, slight overstimulation, nipple play, raw penetration ( don't do unnecessarily buddies). Do tell me if I have missed anything.

W.C: 5k+

For my bestfriend: @mymoodwriting ( I love you so much my Rose)

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

Note: Thanks for reading and reblogging my fics. I appreciate it a lot and I love you my stellars for inspiring me to write all these shits:)))

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞 . PLEASE BE INNOCENT

“I know who you are.”

“Interesting.” A laugh echoes all around the royal chamber and the hallways. The laugh is genuine with a mocking tone and evil means.

You snap your head towards the direction you are guessing the source of the laugh but nothing is visible to you. Every corner of the room is like hollow darkness with mysteries waiting to be explored. The aroma of sandalwood and roses are outlining the wicked love of the person who is currently out of your sight but you are all visible to HIM.

The burning candles and the flames around every corner of the room lighting up the darkness and your teary eyes filled with a strong passion and hatred are shining like the diamonds in a pit hole.

“Why are you hiding? Are you afraid, blood-fool?”

“Shut up! I have told you repeatedly not to call me that.”

His tone is stern and you can feel his piercing black eyes sharply focused on you. Trying to take one step closer to the stairs, you got held back by those restraints on your hands and legs. You don't have a single bit of idea about the restraints on your body, the long golden tree roots emerging from the ground with different white flowers decorating it and the most unique is the black roses on them with shining, lining of an almost invisible shield around your wrists and ankles. You have already tried several times to shake them off but it’s in vain. Glaring at the roots for nth time, you look up to catch the sight of the most awaited man of the night.

The Dark Aesthetic is flowing from his presence. Black hair falling over his forehead hiding one of those star-filled eyes but the other one is enough to be compared to the stars of the universe and still be the brightest. How can his eyes shine so bright?

The black shiny suit with a loose fitted white-shirt with three buttons from the top are undone which teasingly shows you the bare chest of the pale skinned man. There is a pendant around his neck but it's not clearly visible. The black boots echoing in the huge space causing your heart to thump inside you but you don't let the man know before you so you hold a facade of strong personality.

“Why am I here, blood-fool?”

“Y/N!”

You flinch on hearing his shout. The candle flames also lose their flow of burning with the vibration of the sound. Your brown daring eyes staring directly to the opposite black eyes. No. The eyes are wine red in color but it vanishes with your one blink. Are you hallucinating?

“What? Don't like hearing it but still here you are keeping me all tied up.”

“Shut your little mouth, Rose.”

You send him a glare on hearing him calling you with such endearment. He just chuckles on your expression and your gaze falls on his tinted red lips which seems like he has just sucked someone’s blood which apparently, he has. Both of you are standing facing each other under two chandeliers. The five feet distance between you both is nothing to keep you safe from him and his dangerous dark aura beaming out from him is making the atmosphere colder. Shivers run down your body and his eyes follow how slowly goosebumps are peeking on your soft and dirty skin. Feeling his gaze on you, you try to cover your exposed skin but how can you even do that being in such a condition.

“If you want me to shut me up then I presume you to start explaining.”

“Such a feisty one.”

“Well, you know me now.”

Your weak yet confident self is smirking at his strong form. Even his shadow has some authority over the place.

“I’m just waiting for the moment to break you down.”

The way he speaks the words and the melody tuning from his mouth was so nice to your ears but you quickly regain your composure to glare at him back again.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you are asking too many questions so let me see which to answer you first.”

He walks towards your restrained form in the middle of the hallroom and then you noticed a big black rose pinned to his left side of the coat over his chest. That is not like some usual flowers but gifted just like yours. How?

He looks over his chest following your eyes and he smiles seeing the flower and when he looks up, his gaze travels to your whole form standing in a thin white royal silk gown and your princess tiara on your head reflecting the flames of fire through the mini diamond works.

“You have this flower…..but how?”

“Why can't I have this when you also have the same one?”

You look over to your right shoulder to see the white Rose but it looks so weak in front of the black one just like you in front of him. Your confused facial turns towards him.

“Why are you comparing that to mine? It's a mate thing, not some matching stuff for your grand party.”

“I know it’s a mate thing and that’s why I have this.”

“You can’t have a Rose. Only Hongjoong can have this. I am his mate.”

“No. You are not his mate, Y/N.”

“You think I will believe a monster like you. Never.”

He comes closer to you, leaning forward to meet your brown orbs. You avoid to meet his eyes but the grip on your jaw makes you to face his dangerous smiling face. He looks so beautiful in so close up. What the hell? How are you getting distracted by the fact that he is the enemy of your and Hongjoong’s kingdom. Eyes scanning your face and stops on your lips, he regained his straight posture to take two steps backward to cast a glance at you and starts walking towards a table and beside it is a large curtain. You panicked on thinking what his next move can be.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry. I will not hurt you.”

You huffed on his response. “The one who kidnapped me last night, keeping me here whole day like a tamed animal and then assuring me to not worry.”

Rummaging through the cabinets, he finally takes out a silver knife with black and white stones, crystals and roses decorated on it. If he is going to kill you then its better to be like this than to fight him back because neither you can escape this place alone nor you want to stay with him any longer. He glances at your stiff figure and chuckles. Observing the knife in his hand, he is circling your figure. Turning around your head in every direction to understand his movements, he is just casually walking with knife in circles as if waiting for the exact time to launch on his prey.

“I had to keep you all day here or you would have tried to run away.”

“As if I could. But, where were you all day?”

“Did you miss me so much?”

You hiss. “I did not.”

“I was waiting for the right time and till then collecting all the information.”

“Right time?”

“Yeah. Everything needs to be done in a proper way.”

“What are you saying?”

The last thing you remember is about last night.

**************

You were enjoying your time with Hongjoong in the backyard garden. You were listening to his stories about his clans upcoming mating season and how some of them will have to adapt to some new ways to find their mate but suddenly you both felt a chill wind brush over the skin. Your husband reassured you that he was the most powerful vampire king and its nothing except the wind in early December. There was still a lingering sensation in your mind that something was wrong.

“Joong, I don’t think its wind.”

“Calm down Y/N. If anything happens then I am here to protect you.” He was smiling softly at you.

“How long will you keep her blind with lies?”

You got startled with the new voice but your husband was standing still without any emotion on his face as if he knew the voice very well. He really knew. He even knew why that person was there and even what he was referring to with lies. Blinded by lies?

“Seonghwa…..Why are you here?”

A dark chuckle erupted from the bushes and you both were alarmed while staring there. The figure appeared from the shadows with white stars sparked on his left side of the coat over his chest. The same position where Hongjoong is having a black rose.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know Hongjoong.”

“Leave this place, right now.”

“I came here today with everything prepared and I wont be leaving without taking her with me.”

“I will not go anywhere with you.”

“Y/N-“ His dark eyes became soft while looking at your form holding Jonng’s side tightly. He was not liking the fact of you holding your husband like that. Why?

“She will not go anywhere and I will make sure of it.”

“Lets see.”

In a split of second, Hongjoong attacked with his sword towards his enemy but only a metal clinging sound was heard. Your closed eyes which were expecting to see some bloods as usual caught the sight of Seonghwa glaring at Hongjoong, his eyes dark with void as if he could swallow his soul and one hand blocking the sword with his own and the other one choking him.

“Leave him. Why are you doing this?” Tears rolling down the cheek and both of the men were furious to see you in that way.

“Look, you have made her cry.”

“Shut up. As if you did not just poison her that day.”

*****************

You are groaning to not remember what happened after that but you are more confused with the conversation they had.

“You tried to poison me?”

He pauses, gaze focused below on his shoes and hand clutching tightly the knife. The hold is so strong that his hand can cut without the blade portion.

“Not tried. I had to give you poison.”

“Why? And…and where is Hongjoong?”

“To prove him I was correct. He is probably being a maniac in his kingdom right now.”

He is not looking at you but is keenly interested on the curtains, eyeing every curtain precisely. You didn’t notice before that how all the natural light sources from the nature is blocked by those black curtains.

“Prove?”

“Do you remember what happened on the day when all the royal vampires were gathered?”

“Of course. You killed so many royals that day and even you gave threats to my husband. Also, that was the day I saw you how crazy you were for blood.”

“Your blood.”

His black orb staring at you, hiding behind a lot of explanations to be spoken out, begging for you to give a chance to hear him out. His eyes travelling to the constraint parts of your body, roots around the wrists and ankles adorned with white flowers and black roses.

“In the middle of the ball room, you picked up your glass and sipping the drink, you went to the balcony to spend your time alone under the moonlight. You felt a tingling pain in your chest and your flower was shining. Your senses were telling you to run away, to leave the place as you don’t belong there. But….you ignored it and calmed your senses before putting up a fake smile and went to your bedroom.”

“How do you know this?”

“I was there all the time. That drink had the juice of crushed black roses from my yard. If your mate drink that under the moonlight then you both will feel the pain in your chest and it shows the connection between you both. If you were not my mate then you then it would have worked as a poison to your body.”

“How? But I’m not your-“

“You are my mate Y/N. His flower is Lily not Rose, that’s fake. He was mesmerized with your beauty and your body and his desire overtaking him, he finally chose to steal you before I could ever reach you. He made me a villain in front of everyone……in front of you.”

Seeing you after all these years, caused his passion to flare as he gazes upon his lost love. His golden eyes staring at your brown ones directly and this time you are searching the truth and lies hidden in them.

“Then why have you tied me like this?”

“I’m protecting you. Those shields and those flowers are purifying every trace of Hongjoong on you.”

“No No you are lying. I want him back. Where is he?”

“Has he ever told you about the mate thing or how does it work?”

“No but….he said that you are causing too much problems all around and we have to think about the mate thing later because you are blocking our bond.”

“Exactly. If you were really his mate then nothing could have blocked you both in the mating season and also he blamed me for this. Think about it, did you ever feel the pain when he was hurt? Had he ever showed you how these flowers are connected? Had he ever told you how much he loves you?”

No. He has never been like this ever. You didn’t even think about it this way but you just cant rely on his words without having any prove of whatever he is even telling you now.

“Prove me then how much you are saying truth.”

“No. I cant do the mating against your will.”

He nears to your form keeping the knife in his pocket, taking your hands in his and you can feel the relief to your body when the restraints start to disappear. Your shocked face looking up to him for any hints of any other intentions but he has a fond look towards you. The man standing in front of you is your mate, so you were in lies all these times and your mate was desperate to find and get you back.

“Why didn’t you find me soon?”

“I wanted to reach you everyday but you were not in my territory and his territory was shielded by high potion barriers but Wooyoung helped me to get to you. I couldn’t stand anymore that some other vampire is soon to claim you as theirs in front of me and I felt a rage in my heart to see you smiling with him.”

“Seonghwa….” The first time you ever called his name and his wide eyes shining brighter as if it holds the whole universe within it.

“Say my name again, Y/N.” There is an eagerness and longingness to hear you, to hear you call out his name. The rolling of your tongue sending shivers to him and his hands holding you tighter, thumbs pressing top of your hands.

With a smile, you repeated his name again ‘Seonghwa’ and he hugged your weak body, shielding you from all the evils he can at that moment. Surrounding a protective barrier around you with his hands as if he does not need any other means to protect you, he is enough for you.

The closeness and the connection you are feeling with him, you never felt a little bit with your husband but there is a lingering thought of whose intention is correct. You have heard that you cant be bonded if you are not their mate and Hongjoong never tried to bond with you but if Seonghwa is telling the truth then he should not be hesitating to do the rituals.

“If you are really my mate then do the rituals and prove me.”

“Only mean to prove is the connection of the flowers under the moonlight. And then……”

“Then?”

“Y/N, we can take time if you want.”

“No. You already waited for me all these years and I was blinded with façade of love and was living with someone who was not even my mate. I feel so used right now maybe you will also hate me knowing how much I have loved him.”

You’re leaning to his scent, the more time passing with you in his embrace, you are getting attracted to him and his presence.

“I wan to make you mine. You will be My Rose.”

“Then do it Seonghwa. Make me yours.”

Pausing for a precise moment, eyes scanning your overall face with genuine warm smiles reflecting towards each other. He kisses your soft pale lips with his cherry lips, hands moving up to cup your jaw and you balancing yourself on the hold you have on his attire, clutching tightly. Eyes shut close, slow movements of lips dancing with the beats of both of your heart’s melody, the way its singing to finally having each other. Tilting his head to get better access to your mouth, one hand sliding behind your head to pull you closer. Teeth clashing each other’s, saliva and the heat of your mouth’s becoming one. You never felt this feeling with your husband ever but this man is giving you all the feels for which you have longed for. Breaking the kiss, he places a small kiss on your forehead.

“Before bonding, I want to show you how these flowers are connected.”

Getting an approval of nod and assuring smile, he goes towards the big curtain and with a harsh pull, he removes it. Moonlight spread across the room rapidly belittling the light from the flames and candles. The dark place you were all these times seems lively. Mysteries of the darkness changing to hope for you. For you? The hope to be finally someone’s.

Taking his flower on his hand, he extends his hand towards you, asking for you to do the same, you hesitate for a moment before handing over yours to him. With keen interest, your eyes following his every move, how he placed the two flowers with white on top black and places it under the first ray of direct moonlight from the casement.

“What are you doing?”

“We need to drop one drop of our blood on this to seal our bond.”

Slow steps of your bare foot make its way towards him, hands by your side holding the gown up to not halt your steps. Taking the knife from his hand, he shows no emotion to you but a fixed stare on the flowers, you cut your wrist slightly, closing your eyes to endure the stinging burn and pain. His wide eyes taking in your form, holds your hands over the flowers and his other hand taking the knife from you to cut similarly on the wrist holding yours. His face has no reactions like you but observing how both of your bloods drop on the flowers.

Nothing happened.

Everything is still in its movements and your breaths of pain audible. So, was he lying? Then he is not your mate.

“Why nothing happened?”

“We are not yet bonded Y/N.”

Realization clicks your mind with the bonding word. So the intimacy between you both is required to surpass it’s effect. Thousands of thoughts clouding your mind but you choose to lock them behind the closed eyes.

“Then do what is left to do. Claim me as yours.”

“Y/N you don’t-“

“I have to Seonghwa. I need you to make me yours. I want to know that you are mine.”

The only push he needed was to hear you call him ‘yours’. With quick steps, he comes to face you with a lustful-red eyes but he seems to fighting his own self to prevent himself from hurting you in rush. Your bright smile returning to his features make him lean forward to crash his lips against you. The previous shared moment was so soft and delicate but this one is rough. Biting your lips to get deeper, his tongue and teeth sucking your inside as if to suck your whole life out.

“You smell so sweet Y/N.”

“I want to smell like you.”

The words make his grip on your hair and forearm tighter. With a pull, he tries to guide towards a particular direction before you stop him on his ways and confused eyes staring back at you.

“What happened? Do you want me to stop now?”

“No but I want you to do it here under the glowing moonlight. I want to see how the natural light adorning your feature and how the bond will affect the flowers.”

“See it by yourself. Come on and disrobe me.”

Your hands move upwards to slide his coat from the shoulders leaving him in a see-through shirt and the pendant and then when you see a red rose rested around his neck same as Hongjoong but his was lily. He follows to where you are focused and chuckles.

“The only color to my life is this pendant.”

“I will color your life. I will be the moon to your darkness.”

“Why will you not be my sun?”

“I don’t want to burn you with my love and not let you to look at me. Sunlight makes every corner bright and burn through every barrier to light it up and people don’t value its presence that it should get whereas moonlight adores the nature with its shining rays and only lights up the place which welcomes it, leaving around the rest in mystery. When someone looks at the moon, there is a fondness.”

Your hands slide on his cheeks, “I want you to look at me like that.”

“Yes my queen.”

He presses his lips to you, kissing you softly then gliding his tongue with tracing a juicy line through your cheeks to jaws. Leaving wet kisses on the fleshy jaw, he moves down to nuzzle into your neck before kissing it and sucking it. You let out a low moan to which he sucks deeper and you swear as if he could eat you alive that instance. Feeling a sharp tingling of his fangs around the neck, you smile and pat his head but he just kisses you on the spot.

“Bite me.”

“No. I want to feel you and make us one then only I will bite you.”

Moonlight falling over him, reflecting his attractive features of facial and the pale skin over his chest seems like a perfect meal to you. You nod to him and he goes back to kiss your collarbone and then when you feel the tug in your dress from back, urging you to free from your body. Your hands guide him to take it off but when it gets stuck in one place, he just rips it off from you. He takes off every material from you. Your hands go back to take off his shirt.

He pulls you down cradling in his hold and you both landed on the soft mattress. His lips never left your delicate skin, nose intoxicated with your scent and hands pumping your chest.

“Seonghwa….”

“Yes Y/N.”

“This..ah...this feels so good.”

“I know. I want to make you feel good in every possible way. I want to prove my love for you and to claim you in this bond.”

His breath against your soft skin, lips nibbling when admiring and praising you. You tangled your fingers into his hair and pulls it when he flicks a nipple, earning a groan from him. Pushing you further down into the mattress, he plops a nipple inside his warm mouth and sucking it deeply, tongue giving kitten licks to the tip. His eyes look up to your blissed face with pleasure. Your eyes meet his. A spark runs through both of your body. Your legs close tightly and rubbing against to get any friction of throbbing heat but he quickly follows your action and places his one knee in between.

“Don’t.”

Your pleas having a desperation in it and it amuse him. He places your hand over his hard member and guides your fingers to get off the pants from him. Your hands move faster than you imagine and surprises him as well to see your dedication for him.

“How badly I want to ruin you!”

Your heat aches and clenches on his words. Suddenly he retreats himself from you, leaving your heated body on the cold mattress. Your eyes flutter open to see him removing his pants fully and placing himself between your legs. Moonlight hitting his bare self and your eyes adoring the view. Every movement of his body, flexing his well built muscles and abs and how your hands tickling to touch them.

“Please Seonghwa. Please ruin me.”

He bends down to place a little kiss on your clit, continuing a line of kisses from your lower belly to belly button where he licks the surrounding place and nose bumping to your hot flesh with his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin making your body arch and pull his hair in your grip, moving up to your chest to suck your nipples and kiss in the middle of the chest then licking the collarbones and again nuzzling his face into your neck and hair.

Placing a kiss on your jaw and repeating it to your nose and lips. He smiles down at you.

“Are you ready my queen?”

“Always my king.”

He pushes himself inside you, length stretching out your tight muscles. You let out a loud cry before Seonghwa pushes your hairs back to plant a soft and long kiss on your forehead.

“That’s it. Relax.”

His soothing voice and delicate touches, fingers brushing over the pale skin. Your hands tracing the line of his muscles and gliding your hands up and down his body.

Every thrust is deeper than the before and you are literally floating. His thrusts are not rough but measurable and precise to make you feel how good he fits inside you. Your walls clenching around his length earns a growl from him. Your hips rock upward to match his pace but his grip on your hips holds you down to make you still.

His every touch igniting your already burning self and if it continues, you might burn down. Thrusting deeper into with his hip bending down, gives you a sensation of building up of a knot inside. The burning knot of your bond. Your nails digging into the flesh of his back. His hands messaging your breasts and sucking and biting in between.

“Am I making you feel good?”

His pace is increasing and by his rough and uncoordinated thrust, you are sure that he is also near to his climax.

“Yes…my king…yes.”

“This is all mine. I wont let anyone to take you away from me. All mine. Mine to claim.”

“Yes yes yours.”

“My Queen.” His thrusts are hurting you and you can feel yourself to the edge.

“Seong-“

“My Rose.”

“Hwa-“

“My Y/N”

Moaning out his name loud, you break loose and come. He slows down and lets you to ride your high but doesn’t stop. You are panting under him and his smile shows that how much he is enjoying the view of you falling apart. His eyes following how your chest heaving up and down and your blissed expression with parted lips. His one hand throws away the tiara from your head before messaging your scalp and other hand circling over your clit.

“Look at me.”

You whine due to the stimulation but his free hand pins your hands above your head.

“Too much. Seonghwa I cant-”

Before you can speak any further, he leans down to kiss you and hand and his length still abusing your clit. Your exhausted self is not keeping up with his pace so you let him to do whatever he wants to do with you. His hand holding your wrists move down to pat your cheeks to which you open your eyes, he directs your orbs towards the flower and then when your eyes go wide.

The flowers are becoming one and the black and red petals are now tainted with bright red color. The exact color of pure blood. Your distraction got interrupted with his rough thrusts.

“You are still so tight ugh..”

“Seonghwa…I-“ The familiar sensation in your stomach returns.

“I know. I know. Hold up a bit.” You close your eyes under the pressure.

“Y/N look at me. I want to see you coming and how my cum inside you makes you seem like.”

Your walls clench on his words. With some few deep thrusts, this time again you collapse when you come and this time, he comes with you. His movements slow down with you both riding out your high. His forehead resting against yours and the whole place has only sound of your heavy breathings from two overly heated body glowing under the natural light.

He places a soft kiss on your cheek and both of your attention move towards the flower which is shining bright red under the sparkling moonlight. You smile followed by him and tears roll down your eyes, not sad but the feelings of happy and lucky to get your mate. The tears under the light seems like falling stars which got kissed by your mate, your king. He is still buried inside you.

“I love you, my Rose.”

“I love you too Seonghwa. My king. You are mine.”

“Yes I’m yours My queen but Can I-“

“Bite me Seonghwa.”

His sharp fangs bit down the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking the blood from you. You scream in pain but quickly it turns into pleasure, your eyes rolling back and your whole body begging to be touched and devoured.

Before he could suck the whole life out of your body, he retreats and pulls out from you. Positioning himself in a sitting positing, he places you in arms, close to his embrace where you can hear his thumping heartbeat against his chest. The heart beating for you and with your blood mixed with his. Both of your eyes admiring the red flower, representing your bonding and the love for each other.

“Our story begins under the moonlight.”

**************************************************************

Seonghwa was my mate in past life. This was our story. Thank you for reading.

**************************************************************

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @vvshere @yeoobin @anyamaris @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames

#cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez seonghwa #ateez smut #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa angst #seonghwa imagines

364 notes · View notes

camaro-and-smokes · 3 months ago

Text

A Shot for Life

A Harringrove fic by Suometar / camaro-and-smokes

Warnings: No warnings for this chapter Tags: first meetings

Chapter 3: Butterflies

Summary: Steve and Billy meet for the first time at the hotel lobby in Nassau and first sparks fly in the air.

Read on AO3 »

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Steve was sitting on the plush couch in the luxurious lobby of the Hilton hotel in Nassau, feeling anxious as he waited for the art director Gavin Anderson to arrive. He needed to touch base with him before turning in for the night, but he couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling of doubt that had been plaguing him all day. As he scrolled through his social media feed, his mind was racing with worry about how uninspired he felt.

Robin sat next to him and saw Instagram open on his phone. “What are you looking for?”

“Inspiration,” Steve replied with a sigh and lifted his phone a little. “But I can’t seem to find any here. Hagan photographed some actor recently and now everyone is copying him.”

Robin snorted. “You must be really running dry if you’re torturing yourself by checking his profile for inspiration.”

“I know!” Steve exclaimed. “As usual, he has good ideas with the shoot but I don’t know about the execution. Hardly unique.”

Robin looked at him, amused. “Well, unfortunately then, once again, you have to do your own thing instead of copying others.”

“It’s hard to be the best. No one to snag ideas from,” Steve said sarcastically, trying to brush off his insecurities. But deep down, he knew the lack of ideas was true and it weighed heavy on him.

She laughed. “It’s good that you’re not at least letting it get to your head.” She looked away and pointed at the side door of the lobby. “Oh, there’s Gavin! I’ll go talk to him.”

Across the lobby Billy hesitated at the grand entrance, his heart pounding in his chest. He’d traveled before and been on sets of all kinds, but never had he stood surrounded by abundance such as this—crystal chandeliers, marble floors and designer sofas already in the lobby. For a moment he felt like he was in a dream, one step away from being woken up.

He’d worked tirelessly for this, but the awe of arriving at the peak of his young career made him feel as though he might shake apart from sheer nerves and exhilaration. If this was just the beginning of the next step of his career…The weight of what this campaign would mean for his future settled itself on his shoulders.

As he approached the reception desk, he drank in the scene around him. “Keep your shit together, Hargrove,” he muttered under his breath to calm the fluttering in his stomach.

Unfortunately, when he spotted Steve Harrington sitting on one of the couches on the side of the lobby, his attempts to control his nerves failed miserably.

He was typing something on his phone, a strand of his silver hair falling over his forehead so that he kept fixing it constantly. He looked younger in reality than in the photos. Maybe it was the hairstyle, maybe it was the clothes, maybe the relaxed but not slouching posture—or all of it.

For a brief moment he wondered if he should just walk past for now, to concentrate on getting himself signed in to the hotel and going to bed as soon as possible because it was already late and the shoot started early.

But of course just then Harrington glanced up from his phone and his eyes landed straight to Billy.

Steve immediately recognized the man who looked straight at him from the photos he had seen earlier. Strands of blond hair cascaded lazily over his forehead and one strand fell over his right eye, giving him a flair of bad boy charm. His tight blue jeans and nearly fully unbuttoned white shirt revealed a physique that left no doubt about his confidence in showing off his body. Steve’s train of thought stopped shortly on the station of he’s definitely not sore to the eye before moving on to registering the piercing gaze Billy was giving him.

Steve had become accustomed to receiving often; That’s Steve Harrington, THE photographer . As much as Steve appreciated the recognition for his talent, he also hated it. It put him on a pedestal, making him seem almost magical or untouchable. Yes, he was good at what he did, but not any better than other talented individuals who were willing to put in the work.

Yet, he admitted that he also used it when he wanted to keep his distance from people. It was nothing personal, most of the people he worked with were great. But he went to a studio or a set to work, not to make friends. He knew it was why he had a reputation of being over the top professional to the point of seeming downright cold, and him never being seen with anyone else but colleagues or business associates only just added to that.

But because that was how Billy now looked at him, his lips curved into a soft smile and he stood up to greet him. They would have to work together for three days, so better get this out of the way right now.

Billy hadn’t been sure what to expect when he‘d finally meet Harrington on set. But as he now unexpectedly approached him with a warm smile and extended hand, Billy couldn’t help but to feel a little surprised. He straightened his posture and tried to hide his nerves.

“Mr. Harrington,” Billy said nervously as he took Harrington’s hand in his. The grip was firm and warm.

“Please, call me Steve. Mr. Harrington is what people call my father,” Harrington said with a hint of amusement.

Billy tried desperately to remember at least one of the rehearsed conversations and imagined scenarios he’d so tediously practiced. But of course now that he needed them, every single one ran out from the back door, leaving him with nothing. “It’s, uh…it’s-it’s a, uh, a pleasure to meet you, Steve ,” he stammered, his heart thrumming in his chest.

“Same to you. Billy, was it?” Steve asked to help his forgetting mind to remember the connection between the name and the face better. He could see Billy was nervous from the way his cheeks blushed slightly. Certainly nothing new to him, but there was something…endearing in it.

“Yes, that’s right,” Billy confirmed. “Uh, this is a, um…Thank you for this incredible opportunity.”

Steve pointed to the direction of the reception. “You should thank Gavin over there, he’s the one who was making the decision to choose you.”

Billy glanced over at the direction Steve pointed. Talking with a woman with a bob was the man he’d been interviewed by twice when Givenchy had been looking for the model. He turned back to Steve and tried to calm down.

Steve was still looking at him. “I just work here. Just like you,” he continued with a smile.

As if Steve Harrington could ever be ‘just working’ like the rest of us , Billy thought. But the easy way Steve said those words felt assuring. Maybe Harrington the Great wasn’t living in the clouds and thinking more of himself like so many said he was. Billy wanted Steve to prove all those rumors to be just lies. He couldn’t come up with anything more to say, so he motioned towards the reception desk. “It was really nice to meet you. I—I should go…” he stammered.

“Ah, right behind you, I need to talk with Gavin anyway,” Steve said, and turned to get his things.

Steve hefted his camera bags on his shoulder as he turned to face Billy. The lobby of the hotel was bustling with activity, but Billy stood out amongst the crowd looking slightly out of place. Steve could sense that this setting was unfamiliar to him. The young man was taking a big step in his career and the first one was always the hardest one.

Steve remembered how lost he’d felt when he got his first big gig with a major client. Back then he’d hoped he would’ve had someone he could’ve asked for support whenever he’d felt overwhelmed. Maybe he could give Billy some tips on how to navigate this new stage of his career.

With a reassuring smile he walked to Billy and nodded towards the reception. “Come on. Let's go sign in and get settled.”

After Billy had received his key card and Steve had talked shortly with Gavin the AD, they strode towards the elevator. Steve pushed the call button and glanced at Billy’s reflection in the gleaming metal doors.

As their eyes met, Steve broke the silence. “Your first time in the Bahamas?” he asked.

Billy nodded. “Yeah. My first time staying in a fancy hotel like this, too.”

Steve’s grin widened, causing Billy’s heart to flutter. “Don’t worry. I hardly ever stay in ones like this either.”

Billy was surprised. He had assumed someone as famous as Harrington would be a regular at luxurious hotels like this one. “Why?”

“All this glimmer and shine loses its appeal after a while,” Steve replied with a wave of his hand. “I usually rent a bungalow, it’s cheaper than staying at places like this. But the client wanted us all under one roof and they’re paying, so here we are.”

Billy nodded, unsure of how to respond. His only criteria for a hotel was what he happened to have the money for, so he couldn’t really compare experiences.

Luckily, the elevator arrived just in time to save him from an awkward reply.

As the doors slid open, they stepped into the elevator. Steve pushed the button for the fifth floor. He turned to Billy with a smile, “Which floor?”

“Fifth as well,” Billy replied.

“Oh, we’re on the same floor then.” Steve leaned against the railing, facing Billy.

Feeling slightly nervous under Steve’s gaze, Billy couldn’t help but steal glances at him. This was THE Steve Harrington, and he was alone with him in a closed space.

“I saw your portfolio,” Steve began. “Strong work.”

Billy’s heart skipped a beat at the praise. The praise itself wasn't unusual, but coming from someone he admired so much really made it mean something. “You think so?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Steve nodded. “You have a charisma that stands out.”

Surprised, yet elated by Steve’s words, Billy couldn’t help but smile shyly. “Thank you,” he said humbly.

“Don’t thank me ,” Steve insisted. “You’re the one who’s done the work.”

“Well, those words coming from you…it’s kind of surreal,” Billy admitted. “But I don’t feel like I’ve done my best work yet.”

“You’ve already done plenty of great work to get here. But you’ve done editorials and catalog work which are different from what we’ll be doing. Bring your A-game to my set tomorrow and I’ll make sure you’re getting even further than this.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy replied, feeling both excited and nervous for the upcoming shoot.

The soft chime reverberated through the elevator as it reached the fifth floor. As they stepped out, Steve followed Billy down the sleek and modern corridor.

He couldn’t help but admire the way Billy confidently strode ahead with purpose and grace. Steve’s trained eye took in every detail of Billy’s appearance. From his wide shoulders to the way he held himself, there was a certain allure about him that Steve couldn’t shake off.

Of course, professionalism was key in this industry and he prided himself on being The Steve Harrington —someone who could deliver outstanding work time and time again. But with Billy…Steve couldn’t deny that there was a flicker of curiosity when it came to him.

It had started with going through Billy’s Instagram profile the other night. Billy had a raw talent for composure and visual storytelling, and Steve could see that if Billy wanted, with a little work he could be a good photographer, or even a great one. It would be a brilliant addition to modeling that would bring even more job opportunities.

But it wasn’t just the photos or the storytelling itself. Throughout the posts there was a sense of longing for something that was just thinly hinted at. Maybe longing for something deeply personal, a relationship, perhaps, or just a connection that reached deeper than just the surface. Something important that was left unsaid. Which Steve found intriguing.

So, now upon meeting Billy in person, seeing the humbleness and understanding that fashion was a hard business that rewarded only those who also worked hard, the curiosity had grown.

Steve didn’t feel so hopelessly uninspired anymore.

With a sigh of relief, Billy finally found the door to his room and entered the pin to the number pad on the lock. As the lock opened, his gaze shifted to the side and caught Steve opening his own door a few rooms down. Their eyes met and Steve flashed him a warm smile. “See you at the brief in the morning,” he called out before disappearing into his room with his luggage in tow.

Billy couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as he realized that he had been standing in the doorway of his own room, staring like an idiot. “Oh god,” he groaned inwardly, quickly pushing the door closed behind him. “Fucking idiot, there goes making a great first impression into the toilet,” he scolded himself out loud. “First you act like a fanboy, get a foot in your mouth, and then get caught gawking.”

Despite what he had heard about Harrington, he— Steve —was incredibly warm and welcoming. His initial impression of the man was nothing like what he’d expected.

It would’ve been nice to learn that the rumors weren’t true—if it was anyone else Harrington. Of course Billy should’ve known that the stories he’d heard were at least exaggerated, but he’d heard them so often that… And now he didn’t quite know what to expect from the following days—which made him feel a bit uneasy. He should definitely stop listening to people and go to every situation without any prepositions. At least when it came to meeting people he looked up to.

And it didn’t help at all that Harrington was even more gorgeous in real life than in any photos or videos. Billy knew he needed to keep his head straight during the photoshoot, focusing solely on the task at hand. Allowing his feelings to surface would only lead to disaster.

Billy’s thoughts were consumed by his inner world, only snapping back to reality when he raised his gaze from the bags he had set down. His room was not just any other hotel room—it was a gorgeous suite. The space felt warm and inviting, with a cozy cream-colored couch and a plush chair sitting atop a soft rug, the king size bed on the side.

But it wasn’t the furnishings that stole Billy’s attention—it was the view. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out.

The sight took his breath away. The hotel pool and backyard spread out towards the water, eventually giving way to a row of swaying palm trees and finally the pristine white sand of the beach. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the ocean that turned the deep turquoise waters into liquid amber.

From his taxi ride from the airport, he’d caught glimpses of the island’s beauty, but this was his first unobstructed view. He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness knowing that this trip would only last for a few days.

But he was certain that the coming days would be special.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #steve harrington #billy hargrove #age difference #billy x steve #steve x billy #stranger things fic #suometar writes #my fic #shot for life

9 notes · View notes

the-dimitrescu-seamstress · 2 years ago

Text

Christmas in the Castle

(I have been pounding through this drabble since February. Yes, thank you work for sucking my brain dry and only just now giving back my inspiration in the past couple of days. Maybe now I will be able to get the Alcina measurement drabble done too.

Anyways, this was inspired by the art piece done by MARBLENarts, as shown here:

(twitter link)

So, without further ado, Christmas at the Castle.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Christmas inside Castle Dimitrescu was… odd, to say the least. The village didn’t truly celebrate it, at least not in the traditional sense of celebrating the birth of Christ, but rather it was done in conjunction with celebrating Mother Miranda. So, while the villagers gathered in the small church, giving praises and singing hymns to their leader, a more traditional version was being held in the castle that overlooked it. And by traditional, that meant the Edwardian Era.

Natural decorations of Ivy, Yew, Laurel, Holly, and Mistletoe bedecked the bannisters, doors, and hallways, along with ribbons of red, gold, and silver trailing about everywhere. Of course, Daniela had to add her own flare when it came to decorating, with colorful paper chains, lengths of cranberry and popcorn garland, and the more modern addition of metallic tinsel strung about the grand chandelier and suits of armor throughout the castle. One marble bust just off the Main Hall even wore a Santa hat… until Bela removed it.

Then it simply began hopping from statue to armor to animal head each and every brand new day of the season, much to the chagrin of the eldest daughter.

While the majority of the staff was tasked with helping decorate or carry in the tree that the Countess had chosen, Magda had been busy with her own duties. Per usual, the Countess had requested special Christmas attire be made for herself and each of her daughters. Such a request came every year, but thankfully they were never the same. Some year they were simple accessories, other years they were coats or cloaks, blouses, skirts, or any other garment Alcina could picture them wearing. Another minor godsend was that she never asked that they be matching. Each item was to be unique to the wearer.

This year’s gift was gowns.

Yes, Alcina gave her input, specifying what details were to be included and emphasizing that no amount of alterations were to be done, no matter how much the girls begged, pleaded, or threatened. Daniela was to be in green, Bela’s dress would be a ruby red, and Cassandra would wear gold, while the matriarch would be clad in white. Not cream or antiqued white, but actual crisp, clean, snow white, accessorized by a long, brilliantly scarlet draping wrap, and a bit of sparkle from the hip that would accentuate the length of her body.

“Really? Two reds? I know you wish to have their dresses reflect their necklaces, but do you think that will be fair to Bela?” Magda asked, well aware that her question might not be received well. “Why not change it to a rose? It is still a red, but different enough from a scarlet that there would be no competing with one another.” Her wording and tone made it seem nothing more than an off-handed thought, rather than a suggestion or counter-argument. The Countess was quiet for a time, mulling over the idea, something the seamstress knew not to interrupt. Let it all come to a natural conclusion.

Hopefully it would be one that was positive.

Eventually the tall woman agreed that, yes, it would be gauche to have them both wear the same color, even if the number of people viewing said garments would be limited. Magda suspected that, even if she were living alone on a mountaintop, Alcina would still wear proper makeup, have her clothing neatly pressed, and maintain proper etiquette, all because she could. And that etiquette would continue until the end of time.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m not going to be a goldfinch for my mother.” The voice those words belonged to was tired and irate, as if the speaker had been finally discovered and dragged out of her hiding spot. And, since the speaker was Cassandra, that had been exactly what had happened.

It had been a week since Magda began her project, and it had been going well for the most part. Measurements, discussion of styles, and mock-ups were followed by the the cutting and sewing of fabrics. At least, all but one. Scraps of rose, white, and green fabrics could be found around the sewing room, but the bolt of gold remained rolled up and untouched.

“I take it that your mother finally coaxed you out of your hiding place?” the seamstress asked the taller brunette, who answered with a small snort and roll of the eye.

“If you mean by ‘coaxed’ that she threatened to lock away every single one of my blades and deny me hunts unless I take my sisters along, then yes, she ‘coaxed’ me out of hiding.” With a sigh, the anti-social shadow that was Cassandra slunk into the room, gloved fingers trailing over various objects and fabrics as she went. Thankfully, no blood trail was left behind. At least there was that simple kindness, Magda thought.

“It’s a simple Christmas gown, Cassandra. Nothing more. You’ll wear it maybe once or twice and that is it. I’ll make sure you are absolutely beautiful in it.”

“I’m not going to look beautiful in it. I’ll look like a lemon, and Daniela will laugh at me,” the middle daughter countered, eyeing a pair of shears.

“Well, thankfully it’s gold, not yellow, so at most you’ll look like a gold nugget, not a lemon,” Magda drily commented. In an instant, the distance between the seamstress and Cassandra had closed, with Cassandra’s hand clenched tightly around the other woman’s throat.

“If you weren’t so beloved by my mother, I would see how well that gold fabric soaks up your spilt blood,” she growled before retreating back to her original position in the room. There was a silence that filled the air as Magda rubbed her throat; one of acknowledging mistakes being made and pondering how to fix this problem. Mostly this thinking was on Magda’s part, as Cassandra preferred not to concern herself on the subject of dresses.

“What if… we chose a different color?” Magda offered after a few quiet moments. “One where Daniela couldn’t make fun of you?”

“What, purple? Eggplant. Orange? That’s obvious. Black? Mother wouldn’t allow. Brown? Silver?” she just laughed.

“Blue, Cassandra.” The response was firm, but even toned, with reassurance growing as she spoke. “A nice, soft shade of blue. Not too dark and not too light. You would look elegant, and your sisters would be hard pressed to come up with a way to make fun of you.” Cassandra fidgeted back in forth with the suggestion, her mind worrying at it like a dog with a bone, trying to find any problem with it. There was really no way you could make fun of the color blue. Sure, the sky could be a choice, but that was a vast and wonderful thing. Birds and flowers were too, but bluebells and bluebirds didn’t have a sticking point that other jabs did.

“All right, fine. Blue. That sounds… fine. Anything else? The shape? The look? I don’t want bows or ribbons or girly things. That’s not me.” Ever the stubborn child.

“I know your preferences, Cassandra, and I promise your dress will not be girly. Daniela’s is a green velvet with slink and sex appeal, as she put it. Bela’s is a rose taffeta that will speak of status and royalty, and your mother’s is a white beaded silk that is absolutely full of sophistication and good taste. Yours, though? Yours will be… you. A silk linen, showing the weave and weft of the fabric if you look close enough. Yes, I would like to add some minor frills with lace trims, but no more than what your own necklace and makeup do for you. You will look elegant, but not outrageous.”

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t make me look like an idiot,” she replied, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~

They worked together over the next few days; designing, measuring, and fitting. It would have gone faster had they kept to normal hours, but Cassandra insisted on having her work done late at night, when most of the household was either asleep or preoccupied with other activities. Did take a toll on Magda? Yes. Which was why, upon learning the intentions of the middle Dimitrescu daughter, she worked quickly to finish the other gowns, allowing her a few more hours of sleep as each one was finished.

Daniela’s came together the quickest, as it was the most simplistic; all thanks to the redhead’s desire to make it sexy and off the shoulder. A bit unorthodox, but the demands were met, and Magda promised that the youngest Dimitrescu daughter would be very sexy, especially if she added black, opera-length gloves to the dark hunter green dress. Yes, the Countess had said no alterations were to be done, but these were simply tweaks, especially compared to Cassandra’s changes.

Bela’s present? Magda’s relationship with her allowed some respite, perhaps even some leisure while creating the garment, as the eldest daughter assisted in small, time-saving ways. Much to Magda’s chagrin, she cut a few of the pattern pieces out while the seamstress was absent retrieving supply deliveries. She even assisted in pinning and preparing them for sewing, but the line was drawn for any further assistance. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a present if the person it was intended for did most of the work. Nonetheless, the help was appreciated.

Alcina’s gown naturally took the longest, if only due to the amount of fabric and how much was needed to be layered one on top of the other. Admittedly, a corner was cut when it came to the bit of sparkle from the hip to the hem. As much as Magda wanted to, the idea of hand-embroidering metallic thread with crystals and beadwork was not going to happen, not when it was such a large surface to cover. Thankfully, her fabric sources had found a roll of white satin beautifully decorated with crystalline roses and snowflakes, the design of which would work perfectly with the silhouette.

~~~~~~~

It was the final days leading up to Christmas, and Magda was finishing hand-sewing the lacework along Cassandra’s neckline, when that very person darkened her doorway once more.

“What if she’s not happy with me not being in yellow?” the tall figure asked, lingering on the threshold, as if unsure she should even have spoken or made an appearance.

“Then I will be the one to suffer the consequences. After all, I am the seamstress. Not you,” Magda answered simply.

“But I was the one who said to make the dress a different color. Why should you be punished?”

“Because I was the one who listened to you rather than your mother. There is a hierarchy in this castle and, unfortunately, you and your sisters are not the Countess. She has final say, which I ignored. But really, I doubt there will be a problem.” At least, she hoped there wouldn’t be a problem.

“Blue isn’t yellow! That is a problem!” Cassandra snarled in a sudden outburst. Magda responded with a sigh and a gentle look towards the brunette.

“No, it isn’t. But they are complimentary colors. Just like red and green. They are opposites, and they work well together. Frankly, I agree that neither yellow or gold would suit you. It would have given you an additional harshness which would have done nothing for you. But had I said anything to that extreme towards your mother, I’d likely be currently in a barrel. So, instead? Your… apprehension gave me a way out, and I went with blue. It is a color that conveys wisdom, peace, and patience… among other things. Your mother expects you to behave one way; the independent daughter, the mighty hunter, the stalwart warrior. So, why not surprise her with a different Cassandra?”

“All sweetness and light?”

“I never said that. But, instead of being the sharp stiletto that stabs everything, how about pretending to be the soft, velvet lined box that holds it?” Magda asked with a simple shrug. “Same thing on the inside, but a different exterior.”

Cassandra stared at the mortal for a long, drawn-out moment, thinking many things. Some were logical, others were violent, and some that would only make sense to the middle child of Countess Alcina Dimitrescu. But nothing really prepared Magda for the words that came out of her mouth next.

“You’re doing my hair and make-up to match my dress and your idea. If you’re going to change something, why not go all the way, little tailor?”

~~~~~~~

A few evenings later, the seamstress stood in a side doorway of the Main Hall, watching the decorating of the immense tree alongside a rotating number of maids who paused in their chores to take in the tableau. Daniela sat on the floor, her velvet gown pooling about her as she held a large bag of ornaments in her lap, while a garland of tinsel draped over her shoulders and around her arms.

She must not have been able to find the Santa hat, so the tinsel had to do.

Beside her, Bela acted in a nonchalant and innocent manner, giving no indication as to the fate of the poor little hat. She demurely taking each bauble that was handed to her and examining it as if it were some long lost treasure worth more than the glass it was crafted from. Bedecked in her rose colored dress, she looked practically angelic.

The blonde girl would then hand the chosen bauble to her mother, whose figure towered even more so than normal, due to the fact that she stood on what had to have been the most sturdy chair in the entire village, in order to reach the highest point on the gargantuan tree that was already festooned with lights and color. The scarlet wrap still trailed on the floor despite the added height of its owner, but it framed the Countess and her gown beautiful, to the point that the seamstress wondered just exactly how she would outdo herself next year.

The was a soft sound from the staircase, and Magda looked up to spy Cassandra descending, hiding something behind her back. The girl look almost human and innocent, what with the clean face devoid of blood, the softening make-up, and a hair style that painted her in a completely different light. Gentle innocence, perhaps?

Daniela was the first to notice, pointing at her older sister with a wry little smile, as if to say ‘you’re not matching, you’re in trouble’. Whether or not she was, Magda knew it was time to take her leave when she noticed two things. One was the manner in which the Countess’ eye slid from her precise decorating work to Cassandra’s unexpected appearance and then to the seamstress lingering in the doorway. It wasn’t anger, but rather assessing or appraising… with just the slightest hint of displeasure from having her orders ignored. The look from the woman’s golden eyes would have been enough to send anyone away, even if the second item of notice was the present Cassandra held behind her back.

Despite being gift wrapped, the gift was still decidedly head shaped.

Well, I could only do so much, Magda thought as she gave the Countess a slight bow and took her leave.

It was hours later, well after the quartet had finished decorating and exchanging their own presents, that Magda heard the telltale sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The staff would celebrate their own festivities with the family tomorrow, so it wasn’t as if she was being sought out to join in on the frivolities.

Magda had expected there to be comments made, which was why she was still dressed and idly puttering around her workspace.

She simply had no idea what the comments would be about.

A knock at the door, followed by it opening and the sound of shifting fabric marked the Countess’ entrance.

“Magdalena.” The slight, balanced edge to that single word was also expected, to which the seamstress quietly stood and politely nodded her head in greeting, hands clasped behind her back. “I thought I had been clear in my instructions regarding these gifts. No alterations. And yet, tonight, I saw one rather glaring change. My middle child in blue. I would have thought she had forced your hand, ruining what you had originally sewn, but now I see the golden fabric tucked away on your shelf, seemingly untouched. Changing tones and shades or altering cuts is one thing. But this?” Alcina’s anger was barely hidden by her elegant words.

“Cassandra requested I use a different color, Countess,” Magda explained, her gaze held downward, afraid to look her in the eye.

“And you obeyed her rather than myself? Do you have any idea what you have done?” A thin slice of worry turned to fear inside Magda as Alcina approached her with calculated, measured steps.

“I am sorry, Countess,” she replied softly, waiting to be struck, either by the hand or the claws.

In the end, it was neither.

“She looked like how she was when she first arrived.” The anger in Alcina’s voice was gone, and the words came out unexpectedly soft. Surprised, Magda looked up to find a mix of sadness, longing, and gratefulness in those strange eyes. “I thought I had lost that when she was reborn. I had expected to have the same young woman who was brought before me; quiet and gentle, crying and begging to be sent home, promising much and pleading even more. She needed a mother, and I thought I could provide that to her.” A shuddering exhale escaped her lips in a brief moment of vulnerability. “Instead, I was gifted Cassandra… someone who is more like myself than I would care to admit.”

Magda simply stood there; unsure about how to take in this information. She had been vaguely aware of how the trio had come about, through rumors and tidbits of information, but this was news of a different sort. Of course, she wouldn’t breathe a word of this outside these four walls, but even so… she had never heard Alcina be so changed. So motherly.

“I’ve seen that girl… that first girl… on occasion. It’s rare, but tonight? She was there. Both her and Cassandra.”

“So, you are pleased?” Magda asked hesitantly.

“It was a gift I never thought to enjoy again, and likely will never be able to replicate. Blue was the right decision, Magda. Thank you.” The last words were a whisper as that softness faded away. “But, in the future? Should you or my daughters wish to change my ideas or machinations? Don’t. Not behind my back. Come to me if they try such tactics again. Your work is excellent, as always, but do not test my ability to forgive disobedience. I doubt such a miracle will happen twice.”

“Of course, Countess. Thank you for the compliment.” A simple bow from the seamstress signaled the end of the conversation. Evening pleasantries were exchanged, and once the Countess had exited down the hall, only then did Magda relax and let go of the tension she held. Perhaps a nightcap was in order to calm whatever nerves she still had before settling down for the proverbial ‘long winter’s nap’.

At least now Magda had a year to recover.

#drabble #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #cassandra dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

53 notes · View notes