#spicy...

Arcane S2 OST! || Accepting!! || @attroxx

Gabriella barely had time to process the shift in the air before her back met the cold marble of the kitchen counter, the breath stalling in her throat as Ghost’s body crowded into her space. He didn’t have to touch her—not yet—for her to feel the weight of his presence pressing against her skin, for her pulse to kick up into a frantic rhythm she couldn’t control. She swallowed hard, the sharp scent of metal and something darker—something coppery—lingering between them. She didn’t want to think about where he’d been before he found his way here tonight, or who he’d been with. It didn’t matter. It never did. Because somehow, he always ended up back here, standing too close, looking at her like she was his.

Her hands curled around the edge of the counter, her nails biting into the cool surface as if it could somehow ground her. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating, wrapping around her like an iron chain she couldn’t break. She could feel the heat rolling off him, his breath slow and steady while hers came ragged and uneven. And then he spoke. The words sent an icy shiver down her spine, but her blood ran hot beneath her skin. Her eyes snapped up to his, wide with a mix of disbelief and something far more dangerous—something she didn’t want to name.

The witch let out a shaky laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the bitter edge of something she couldn’t swallow down. "What?" she rasped, her voice breathless and laced with something close to anger, though it shook with the betrayal of her own nerves. "I never asked for this," she spat, though her voice faltered at the end, too thin, too breathless. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. But he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at her with that unreadable, unrelenting look that always made her chest feel too tight. The way he stood there, looming over her like a shadow she couldn’t escape, made her stomach churn.

The words echoed in her mind, rattling in the spaces she didn’t want to explore. No, she hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t asked to be caught in his web, to become the thing he couldn’t kill, couldn’t break, no matter how many times he tried. She hadn't wanted him to come back again and again, pushing further, testing limits neither of them fully understood. But… she hadn’t stopped him either, had she? Her lips parted slightly, a shaky breath escaping as her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. She could feel the weight of his stare on her lips, on her throat, on every trembling inch of her body. And God help her, she could feel the heat building low in her stomach, twisting up with the fear she was trying so desperately to hold onto.

Gabriella clenched her jaw, her fingers twitching against the counter as she forced herself to meet his gaze, her voice a whisper now. "You're wrong." The words fell between them, small, weak, and even she didn’t believe them. Because some dark, twisted part of her knew that in his mind, she had asked for this. Every time she survived him. Every time she met his gaze without flinching. Every time she let him back in—whether she wanted to admit it or not.

His head tilted slightly, that small, deliberate movement that sent a fresh shiver racing through her. He could see it—feel it. The unsteady rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath hitched when his fingers ghosted too close, the way her body betrayed her with its quiet, shameful anticipation. And she hated him for it. She hated the way he could read her so easily, the way he could peel away every flimsy layer of bravado with nothing but his presence. She hated that he was right—this is what you asked for.

Her stomach twisted as she pressed further into the counter, as if that would somehow create space, but there wasn’t enough space in the world to separate her from this… from him. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, barely a whisper, but the edge of defiance was still there, hidden beneath layers of fear and something she didn’t want to admit. "I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you." But even as the witch said it, she could feel the weight of his stare digging deeper, unraveling her piece by piece, stripping her down to something raw and vulnerable. And worst of all, she didn’t know if she wanted him to stop.

Fear/Horror! || Accepting!! || @attroxx

Her breath hitched as the cold, blood-smeared blade pressed against her chest. It wasn’t hard enough to cut her, but it was deliberate—calculated. She swallowed, the sharp thud of her heartbeat echoing in her ears as her back pressed against the wall, the cool plaster grounding her just enough to keep her from spiraling. The knife hovered just above the clasp of her bra, the thin fabric of her dress doing little to mask its presence. Her pulse thudded beneath her skin, loud and frantic, but she forced herself to look up, meeting the void-like gaze of Ghost’s mask.

The witch hated that thing—the hollow eyes, the painted sneer—but more than that, she hated the way it magnified the weight of his presence. He didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to move. Just standing there, knife in hand, blood staining the gleaming steel, he made the entire room feel like it belonged to him. And yet, beneath the fear twisting in her stomach, there was a spark of something else.

It wasn’t new—this maddening mix of terror and defiance that churned in her chest whenever he got too close. She should’ve been used to it by now, but she wasn’t. Not when he stood this close, his body looming over hers, his silence somehow louder than any words he could’ve spoken. She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to focus. She wasn’t going to let him just stand there and intimidate her into submission. That wasn’t her. Not with him, not with anyone.

“What?” she bit out, her voice sharp despite the tremor in it. “You don’t have anything better to do than ruin my night?” Her words hung in the air, defiant and shaky all at once. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, brushing against the faint press of the blade. The closeness of it made her skin prickle, her body tensing with every small, calculated movement he made.

The witch glared at him through her lashes, her jaw tightening as she fought the heat creeping up her neck. “Or is this your idea of fun?” she continued, her voice laced with sarcasm, though her trembling hands betrayed the confidence she was trying to project. Her eyes flicked to the knife again, catching the smear of blood on its edge, and she felt her stomach twist. Whose blood was it? Did it even matter? He’d clearly done something—or to someone—before coming here, and now he was standing in her apartment, invading her space like it was his right.

Her lips twitched into a humorless smirk, even as her chest tightened further. “What’s the plan, huh? Scare me into fainting? I hate to break it to you, but I’m not that easy.” It was a lie. And they both knew it. Her body told the truth, her shallow breaths and trembling legs betraying her bravado. She felt the blade shift slightly, the metal scraping faintly against her dress, and a sharp shiver shot down her spine. Her stomach flipped as her mind raced, fear twisting into something darker, hotter, that she didn’t want to name.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a feeble attempt to steady herself, but the tension coiling in her chest only tightened further. She hated the way he made her feel—like she was being unraveled bit by bit, her control slipping away the longer he stood there, silent and unrelenting. Her eyes flicked back up to his mask, locking on the hollow eyes staring down at her. She hated not being able to see his face, to read him, but the truth was, she didn’t need to. She could feel it—the way his silence was deliberate, the way he was waiting for something. Waiting for her to break.

And god, she hated the heat pooling low in her stomach, the way her body betrayed her in the worst possible ways. The fear was real, sharp and visceral, but it bled into something else, something she didn’t want to admit. Her lips parted slightly as she exhaled, her voice softer now, tinged with frustration and something dangerously close to desperation. “You really don’t have anything better to do?”

The words came out quieter than she intended, almost breathy, and she immediately regretted them. Because even in her defiance, she couldn’t deny the way her body reacted to him, the way her pulse raced and her skin flushed under his proximity. And worst of all, she could feel his satisfaction. Even in the silence, even through the mask, she knew he could see every ounce of her reaction. And it was exactly what he wanted.