#feeling very its us two against the world the only one we have is each other rn

[prinny-hell]

your older sister putting her hand on your shoulder is something that can be so personal actually

[seospicybin]

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: New to the company, you're determined to prove yourself even if it means competing against Hyunjin, your arrogant and hostile rival. But when your ambition pushes you toward using a spell to sway the odds in your favor, you find yourself caught between power and love. (15,9k words)

Author's note: Indulged myself by toying with Hyunjin with some magick in this fic. Happy Halloween, witches!

🎧 I PUT A SPELL ON YOU Playlist

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Neither the story, the characters nor the spells are real (but if it works, do tell me though!)

“With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

The words slip from your lips like a quiet command, filling the room as you light the small candle on your vanity. Its flame flickers in the dim light of the early morning, casting soft shadows across your reflection.

You watch the fire dance as you crush the herbs between your fingers, feeling the energy settle into your bones with each breath. You repeat the mantra, slower this time, letting it sink into your very core. “Today the world bends, and all power is mine.”

It feels like a promise—one you fully intend to keep.

The scent of lavender and sage rises as you sprinkle the herbs into a dish, swirling the smoke in the air. You close your eyes and let your fingers trace the edge of your almanac, waiting for its familiar warmth to guide you. When you flip to today’s date, the message is clear: wear something red.

You open your wardrobe, pulling out the deep crimson blouse that almost seems to glow under the morning light. Red for confidence, for strength. Exactly what you’ll need for today.

As you slip it on, you can already feel the shift. Power hums in the air around you, and your reflection in the mirror sharpens, the red drawing out the determination in your eyes.

The meeting ahead is important, but you don’t yet know just how much the day will reveal. Still, you trust your instincts—and your rituals. They haven’t failed you yet. You blow out the candle, the smoke rising in delicate wisps as you stand tall.

One last look in the mirror, and you’re ready. Your mantra echoes in your mind as you step out the door, each word a steady beat in time with your footsteps.

Today, the world will bend.

-

The conference room buzzes with quiet conversation as everyone settles into their seats. You stand at the head of the table, your hands resting confidently on the smooth surface in front of you. The energy you built this morning pulses beneath your skin, steady and strong. You’re ready.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Hyunjin, casually leaning back in his chair as though he already owns the room. You’ve disliked him from the first time you met him—something about his aloof demeanor, the way he carries himself like he’s always two steps ahead of everyone else. His attitude grates on you, but what really gets under your skin is the way he looks down on you, constantly dismissing your ideas and diminishing your work in front of others.

It’s like a game to him—cutting you down just as you’re about to make a point, always with that slight smirk like he’s amused by your attempts to be taken seriously. His work ethic is just as frustrating; he’s undeniably skilled, but he puts in the bare minimum, skating by on charm and reputation. Yet somehow, he’s respected, and you can’t deny that his presence at the company casts a long shadow.

Taking a breath, you begin your presentation. “As you can see, this project will not only streamline our current workflow but also cut costs by nearly 15% in the first quarter alone. The long-term benefits will put us ahead of our competitors in—”

“That’s optimistic,” Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the room like a cold wind.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on you. “You really think a 15% cost reduction is realistic with the current resources we have?”

You maintain your composure, turning to face him directly. “Yes, I do,” you reply smoothly. “With the proper allocation of assets and a focus on efficient labor, it’s more than achievable.”

Hyunjin scoffs under his breath, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Efficient labor? So, you’re suggesting we push the current team even harder? That’s a quick way to burn everyone out, don’t you think?”

You feel the familiar prickle of frustration, but you keep your voice even. “Not harder—smarter. We can shift responsibilities and use automation in key areas to reduce manual tasks.”

Hyunjin doesn’t back down, his tone almost condescending. “Sure, but that’s easier said than done. You’re new here, maybe you don’t realize how complicated things actually are in practice. These aren’t numbers on a spreadsheet. This is reality.”

The room goes still, the weight of his words settling over the meeting like a cloud. You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to let him intimidate you. “I’m well aware of the complexities, Hyunjin. That’s why this proposal is focused on practical steps, not just theory. I’ve spent weeks analyzing the data and tailoring this plan specifically to address the challenges we face.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get another word in, one of the senior executives clears his throat, shifting in his chair.

“Let’s hear the rest of the proposal,” he says, nodding in your direction. “I’m interested in seeing how this plays out.”

You offer a polite smile and return to your presentation, feeling Hyunjin’s eyes on you the entire time. You know he’s not finished yet.

But neither are you.

-

The meeting ends smoothly enough, despite Hyunjin's interruptions. As everyone filters out of the conference room, you begin gathering your materials, ready to head back to your desk when a voice stops you.

“Could you and Hyunjin come to my office for a moment?” The senior executive, Mr. Campbell’s tone is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

You exchange a quick glance with Hyunjin, who only raises an eyebrow in response. His expression is unreadable, but you can feel the shift in the air—the weight of something important about to happen. You follow the executive down the hall, Hyunjin walking beside you in silence.

The office is spacious, lined with awards and framed company accomplishments. Your superior gestures for both of you to sit before taking a seat behind his large mahogany desk. He steeples his fingers, his gaze flicking between the two of you.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he says. “There’s a vacancy for a high-ranking position that’s going to be announced later this week. We’ve been watching both of you closely, and I wanted to inform you first that you’re the top two candidates for this role.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your face neutral. This is huge—exactly the kind of opportunity you’ve been working toward. But as you glance at Hyunjin, you can already feel the tension building. His jaw tightens slightly, though his expression remains as unreadable as ever.

“The final decision will be based on your upcoming performances,” the executive continues. “I expect you both to bring your A-game. This is a competitive process, and we’ll be monitoring everything closely. May the best candidate win.”

You nod, thanking him for the opportunity, and rise from your seat. Hyunjin follows you out of the office, his silence lingering until the door clicks shut behind you. As soon as you step into the hallway, his demeanor shifts.

“So, this is what you were after all along,” he says, his voice low and edged with disdain. “You’ve barely been here a few months, and now you think you deserve this position?” He scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You must be really full of yourself if you think you can beat me. I’ve been here far longer, and trust me, no amount of numbers on a spreadsheet is going to change that.”

You feel a sharp sting in your chest, but you refuse to let it show. His words are meant to break your spirit, to make you doubt yourself. But you won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Maybe,” you reply, your voice steady. “But if this company values talent over seniority, then I like my chances.”

His lips curl into a condescending smile. “You’re really naive if you think that’s all it takes. You don’t know how things work here.” He steps closer, his eyes dark with hostility. “You’re out of your league, and once you fall on your face, don’t expect me to help you back up.”

His words hang heavy in the air, the venom in his tone unmistakable. But instead of shrinking under his gaze, you feel the fire rise in you—the same fire that fueled you through your morning ritual.

“We’ll see,” you say quietly, holding his stare. “I’ve survived worse.”

Hyunjin lets out a cold laugh before turning on his heel and walking away. His retreating figure is a reminder of the uphill battle ahead, but you stand firm, determined not to let him shake you. If anything, his hostility has only made your resolve stronger.

As he disappears around the corner, you take a deep breath, silently repeating the mantra that’s carried you through the day so far.

"Today, the world bends, and all power is mine."

-

The day began just like any other, with you sitting at your vanity, surrounded by the soft glow of morning light filtering through the window. The familiar scent of herbs lingered in the air from the small candles you’d lit, their flames dancing in time with your whispered words. You opened your well-worn almanac, fingers tracing over the delicate pages until you landed on today’s entry.

“Beware of the one who blocks your path to success,” it read in bold, almost ominous text.

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. You didn’t need the stars to tell you who that was.

There was only one person in your way—Hyunjin.

The office buzzes with its usual hum of activity as you make your way down the hall toward your superior’s office. Today is important—a follow-up meeting regarding the project you proposed yesterday. You’ve spent the last few hours refining the details, ensuring that every aspect is airtight.

As you approach the door, your steps falter slightly when you see it cracked open. Through the small gap, you spot Hyunjin, casually leaning against your superior’s desk, wearing that same self-assured smirk. He’s laughing at something, his tone light, too friendly.

Of course, Hyunjin is here. What a joy!

You pause just outside the door, watching as Hyunjin straightens up and extends a hand to shake your superior’s. His easy charm is on full display, and it’s clear he’s not just discussing work—he’s playing the game, trying to get in his good graces. Sucking up, as usual.

Hyunjin turns to leave, and that’s when he spots you standing in the hallway. His gaze lingers on you for a moment before his lips curl into a mocking grin. It’s the kind of smile that speaks volumes without a word—he thinks he’s already won, that you’re wasting your time even being here. As he saunters past, he doesn’t bother hiding the look of satisfaction on his face.

“Good luck in there,” he murmurs as he brushes past you, his voice dripping with condescension.

You hold your ground, refusing to let him get under your skin, but the heat rises in your chest. He’s playing dirty, and he wants you to know it. You can feel the smugness radiating off him as he disappears down the hall, but you won’t let him see you falter.

Taking a deep breath, you knock on the door and step into your superior’s office, trying to push the encounter from your mind. There’s work to be done.

Your superior glances up from his desk, offering you a polite nod. “Ah, there you are. Come in. Let’s hear how the project’s progressing.”

You straighten your posture, clearing your mind of Hyunjin’s arrogant grin. This is your moment, not his.

“I’ve made some adjustments based on our discussion yesterday,” you say confidently, handing over the updated report. “I’m confident these changes will address the concerns raised and improve overall feasibility.”

As he flips through the report, you remain focused, determined to show that you’re not just capable—you’re the best candidate for that position. Hyunjin may think he can charm his way into the role, but you’ll let your work speak for itself.

-

As the day winds down and you gather your things to leave the office, your mind lingers on the undeniable presence of Hyunjin in the workplace. There’s no denying his stunning appearance—sharp jawline, dark, intense eyes, and a physique that seems almost unfairly perfect. You’ve overheard enough conversations in the break room to know that half the women in the office can’t help but swoon when he walks by. His smile alone is enough to make them forget his sharp words and ruthless behavior.

But you know better.

His good looks are nothing more than a mask—a distraction from the truth beneath the surface. He’s charming, sure, but it’s a hollow charm, one that hides his low attitude and arrogance. He uses that exterior to get what he wants, and it works. It always works. You’ve seen it happen too many times—people falling for his act, completely oblivious to the venom that lies just beneath the surface.

The elevator doors ding open, and as you step inside, you’re immediately greeted by the sight of Hyunjin. He’s standing near the back, casually leaning against the wall with a girl by his side, one of the junior employees who’s practically hanging on his every word. His hand brushes lightly against her arm, and she giggles at something he says, her eyes wide with adoration. You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Typical.

Hyunjin doesn’t even acknowledge your presence as you step into the elevator, his focus entirely on the girl. He’s all smiles and flirty comments, leaning closer to her as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Meanwhile, you stay quiet, standing in the opposite corner, watching the entire display unfold. It’s sickening, really—how easily he can turn it on and off, like a switch. And the girl, clearly oblivious to his true nature, laps it all up.

As you stand in the elevator, that earlier warning from the almanac feels more present than ever. Of course, Hyunjin has found his way into your path again, trying to overshadow you with his presence. You watch him now, flirting effortlessly with the girl at his side, but your mind linger on the almanac's words. It's as if the universe has planned this moment—Hyunjin, here, in your way yet again.

When the elevator finally reaches the parking basement, the doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps out with the girl still by his side. You follow a few steps behind, trying to ignore the gnawing irritation bubbling in your chest.

“Wait here,” Hyunjin says to the girl, flashing her a smile that makes her cheeks flush. She nods eagerly, waiting near his sleek black car.

As you walk past, hoping to leave without another encounter, Hyunjin’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“Going somewhere?” His tone is smooth, but laced with that familiar edge of condescension.

You pause, turning slowly to face him. His expression is smug, as if he’s enjoying every second of this.

“I have somewhere to be, Hyunjin,” you say flatly, already tired of the exchange.

He steps closer, his gaze narrowing slightly as he looks down at you. “You know, you should really think about backing off while you still can. This position? It’s not for you.” His voice drops, dripping with mock concern. “You don’t have what it takes to compete with someone like me.”

His words are meant to sting, and they do—but not in the way he expects. They only fuel your determination, solidifying the decision you’ve already made.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” you reply coldly, refusing to let him rattle you.

Hyunjin’s lips curl into a sneer, and for a brief moment, you can see the hostility beneath the charming exterior he puts on for the others. He pops the gum he’s been chewing out of his mouth and spits it carelessly on the ground near your feet, giving you a final, disdainful look.

“See you around,” he mutters before turning away, walking back to the girl who’s waiting by his car, completely dismissing you.

You stand there for a moment, watching as he leans casually against his car, resuming his flirtations with the girl. Your fingers curl into a fist at your side, and you glance down at the gum he spat out.

Something inside you snaps. You can’t take any more of this.

Without a second thought, you crouch down and pick up the discarded gum, wrapping it in a tissue and slipping it into your bag. There’s a plan forming in your mind, but you’re not ready to think about it yet.

All you know is that Hyunjin’s going to regret crossing you, one way or another.

-

It’s the perfect night to cast a spell and the waxing moon is great for increasing and bringing in things.

The flickering candlelight casts shadows against the walls, filling the room with a sense of mystery. On your desk lies the worn book of spells, its pages marked and folded from use.

Tonight, it’s time to change things.

Hyunjin’s gum—the one he spat out so arrogantly earlier—sits in a tissue beside you. It’s a small token, but it holds enough of his essence for the spell. His arrogance, his condescending behavior, all captured in that one careless act.

You gather the rest of the ingredients, placing them carefully on the table:

Lavender petals: for calmness, to ease his aggression and soften his temper.

Chamomile leaves: to create peace between the two of you and to cleanse away his negativity.

Honey: to sweeten his attitude, to turn his harshness into something kinder.

A strand of your hair: to ensure the spell keeps him from acting against you.

Finally, you add the gum, the key to linking the spell to Hyunjin. You position the ingredients around a white candle, symbolizing clarity and transformation, and light it. The flame flickers brightly, and the atmosphere in the room begins to shift, the energy growing heavier, more focused.

With everything set, you hover over the book of spells, reading the words aloud in a low, steady voice:

"By this gum of arrogance and thorn of strife, I turn your heart from scorn to life.

By lavender's calm and honey's grace, let kindness bloom in every space."

You sprinkle the lavender petals and chamomile leaves over the gum, watching them fall like whispers of peace onto the small token. Your hair and the honey are next, binding the spell with your own energy and a touch of sweetness.

"No longer shall you wound with word, your bitterness no more heard.

From this day forth, your spirit will mend, a decent heart you shall extend."

The candle’s flame flickers, the air growing warmer as the spell settles into the room. You feel the shift, the moment the magic takes hold. Hyunjin’s biting words, his sharp demeanor—they’ll change. The spell will soften him, make him the kind of person who no longer seeks to diminish you or others.

A quiet smile touches your lips. The spell is complete, and you know its effect will be permanent. Tomorrow, the tides will begin to turn. He’ll change, and in time, perhaps the world will see him differently. But you—you’ll know why.

With the spell done, you blow out the candle, the smoke curling into the air like the last breath of tension leaving your space. You feel lighter, more in control.

For a moment, you allow yourself to feel the quiet thrill of victory. But this is just the beginning. The almanac has been right—someone is standing in your way, but now you are removing that obstacle, one spell at a time.

-

The next day at the office feels like any other.

The buzz of conversations, the soft hum of printers, and the click of keyboards fill the air. You go about your morning routine with a steady resolve, eyes catching Hyunjin briefly in the hallway. He walks past, offering nothing but his usual unreadable expression. No smirks, no scoffs, nothing out of the ordinary.

For a moment, you wonder if the spell worked. Maybe it wasn’t strong enough, maybe his attitude is just too deeply ingrained. But you brush the thought aside, knowing that change takes time.

The meeting arrives before you expect it. As you take your seat, you notice Hyunjin already sitting across the table, his eyes focused on the papers in front of him. There’s no dismissive glance, no thinly veiled sneer like there usually is when you walk into the room. You push down the flicker of hope and focus on the task at hand.

Today, you're presenting your revised project, the one you've poured your energy into perfecting after last time. With calm confidence, you begin walking through the slides, laying out the details and improvements with precision.

Everything is going smoothly. The board members listen intently, a few of them nodding in agreement as you go over the main points. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hyunjin shifting in his seat. Your stomach tightens. You know what’s coming. He always finds something to undermine, always has a sharp comment ready to tear down your work.

You glance his way as you near the end of your presentation, half-expecting him to cut in, but he doesn’t. No interruptions. No dismissive interjections. You continue, slightly thrown but determined to finish strong.

As you wrap up, the room falls silent. You know it’s time for feedback, and just as you're preparing for the usual barrage of critique, Hyunjin raises his hand.

This is it. He’s going to tear your project apart, find something trivial to pick at in front of everyone.

But instead, Hyunjin speaks calmly, his voice steady, almost considerate. "I just want to say," he begins, "this is a solid project. The revisions make it stronger, and I think it could be really beneficial for the company."

You blink, stunned. Did he just… compliment you?

For a second, you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing. You expect a catch, a hidden jab somewhere in his words, but there’s none. His expression is neutral—serious even. The room murmurs in agreement, the board looking impressed by his input.

And that’s when it hits you. The spell worked.

The shift in the room feels surreal. Hyunjin, the one who usually thrives on belittling your work, is praising it instead. You force yourself to remain composed, nodding politely as the meeting concludes. But inside, a sense of triumph is rising.

As everyone begins to gather their things, your gaze lingers on Hyunjin. He stands, collects his notes, and walks out without another word.

A small, victorious smile pulls at the corner of your lips. You did it. The spell worked perfectly and this is only the beginning.

-

The days that follow feel different—lighter, easier. There’s no tension bubbling beneath the surface when you walk into meetings, no second-guessing whether you’ll be cut off mid-sentence. Hyunjin’s sharp words have disappeared, replaced by a silence that almost feels like respect. For the first time since you started at the company, you feel like you can breathe.

It’s strange, almost surreal, watching Hyunjin go about his day without a trace of his old attitude. The way he treats others has changed, too. No more dismissive remarks or smug glances in the hallways. He’s... decent. Civil, even.

And the best part? You’re responsible for it. That thought alone brings a sense of satisfaction each time you cross paths with him.

It’s mid-afternoon when you’re in your office, sorting through emails and papers scattered across your desk, when you hear a soft knock at the door. You glance up, surprised to see Hyunjin standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe. He’s not scowling or sneering like he used to—instead, there’s something almost playful in his expression.

“Got a minute?” he asks, and without waiting for a response, he steps inside, closing the door behind him.

You don’t say anything at first, just watch as he moves closer, stopping at your desk. He picks up your pen, twirling it between his fingers with a lazy, practiced ease, and leans against the edge of your desk, his body language relaxed and confident. A smile tugs at his lips—one of those flirty, boyish smiles that makes you wonder how this is the same man who used to make your work life hell.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he begins, glancing down at the pen he’s still playing with before looking back at you. “For how I’ve been... you know, before. I wasn’t exactly nice.”

It’s an understatement, but you don’t point that out. Instead, you tilt your head, studying him. His tone is genuine, his eyes softened in a way that makes it hard to reconcile this version of Hyunjin with the one from just a week ago.

“Thanks,” you reply, keeping your voice steady.

Inside, though, there’s a thrill that courses through you. The spell is working better than you could have hoped. Not only has his attitude changed, but he’s... charming. And somehow, knowing that you’re the one responsible for this transformation makes him even more appealing.

Hyunjin sets the pen down and straightens up slightly, still leaning close enough to your desk that there’s a noticeable intimacy in the space between you.

“I’m having a party this weekend,” he says, his voice dropping to something a bit more personal. “For my birthday. I was thinking maybe you could come? We could... start over, you know? Clear the slate.”

There’s a playful lilt to his words, and the smile he gives you—genuine, flirtatious, and more than a little tempting—makes it hard to say no.

You pause, pretending to think it over, though the answer is already on the tip of your tongue. Part of you is drawn to this new Hyunjin, this man who stands before you with easy confidence and charm. But more than that, there’s a secret satisfaction in knowing that you’ve shaped him into this. He’s the product of your power, your spell, and now he’s the one extending an olive branch.

“Alright,” you say finally, giving him a small smile of your own. “I’ll be there.”

His grin widens, a mix of relief and something else—something almost victorious—as he pushes himself off your desk and heads for the door. “Great. I’ll see you there, then.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving your office with a soft click of the door. You sit there for a moment, still processing the interaction, the way his smile lingered in the air after he left.

As you turn back to your work, there’s a warmth that spreads through you. This new version of Hyunjin is more than just tolerable—he’s almost magnetic. And knowing that you hold the strings to this transformation? That’s what makes it all the more intoxicating.

-

The almanac had been clear—tonight, you were to wear black. A color of power and mystery, it would amplify your presence, drawing attention without you even needing to ask for it. The reflection that stares back at you feels different from your usual self; there’s something more commanding in the way you look, as if the energy of the spell is already settling into your bones.

Your fingers hover over a necklace before picking it up, the cool metal brushing against your skin as you clasp it around your neck. It’s the final touch, and now it’s time to finish the ritual. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes, and murmur the words of the spell you’ve prepared for the night.

"By the light of the stars and shadows of the moon. Let my aura bloom and hearts swoon.

Let the eyes that see be drawn to me. And in their gaze, I’ll hold the key."

The words roll off your tongue, soft and smooth, filling the air around you. You can almost feel the shift in the atmosphere as the spell takes hold, as if the room itself bends to acknowledge the shift in your energy.

When you open your eyes again, your reflection almost seems to shimmer in the low light, your aura radiating confidence and allure. You smile, knowing the spell will work.

With one last glance at yourself, you grab your bag and head out the door.

-

The party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. The music pulses through the air, the hum of laughter and conversation mingling in a heady mix.

It’s easy to spot Hyunjin—he stands out effortlessly, even in a crowded room. Dressed in a crisp white button-down that contrasts sharply with his dark jeans, the fabric clings to his frame in all the right places. The sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows, revealing his toned forearms, and a thin silver chain glints against his collarbone, catching the light every time he moves. His hair, perfectly styled, falls slightly into his eyes, giving him a disheveled yet polished look that only adds to his magnetic charm.

Hyunjin is the center of attention, as always.

There’s something about the way he moves, all confidence and ease, like he’s completely aware of how good he looks and the effect it has on everyone around him. But tonight, you’re not intimidated by his presence. You’ve come prepared, more than equipped to handle the night.

As you make your way through the crowd, you catch Hyunjin’s eye. His gaze locks on you, and for the first time, it feels like he truly sees you. His eyes roam from your face down to your dress and back up again, taking in every detail of your appearance.

There’s a flicker of surprise in his expression before it shifts into something else—something more flirtatious. He saunters over to you, drink in hand, his lips curling into that familiar, boyish grin.

“You made it,” he says, his voice smooth, and he offers you the glass. “Here, have a drink.”

You accept it, letting your fingers brush against his as you take the glass. The brief touch sends a spark through you, though you keep your face calm.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it,” you reply, your tone light but with an edge of confidence. You can see the way his eyes linger on you, his usual cockiness tempered by something else—a genuine appreciation of the way you look tonight.

He steps a little closer, his voice dropping lower. “You look… different tonight. In a good way.”

You smile, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I could say the same about you.”

The tension between you is palpable now, his flirty demeanor mixed with a new kind of curiosity. But just as you feel the moment tightening between you, the night shifts. Someone calls his name from across the room, and with an apologetic smile, Hyunjin excuses himself.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, before disappearing back into the crowd.

Later, you find yourself lingering near the edge of the room, sipping on your drink and watching the party unfold. You’ve had a few conversations here and there, exchanged a few pleasantries, but your eyes keep drifting back to Hyunjin.

However, there’s something that twists uncomfortably in your chest when you spot him across the room, laughing and dancing with someone else. She’s pretty, of course, all smiles and soft touches as she dances close to him. He’s leaning into it, laughing with her, his hand resting on her waist, and for some reason, it feels... unfair. You’re the one who changed him, who made him this version of himself that’s drawing people in. And yet, here he is, giving his attention to someone else.

You watch them for a moment longer, feeling a flicker of something dark and possessive tug at the edges of your thoughts.

It wasn’t supposed to bother you, seeing him like this—after all, your goal was never romantic. And yet, there’s an undeniable sting in knowing that someone else is reaping the rewards of the spell you cast. You grip your glass tighter, eyes narrowing slightly as the music thrums on, louder in your ears now.

It’s not jealousy, you tell yourself. It’s control. You made this happen, and he should be yours to manage—not hers.

But as you stand there, the realization settles uncomfortably in your mind—tonight’s spell wasn’t enough. You’ve managed to blend in, to attract a few glances, but Hyunjin... Hyunjin’s attention is still scattered, still caught up in everything else but you. It stings more than you care to admit, watching him charm someone else so easily, so effortlessly, while you stand on the sidelines.

As he laughs with the girl, you take a sip of your drink, silently vowing that the next time, you’ll make sure he sees you. Because tonight’s spell isn’t enough— maybe it is for everyone else, but not for Hyunjin.

-

The nights have become your sacred time, and every evening, you follow the ritual laid out in the pages of the witchcraft book.

Standing naked beneath the pale moonlight, you let it bathe your skin, a soft glow that you imagine sinking deep into your pores. The night air is cool, crisp against your bare skin as you lift your hands to the sky, eyes closed, repeating the words that you’ve come to memorize.

"Moonlight, grant me your grace and beauty. Let my aura shine with endless clarity.

Let their eyes linger, their hearts bend. And in my light, their admiration send."

Each night, you let the moonlight cleanse you, as if it’s washing away any imperfections, any remnants of invisibility. The spell takes days to weave its magic, but you can feel it slowly starting to work.

Each morning, you add a new mantra to your routine, a chant whispered with the dawn, meant to wrap your aura in allure and desirability.

"With every step I take, they’ll see me.

With every breath I draw, they’ll want me.

Let their gaze never stray. Let my beauty lead the way."

The ritual is precise, meticulous, and you’re patient as you wait for the results. You don’t want Hyunjin’s attention in a fleeting way—you want it anchored to you, undeniable, a pull he can’t resist. It takes time, but you start to notice subtle changes. The lingering gazes in the hallway, the way people stop mid-conversation when you walk by. It’s working.

And then, one day, it happens.

You’re on your way down to the lobby after a long day when the elevator doors open, and Hyunjin steps in. For a moment, your heart skips a beat, but you compose yourself, standing straighter.

The doors close, and there’s a brief silence as the elevator descends.

“Hey,” Hyunjin says casually, leaning against the wall, his eyes flicking toward you. “How’s your day been?”

You glance at him, careful to keep your expression neutral, even as your pulse quickens. “Busy,” you reply. “But good. Yours?”

“Same,” he says with a shrug, his voice relaxed. “Meetings, deadlines, the usual stuff. But, you know, the week’s almost over.” He smiles slightly, and for a moment, his eyes linger on you in a way that feels... different. More attentive.

There’s a brief pause before he speaks again, his tone a little more playful this time. “Got any plans for Friday night?”

You feel your breath catch for a second, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you lie smoothly, “I actually have plans with someone else.”

The words come out easily, but you’re not sure why you feel the need to say it. Perhaps it’s a reflex, a way to gauge his reaction.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, but the easy smile doesn’t falter. “Is that so? Well, in case you change your mind,” he says, his tone almost teasing, “I’ll be at The Velvet Room with some friends. You know, just in case your plans... fall through.”

The elevator dings as it reaches the ground floor, and the doors slide open. Hyunjin steps out first, giving you one last glance over his shoulder.

“See you around,” he says with a wink, before disappearing into the crowd.

-

There’s something magnetic about the idea of seeing Hyunjin again in a different setting, where the rules of the office don’t apply.

You dress carefully, choosing an outfit that compliments the aura you’ve been building. The almanac suggests wearing silver tonight—another color of power, elegance, and mystique. You glance at your reflection, satisfied with the way the fabric drapes perfectly, enhancing the effect of the spell.

Before leaving, you whisper your mantra once again, letting the words sink in, fortifying your confidence. Then, with one last look in the mirror, you head out the door.

The Velvet Room buzzes with energy, the dim lights casting shadows over the crowd. Hyunjin’s gaze finds yours across the room, and a spark ignites between you, pulling him in your direction. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in the way his eyes hold yours—curiosity, maybe, or something deeper.

He strides toward you, his presence commanding attention as always. His fitted leather jacket hugs his frame perfectly, and the dark shirt underneath emphasizes the sharp lines of his jaw and collarbone.

When he reaches you, the smirk playing on his lips is familiar, but there's something softer behind it tonight.

“I see your plans changed after all,” he says, voice low enough that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Guess they did,” you reply, keeping your tone light, though your heart races in your chest.

Hyunjin glances around the busy bar before leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ve got a private booth for us. Come with me.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes your hand and leads you through the throng of people, guiding you toward the back of the room. Once you reach the secluded booth, he holds the door open for you, and you step inside, the noise from the bar muffled as the door closes behind you.

Inside, the lighting is softer, more intimate. Hyunjin settles across from you, his long legs stretching out as he leans back comfortably. He orders drinks, and the tension between you crackles in the air, though neither of you addresses it right away.

“So,” he starts, his eyes glinting with mischief, “you’re enjoying your newfound peace at work now that I’ve stopped giving you a hard time?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, swirling the drink in your glass. “You think that’s the only reason I’m enjoying work more?”

Hyunjin chuckles softly, the sound rich and low. “Well, I can’t imagine it’s because of anything else. You’ve hated my guts since day one.”

He’s not wrong, and you don’t bother denying it. “You made it easy,” you reply, lips curving into a smirk of your own. “You were unbearable.”

His smile fades just a touch, replaced by something more genuine. “I’m trying to change that, you know. I owe you an apology for how I’ve been.”

You take a sip of your drink, watching him over the rim of your glass. “What brought this sudden change of heart?”

Hyunjin shrugs, but his gaze never leaves yours. “I don’t know. Maybe I got tired of being an asshole. Maybe it’s... you.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. The flirty banter melts into something more charged, more intimate. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table as you meet his eyes head-on.

“So you’re saying I changed you?” you ask, your voice teasing, but your heart pounds at the truth behind your question.

Hyunjin’s lips curl into that familiar smirk again, but there’s a glint of warmth in his eyes. “Maybe you did.”

The silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s thick with anticipation. Hyunjin’s fingers brush the rim of his glass before he sets it aside, leaning forward just enough that the space between you shrinks.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice dropping lower, “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a while now.”

Your pulse quickens, heat rising to your cheeks. “Oh? And what moment is that?”

“This,” he replies simply, before his hand reaches for yours, pulling you gently but firmly toward him.

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, his lips are on yours. The kiss starts soft, exploratory, but it quickly deepens as you lean into him. His hand cups the back of your neck, drawing you closer, and before you know it, you’re sliding over the seat to sit next to him, his body pressed against yours.

The taste of him lingers on your lips—whiskey and something else, something uniquely Hyunjin. His fingers thread through your hair as he tilts your head, his kiss becoming more urgent, more intense. You kiss him back just as eagerly, the heat between you building with every touch, every movement. It’s like the entire room disappears, leaving just the two of you.

You gasp softly when his lips leave yours, trailing down to your jaw and neck. His breath is hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against your neck.

The sound of his voice, low and full of desire, makes your heart race even faster. You pull him back to you, kissing him again with all the pent-up energy you’ve been holding back for so long. His hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer as you straddle his lap, completely lost in the moment.

Everything about him—his touch, his kiss, the way his body moves against yours—feels right. But beneath the surface, something darker stirs within you. The spell has worked, yes, but you realize with every kiss that it isn’t enough.

You want more. You want all of him—his attention, his devotion, his desire—all to yourself. This one night won’t be enough to satisfy you, not when you know you’re the one responsible for this change.

As the night continues and your lips meet his again and again, the thought solidifies in your mind: You need to make sure that Hyunjin’s lips to never touch another lips that aren't yours ever again.

-

The next morning, you walk into the office with a faint buzz of anticipation beneath your skin. After everything that happened at the bar last night—the way Hyunjin kissed you, the heat in his gaze, the way he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you—you expect something to have shifted between the two of you. Something real, something palpable.

You almost smile when you spot him in the break room, leaning casually against the counter, stirring sugar into his coffee. You slow your steps, bracing yourself for the look you know will be there—the one that says he remembers too, that everything has changed.

But instead, Hyunjin glances up and gives you a polite nod. His expression is calm, his smile... friendly. Nothing more.

"Morning," he says, his tone casual, unaffected. “How’s the project going?”

For a moment, you blink, stunned. That’s it? After what happened last night? You quickly force a smile, swallowing down your disappointment.

“It’s coming along. I’m finalizing the report today.”

He nods, taking a sip of his coffee as if this is just another ordinary morning. “Good to hear. I’m sure it’ll turn out well.”

You stand there, waiting for something else—an acknowledgment, a shift in his body language, anything to show that last night meant something. But he just offers a small smile, glances at the clock, and says, “See you around.”

And just like that, he walks out of the break room, leaving you standing there, stunned.

Your chest tightens with frustration. Hyunjin didn’t seem affected at all. The fire from last night, the way he looked at you like he couldn’t get enough, is gone. He’s back to his composed, distant self, like nothing happened.

You take a shaky breath and grip your coffee cup tighter, watching his retreating figure. The casual indifference in his voice, the polite conversation—it stings. Last night was supposed to mean something, and yet here he is, treating it like a one-off, like you didn’t matter beyond a moment of fleeting desire.

As you head back to your desk, the disappointment festers, but with it comes a fierce determination. Hyunjin might think he can act like that night didn’t change anything, but you’ll make sure it does. You won’t let him act like it meant nothing, like you were just another woman to him.

No, you need to make him see you—and not just for a single night.

By the time you sit at your desk, your resolve hardens. If Hyunjin isn’t going to act differently on his own, you’ll make sure he has no choice. A love spell, intricate and powerful, is the solution. This time, you’ll bind him to you completely.

Tonight, the ritual begins.

-

A love spell is delicate work. It isn’t something to be taken lightly or done in haste. There are many factors that determine its strength and success: the moon cycle, the witch's own power, and, most crucially, the object of your desire. It’s said that to truly bind someone, you need a piece of them—something personal, a thread of their essence. Without it, the spell is only half as effective.

For days, you’ve studied the intricacies of this spell, knowing that one misstep could undo everything. Timing is everything, and with the full moon approaching, the energy in the air feels ripe for magic. You’ve been careful, waiting until the right moment to begin, gathering the necessary items—most importantly, a strand of Hyunjin’s hair.

That night at the bar, when he leaned in close, laughing and brushing against you, you slipped your fingers through his hair, pulling a single strand loose without him noticing. It’s a simple thing, but in the world of witchcraft, it’s enough to make the spell work.

Now, as you prepare for the ritual, that single strand of hair sits coiled in your palm, humming with potential. It’s the final piece that will tip the balance, allowing the magic to flow freely between you and him.

You know the risks—love spells are intricate, and once cast, they cannot easily be undone. But you've come too far to turn back now. Hyunjin is already slipping into your orbit, and tonight, you’ll pull him closer than ever before.

-

Friday – The Initiation

It’s late evening, and the moon is just beginning to wax toward its fullness. You’ve prepared the space carefully—candles of deep crimson and soft pinks flicker around you, casting a warm glow on your altar. In the center, you’ve laid out the key ingredients: a red silk ribbon, Hyunjin’s strand of hair, a piece of rose quartz, and a small vial of honey.

You open your spellbook and find the section on love magic, the words lighting up with power as the candlelight dances over the pages. The instructions are clear—the first night’s ritual is all about opening the path between you and Hyunjin, creating the initial connection that will draw him closer over the weekend.

You tie the red silk ribbon around the rose quartz, knotting it carefully as you whisper the incantation, feeling the magic pulse through your veins.

"With this knot, I begin the tie. From his heart, no love shall fly.

Sweet as honey, strong as flame. Our souls connect, he’ll know my name."

As you chant, you dip the rose quartz into the honey, sealing the first step of the spell. The air hums with energy, and you feel the beginnings of something shifting, like an invisible thread linking you to Hyunjin. The ritual is set in motion, and as you blow out the candles, you know the spell is now out there, working its magic.

-

Saturday – The Strengthening

The second night’s ritual takes place under the waxing gibbous moon, its bright light illuminating your workspace. Tonight, you focus on deepening the connection, strengthening the bond you’ve initiated with Hyunjin. The spell is more intricate, requiring both your intent and personal sacrifice.

You sit before your altar, this time with a red candle burning beside you. The strand of Hyunjin's hair is placed in a silver dish, and next to it, you’ve prepared strands of your own hair and a tiny drop of your own blood—just enough to infuse the spell with your life force.

The spellbook lies open in front of you as you softly chant the next part of the incantation:

"With each strand and drop I give. By his side, I shall live.

Mind to mind, heart to heart. From this bond, we shall not part."

You burn the strand in the dish, the smoke curling upward in a thin trail. The smell is faint but potent, a mix of sweet and bitter that lingers in the air. You watch it rise, and for a moment, you picture Hyunjin—his face, his smile, the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you at the bar. You know the spell is working; you can feel it building, layer by layer.

When the last of the hair has turned to ash, you sprinkle the strands of hair and a drop of your blood into the ashes, sealing the second part of the ritual. You chant softly, sealing your words into the night.

"Bound by flesh, bound by will. He shall seek me, strong and still.

By the gibbous moon’s bright glow. Love between us shall now grow."

The flames flicker, then extinguish, and you’re left in the stillness of the night, the magic of the second ritual now deep inside you.

-

Sunday – The Final Binding

It’s the night of the full moon, and its silver light bathes the room in a soft, ethereal glow. This is the night the spell will be completed—the most powerful moment, when the moon is at its peak, and all the energy you’ve built over the last two days can finally come together.

You sit outside this time, under the open sky. The spell requires the presence of the full moon, and you’ve gathered the final ingredients—rose petals, lavender, and a small mirror. The rose quartz, still tied with the red ribbon, rests in your lap as you prepare to chant the final spell.

This is the binding part of the ritual, where the connection you’ve created will be sealed, turning Hyunjin’s heart fully toward you.

With the mirror in one hand and the rose quartz in the other, you begin to chant, your voice rising and falling with the rhythm of the moon’s energy.

"By the moon, full and bright. I call upon the power of night.

Mirror of love, reflect his gaze. Draw him near, let passion blaze."

You place the rose petals and lavender into a small bowl, then gently pour water over them. The fragrance fills the air, soft and heady. You dip the mirror into the water, watching as the moon’s reflection shimmers on its surface.

"By this reflection, he shall see. That his heart belongs to me.

No other path, no other way. His love for me will never stray."

You breathe in deeply, feeling the magic swirl around you. The power is undeniable, a force that wraps around your body, pressing in from all sides. You finish the chant, your words barely more than a whisper now.

"Under this moon, my spell takes flight. Bound by love, bound by night.

His heart is mine, this spell is cast. And so our bond shall forever last."

As the final words leave your lips, you press the rose quartz to your heart and hold the mirror up to the full moon. The energy pulses through you, a warm glow that spreads from your chest to the tips of your fingers. You feel it—something has clicked into place, the spell complete.

The night is still, but you know that soon, the magic will have taken hold. Hyunjin will be yours in every way—his heart, his soul, his desire.

And with the moon as your witness, the bond is sealed.

-

Days pass, and the anticipation grows unbearable. You’ve done everything right.

The rituals were precise, the moon was full, and Hyunjin’s hair—the final ingredient—was woven into the spell. But still, no sign. No shift in his behavior. He continues to walk past you in the office with nothing more than a fleeting glance, his attention drifting elsewhere. Doubts start to creep in, and the quiet whispers of failure haunt you.

Did the spell not take? you wonder, replaying every step in your mind.

Then, one evening, when you’re heading to the elevator after work, something shifts.

The air feels thick with tension as you step into the packed elevator. Hyunjin is there, standing toward the back. His presence is palpable, and though the two of you can’t speak with so many people crammed in yet you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face. Your heart races, but you keep your eyes forward, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

The elevator dings as it reaches the parking basement, and the crowd begins to disperse. You part ways, heading to your car, dismissing the weight of his stare as nothing more than your imagination. You unlock the car, not noticing the quiet footsteps approaching from behind—until a strong hand wraps around your arm and pulls you back.

It’s Hyunjin.

Suddenly, he's spinning you around and pulling you close. His breath is warm against your cheek as he leans in, his voice low and breathless.

“I can't stop thinking about you,” he confesses, his fingers gripping your waist. “All night. You’re all I think about.”

Before you can process his words, his lips are on yours, soft and insistent. The dimly lit, empty parking basement fades away as the intensity of the kiss consumes you both. His hands slide to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

This—this—is the moment you’ve been waiting for. The spell has worked. Hyunjin is yours.

-

The drive to your place feels like an eternity, the tension between you and Hyunjin palpable in the air. His hand rests on your thigh, fingers lightly tracing patterns over your skin, sending sparks through you.

The moment you step inside your apartment, he’s on you, pushing you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that leaves you breathless. His hands slide under your clothes, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him as his body presses you into the wall.

The heat between you is undeniable, electric, and you can feel how much he wants you—his lips devouring yours, his hands exploring your body with a possessiveness that makes your heart race.

You stumble toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in your wake. Hyunjin’s shirt is the first to go, revealing the toned muscles of his chest, the lean lines of his body that you’ve only ever admired from a distance. But now, he’s right here, inches from you, and the sight of him sends a thrill through you. You take a moment to drink him in—his sharp jawline, his tousled hair, the way his dark eyes are filled with nothing but want as he looks at you.

His lips crash against yours again as you fall onto the bed, his body covering yours, his weight a welcome sensation. He’s everywhere—his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, fingers brushing over your skin.

“You’re driving me insane,” he mutters against your neck, his voice low and breathless.

His hands slide lower, tugging at the last of your clothing, and soon you’re bare beneath him, his hands exploring every inch of you as if he can’t get enough.

When he finally sinks into you, the world tilts. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of him inside you, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. The way he fills you, the sounds of his breathless moans in your ear, the way he grips your hips as he moves—it’s like everything else fades away, and there’s only this. Only him.

The intensity builds, every touch, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. Hyunjin’s thrusts become more urgent, his breathing ragged, and the sensation of him driving deeper, faster, is almost too much. But it’s exactly what you want—what you need. Your nails dig into his back, pulling him closer, and he groans at the contact, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

When you both finally reach your peak, your body trembles beneath him, and he collapses beside you, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. You lie there, tangled together in the aftermath, your heart pounding, the reality of what just happened sinking in.

Hyunjin lies beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his breath evening out as he recovers. His dark hair is tousled, his lips slightly swollen from kissing, and even in the dim light, his beauty is undeniable. He looks utterly spent but content, and the sight of him like this—bare, vulnerable, entirely yours—sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You did this. You made this happen. The spell worked, and Hyunjin is yours, completely under your control. The success of the spell isn’t just about having him—it’s about the power you now wield, the realization that your magic is stronger than ever before.

-

The next morning, the sunlight filters softly through your bedroom curtains, casting a warm glow over Hyunjin’s sleeping form. He’s lying on his side, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath, his lips slightly parted.

You watch him in quiet admiration, the sight of him peaceful and undisturbed, completely under your spell. It’s still hard to believe that this is real, that he’s lying here in your bed after everything. The love spell worked. He’s yours.

You study the soft angles of his face, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the sharp line of his jaw that only makes him look more ethereal in the morning light. You feel a deep satisfaction wash over you, the realization that everything is falling into place, just as you wanted.

It’s almost amusing, really—this version of Hyunjin, so different from the arrogant, condescending man he once was, is now wrapped around your finger.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter open, catching you in the act of watching him. A small, sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his lips as his gaze meets yours.

“Were you watching me sleep?” he asks, his voice groggy but playful.

You smile back, shrugging a little. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin chuckles softly, stretching out beside you as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “You’re sneaky, you know that?”

“I’m just admiring the view,” you reply, your voice teasing but laced with the truth.

There’s no hiding how pleased you are with the way things have turned out. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Before he answers, Hyunjin leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hand brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slow and sweet, making your heart skip a beat. His tenderness is addictive.

“Surprise me,” he whispers when he pulls back, his lips hovering just above yours.

You grin, feeling a rush of triumph in the way he looks at you, the way he kisses you, the way he’s completely under your control now.

As you slip out of bed, you can’t help but feel victorious, knowing that Hyunjin—this beautiful, captivating man—is yours in every way that matters.

As you head toward the kitchen to prepare breakfast, there’s a sense of power that settles in your chest. The spell didn’t just make him fall for you—it made you stronger, more certain. You have him wrapped around your finger now, and the world feels yours for the taking.

-

The days after the spell pass like a dream, Hyunjin’s affection wrapping around you in ways you never thought possible. Every glance, every touch feels like a victory—you’ve made him yours, completely.

In the office, the familiar hum of busy workers fills the air as you make your way down the hallway toward Mr. Campbell’s office.

Hyunjin walks just a few paces ahead of you, his posture relaxed but confident. There’s an air of professionalism in him, but now that you know what he’s like when it’s just the two of you, you can’t help but feel a tinge of excitement bubbling under the surface.

As you step into Mr. Campbell’s office, you’re greeted by the familiar sternness in his voice.

"I’ve decided to assign you two to work on separate plans for the company's upcoming project," he says, his eyes shifting between you and Hyunjin.

"You'll both prepare your own proposals, and at the presentation, whoever gets the most favor from the board will earn the vacant position. This is your chance to prove yourselves."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of the position—the one you’ve been quietly eyeing ever since you started here. Hyunjin, beside you, remains calm, but you can feel the weight of his presence more than ever. As Mr. Campbell dismisses the two of you, you exchange a glance with Hyunjin before leaving the office.

Once you’re out in the hallway, Hyunjin subtly grabs your wrist, pulling you toward the supply closet. You blink in surprise but follow without protest, knowing full well what he’s planning.

The door barely clicks shut before his lips are on yours, urgent but playful. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, everything outside of this small, dim room fades away.

“I know we’re competing for this,” Hyunjin murmurs against your lips, his voice soft with an edge of amusement, “but good luck.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s sincerity there too. He breaks the kiss just long enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes gleaming. "May the best one win."

You smirk, your hand resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

“Good luck to you, too,” you reply, your voice smooth but laced with challenge. “I can’t wait to see how things turn out.”

Hyunjin grins, his fingers brushing your cheek lightly. “Neither can I.”

There’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—excitement, maybe, or anticipation. You lean in, giving him a quick but lingering kiss, letting the tension between you hum in the air.

The thrill of the upcoming competition mixes with the attraction that has only grown between you. He pulls back with a chuckle, running his thumb over your lower lip.

“You’re not making this easy for me, you know that?”

You shrug, a playful glint in your eyes. “I wouldn’t be me if I did.”

The kiss lingers for a few more seconds before Hyunjin finally steps back, his hand grazing your arm as he reaches for the door.

“Let’s make this interesting,” he says, his voice low, almost daring. “See you on the battlefield.”

With one last mischievous smile, he exits, leaving you alone in the closet with your heart racing and a fierce determination bubbling up inside.

There’s no denying that you’re both in this, but the added tension of the competition only fuels your desire to come out on top—both in work and with Hyunjin.

-

As the presentation for the vacant position approaches, an unsettling feeling lingers at the back of your mind. You watch Hyunjin, wondering if the man who once rivaled you so fiercely would really let things go this easily without the spell.

One afternoon, you’re in your office, going over your project when Hyunjin leans back in his chair, his gaze soft as it drifts over you. You’re explaining your ideas, expecting his usual critique, when he interrupts with a grin.

“You’re going to win,” he says, sounding almost too sure.

You pause, looking up from your notes. “What?”

“Your presentation is going to be the best. I mean, come on, you’re brilliant,” he says, his voice full of admiration, not competition.

“Honestly, I’ve been thinking... maybe I’ll just back down.” he shares out of the blue.

Your heart stumbles. “Back down?”

He nods, that lazy smile still on his face. “Yeah, I don’t need the promotion. Not if it means competing with you. I’d rather see you succeed. We’re... together now. What’s the point in fighting over this?”

His words hit you like a cold splash of water. Back down? Hyunjin, who once lived for the competition, who thrived on the challenge, was now willing to give up everything. Because of the spell. Because you’d made him love you so much that he’d throw away his ambitions.

For a moment, you can’t breathe. This wasn’t love—it was devotion you’d forced on him. You took his drive, his edge, the parts of him that made you want to beat him in the first place.

You try to steady yourself and begin speaking. “Hyunjin, you’ve worked hard for this too. You deserve the promotion as much as I do.”

But he shakes his head, taking your hand in his. “I don’t need it anymore. I have you.”

That simple statement—it should make you feel victorious, but instead, it twists something inside you. The spell worked too well. He isn’t competing, isn’t challenging you like before. He’s so devoted, so wrapped up in his feelings that he’s willing to throw away everything he’s worked for.

“I—” you start, but the words die on your lips.

His thumb brushes softly over your knuckles. “What’s wrong?”

You force a smile, trying to mask the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. “Nothing. I’m just... surprised.”

He lets it go, the conversation shifting back to work, but you can’t focus. You nod along, pretending to listen, but inside, your thoughts are miles away.

Later, when he gets up to leave, his words cling to you like a shadow.

“I know I’m supposed to try, but... seeing you happy is more important to me than anything else.”

The door closes behind him, and you sink into your chair, staring at the space he left behind. You wanted this—his love, his devotion, his attention. You got exactly what you asked for. But now, seeing him like this, so willing to give up everything, the weight of your actions crashes down on you.

You press your fingers to your lips, replaying his words over and over. This isn’t the Hyunjin you admired, the one who challenged you at every turn. You’ve changed him, twisted him into something else—something that doesn’t feel real anymore.

Your chest tightens with regret. The spell had worked, yes, but at what cost?

-

It’s Halloween, and you're rifling through your book of spells, desperately searching for something that can help undo the spells you’ve cast on Hyunjin—or at least diminish their effects. With each page you turn, your frustration grows as you find no answers to ease your dread.

After a long, grueling hour, you finally stumble upon a spell that could remove the enchantment entirely. But something this powerful demands a greater sacrifice. You hesitate, unsure why you even considered it in the first place. Shaking your head, you continue flipping through the pages, anxiety building.

The doorbell rings, snapping you from your thoughts. You assume it’s more trick-or-treaters; the kids in the apartment building have been coming by all night, eagerly asking for candy. Sighing, you close the book and head to the door, grabbing the basket of sweets on your way.

But instead of children in costumes, you find Hyunjin standing there, dressed in a white shirt and dark slacks, his long dark hair brushed back except for a strand falling over his forehead.

"Trick or treat!" he says with a charming smile, holding up a bag of food and a bottle of wine.

"What are you dressed as?" you ask with a playful smile.

"As… your beautiful boyfriend?" he replies, tilting his head with a hint of doubt, but the adorable expression makes your heart flutter.

For a moment, you feel warm—like the only thing that matters is how he looks at you. But then reality crashes in. None of this is genuine. It's all because of your spell.

"So, are you going to let me in?" Hyunjin asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.

"Yeah, sure." You step aside, allowing him to enter.

As soon as the door closes, his hands are free, and he pulls you into a tight embrace. His lips brush over yours before he kisses you deeply, sweetly, as if savoring the moment. You kiss him back, letting his warmth momentarily ease the guilt gnawing at you.

"I missed you," Hyunjin sighs, sounding relieved as if his words release all the pain inside him.

"Missed you too," you reply, your voice lacking the same enthusiasm, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. But something feels off.

Even as he holds you, the weight of the situation hangs heavily over you. You break the kiss, offering a small smile as you say. "I'll get the food ready."

As you unpack the food on the kitchen counter, Hyunjin watches you from the dining table, his eyes tracking your every move like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Can you help with the wine?" you ask, pulling him from his reverie.

He snaps to attention, grabbing the wine opener and rolling up his sleeves. He opens the bottle with care, pouring the wine into two glasses you’ve set on the table.

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

"Cheers." You clink glasses, the sound ringing softly as you both take a sip.

"I hope you like the food," he says, glancing nervously at your plate. "If not, we can order something else."

"No, it’s perfect. I love pasta," you reassure him, taking a bite.

He smiles, watching you eat without touching his own plate until you urge him to start. The doorbell rings again, this time unmistakably trick-or-treaters. You excuse yourself, handing out sweets to the kids at the door before returning to the table.

"How’s your project going?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation light despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"It’s going well," he replies, though the hesitation in his voice makes you doubt him. "I was working on it earlier."

"That’s good. We promised to make it interesting, right?"

"Yeah, of course," he says, poking at his food absentmindedly.

After dinner, you clear the plates, heading to the sink to wash up while Hyunjin refills your wine glasses. But he’s not content with just that. Soon, he’s behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing kisses on your neck.

"You can do it later," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, making it hard for you to focus.

"It won’t take long," you insist, his arms still holding you as you rinse the last dish.

Another knock at the door pulls you from his grasp, and you give out more candy before Hyunjin takes the basket from you, placing it outside and locking the door. He then turns back to you with a sly grin plastered on his face.

"From now on, no more tricks, only treats," he says, his smile mischievous.

Before you can respond, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom. He sets you down gently, making sure your head lands perfectly on the pillow. Hovering over you, he traces your features with his fingers, admiration shining in his eyes.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, almost in disbelief.

"Hyunjin..." you whisper, overwhelmed by the way he looks at you.

"I love the way you call my name," he says softly, kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down your jawline.

He then buries his head in your neck and inhales your scent as if he breathes in air for the first time in a while, "Gosh... you smell heavenly."

Once the clothes are off, Hyunjin begins making a trail of kisses down your front and for each kiss he plants, he gives you a sweet compliment as if you weren't high already from the way his soft lips leaving searing kisses on your skin.

He only stops when he gets to where you want him the most and he gives you just exactly what you need, his tongue lapping at your wetness as his fingers lightly stroke on your clit. He licks, he sucks, he's using his mouth to its fullest potential to give you the utmost of pleasure.

Hyunjin’s dark locks are caught between your fingers and you tug at it when the pleasure gets too much, your eyes fluttering open and your legs wanting to keep closing but Hyunjin’s strong arms are steadily keeping them open.

He's doing it too well that you cum in no time, your essence gets all over his mouth and chin, and you don’t hesitate to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips.

Hyunjin moves like water as he thrusts into you, painstakingly slow as to make you feel every drag of his cock against your walls and going as shallow as possible, hitting you just right on the spot.

"Oh, you feel so good," he murmurs, his voice is rough, full of need and heavy with lust.

Low groans are spilling out of his parted mouth as he tries to draw it out, wanting to make this moment last as long as possible.

"So good," he murmurs again with haste kiss on your lips.

His hand gropes around for yours and when he finds it, he laces them together. "I want to stay in this moment with you, forever."

But as things escalate, the overwhelming guilt creeps back in. Every touch, every kiss feels tainted, knowing his affection is not real. Your chest tightens, and suddenly, you can’t hold it in anymore. Tears spill from your eyes as you turn your head away, trying to hide your face from him.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" Hyunjin stops, his voice full of concern. "Did I hurt you?"

You shake your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks gently, placing a comforting kiss on your cheek.

"No," you manage to whisper. "Please… don’t stop."

He continues, but his movements are slower, more careful, as if afraid of breaking you. His eyes never leave yours, and the tenderness in his gaze makes you feel even smaller, exposed so you close your eyes, afraid that he would eventually sees the real you, how vicious and cruel you are underneath.

As he reaches his high, he collapses onto the bed beside you, his breathing ragged. He pulls you close, his head resting in the crook of your neck as he whispers sweet, loving words while you stare at the ceiling with the guilt suffocating you as you hold him in your arm.

"What have I done?" you mutter, the words escaping before you can stop them.

Hyunjin, thinking you’re speaking to him, lifts his head and smiles softly. "You made me fall in love."

If only that were true. If only it came from his heart. If only... it was all real.

-

The boardroom is filled with the quiet rustle of papers and the soft hum of anticipation.

The meeting has been tense, as expected, with everyone vying to impress. You sit, posture rigid, as you finish your presentation. Applause erupts, polite yet enthusiastic, and you nod, acknowledging it with a tight smile. The project was good, better than good, and judging by the reaction, everyone knew it.

Now it’s Hyunjin’s turn. You subtly glance over at him from your seat, your pulse quickening, but instead of preparing himself, he seems strangely detached. His eyes skim the room, hands resting loosely by his sides, as though this moment doesn’t matter to him.

He steps up to present, but from the first few words, it’s obvious—he’s not even trying. His voice lacks the fire, the drive that’s been his signature since day one. You feel your stomach twist as you realize he’s practically handing you the win.

Hyunjin wraps up his presentation, which gets polite applause, but it’s nowhere near the fervor yours received. Your chest tightens with frustration. He didn’t try. Not even close.

The meeting adjourns, and you slip out quickly, not wanting to be near him.

The weight of what’s happening presses heavily on you as you stand in the crowded elevator, the quiet hum of conversation filling the space. Hyunjin is standing somewhere behind you, but you refuse to look at him. You can feel his presence, but the air between you is suffocating, thick with the unspoken words.

Once you step out into the parking lot, you walk briskly, desperate to get away. But Hyunjin catches up, his footsteps hurried.

"Wait!" he calls after you, his voice strained with urgency.

You stop, the anger bubbling inside of you, and spin to face him. "Why did you do that?"

He runs a hand through his hair, looking torn. "Please, just—let’s talk. In the car."

You hesitate but ultimately nod, leading the way to your car. Once inside, the silence between you feels unbearable.

"You promised," you start, your voice shaking with anger. "We promised we’d make it a fair competition, that we’d both try our best."

Hyunjin leans back in the seat, his eyes dark with regret. "I know."

"Then why?" you demand, the frustration boiling over. "Why did you just give up? You weren’t even trying, Hyunjin!"

He lets out a shaky breath and looks at you, his gaze soft and full of something that makes your heart ache. "Because I love you."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stare at him, unable to process it at first. Love. The very thing you’d manipulated him into feeling.

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them, the guilt crashing over you like a wave.

"No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t love me. Not really. This isn’t real."

Hyunjin reaches out, gently taking your hand. "It feels real to me," he says softly. "You matter more to me than any project, more than any competition. I couldn’t fight against you."

Your tears spill over, and suddenly you’re sobbing, the weight of everything—the spells, the manipulation, the guilt—overwhelming you.

"I’m sorry," you cry, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m so, so sorry."

Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, not understanding why you’re apologizing but sensing your pain. You collapse against him, your body shaking with sobs.

If only he knew the truth. If only he knew what you had done to him. But you can’t bring yourself to say it. Not now.

-

A few days later, you sit in the office chair across from Mr. Campbell, his usual stern expression softening as he reads from the paper in front of him. His words feel distant, almost muffled, like you’re underwater.

"It’s official," he says with a pleased nod. "You’ve earned the promotion. Your project was outstanding. Congratulations."

You force a smile, but the corners of your mouth barely lift. You knew this was coming—Hyunjin’s lackluster presentation made it inevitable.

This was the result you had planned for, worked for, even cast spells for. But now, sitting here, hearing the words you thought would bring you triumph, there’s nothing. No thrill, no victory, just an empty ache in your chest.

"Thank you," you manage to say, voice hollow.

He stands, extending his hand, and you shake it, knowing you should feel proud, but the weight in your stomach pulls you down.

You leave his office, your steps heavy as you wander through the hallways, trying to find some corner to breathe, to process everything.

You duck into a supply closet, the small, dim space feeling like a sanctuary where no one can find you. Leaning against the shelves, you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. This promotion was supposed to be your moment. But how could it be, when Hyunjin didn’t even try? It’s not a win if the competition never showed up.

A few moments later, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. The door creaks open, and there he is—Hyunjin, his tall frame taking up most of the doorway. He steps inside, closing the door behind him.

"There you are," he says softly, his eyes searching your face. "I’ve been looking for you."

You look away, unable to meet his gaze. "Why?"

He steps closer, his presence warm and overwhelming in the cramped space. "I wanted to congratulate you. You won."

His words make something inside you twist painfully. The way he says it so gently, without any resentment or bitterness, just makes it worse. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you shake your head.

"I didn’t win," you whisper, voice cracking. "Not really."

Hyunjin frowns, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, turning your face toward him. "Of course you did. You earned it."

You let out a bitter laugh, the tears spilling over. "No, I didn’t. You gave up. You didn’t even try, Hyunjin. This doesn’t feel like a win."

You pull away slightly, looking up at him, your heart aching with regret and guilt. "I’m sorry for everything."

Hyunjin frowns, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "You don’t have to be sorry for anything."

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, and you sink into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace. His lips brush against your forehead, soft and tender, before he leans down to kiss you—gently, lovingly. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise, like something real, something that could have been.

Except that it’s not real. It can never be real, not with everything you’ve done.

You pull back, looking into his eyes, your mind already spinning with the plan for tonight. This—right here—would be the last time you'd see him without the weight of what’s to come. Your victory was secured, but the price hadn’t been paid. Not yet.

"Let’s have dinner at my place tonight," you say, trying to steady your voice, pretending like everything is normal. "To celebrate the promotion."

His lips curl into a small smile, his thumb caressing your cheek. "I'd like that," he says softly.

You smile back, though it feels hollow. You hold onto this moment for a second longer, knowing it’s one of the last peaceful ones you’ll share with him. Then, with a shaky breath, you step out of his embrace.

"I’ll see you tonight," you whisper, and without another glance, you slip out of the supply closet.

Hyunjin stays behind as you walk away, his warmth still lingering against your skin. Each step feels heavier, like the weight of your decision is pressing down on you, pulling you further into the realization of what comes next. You stop just before the corner, stealing a glance over your shoulder, watching him for a second longer.

The knot in your stomach tightens again, but you remind yourself—this is the only way. It has to be.

With a deep breath, you turn back and keep walking. There's no turning back now.

-

Later that night, you stand at the door of your apartment, heart pounding softly as you wait for him to arrive. When you hear the soft knock, you open the door, and there he is—Hyunjin, smiling with that familiar warmth, the smile you once fell for.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping inside, his eyes sweeping over the cozy setup. The small table is adorned with candles, casting a soft golden glow over the room. “This looks amazing.”

You smile, your heart heavy but steady. “I wanted tonight to be special.”

The evening starts gently—laughter, conversation, little touches that feel like ghosts of a past you thought you wanted. But you let yourself lean into it, let yourself love him for what feels like the last time.

At one point, you find yourselves on the sofa, wine glasses resting on the table, the closeness between you too familiar, too easy. His hand brushes your cheek, and you don’t stop him as his lips meet yours. The kiss deepens, turning into a slow, tender makeout session. His touch, warm and inviting, is like a spell all its own. But as you kiss him, an ache builds in your chest, the weight of everything you know you’ll do.

You pull away slightly, breathless, your hands still resting on his chest. His eyes search yours, a soft confusion lingering in them. You can’t help but ask, the words escaping before you can stop them.

"Hyunjin?" You softly call.

"Yes?"

“If… if we hadn’t met, do you think you’d still be happy?”

Hyunjin frowns slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, if I wasn’t… me. If you didn’t know me. Would you still have… loved me?” Your voice falters on the last word, the question hanging between you like a weight.

He pauses, eyes searching yours, his fingers tracing small circles on your skin. “I would. I’d find you, no matter what. In any life, in any world. I would always love you.”

His answer, so simple and sincere, breaks something inside you. You close your eyes, feeling the tears sting at the edges, but you don’t let them fall. Instead, you kiss him again, harder this time, trying to chase away the sadness, trying to pretend for a moment that things could be different. But the more he holds you, the more his words echo in your mind, the more certain you become. He loves you, yes. But this love can’t last. Not like this.

When you finally pull away, the weight of what you need to do presses down on you with full force. This is the only way. Later, as the candles flicker lower, you rise from the sofa and head to the table.

“I'll get us more wine,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you.

Hyunjin watches you with a warm smile as you pour the wine. Your heart pounds as your finger dips into the crimson-colored wine and then trails the rim of his glass with it while murmuring the words, barely audible, but enough to seal his fate.

"From fire to ash, from light to dust. What once was mine, returns to rust.

Love undone, his heart unbound. In silence and shadow, let him drown.

By the touch of this glass, let his fate align. Power to me, as his stars decline."

You hand him the glass, your heart breaking as you do. He brings it to his lips, taking a sip, unaware of what you’ve just done. Unaware of how much this hurts you.

For tonight, you let yourself pretend. You let yourself love him, just one last time. And as he drinks, you whisper the silent goodbye you know he’ll never hear, pressing your lips to his once more with a love you wish he’d always remember, even as he forgets.

In your heart, you say it, soft and final: Goodbye, Hyunjin.

-

The day feels colder, even though the weather hasn't changed. As you walk into the office, something feels off, a gnawing sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes scan the room for Hyunjin, wondering if the spell had worked yet.

And then, you spot him. He’s standing with a group of colleagues, but as he catches sight of you, the warmth you’ve come to know over the past few weeks vanishes entirely. His gaze is sharp, carrying the same icy disdain that had once been so familiar. The same bitterness, and none of the love.

As you make your way across the office, he steps toward you, shoulders tense, his eyes narrowing. You brace yourself, hoping for even a flicker of the softness he once held in his gaze, but instead, his shoulder brushes yours—cold and dismissive. You pause, your stomach twisting as he turns to you with a sneer.

“Must feel nice,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Getting everything handed to you without actually earning it.”

The words slice through you like a knife. You pause for a second, trying to keep your composure, feeling the weight of every decision that brought you to this point. The guilt of what you’ve done, the emptiness where your power once hummed, and now this—Hyunjin, reduced back to the man who hated you.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I worked hard for it, Hyunjin,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky.

His laugh is cold, mocking, and it makes you wince. “Sure you did,” he mutters, turning back to his computer, dismissing you as if you’re nothing.

You stand there, frozen for a second, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay. His words shouldn’t hurt you, not after everything that’s happened, but they do. They hurt more than you expected. All those moments you shared, all those fleeting smiles and touches, are gone, erased by the spell.

The real Hyunjin is back. The rude, brash, and hostile Hyunjin who sees you as nothing more than a rival. A stranger. You glance at him once more, hoping to catch a flicker of the person he was during those brief moments when he loved you, but there’s nothing. Just a void where that connection used to be.

The worst part is, you can’t even blame him. You brought this on yourself.

You walk to your new office with your name gleaming on the plate on the desk. You sink into your chair, trying to keep your emotions under control. But your hands tremble slightly as they rest on the desk, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest. You feel something hollow deep inside you.

It’s not just Hyunjin’s attitude that’s changed. You try to summon the familiar flicker of magic, the power you’ve relied on for so long, but there’s nothing. Like trying to grasp smoke, it’s gone. The power you sacrificed him for… It’s drained from you, leaving only an emptiness in its place.

You glance up at Hyunjin from across the room. He’s engrossed in his work, not sparing you another glance. And that’s when you realize just how much you’ve lost—not just him, not just your power, but the chance to ever fix this. The person he was, the one who loved you, is gone.

And in the end, no one’s won. Not you, and certainly not him.

-

You sit at the head of the table, watching the meeting unfold. The conversations swirl around you, voices clashing, egos on display. You’re the new boss, the one they’re all eager to impress or undermine. They don’t know what you’ve sacrificed to get here. They don’t know the real cost of power.

But you do.

As you listen, you catch yourself slipping into the familiar rhythm. You chant silently, almost instinctively, the words that once fueled your magic: "With fire in my veins and steel in my spine. Today the world bends, and all power is mine."

The words used to ignite something inside you, a force, a certainty. Now, they echo hollow in your mind. The magic is gone, drained from you in exchange for this.

Still, you repeat the mantra, knowing it’s all you have left. The magic may be lost, but the confidence—the belief in your own strength—isn’t. And that’s the closest thing you have to power now. The confidence that no one in this room sees the struggle beneath your polished exterior. They don’t know how much you’ve given up to sit in this chair, and they never will.

The meeting drones on. Hyunjin’s face flashes in your mind, his cold words still fresh, the way he dismissed your promotion as if it meant nothing. You bite the inside of your cheek, swallowing the pain, refusing to let the tears well up. You won this, but it doesn't feel like triumph. It feels like surviving.

And that’s what you’ll keep doing. Surviving.

The mantra repeats in your head, growing louder, stronger: "With fire in my veins and steel in my spine." It’s not magic, but it’s enough. Enough to remind you who you are. You nod and smile through the meeting, play the role they expect of you.

The meeting ends, and you gather your things, moving toward the elevator. As the doors slide open, you freeze for a moment—Hyunjin is already inside. He stands there, tall and sharp as ever, but he's not alone. A girl is nestled next to him, laughing softly at something he says. The warmth between them is unmistakable.

You step in, feeling your stomach churn as the doors close behind you. The air feels suffocating in the small space, and you keep your eyes on the floor, biting back the flood of emotions rising in your chest. Hyunjin doesn’t even glance your way. He’s too busy murmuring something to her, his hand casually brushing her arm. The same way he used to touch you.

The elevator hums as it descends, the seconds stretching out painfully. The girl giggles again, and you can’t help but catch a glimpse of them in the reflection. Hyunjin looks like his old self—rude, brash, completely unaffected. There’s no trace of the man who had once loved you, who had held you close.

The spell has worked, stripping away everything that had made him care about you. You bite down harder on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to break in front of them. Not here. Not now.

The elevator dings, the doors opening to the parking basement. Hyunjin steps out first, his arm wrapped around the girl’s waist, and you follow silently, keeping your distance.

There’s a brief moment where you lock eyes—just for a second. But it’s enough to tell you that the connection is gone. Whatever existed between the two of you has disappeared, erased by the spell.

Hyunjin walks away, not even a glance back. And this time, you feel it deep inside—this is truly the end. You watch them leave, feeling profoundly empty, more alone than ever. The victory you once sought now feels hollow, a reminder of what you sacrificed to get here.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake the sadness as you walk toward your car. But the feeling lingers, heavy and unshakable. There’s no magic to fix this. There’s no spell that can bring back what you’ve lost. You tell yourself it’s what had to be done, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For the first time, the thought crosses your mind—was it really worth it?

You close your eyes, letting the wind brush over your face, and whisper to yourself one last time: "With fire in my veins and steel in my spine, today the world bends, and all power is mine."

This is only the beginning, you remind yourself. There will be more people like Hyunjin, more obstacles, more power to chase. You glance at your hands, no longer tingling with the hum of magic, but steady with a new kind of strength.

For now, you’ll rely on yourself. And soon, when the time is right, the world will bend again.

-

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[delulujuls]

i'd give you the whole world if i only knew its price | ls18

am i a lance's girlie? no. am i becoming a lance's girlie? dont look at me

he seems so sweet idk why people hate on him

summary: lance's love language is giving gifts and when it came to giving something in return he'll accept only one way

warnings: none

pairing: fem!bffreader x lance stroll

The little girl sat on the curb, tears streaming down her rosy, tear-stained cheeks. In her tiny hands, she held her shattered helmet, unfit for further use. The girl wasn't crying because her father had scolded her for accidentally damaging the helmet. Instead, it was because, until she could find a replacement, she wouldn't be able to race with the other kids. That is, if there were any funds available for a new one.

Seeing the seven-year-old in tears, a slightly older boy, aware of the reason behind her distress, approached her with his newly purchased helmet in hand, crouching down in front of her.

"Here, you can have mine."

The girl stopped sobbing as he sat beside her, handing her the helmet, which she hesitantly accepted.

"I can't take it, my dad doesn't have any money left."

"You can take it, I always have two helmets with me."

The boy smiled at her, but uncertainty still lingered on her face. He glanced toward his father, who stood under one of the tents, observing the children a few meters away. Seeing the tearful face of the girl and the joyful expression on his son's face, he also smiled slightly and nodded.

"See?" he said, squeezing her hands that held the helmet. "My dad agreed. You can take it as a gift."

"Really?"

While her face was still wet from tears, her eyes no longer radiated sadness. Looking into the brown eyes of the boy, he nodded and he stood up, extending his hand.

"By the way, I'm Lance. Now, come on, it's about to start!"

"Please, Y/N, don't be like that."

The boy slumped onto the hotel bed, closely watching the girl's face on his phone screen.

"I'm sorry, Lance, but I can't."

She replied, her phone propped up against a coffee mug, engrossed in browsing job listings on her laptop.

"Why can't you just take it as a gift?"

Y/N scoffed and shook her head.

"Every month you give me some gift, Lance. Last month, as a 'gift,' you bought me a Birkin bag, and I don't even want to know how much it cost."

"You said your bag was falling apart, I wanted to make you happy."

She sighed and shifted her gaze to her phone. Lance looked at her attentively with his puppy eyes, visibly concerned. He wasn't seeing any problem here.

"The bag is gorgeous, and you have no idea how much joy you brought me," she said with grattitude in her voice. "But even a simple Target bag would make me happy, you know?"

"Yeah, probably. But this one is okay too, right?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"It's beautiful. Thank you very much."

Hearing her words, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing her smile, he did the same.

"So, if you want to repay me, let me fly you to Bahrain."

She lowered her gaze, and the smile faded from her face. Barely scraping by on bills and struggling to find a new job, spending her remaining money on plane tickets was the last thing on her mind. Even if, it could cover just one ticket.

"I can't afford to visit you, Lance."

"That's why let me take care of it. We haven't seen each other for so long, and I want to finally see you and start this season together," he said, looking at her worried face. Money meant nothing to him; he could send a private jet to pick her up, just to have her with him. "Please, Y/N."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I feel so embarrassed. I'll never be able to repay you for all of this."

"So, is it a yes? Can I book the tickets?"

He asked, hope in his voice, and a smile slowly crept back onto his face.

"Fine, but no more gifts this month, okay?"

"I'll try to meet that condition."

Lance and Y/N had been friends since the day he noticed her crying next to the carting track, holding her damaged helmet. They remained friends through all the years of go-karting, and their friendship persisted even when Y/N had to give up racing due to financial reasons.

At first, though she shudders at the thought even now, she hated Lance with every fiber of her being. It wasn't him she despised, but the obscene amounts of money his father had, providing him with everything he could dream of. Y/N was aware that Lance had both many fans and critics, so every time she came across unfavorable comments about him online, she felt embarrassed. After all, she used to cry and curse him every night, even though deep down, she didn't hate him; she just disliked the situation he was in, which she was not allowed to have.

Lance himself knew that without money, he would never have entered the serious world of motorsport. Numerous training sessions, expensive lessons, academy tests – Lance knew that money secured his current position, but talent couldn't be bought. He knew he could drive, and even the people who hated him online knew it too, disliking him simply because he succeeded. Being in Formula 1 cost the Canadian a lot, as he constantly felt like he didn't belong there. Even in the paddock, despite rarely facing personal comments, he knew many saw him as the boy with his daddy's big money. Lance often felt lonely, so he deeply appreciated every moment he could spend with Y/N. No one was as important to him as she was.

However, Y/N focused on being an ordinary teenager after giving up her motorsport career. She finished high school, got into college, even found a job and rented an apartment. Although her life didn't unfold exactly as she wanted, she stayed connected to motorsport through Lance, whom she supported as much as she could. Now things were getting complicated again as the season was about to begin, meaning she could only cheer for him from her couch. But for Lance, there were no such limitations. If he could solve a problem with money, he would. Furthermore, Lance found immense joy in showering Y/N with various gifts. Giving her presents was his love language, something that Y/N had no clue about.

"There she is."

Lance smiled at the sight of his friend, who stepped out of the taxi in front of one of the Bahrain hotels. She returned the smile, hugging him.

"I was talking about the bag, but it's nice to see you too," he teased, pointing to the Birkin she was holding, prompting her to playfully nudge him. Lance chuckled and embraced her, taking her suitcase and leading her inside the hotel.

"I hope the flight was okay and you're full of energy because we're going to a team dinner tonight."

"So, basically your dad is inviting us to dinner?"

She asked jokingly, looking at him as they entered the elevator.

"Technically, yes, my dad is inviting us to dinner."

Y/N laughed, "Well, Lawrence Stroll can't be refused."

Shortly afterward, they were on the right floor where both of them had their rooms. Lance handed her the key card and when she entered her room, she noticed a bouquet of roses and a small package on the bed.

"Lance..."

Turning around, she saw him biting his lip, trying to hide his smile.

"Yes, yes, I know, we had a deal. But these roses were practically free and the little gift next to it is, let's say, a shared one."

He explained, putting aside her suitcase. She also placed her bag down and approached the bed, picking up the bouquet of white roses. She smelled one and smiled, feeling their pleasant fragrance. Lance smiled too.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"Open the gift."

He encouraged her, leaning against the wall.

She smelled the flowers once more and put them aside, taking the small package wrapped in black ribbon. As she untied it and unwrapped the light-colored paper, she discovered the familiar shade of green. It was a long, satin dress with thin straps, in the characteristic color of Aston Martin. She smiled to herself.

"I guess this is for tonight's dinner?"

Lance nodded, "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she ran her fingers over the fabric, "I hope you have a shirt in the same color."

He chuckled.

"Don't worry, I won't disappoint you."

Indeed, at the agreed-upon time, Lance showed up at her door, wearing a shirt in the same color, black jeans, and matching shoes. He smiled at the sight of his friend, who opened the door ready to go.

"You look gorgeous. The color suits you."

Y/N laughed and closed the door behind her.

"That's good because otherwise, I would have to wear the white dress I brought with me, and someone might think I'm supporting Haas."

Lance laughed at her words, pleased to spend these few days with his friend. Honestly, he only stopped feeling lonely when she was around or when they had the chance to talk on FaceTime. Of course, it wasn't the same as having her physically by his side.

The evening passed in a pleasant atmosphere and time flowed effortlessly. Lawrence invited everyone who had arrived with Aston Martin to Bahrain, so instead of reserving a specific number of tables, Lance's father rented the entire restaurant for the evening.

Celebrating the team's excellent work during the winter months, the tables were adorned with champagne and white wine. Y/N had forgotten how weak her head could be, so after two glasses of wine during dinner, a slight buzz started to occupy her mind. Apologizing to Lance under the pretext of going to the bathroom, she stepped outside, sitting on the balcony. Despite being February, Bahrain offered pleasant temperatures, and even after the dark, a warm breeze caressed her exposed arms.

"Here you are."

The girl jumped, hearing his voice.

"You weren't around for half an hour, and I had the waitress check if something happened to you in the bathroom."

"I needed some fresh air."

Y/N replied, smiling at him. She noticed Lance's steps were a bit unsteady and a blush adorned his cheeks. When he sat next to her, she giggled.

"I can't believe we got tipsy."

Lance chuckled and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I won't lie, I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Still giggling, the girl rested her head on his shoulder. Lance wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his cheek on her head.

"I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you invited me."

"I'd give you the whole world if I only knew its price."

Hearing his words, Y/N raised her head and looked at his face. His brown, gentle eyes gazed at her affectionately and a faint smile played on the corners of his lips. Lance tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"I hate that I can't give you anything in return."

Lance smiled, "Actually, there's something you could give me in return."

The girl raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"You could be my girlfriend."

Y/N blinked several times, unsure if her slightly intoxicated mind was playing tricks on her or if she understood Lance correctly.

"Do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Oh, God, you have no idea how much."

The girl smiled and, without saying a word, cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. Lance hugged her even tighter, returning the kiss, feeling a burst of fireworks in his stomach. He could bring her joy with money, and she could do it in just one way.

"I love you, Lance."

With love.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[lovelookspretty]

not so bad

— in which rafe and y/n absolutely despise each other in public but crush in secret. rafe is failing his humanities class & is assigned y/n as his tutor . . . maybe all it took for this relationship to form was just a bit of forced proximity and some time.

college!rafe cameron x reader au

warning(s): n/a. just a bitchy rafe whos generous n gets awkward as fuck when it comes to u

authors note: college!rafe is lowkey nicer to y/n since he can’t help his buried feelings !! but he’s still an ass. i wouldve casted drew as himself but drew is too sweet i cant even imagine him having like a female sworn enemy that he lowk has a crush on

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

the door swings open, revealing rafe himself. he’s silent as soon as he sees you. “lock the door,” he says as he turns around and starts to head further inside, leaving you at the entrance.

“lock the door,” you mock-mumble under your breath as you enter, closing and locking the door behind you like you’re told. you look around, realizing you’ve never actually seen rafe’s dorm before. his friends’ dorms maybe, but never his.

his dorm is surprisingly clean, with only empty to fully filled water bottles scattered around, but very few. both sides of the room are displayed with posters on its walls, you can fell which bed is his and it’s made with its sheets tucked tightly in the crevices with two large pillows at the head of it.

you watch as he walks over to his desk and sits in the chair, opening up his laptop to the online textbook provided for the class.

he peers over his shoulder to glance at you, “can you fucking—i don’t know—sit down somewhere? the furniture isn’t coated in poison, you know.”

you fight the urge to make a remark, and you just sigh and let it go. “kay!” you say, and carefully making your way over to sit on the edge of his bed, placing your bag by your side. you catch his eye when you reply so eagerly without a problem, but you ignore this.

“where’s your roommate?” you ask him, looking around. “just wanna make sure when i need to expect someone- also, typically i charge for tutoring, and if crawford is making me tutor you then i’m charging you double. hundred-fifty an hour.”

rafe looks pissed, shaking his head and opening his mouth like he’s about to argue before closing it again. finally, he sighs, leaning against the wall by the kitchen. “my roommate’s just . . . out . . . today. he’s running errands. whatever, can we just get this over with? i’ll pay you after.”

you grin, feeling even satisified that rafe has to use his own cash to pay for however long this will take. “have a girl coming over tonight?” you guess from the way he’s rushing you. you reach into your bag for your ipad, “this wouldn’t be happening if you’d just pay attention in class, you know.”

“i know," rafe mutters, still annoyed but trying not to show it. "i just don't get how humanities could be important in the real world," he says, running a hand through his hair before resting the side of his head against his spread index finger and thumb, looking at you. “or my world, i mean.”

“still trying to do real estate?” you puzzle, pulling up the notes you took during class for him to look at. “it’s like your dad’s job, right? the cameron department thing.”

“cameron development,” he corrects you, hissing through his teeth.

“whatever. just surprised you’re not pursing sex work from all the girls i see you pull into bathrooms at parties,” you mutter out the end of your sentence under your breath, in a way not wanting to bring up that you’ve even noticed that before . . . again . . . and again . . .

“yeah?” he seems amused. “sex could sell more homes than fuckin’ humanities ever could.”

“sex?” you repeat with raised brows. “damn near prostitution versus political science, sociology, journalism, anthropology,” you name off as you lean left and right in your seat, pretending to think and weigh out your options. “yeah, maybe passing your humanities class can be a good thing! pull up your notes, please?”

“i did," rafe grumbles, gesturing to his laptop.

“i said notes, not the textbook. i wanna see what you’ve even written down while in class,” you say.

he’s silent as he opens up his documents, and he pulls up his most recent document filed under notes. he hands his laptop over to you as he leans back in his seat. you look over his text.

furrowing your eyebrows, you say, “okay, so you . . . you wrote the title of his lesson yesterday. that’s good. but under that you didn’t even write down any notes, you just have someone’s phone number. are you that predictable?”

he chews on his dog tag necklace and shrugs, taking his laptop back. “she was new. just wanted to make a friend,” he insists, closing out the tab.

you hum. you don’t really believe him but it isn’t like you care enough to argue over that. you hand him your ipad to show him your notes. “we’ll start at the beginning of the unit,” you tell him as he takes it.

rafe lets out a breath from his nose as he matches your energy from before, “‘kay!” he skims over your writing, gnawing on his pencil quietly.

you almost catch yourself smiling that he does this, but you refrain.

the lesson seems to be going better than you thought, though there are some pissed glances here and there from both sides. it takes two hours to go over the unit with examples and practices. you’re already exhausted.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the lesson ends. rafe slumps back in his chair, relieved to be done with the humanities assignments that you made him do for now. he looks up at you, barely casting a smile your way. “thanks for the help,” he mumbles, awkwardly meeting your gaze.

“thanks for the money,” you say, half-reminding him that he needs to hold up his end of the deal as you stand from your seat.

as he stands, he bumps into your ipad on his desk. it collides with his opened water bottle he’d been drinking out of the past hour or so and both of you know what’s about to happen. you blurt out a noise and try to dodge the water coming your way but fail, getting his water on your legs and even more pouring at your crocs that invite even more liquid in. you can just feel your socks absorbing it now.

rafe grimaces as he stares down at your wet legs, and the least he does is reaches down to grab the bottle and the cap that flew off the desk. he closes it up and sets it on his desk as you take off your shoes and socks, holding them with barely your fingers.

“i have uh . . . towels, paper towels,” he says, and you just nod immediately, accepting whatever to dry yourself off.

when he comes back, you grab the paper towels and shove your soggy socks into his chest which he takes out of instinct before exclaiming and dropping them on the floor. you can’t help but look back and glare at him before patting your legs dry, and then tossing the paper towel into the nearby trash can that sat at one of the ends of his desk.

you can see rafe shrug as he picks up your socks and hovers over his trash can too. “might as well,” he murmurs.

“wh— are you serious?” you try to catch the socks, but then again, he’s too far and you have no business carrying some wet ass socks back to your dorm. your hands fall to your sides as you sigh.

it’s like he’s visibly contemplating (or debating with himself) before he walks over to his dresser and rummages through a drawer, finally pulling out a pair of socks. “here,” he says, tossing them to you, which you almost fail to catch from the sudden surprise. “they’re clean. swear.”

you give him a doubtful look. “i didn’t need your socks. i have plenty in my own drawer, thanks,” you say, placing the pair on his desk to reject them, and he stares at you.

he shakes his head and turns around. “so difficult,” he murmurs under his breath, and he quickly cleans up his drawer before closing it.

he grabs his wallet from on top of the dresser too, pulling out the wad of cash. you can tell from the look on his face that he’s not only doing this to count his money properly but also to subtly flex right in front of you. you roll your eyes and look away.

he counts out his three-hundred before handing it to you, scrunching up his nose as he stuffs his wallet into his pocket. you stare at the money, then take it while giving him a glare.

you quickly count it but bless, there’s two hundred dollar bills and then five twenty’s. perfect.

“okay, good luck on your exam,” you say and grab your bag, heading for the door like you’re in a hurry this time.

“wait,” rafe says, and you almost groan from annoyance. you just want to go back to your dorm. “here,” he mumbles to himself, and he steps over to the mini-fridge in the corner. he opens it up and grabs a water bottle, then tosses it to you.

“rafe,” you say, not really expecting all of these ‘gifts’ just for screaming at him for two hours about humanities. you toss it back to him, which he catches.

“just for the road,” he insists with a shake of his head. “since i spilled mine on you.”

you stare at him like he’s stupid. “dude, i live down the hallway.”

when you see his awkward reaction, you almost feel bad. actually you do. and it’s weird. usually you don’t notice this at all, but something about rafe feeling dumb about trying to thank you just makes you feel guilty for how you’ve treated him. fine.

you give him a look like you’re saying okay. that it’s okay to give you gifts and that you’re okay with receiving them. rafe doesn’t even cast a smile, he just nods. you squint your eyes at him before heading for his door again.

rafe meets you there and holds out the water bottle for you. you look up at him and take it. you almost smile, and it seems like he might too, but you both catch yourselves and quickly look away.

“ace your exam so you won’t have to hear from me like this again,” you say, half-joking to keep up their normal behavior.

“i’ll try, i’ll try,” he says simply, and stands at his door while you leave. you raise your eyebrows once before heading off to your dorm, taking your bag and your water bottle with you. you hear his door shut from behind you.

as you walk away, you can’t help but replay the moment in your head, the weird sense of camaraderie that just occurred. maybe, just maybe, rafe cameron isn’t the most horrible person on the planet. and it doesn’t help that he’s unfortunately attractive, which makes it slightly more difficult now to keep up the mutual hatred you have for each other.

from inside the dorm, rafe stands there for a moment, staring at the closed door. he shakes his head, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“not so bad,” he mutters to himself before turning back to his desk, ready to tackle his upcoming humanities exam thanks to you.

[lustfulslxt]

Good Girl - Matt Sturniolo

summary : you and matt never got along, always going back and forth with some illogical feud. until the night of a party, everything changes with the consumption of alcohol

warnings : use of alcohol, smut

—

You just finished getting ready, walking downstairs to the living room to wait for the rest of them. You were going to Nate’s party with the triplets and Madi. Unfortunately for you, Matt was included in the triplets.

You two had never gotten along, for reasons unbeknownst to you. From the very start, Matt was always a jerk to you, so you were a bitch right back . That, lead to you both supposedly hating each other. Every time you guys were around one another, you both always had something smart to say, and there was never a time it wasn’t like that.

Honestly, if he would stop being such a douche, you could easily lose the attitude. But since he chooses to act the way he does, you were matching his energy.

And of course, the next one to emerge from his bedroom was Matt in all his fine glory. As much as you hate him, you couldn’t deny the fact that he was the finest man you’d ever seen. His soft and fluffy hair, his long skinny fingers, his tattoos. The way he carries himself alone was enough to make you want to drop your panties.

“What the fuck is your problem?” His bitter voice snaps you from your trance.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Matthew, why must you speak?”

“Well, your ass is standing there, staring, like you want to take a bite out of me.” He glares, a small smirk pulling to his lips.

“Don’t be ridiculous, kid. You couldn’t handle me.” You grin, mischievously.

“Please.” He scoffs, “I would have you running.”

“Before you guys jump into each other’s pants, can we leave?” Chris’ asks, causing both of you to look over.

That’s when you noticed the other three standing there, waiting for you and Matt to finish your never ending conversation.

You couldn’t help but say, “As if. I don’t think I could stand within a foot of this kid, let alone jump in his pants.”

You knew you were lying so hard. Sometimes, you wanted nothing more than for him to just shut up and fuck you. But seeing as he is the way he is, you knew that would never happen.

Without another word, the five of you walk out to the van, piling in and heading in the direction of Nate’s house.

It was about an hour into the party, you were having a good time. You had gotten separated from your friends, but you weren't complaining as you had shot after shot. It was only a total of four, but you were feeling good.

Dancing to the music, you observed your surroundings. In search of any of your friends, you come across Matt. He was leaning against the wall with a solo cup in his hand, his eyes intently staring at you. You couldn't help the smirk that spread across your face. For some reason, you loved that even with all the people here, you were the only one that had his attention.

Your hips swayed so perfectly and in sync with the loud music. Your hands trailed up and down your body, moving from your waist to your hair. You felt on top of the world with the alcohol coursing through your veins as you danced to the music, with Matt's eyes never leaving you once.

Your eyes connected once again, him tipping his cup up and emptying the rest of its contents into his mouth. And still, he never broke eye contact. You couldn't lie, it was getting you hot. Without another thought, you were making your way over to him.

"Matthew." You say, seductively.

"Y/N." He responds, his voice holding a slight rasp to it.

With a cheeky grin, you turned around and placed the back of your body against the front of his. You could feel him tense up, yet his hands still found their way to your waist.

"What are you doing?" He asks you, whispering in your ear.

You couldn't help the goosebumps that scattered across your skin, and the hairs standing up at the back of your neck.

"I'm giving you what you want, Matthew." You say, "You've been staring at me all night. So, here I am."

You began swaying to the music again, this time, grinding your hips into his. His hands firmly planted on your pelvis, guiding you back and forth.

"Do you wanna know what I was thinking about?" He asks, his lips softly brushing against your ear.

"Mhm." You hummed.

"Mm, I was thinking about fucking you senseless." He admits, his hand wrapping around your hair as he harshly bucks his hips into your ass.

A soft moan fell from your lips. You could feel his hard on poking into you and it drove you crazy. You wanted him inside you, so bad.

He continues, thrusting into you again. "I was thinking about how pretty you would look swallowing my dick."

Another moan escaped your mouth. You could feel your panties were drenched at this point. You couldn't help but tighten your pussy, clenching for some type of friction.

"I was thinking about how good your pretty little pussy would feel around my cock."

That was beyond enough for you to grab his hand and pull him to the guest room upstairs. You were in such a hurry, desperate to feel him bury himself inside you. You could tell he was big just from his hard on, and you couldn't wait to be stuffed by him.

As soon as you got in the room, he pushed you against the door and put his lips on yours. His kiss was hot and needy. His tongue immediately swiped your lip, begging for entrance. His hands went down to your ass, squeezing it, causing you to let out a little moan. He took the opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth, exploring every inch of it.

You furiously both grabbed at one another, as if any second one of you would disappear. His hand gripped your jaw, turning your head away from him. Within seconds, his lips were back on you, leaving soft kisses along your neck. Occasionally, he would bite at your sensitive skin, sucking it right after to soothe the slight pain.

"God, you're driving me absolutely insane." He mumbles against your skin.

You softly moaned, "Mmm, I need you so bad, daddy."

You calling him that flipped a switch in him, and now all he wanted to do was completely wreck you. His dick was literally throbbing, begging for relief. He pulled away from you, his hands immediately tugging your shirt over your head and throwing it to the floor. Your bra following seconds later.

His mouth quickly travelled down your neck and chest, taking one nipple in his mouth while his hand tweaked the other one. You were letting out little whimpers, tugging him impossibly closer. You swiftly lifted his shirt, adding it to the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

You couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him. He was truly something else. His longish hair a bit messy from your wandering hands, his chain sitting perfectly against his chest, his tattoos scattered all over his arm, the growing beard on his chin. His pupils were blown out, hardly any blue showing as he stared at you with nothing but lust in his eyes. His lips were swollen and red from your feverish kisses.

All of him was turning you on more and more by the second.

He thought the same thing about you. He loved the way your skin flushed under his touch, how your breathing was slightly rapid from your heavy kissing. He loved how you looked at him with your big doe eyes, looking completely innocent when he knew you were far from it. He couldn’t wait to destroy you.

His lips quickly met yours again, and his hands went down to your jeans. In one swift motion, he had them unbuttoned and down your legs. As you kicked them and your shoes off, he started removing his own, leaving him in his boxers.

His dick was struggling in his boxers, begging to be let loose. You reached your hand out and palmed him through the thin fabric, causing him to sharply inhale as he grabbed your wrist.

His lips trailed down your neck once more, marking you up as he went. You could hear his little moans as he was close to your ear, and you almost came right then and there. He sounded so heavenly.

“Take these off.” You state, tugging on his boxers.

As he did so, you copied his actions, leaving you both naked. He stepped back from you for a second, taking in your appearance. You looked so good to him, he could feel his dick twitching.

Not wasting another second, he yanked you towards him by your neck and slammed his lips into yours. Your tongues were gliding together so perfectly, needing one another. He swiftly lifted you up, carrying you over to the dresser. He set you on it and began working down your body once again.

“Please.” You moaned out as his mouth worked on your nipples again.

“Use your words, princess.” He mutters into your skin.

“Please. Fuck me, daddy, please.” You begged. “I need you inside me.”

“Such a filthy slut.” He moans out, grabbing his dick and putting it at your entrance.

He swiped it between your folds, coating it in your arousal. He brought his other hand down, gliding a finger through your juices, causing you to let out a few moans. When he pulled his hand away, a string of wetness followed, and he couldn’t help but suck on his finger, savoring the way you tasted. Your jaw dropped at the sight, he looked magnificent. He pulled your legs farther apart, propping your feet up on the end of the dresser before ramming into you with his dick.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan out, tossing your head back.

He gave you a couple of slow thrusts before he picked up the pace and starting fucking you fast and hard. His dick was so big, hitting you in all the right places. Your mouth fell agape as multiple pornographic like moans fell from it, only encouraging him even more.

“God, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. I knew you’d feel so good around my cock, princess.” He moaned, his lips meeting yours once again.

His thrusts were lethal, fucking into you so perfectly, you were a moaning mess under him.

“You’re taking me so well, baby.”

Your hands went down his back, nails digging into his skin in a sense of stability. You were quickly coming undone.

“Mm, baby. You’re so wet for me. Daddy’s little slut.”

The way he was talking to you was enough to send you over the edge. Your legs were shaking as you clenched around him, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

“Look at you, cumming without permission.” He teased, pinching your nipples.

You were a mess, but he still kept fucking you. Not even just for his own release, he was determined to make you cum again. He lifted your legs up, pushing them against your chest so he could fuck deeper. And he sure was, deeper than ever.

“Ahh fuck!” You scream, your face twisting in pleasure.

“Touch yourself for me, baby.” He moans out, watching you intently.

As he continued pumping in and out of you, you held eye contact with him, bringing your hand up to his mouth. Putting two fingers against his lips, he brought them in and sucked on them, lubricating them for you. After they were drenched in his saliva, you brought them down to your clit and slowly began rubbing it, all while holding eye contact.

“Fuck.” He groaned, fucking you impossibly faster as he watched you. “You listen so well, princess.”

You were a puddle beneath him, rubbing yourself in fast, tight circles. Your face contorted, eyebrows furrowed and eyes clenched shut, as you neared your climax.

“Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum on my cock.”

You both were moving at fast paces, nothing but pleasure coursing through the both of you. It felt so intimate as the two of you locked eyes, pleasure plastered over both of your faces.

“Fuck, daddy, you fuck me so good.” You moaned, tossing your head back for a moment.

“I know you’re almost there, baby. You’re so close.” He whispers, his hand gripping around your neck. “Let go, baby. Cum for me, cum all over daddy’s cock.”

Your legs shook as you tightened around him, one of your hands gripping his bicep while the other rubbed your clit in fast circles. Everything went white, your hearing going in and out as you released. You felt pure bliss, cumming all over his dick.

“Look at you, such a good girl for me, princess.”

You had to pull your hand away from your pussy as it was beginning to become to much for you. However, he had other thoughts and placed his hand back on your clit, rubbing his thumb over it. You were quivering underneath him, unable to control the shaking of your body and the noises that came from your mouth as you squirted all over. You were completely losing yourself to him and he loved every bit of it. So much that it brought him over the edge and he shot his load into you with a loud moan.

“Baby, you’re so fucking sexy.” He pants, out of breath as he fucked his nut into you. “You made such a mess, I love it.”

Your face heated up as you looked at the puddle beneath you and the wetness all over his thighs and stomach. He actually made you squirt, and it felt so fucking good.

After a moment of gathering your breaths and coming down from your highs, he finally pulls out and plants a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I knew you loved me.” You grinned at him.

He playfully rolls his eyes and slumps against you, placing a few more kisses all over your face. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up.”

—

a/n : sozzz, not proofread but what’s new? xD ugh i love me some matthew, i wanna b his cumslut so bad 😫😫😫😫 brb while i go nut. &&& request sum shizzz xx

[gatorbites-imagines]

In that case… Could I please request Killer Croc/Waylon Jones with a supringly really attractive boyfriend (like a male version Jessica Rabbit level hot, like it dosen’t even make sense for someone to be that hot) who no one understand how Waylon pulled. Waylon’s boyfriend is very sultry and alluring.

And Waylon roughly breeds his boyfriend doggy style 😇.

Thank u :)

Waylon Jones x Male reader

Headcanons

Guten Abend squad, how is everyone doing? Classes are still running at a max level, and I’m starting to think this is just how it goes. So, time to chillax with some Waylon.

Not as smutty as I would have wanted, but this honestly just built a life of its own and started running.

We see in the comics, or at least in one run, that Waylon does have game and knows how to pull somebody very attractive, so its not too surprising so could pull you. That’s what you think at least, since he’s a great guy, to you.

I imagine you two met after he left the circus, maybe you guys even left together. With Waylon being the circus’s “freakshow” and you only being there as eye candy to sell tickets. With you both being reduced to nothing but your looks, you two find solidarity with each other, and fall in love.

No one ever really took your love seriously back then, just thinking you were using Waylon for protection, since someone as pretty as you couldn’t be safe anywhere.

Insert the “seriously, what do you see in that guy?” “he makes me laugh” scene.

If we go with the verse where Waylon was in Halys circus, then the only ones that seemed to have some version of acceptance of your love was the Grayson’s. it was one of the reasons you two left the circus, having a strong feeling of what had truly happened to them and who caused it.

After leaving the circus, you couldn’t live in the sewers like Waylon. This meant you got an apartment, in the beginning in crime alley since it was cheapest.

You may have been so beautiful it would drive people mad, but you also had a head on your shoulders. So, in the end you set up a legitimate business, maybe you even become something akin to a designer. Mainly because your lover is so big, there’s no other way to get him clothes.

And maybe during your time in crime alley, you stumble upon a scrawny kid who, though he may act tough, still has a light in him. And maybe that kid ends up being batman’s second robin, who remembers how kind you were to him and everyone around you, so he doesn’t go as hard against Waylon.

The past you have with the Grayson’s also means that Dick takes it easier on Waylon, and they even settle down and talk at times. You’ll regularly find the two former robins hanging around your art studio, even years later when they aren’t robin anymore.

Your lover goes to Arkham, a lot. But you never hate him or even argue with him. You’ll just pull up to Arkham in your most beautiful outfit during visitors’ hours and hold Waylon’s hand as you two act like a new married couple, even if it’s been twenty at this point.

And it may have been twenty years, but you just seem to have become more handsome with age, aging like fine expensive wine. You don’t become shrewd or corrupted by the world around you, instead you stay kind and patient. You’re still in Gotham though, so you’ll turn violent if you have too.

No one really believes that Waylon purrs, until you show up and he becomes as meek as a kitten, ready to roll in your manicured hand.

Its no secret that you, one of the most famous designers around, and Killer Croc, are together. But its just such a normal part of everyday life now, that no one really questions it. your works never been dirty, you help those around you, and lift up poor and struggling artists whenever you can. So, what if your husband is tearing up the road trying to bite Batman to bits.

Theres a viral video in Gotham of you stepping out during one of Waylon’s rampages, and just scolding him, wagging a finger in his face and still looking so unbelievably gorgeous as you do so.

And yes, of course your design trademark is crocodile scales, or anything along those lines. You’ll never use real crocodile skin, but you do use the print or shape.

After all this time, people don’t fear Waylon as much as they probably should, all thanks to you. Its kinda hard to fear a guy when you know his boyfriend is unofficially titled the most beautiful man in Gotham, who’s also as giving and kind as the Waynes, whilst being more involved in the nitty gritty, since you still live in Crime Alley.

Someone has threatened Waylon with telling on him to you at least once too, which doesn’t stop him, but it does cause him to freeze and get an “oh shit” expression, long enough for people to run to safety.

Being one of the most skilled fashionistas around also means you have met the Waynes on multiple occasions.

The shared past with Dick and the circus, and Jason, though you don’t remember him as vividly, means you get called on more than most.

As you measure them out and start making designs, conversations flow, and Damian most likely ends up bluntly just asking you why in the world you decided to pair up with Killer Croc of all people.

You correct him in your answer, referring to your husband as Waylon, and then you just start waxing the poetics. Of your shared past, of the deep unshakable love you both share, and how under all his struggles, Waylon truly is an amazing man.

You’ve never confirmed that Dick was Robin, even though it was very obvious. Its not your place to judge how he, or his family, deal with their trauma or whatever they have going on. Your lover swims through the sewers, you can’t really say anything.

A few passing comments are made though, obviously. You tell the Waynes to “take it easy next time they see Waylon, wont you?” with one of your heart shaking winks before you saunter out, ready to start putting together your latest design.

Its kind of an accepted, not really a secret, secret. Its never put into words, and they know that you know, and you know that they know you know. Nothing ends up happening with it though, outside of you making some jokes and judging their hero outfits.

With age you’ve become less sultry and alluring, at least in the way the public can point out as obviously as before. You have simply mastered your field, and know just how to play people around you if you need too.

Though, you didn’t really learn to master it for the public. It’s mainly just for Waylon, so you like to see how his nostrils flare, and when he starts chuffing in the back of his throat when you saunter around in nothing but a silk robe.

The bats know that the first place Waylon goes when he gets out of Arkham is to you. But…they also all know to wait at least a day or two before they come for him. To allow you to spend some time together, but also because most of them have caught of glimpse of you… reunions…

Bruce wont admit it, but he’s at least impressed with you being able to take two of them at the same time, even after all these years. He might note down your many skills somewhere… just in case.

Reunions with Waylon are typically a hot and steamy affair. Or well, as hot and steamy as a guy whose as cold as a reptile can get. There are days where either of you may not be up for it, and then its just cuddles and having some nice domestic time together before he’s taken back to Arkham again.

But when it does get hot, then you are very happy you own the entire building. Waylon can get quite loud, but never as loud as he still makes you even after all these years.

Sure, you’ve learned to handle it more after all this time, but it still makes you squeal when Waylon fits both his shafts inside you at the same time, lifting and moving you around like a doll.

Where Waylon may be rough and violent in every other part of his life, Waylon is slower and much more careful in the bedroom. He doesn’t want to lose his senses and hurt you on accident. You have some very faded bite and claw scars on your body, back from when you first got together, and Waylon likes to remind himself of that.

Sometimes you do want him to be rougher about it, so you pull all the skills you’ve gained over the years. And Waylon is but a man, even with the scales and all, so he can’t resist you for very long. It always ends up with you writhing, face in the pillow that’s stained with your tears and drool or pleasure, as Waylon growls and snarls behind you, his big, clawed hands moving you back and forth with ease.

He always feels a bit guilty about it afterwards, especially seeing how much you leak all over the sheets. Expect to find yourself being pampered and loved on for the next couple of days. Even the bats seem to leave you to it, most likely having heard your cries. You get a feeling the people in the next building heard them too. But you honestly don’t care anymore.

You may have Waylon, and many others, wrapped around your finger, but so does Waylon with you. And neither of you really seem to mind anymore.

[berryz-writes]

Not yet

Azriel x reader

Summary: Your not ready to tell Azriel's family your mates in fear of them not liking you

note: It's just Az being the standard and the cutest shit ever. Also its pretty short im sorry lovelies <3

"I don't want to. Not yet" I murmured to Azriel, snuggling closer to his warmth. His hands ran up and down my back, sending small shivers down my spine.

"And why is that, sweetheart?" He replied, his voice slightly hoarse from having just woken up, pressing small kisses to my face. I opened my eyes and tried to get used to the light in the room. It was a Saturday, one of the days Azriel was content to just lie in bed with me with no commitments for the rest of the day.

"I just...I don't think they'll like me. I know it's stupid but I don't know them well enough. What if they think I'm using you or don't actually love you? What if they convince you that I'm not good enough?" I waited for him to say something. I didn't usually have anything bad to say against his family but I was never comfortable around new people. Especially if they were such important figures in our court. A slight sigh left his lips "Y/n. Do you really think I'd stop loving you if one of them told me to?...not that they would"

I sat up and tucked my hair behind my ear, his heat suddenly too much. "No but it's not just that. Imagine I say something wrong. I know their your family but their also high lord and lady. What if I say something...I don't know politically wrong? They'll laugh at me and think how in the world are us two mates."

Azriel moved his arm around my waist and pulled me back to lay down on the bed, his hand moving through my hair in a soothing motion. "They will think nothing of the sort because you are perfect. But if it makes you feel better we can wait for as long as you want. Feyre was talking about inviting the wonderful florist tomorrow. Accept her offer and get to know everyone a bit"

I thought about it and slowly nodded my head. "Fine."

Azriel was right because Feyre did invite me the next day.

"Y/n! Oh these are gorgeous! You've outdone yourself" Feyre said admiring the bouquet I had prepared

I smiled and handed her the card with all my business details "Thank you high lady. If anyone asks where you got them from please give them this."

"Feyre, please. No formalities between us"

I nodded my head "Feyre it is then"

She turned her attention to the rest of the shop looking around the flower filled store "You have such a peaceful life. Living amongst flowers and smelling like roses all the time"

I let out a small laugh. Very peaceful. Sometimes a little too peaceful. "I suppose. Although it get's boring at times"

Feyre's eyes lit up in excitement "You should come to dinner tonight! It'll be something different for you and we can get to know each other more"

I thought about what me and Azriel had discussed earlier. Now was the perfect opportunity, to meet his family. "Oh...I don't want to intrude. I don't know-"

She shook her head "Nonsense. Your coming tonight. Everyone will be scrambling over each other to get to know you"

I looked around the store, hoping for a sign as to what I should do. The only sign I could see however was the open sign on the front door.

"Fine. I'll come. Thank you the for the invite high- Feyre"

She beamed and gave me a quick hug, slightly surprising me before walking out with her bouquet of flowers. I sighed. Well I suppose I better go home and change so I looked slightly decent at least.

*Dinner, a few hours later*

Azriel cleared his throat slightly before continuing "Did you want something lov- y/n?"

I paused and clenched my jaw at the slip up. The chatter at the table was luckily loud enough for no one to quiet hear what he was saying. This was the first time I had been happy for Cassian's loud voice. I shook my head "I'll get it myself, thank you" I reached over and picked up the dish, adding a few potatoes to my plate, trying not to gather attention towards us two. Really. Azriel wasn't very good at following instructions. If someone had heard that I don't know what I would have done.

Probably jumped out a window or something.

"Everything alright?" Rhys asked looking over at me first, then Azriel and then me again. I nodded my head quickly and gave him a smile "Fine, everything's fine" Azriel didn't reply merely nodding in agreement too.

I let out a sigh of relief when he turned away and took a sip of his wine. Luckily dinner passed with no other accidents happening. I watched as everyone took their seats in the living room, Feyre and Rhys cuddled up on the couch while the others sprawled here and there, Elain having gone up because of a headache.

Azriel stood half hidden by his shadows in the door way, I could sense him even though I couldn't see him without squinting my eyes.

Come to the kitchen. It's important

His voice echoed in my mind, his deep and low voice making me miss him even though he was just inches away. I got up making an excuse of needing water and walked over to the kitchen, past the dining room where we had just sat. Before I could process what was happening I was against a wall and Azriel's lips were on mine, his shadows cocooning us in a dark and peaceful bubble. He kissed me like he was starving and he couldn't get enough.

We finally pulled apart my hands resting on his chest "Azriel" I warned him, the lust filled look in his eyes ready to devour me. His hands ran up and down my body, my waist, my hips warming each part of me.

"I want to tell them. I want to tell them about my perfect and beautiful mate." He whispered his eyes dark and his hair falling forward onto his forehead. I pushed a strand away "I can't right now. I'm not ready"

I knew even if I shook my head once Azriel would understand. His hopeful expression dropped slightly but his lips remained in a small smile "Let me take you home now, sweetheart. I can't live without having you close to me"

I rolled my eyes but smiled all the same "Don't be so dramatic"

He didn't reply, instead tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "We're going" He said finally and winnowed us on the spot. I didn't even get to say goodbye to anyone but all thoughts left me as Azriel looked at me with his devilishly handsome grin.

MASTERLIST

[tumblingxelian]

Near Uniquely RWBY - Main Characters

I was chatting with my sibling the other day and we were joking about the fact in 90% of the media I consume I generally don't like the main characters.

Not in the sense I necessarily hate them, but I generally don't find them to be the most interesting, engaging or enjoyable person on screen or page. Instead I tend to gravitate towards secondary or minor characters and even minor antagonists before any of the big names.

Some of this is rooted in my often rooting for what tends to feel more like a real underdog or characters that feel like they got dealt a bad hand by the author unfairly. But its also that in a lot of media the main characters tend to immediately, slowly or quickly go into personality lockdown.

Becoming less a personality and more the embodiment of expected tropes and themes, or they lose their unique edge or circumstances because the plot demands one benefits or personality changes be heaped on them to keep the tone and story going.

Some examples of this would include say:

Ichigo from Bleach, with him and his supporting cast being very unique and super interesting during the initial arc. But as Soul Society came in, he became a much more standard Shounen determinator a the expense of his personality and his supporting casts were largely watered down & left behind.

Or how in Naruto or Dragon Ball the whole underdog/hard worker aspect of the characters felt undercut by legacy power ups and an endless wellspring of natural talent, alien biology, ETC.

I know these are just two examples, but they cover the general gist of what I mean.

So, what makes RWBY different?

Well, off the cuff, is simply that the four main characters are women.

I've often felt simply putting anyone other than a cis-het guy into the main character slot of say, a battle Shounen, or Isekai stands a good chance of making it more interesting by default. Even if the author does nothing with it the audience reaction would be different because the MC would be an exception to the norms.

In that vein, while one can call RWBY some sort of Shounen or adventure fantasy or magical girl show the main four are unique in how they manifest on screen at the very start. From how they participate in action, to how said action is structured and framed and the kind of adventures and topics they tackle.

But being unique alone is not enough, that would simply make it more interesting than the bog standard but what elevates RWBY is the execution and exploration of such elements and its characters.

Going into every aspect would be difficult, but in light of what I said above would be how each of the main four are initially presented as familiar archetypes, only to subvert or deconstruct them.

Ruby is a peppy goth who just wants to be normal but has inborn powers from her mysteriously vanished mother and serves as a beacon of optimism to others.

Except Ruby's version of normal still involved fighting death monsters with a sniper rifle scythe and she is actually one of the more ruthless characters. Her peppy persona obscures that she can have a pretty vicious temper when pushed and has displayed strong bloodknight tendencies.

Her unrelenting optimism and desire to fix the world is a complex mix of true beliefs, coping mechanism for trauma and her grappling with positions forced on her against her will. Her inborn power is potentially useful but also not that much of a game breaker outside specific contexts & said power sure as hell didn't save her mom.

Weiss Schnee is the Tsundere heiress of a powerful family, with a haughty attitude that hides her loneliness.

Except the "Tsundere" is more of a defense mechanism born of coming from an abusive home where every member of her family manifested a different trauma response. Freeze (Mother), flight (Sister), Fight (Weiss) Fawn (Brother).

Despite her upbringing & some projected trauma, she's far from ignorant as to the worst excesses of her nation early on, and her journey was more about overcoming the impacts her abuser had on her and finding a family in her team that let her be safe enough to let down her walls. Also despite being "The ice queen" she's actually one of the characters least inclined towards more ruthless actions and is extremely empathic.

Blake Belladonna is a mysterious and silent rougish woman, something of a shrinking violet even, but she carries with her a wounded heart thanks to her old flame, the edgy Adam Taurus.

Or more accurately, Blake is the daughter of activists and politicians who represent the worlds main discriminated against minority. She spent her youth on the road as a protestor and where even her father could be nearly killed by a lynch mob. She was targeted & groomed by a man who claimed to want to fight the same injustice she did but who was only interested in using the movement to grow his own power.

Her initial aloof-ness was a trauma response to having spent years under his thumb and overcoming him and the idea she had to 'save' him was one of the main corner stone so her character. Also, despite the "Revolutionary fighter" backstory she like Weiss is much less inclined towards ruthlessness than her team in large part because her past experience with it.

Yang Xiao Long, introduced as the fun loving big sister of Ruby & boisterous bruiser of the team who loves to party & flirt.

Except no, Yang was parentified as a child and forced to raise her own sister as their family unit fell apart. Her "Party girl" persona was outright framed as judging a book by its cover in her own trailer and something she put on or took off as she needed.

She became disabled over the course of the series run as well as entered a Sapphic romance with her partner Blake. Unlike the stereotype of characters with her design, Yang is actually an excellent student, fighter and engineer/mechanic. Plus much like her sister she tends to be of the more ruthless and pragmatic persuasion despite being from the "Normal" background.

Character Conclusion

So, all the characters break out of their initial archetypes, which already makes them more interesting. What's more, these sorts of characters just being oput together and made the main characters rather than circling a dude is in of itself unique.

But there are other aspects of the writing which endear me to how it handles the main characters and what keeps them interesting.

Anger & Violence

See, while in various media women do express anger at times it is still often far less so than men. What's more, often women's anger tends to be presented in... Less flattering lights.

With the anger obscuring fragility while in a man it conveys strength. Or implying a sort of hysteria rather than an appropriate or controlled response. Or worst of all being demonized in general unless its rooted in or coming from traditionally feminine places.

The same tends to be true when it comes to violence with a lot of media either trying to find some way to make women in battle less... Brutal than their male counterparts. (More more like fanservice) Along with rarely letting women fight men, unless they are a special exception to the norm.

RWBY does not do this.

The main characters, hell, all the women in the series express a multitude of different forms of anger and violence. They battle men, they battle each other, they battle monsters all with no distinction nor fanservice shot in sight.

What's more though is that said anger and violence are not presented as, for lack of better words, wrong. The writers don't draw overt attention to this fact, they don't hang a big sign up saying "Girls can fight & shout too" or the like.

They just present these women with a range of emotions, motives and actions that are treated according to what fits the theme of the show rather than hewing closer to gendered lines.

This isn't to say anger & violence are lionized, but more that the experience and usage of them is not demonized or undermined because of the characters gender.

I suppose what I am saying is that CRWBY by and large lack double standards when it comes to exploring these things that I see so often in other media. The women in the main cast, among the villains, both sides respective allies and beyond can be flawed, or angry or do both good and terrible things.

But the writers are always treating everyone's pain as equally valid regardless of gender or situation. Which means that the situations that cause anger exist within a tone of respect that forms the depiction and framing of anger itself.

Which is just something I really enjoy.

Thanks for reading!

[zhvakinnn]

I have a request 🤓 !! Can I get a SBG one shot or headcanons (I don’t really care ) where the reader is extremely closed off, she doesn’t get close with the group and doesn’t even talk to them in school. She’s very vague and overall not communtive. The thing is, is that she’s not even shy, she’s just like that !! She’s not really close with anyone in the group but hangouts with her other friends in school. She doesn’t even discuss plans with them.

Maybe you could do a little something by where she has a journal and she uses it a lot. That’s what I was thinking. She puts all her thoughts in there and just leaves it in class and it just had like all these little notes about the group and positive things about them.

IM SO SORRY IF THIS IS TO MUCH, or this goes against your guidelines 😕

BYEEEE !! 😊😊😊

Masterlist

I don't see and ship with the reader so im expecting this is platonic ^^

Paring: sbg x fem reader (platonic)

Warnings:

✨as always i don't know much English so if something is wrong correct me✨

Many people are making fun of you, you even got a nickname

Loner wolf

There's just slight happiness in a lonely world but sometimes you wish for a friend but never got the chance since elementary you were known as a loner because you thought being alone is peaceful and fun

But as you grow up people tend to tease you and just completely made you into a ghost, ignoring you and stuff

Then you made a friend even if it's one you were happy you didn't feel invisible by the others naked eye but again the problem is you began to have trust issues when you got a friend you didn't want another one you feel like you're gonna be left out and your friend accepted your opinion and stayed with you all the time

They knew how you were a loner before and understand your feelings

Then this girl came bumping to you making you glare at her but became soft she had brown eyes, hair she apologize then a boy came waving at her

Tyler Hernandez a baseball player and it must be his twin who i just bump into though i don't know her name

You didn't take long to break your eyes from them and walked away

-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-✧-

You lost your friend in the crowd when it was the bell rang you kept peaking through the people in the way, you didn't notice you bump someone again

Its the same girl Hernandez

"ahahaha looks like we bump again to each other" she said saying sorry again, you only make a quiet sorry before walking away again she only made a confusing face because most of the time you ask for the name and kinda became friends, looks like her expectation is false

.

You finally found them and went to the class you looked at the chairs and saw names you came looking for yours and finally found it you sat down and wait for the others to come

The teacher introduce himself now it was out turn since we're at the back my friend and i are the last one to introduce ourselves

When it's my turn i stand up and simply said my name and my hobbie/s when you looked at your side the twin of Hernandez was looking at you then she smiled you only made a little nod then sat back at the chair

Then at lunch you came across with a blonde boy and Barron on some corner of the school looks like their chatting but their not your about to ignore it but when you saw Barron hitting his head you know what he was doing your friend ask you where your going and only said 'somewhere' they shrugged it off but told you where to meet you nodded at them

Once you got there Barron noticed you and not even caring that he got caught cause no one will believe you and no one even dare to tell on him

You grip at his arm and said let go of the blonde boy, you don't know how to fight, your not strong enough so there was only thing you could do, you can't go 2 against 3 so

You kicked his balls and ran with the blonde the other two were chasing you so you both went to a crowded place and finally you both lost them

The blonde boy and you were catching your breaths when you were okay he said 'thank you' and then introduce himself

"thank you so much im Logan, Logan fields we both have the same class" oh right you didn't pay attention to them introducing you didn't notice this was your classmate

You only nodded then walk off waving at him you texted your friend were they were at

.

You began to write journals about them like

'i just know the other Hernandez name, she's Taylor'

'the ginger girl is scary but somewhat sweet'

'the other blonde boy looks crazy and how does he have red eyes? Is he a vampire?'

'the tall dude looks attractive not gonna lie'

'logan is so sweet'

'why does Tyler kept glaring at me'

And yada yada then one day you accidentally left it on your desk and Ben found it he gave it to Taylor and when she took it there was a paper that fell when she read what its says it was like

' i want to make more friends but im not sure if they would like me and not tease me for being a loner before they're all so kind and sweet but still'

When tyler said they shouldn't invade someone's privacy The Notebook was long gone in Taylors hand it was now in Aiden when he started to read they all got curious about it

.

When Taylor gave it back to you, you thank and smiled at her

Little did you know they're planning to be friends with you and your friend

That's it for to day loves

[kelocitta]

In honor of the @rw-ship-showdown I wanted to write about Artihunter as someone who jokingly slapped them together pre-downpour and still thinks they are actually very compelling. Just not in the super soft love wins kinda way (Although I get why people like that more) And the only way I know how to do that is talking too much so heres a far too long slug essay-

Obviously the slugcats don't offer a ton of characterization but theres not nothing to work with. Their stories, whether by their roles in it or the overarching themes do provide a backbone to work with. Even gameplay itself can provide a bit. (for some more than others) Hunter, to me, is ultimately a story about selflessness. The goal is to revive Moon, which is very much an act of kindness from both Hunter and NSH. But the weight of that action is much more significant for Hunter- Hunter is deeply sick. They're on the clock, and for all their skill in combat none of that will ultimately help them to survive longer than their body can hold out. Moon is a close friend of NSH but that means little Hunter- Hunter really gets next to nothing out of helping them, and ultimately pays quiet a bit spending their limited time alive fighting to deliver that neuron so that someone else can live.

To spend ones limited days on helping another, in a game that very much stresses the unwavering cruelty of the world and nature- is pretty notable. (And you could even say that Hunter being the Hardmode of Rain World adds another layer to this)

And then we have Artificer. A storyline that very much stands out to people as more… villainous (so to speak) than the other slugcats. Artificer's story covers a lot of things. Trauma, violence, revenge, etc. Revenge is a bit of a selfish desire- That need to see someone hurt as they have hurt you. A punishment that ultimately does not fix whatever harm was done- but feels good to see because you were hurt and now those responsible share that pain.

Artificer's actions are founded in that need for revenge, their pups killed for overstepping boundaries they didn't know existed. Is it not fair for them to be angry at that, to punish the scavengers for their violence with their own? Why should the scavengers ever be forgiven when they and their pups were not? And that's how you get that loop- Harm for harm over and over.

The original action has been lost in a spiral of violence for violence. And here stands Artificer- their very spirit scarred. Not just because they sought revenge, but because they never ceased trying to scratch that itch for violence as an answer. Artificer only has two paths for their story- killing the scavenger king (Someone who, really, has little to do with the original 'crime' of the scavengers, but represents an important individual to them- as did the slugpups to Artificer), locking themselves as karma one for good and spending the rest of their life chasing creatures that no longer even fight back in a warped sense of closure- or to dissolve themselves in the acids of the void sea because they're too far gone to find any real peace.

They can't meaningfully recover from that state, not alone, twisting in on themselves. Even if they halt their actions, they've been using violence as a feeble defense against their own pain- violence that no longer has any real direction or basis. Artificer gets no real closure from killing the scavenger king. All they can do is continue the cycle, or try to scrub it away. No real peace in a prison of their own making. So you have a creature, who even with a strict timer on their life- a body that will crumble to disease, spends its last bit of time on saving another. And another who was so caught up in the pain of loss that were eaten alive by their own anger, poisoned their own soul on such a deep level even self-proclaimed gods have no solution for them. What peace can they offer each other? For Hunter, its only a fleeting moment of happiness- of selfish love, before their own body fails them. A bit of indulgence in something for themself. For Artificer, its a single, comforting thread to ground them again, something tangible to protect and care about again. But thats a thread that will ultimately be snapped under the cruel indifference of the world. Hunters timer will tick down regardless of if it takes another with it. Its a tragedy- its doomed to end badly. Whatever good it offers to either of them to find each other will only provide the fleeting comfort of a band-aid that will be ripped away too early. But all that can be worth indulging in anyway, if only for the moment. It doesn't change the ending, but the ending was never going to be happy. Its can so yuri

[lavendermoonlitskies]

I wanna talk about why I think Dead Boy Detectives means so much to so many people after only 1 season

So, we’re all angry and sad and confused right now and I think Netflix needs to understand why canceling this specific show was so upsetting to so many people, myself included.

First of all, they’ve made this a habit. The list of shows that they cancel after only one or two seasons is growing longer and longer, and there doesn’t seem to be any conceivable reason as to why. They hardly advertise their own show, they ignore its impact on the audience showcasing itself right in front of their eyes all over the internet via trending hashtags and campaigns to binge the show so Netflix doesn’t cancel it, and then they cancel it anyway.

The main question is why. Why do they keep canceling these shows that are so well received and manage to grow a passionate audience so soon in its run? The shows aren’t all necessarily similar to each other in the writing, casting, mood and what-have-you, but they do seem to have one thing in common: the audience is full of queer people. Regardless of how society has progressed in the way of LGBTQ+ acceptance, big corporations still have no interest in adding to that if it will hinder their financial gain in any way.

Whoever’s in charge over at Netflix HQ is not interested in taking risks. They seem to have forgotten that a show is rarely going to have record breaking numbers after one season, and if the show doesn’t specifically cater to a cishet audience, that’s all the more reason to pull the plug. That’s why shows like Riverdale go on for so long, that’s why Stranger Things hasn’t been cancelled yet (yes I know there is one single openly gay character in that show, but they’re not actually going to do anything with that and you know it), and that’s why there are countless shows with interesting and entirely unique plots and characters and settings who only get 8-12 episodes in total. Shows that cater to a cishet audience are safe, and despite the fact that Netflix is a multi-billion dollar corporation that can absolutely afford to risk having faith in something that diverts from the norm and attracts the weirdos of this world who just want to watch something that makes them feel seen, they just won’t do it.

I can’t really speak for a lot of these other shows, but Dead Boy Detectives was one of the most unapologetically queer shows I’ve ever seen. In just one season, it left us with some profound commentary on the horrors of hate crime against minorities and how when it occurs, it is all-too-often swiped under the rug and justice never comes. Edwin and Charles were victimized for being different and it is a very real-world issue to see kids like them simply ignored until it’s too late. Do you know how many queer kids saw themselves in Charles as we learned about his abusive father and all around terrible home life? Or how many saw themselves in Edwin when we learned what happened to him? That’s basically a tale as old as time but Netflix must’ve decided that it’s too uncomfortable to bring up to a cishet audience, once again deciding that going with what’s safe for them is better than giving an audience who needs it something to make them feel seen and heard.

It’s even more insane when you realize that the very first Netflix original series was Orange Is The New Black, because now it’s as if they’re going backwards.

[reader-wandering18]

Yuu Leviathan

Yuu from the world of LEVIATHAN being a 4-star harpooner.

The boys (the one with diasomnia and the Heartslabyul duo) in Yuu's dream. Ortho, along with his brother and Grim, had accidentally gotten separated from them.

Scene from Malleus Overblot

— Where...

Ace was suddenly thrown to the ground, his head had been protected by one hand and he could feel the weight of another on top of him.

She opened her eyes in surprise to focus on Silver.

Beside him was Deuce in the same position as him, only with Sebeck.

I wanted to ask What the hell?! But then he saw him… He remembered that sleepover where Yuu told them about his world. A world under water and monsters. He thought he was making it up so together with Grim they made fun of him, Yuu complained about them but never got angry.

He told them about the Seven Sea Demons, each one worse than the last.

— The most dangerous one is gray and dark blue with yellow bioluminescent spots and, compared to other sea monsters, it is a giant in size. Its name is…

— Kentrassi

In front of him was one of the 7 sea demons. And it was the most dangerous of all.

— Up!

Silver along with Sebeck quickly stood up along with the two first-year boys and ran for their lives. When Ace looked back, he had the chance to see that in the previous place where he was standing, there was a large hole.

A chill ran through his entire body. The monster was crawling around the place.

During their escape, the boys noticed that there was nothing like buildings or the sky, only metal, hallways and many people screaming, children crying and some dying crushed or devoured.

While running through a window they manage to see the sea.

A ship, they were a large ship.

Union Busan

WHAT KIND OF WORLD WAS THAT?

LOST

DESPAIR

How can that be Yuu's world?

The Diamnsonia duo stopped followed by Heartslabyul, they raised their wands to attack that monster with magic, but their magic… It just wasn't there.

— Why isn't it working?!

Sebeck didn't understand what was happening, but Deuce remembered what Yuu had told him.

— He said that in his world there was no magic, also Yuu didn't seem to understand the concept of it or have heard of something like that.

— You can't dream, of something you've never known.

— Damn, Malleus-sama's unique magic helps maintain this dream so he's blocking our magic for the sake of this human's sweet dream! BUT THIS DREAM HAS NOTHING SWEET AT ALL!

— If Ortho was here, would he be able to go against that thing?

Silver was also in a bind, he had nothing at hand that could cut the tentacles. His wand was useless in that dream, so frustrated he could only hear all the people around him scream and cry.

He was a knight without a sword.

A knight unable to protect those people as he did with Malleus and his father.

"I have failed again"

Kentrassi raised his large right arm, his intention was more than obvious, so without thinking Silver along with Sebeck stood in front of the first duo and the other people who had been left with no way out.

Even if none of them had magic or weapons, they couldn't just run away, they were warriors trained by Lilia. Silver wasn't going to disappoint his father.

No more

"We're not going to die here!"

A shadow appeared from the sky, Silver and Sebeck were the first to notice it, it was raising both arms holding what they saw as a sword, it came down like lightning cutting Kentrassi's hand along with much of his face as if they were just butter in a matter of seconds, it moved like a snake all over his body and wherever it passed it seemed to leave its bite.

With a jolt the blood came out of his weapon, he stood up in front of the monster, without showing a hint of fear, his back seemed firm, big… like a protector

— It was very brave of him to stand in front of the civilians, and use their own bodies as a shield.

He turned around and the boys immediately recognized him

— Yuu

Until that moment, both realized that they were no longer seeing a lost human from another world.

They were seeing a HARPOONER.

Seeing that there wasn't much action from my request in the first blog, I finally decided to do it. Believe me when I say that you've been awake for several nights until 1 or 2 in the morning is when the most inspiration comes.

Anyway, my main problem with this is that I couldn't visualize how the boys would react to something like this, so if you see something that makes you say, he wouldn't do this, I'm sorry. I had to watch his letters, the story videos again, and read his personality on wiki to get an idea of ​​how they would react.

The first outline was in the Octavinelle arc in the Overlord of Azul but as much as I thought and wrote this one just didn't end up convincing me. I wanted them to EXPERIENCE how Yuu (from this blog) was forged that way, so I remembered that we are in the Diasomnia arc and I said THAT'S IT.

Once I had the scenario it was time to choose the actors.

At first I thought about all the dorm leaders (among them Jamil) but there were too many characters, too much study and not enough sense so I said no. Obviously Sebeck and Silver should be there since this is their arc, and that's how the duo of a neuron came to mind. After all, they met Yuu from the prologue and they are his friends. I removed Grim, Ortho and Idia because I didn't want to make this as long as people's reaction to a tablet, a robot as advanced as Ortho and also magic so I came up with something like Malleus' thing about blocking them to make YUU's dream more REALISTIC and so he wouldn't suspect.

Anyway, I hope you like it and I'll be thinking about more Yuu x other worlds.

[specialagentartemis]

Friend Like Me: Murderbot's Relationships With Other AIs throughout The Murderbot Diaries

It’s important to me that the thematic core of The Murderbot Diaries is not only about determining what it means to be a robot person in a human world, but about showcasing so many ways to be a robot person in a human world.  And about building relationships with other robot persons to support that self-actualization as both a robot and a person.

So often, in science fiction about robot personhood, the robot character is the only robot in the cast.  Not only that, so often the robot character is the only robot they know.*

When media thinks about AI personhood, or Ais as characters in society, the AI character is often alone.  Alone, and different.  It’s a potent allegory for what it feels like to be an outsider, to be “other,” to feel “off” from the people around you.  Whether a sympathetic friend or a scary unknowable villain, a lot of people can relate to feeling like that.

The Murderbot Diaries is doing something interesting, then, by showing us our protagonist Murderbot, the prototypical robot-among-humans, the robot as a parallel for queer and neurodivergent and outsider-cultural experiences in a world of expected norms, the robot with human friends, the one robot member of an otherwise all-human team… and it can’t live like that.  So it leaves.

So far, the series feels split into two halves: the first four books, about Murderbot learning different ways to be a robot in relationships with humans, and the next three** about Murderbot learning different ways to be a robot in relationships with other robots, and a robot in a mixed society.

In All Systems Red, Murderbot starts off painfully alone. It repeatedly sees other SecUnits as enemies, and believes that SecUnits can't trust each other because they're all under control of humans. It has a very low opinion of SecUnits, including itself.  Murderbot hates being used by humans for violence or for petty reasons, and admits that it wants to half-ass its job.

In Artificial Condition, Murderbot meets ART, a university research ship who loves its crew and loves its function.  It is also free to be a snarky asshole, as Murderbot repeatedly notes (and assigns in its very name).  This relationship to humans—genuinely caring for its crew, genuinely wanting to participate in its research and teaching function—is a very different relationship than Murderbot has had, though ART still needs to keep its intelligence and personality hidden from most humans for its own safety.  Conversely, this is the book where Murderbot meets a ComfortUnit that is blatantly being abused and misused by its human owner, and it hates her.  The contrast between ART and the ComfortUnit displays very different ways of Ais relating to their human “owners”—and what it means for them to get what they want out of life.

In Rogue Protocol, Murderbot confronts this theme most directly, with the bot Miki.  Unlike the implications of secrecy we get from ART, Miki is not hidden from anybody; unlike with the ComfortUnit, Miki is a respected and equal member of its team.  Murderbot has a very hard time believing that Miki is anything but a patronized “pet bot” to these humans, despite the evidence that the humans genuinely consider it a friend and teammate.  Miki has never been abused, and never had to hide.  Murderbot has a hard time accepting that this is a way bots and humans can relate to each other.

But Miki is still, in the classical sci-fi robot-on-a-human-team way, unique; it expresses to Murderbot, “I have human friends, but I never had a friend like me.”

This is a much better way of being a robot among humans than Murderbot has seen before, but it’s still not the ideal Murderbot wants, either.

Exit Strategy brings the theme full-circle and the quartet to a close.  Murderbot faces off against a Combat SecUnit (or CombatUnit; Wells seems to change her mind about this).  The Combat SecUnit represents everything Murderbot has rejected being, everything it has overcome on its journey of self-actualization.  During their fight, the CSU rejects Murderbot’s offers of freedom, money, a fake ID, the opportunity to get out of its situation the way Murderbot has; it ignores the offer.  Murderbot asks the CSU what it wants.  The CSU replies, “I want to kill you.”  The CSU represents the kind of SecUnit Murderbot does not want to be, the kind of robot it used to think it would inevitably be but has now seen so many other ways it can be.  Murderbot says in the same scene, “I’m not sure it [the offer of freedom] would have worked on me, before my mass murder incident.  I didn’t know what I wanted (I still didn’t know what I wanted)…”  But at the same time, the confrontation makes it clear: Murderbot knows some things it doesn’t want, and the CSU is embracing everything Murderbot doesn’t want about being a SecUnit.

If this quartet is about what it means to be a robot, and to be a robot among humans, then the next set of books (Network Effect, Fugitive Telemetry, and System Collapse) is about being a robot among other robots, and a robot in a society that supports both humans and robots.

Fugitive Telemetry makes this most obvious, with its plotline about the free bot community on Preservation.  Murderbot is uncomfortable around them in a similar way that it was uncomfortable around Miki.  The Preservation bots are happy, fulfilled, responsible, mutually supportive, and have a meaningful community with both humans and each other that does not match Murderbot’s experiences of what being a bot, or being a bot among humans, means.

Network Effect brings Murderbot back into contact with ART, and introduces a new SecUnit, Three.  Murderbot navigating its relationship with ART as a free agent and after a perceived betrayal is a huge part of the book.  Murderbot’s disembodied-software-fork Murderbot 2.0, freed from much of Murderbot’s organic anxiety, shows itself much more willing to be social with other bots and constructs.  System Collapse follows, bringing further depth and complexity to Murderbot’s relationship with ART and expanding its interactions with Three, and furthers Murderbot’s integration into the casual bot-human community that is ART’s crew.  It also shows that Murderbot’s willingness to trust and even form tentative friendships with other AIs and systems, like AdaCol2, has expanded.  The way it extends the governor module hack to the opposing SecUnits is informed a lot more strongly by Murderbot 2.0’s interactions with Three than its own previous clumsy attempts to reach out to the CSU in Exit Strategy, or abrupt dumping of the hack on the ComfortUnit in Artificial Condition.  All of these plotlines emphasize Murderbot maturing into not just being a person among humans, but a person recognizing its place and obligations within society that includes both people like and unlike it.

The models of the many ways to be a robot person, and significant relationships and interactions with other robot persons, were and are crucial to Murderbot’s development, sense of self, articulation of its desires, and sense of belonging in the world.  Murderbot isn’t alone, and it’s not the only person like itself that it knows.  When offered a place in society, it is not the only person like itself in that society.  Meeting other AIs, forming relationships with them, was crucial in helping it articulate what it wants in its life.  Its human friends are incredibly important to it!  That doesn’t stop being true.  But so are its AI friends, and the other AIs it passed through the lives of.

This feels like one of the most honest and affirming depictions of what it’s like to feel “other”—that being around only majority people unlike-you, even the ones you like, even your friends, even the ones who mean the best for you and ask you what you need and do everything they can to provide it, can still be exhausting and alienating.  Meeting other people like you—even if they’re like you in unlike ways, and have different ways of moving through the world—shows you the many ways to relate to the rest of the world, to be in the world.  The many ways to relate to other people and to yourself.  The Murderbot Diaries opens up a world where that can be true of bot/construct/AI characters, when so often in sci-fi, their loneliness and alienation is where the metaphor stops.

- - -

*Lt. Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation is probably the most famous example; the only positronic android like himself in existence, barring his evil twin who mostly just needs to be stopped.  Others coming to mind include Becky Chambers's A Closed and Common Orbit, in which the AI character is trying to understand who she is in the context of being surrounded by humans; Alien, the secret android crewmate among humans is a threat, and in the sequel Aliens, the android crewmate is earnestly trying to prove he's not; Space Sweepers has a ragtag crew of several humans and a robot; most of the stories in Isaac Asimov's I, Robot are about a singular robot in a human facility.  The setup "Human crew with their ship AI" is fairly common in sci-fi, from 2001: A Space Odyssey with its tragically antagonistic HAL9000 operating on a logic that would never occur to humans, to Wolf 359 and The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet where the ship AIs are struggling to determine and articulate how they want to relate to their human friends.  Even in Ancillary Justice, Breq is alone and having to pass undercover as human cut adrift from her previous life as a ship's AI. (I know this changes later but I have not actually read the rest of the trilogy)

**as of System Collapse

[atrueneutral]

Feel free to just ignore this if the prompt is too horny but uh...

Mephistopheles having some fiends deliver a present to the boudoir (for Raphael or Haarlep). That present is a very confused, but also very naked, Tav who is all tied up with silk and has a collar and chain on her neck. (for her part, Tav isn't opposed to being in this... ah... position, but she'd have preferred Raphael or Haarlep be the one to have brought her here via invitation rather than... whatever this is)

I hope you don't mind a little humor! ---

Of all the strange situations Tav had found herself in (including the entire tadpole debacle), it was safe to say that this was the one of the strangest.

How it happened - well, frankly she’d been kidnapped!

It all started when she’d received a message from Helsik by way of a Scroll of Sending; the message wasn’t very descriptive outside of ‘please come to the Devil’s Fee at your earliest convenience’, and, thinking it was a job to add more (needed) coin to her pocket, Tav had gone immediately.

Into the Devil’s Fee she walked without a care in the world, only to have Helsik give her an empty smile and an emptier apology. Tav had no idea what the apology was for until two fiends burst forth from nowhere. They quickly rendered her immobile with a spell (before she could even think to defend herself), and she was subsequently blindfolded and spirited away.

By the time the blindfold had come off, Tav was naked.

Naked on a bed.

A bed in a boudoir.

A boudoir in a House of Hope.

Above her, a golden horned devil head was laughing at her predicament from where it was centered at the top of the velvet tufted headboard her back rested against. A lengthy piece of red silk hung fastened around its neck, and at each end were her bound hands. Her feet were in a similar state, ankles tied together by another piece of silk, and she was annoyed to feel a leather collar against the skin of her neck. Attached to the collar was a weighty chain that messily decorated the silk bedding.

It was an added frustration to see an unattainable, sealed note at the foot of the bed. She assumed it likely wrote out an explanation on why she’d been plucked and placed in Raphael’s gaudy boudoir.

For a split second, Tav thought to call out to Haarlep; the boudoir was mostly their domain, and maybe they would come and help her. But she wisened up and remembered that Haarlep’s definition of ‘helping’ was wildly different from that of a morally inclined person; she’d be inviting the incubus to tease her, grope her, and use her.

Which would be fine on a day where she’d been told in advance and had some semblance of knowing what-the-fuck-was-going-on.

It was probably in her best interest to call for Raphael, as embarrassing as the situation was. She expected he’d be equally perplexed by why she was in his House, naked, tied up, and in his bed.

“Uh, Raphael?” she called out meekly into the ether, thinking he could somehow magically hear her from wherever he was. “You, uh, around?”

After about a minute of getting nothing in response, Tav cleared her throat.

“RAPHAEL! You bastard! I’ll loot this place dry once I figure out how to untie myself!”

It took about fifteen seconds, but there was a burst of fire and embers - signifying the arrival of-

“What have we here!” trilled a voice that sounded vaguely like Raphael but assuredly wasn’t Raphael. “I thought I heard a guest yelling in the boudoir! And yelling without me?”

They tutted, and Tav inwardly cursed the gods.

“Not you…” she bemoaned. 

“Now why do you say it like that, little thief?” Haarlep faked a frown as they sauntered over to the end of the bed. The frown didn’t last; it flipped into a fiendish smile when they devoured the wickedly risque picture she made. “Have you gifted yourself to us? It’s good to see some results after master’s constant planning…”

“Aha! So it’s his fault I’m here!” Tav shouted like she’d deduced the perpetrator for a murder, but as Haarlep’s words further registered, the perpetrator suddenly looked like Raphael and the person murdered was her. “Wait - what do you mean ‘constant planning’?”

Haarlep continued to smile with mischief dancing brightly in their infernal eyes. They scooped up the note and slid a clawed finger under the folded flap, breaking the wax seal. Their gaze shifted from Tav to the words on the parchment.

The incubus grimaced. “And here I hoped you’d already signed yourself away to us.”

“Not today, I’m afraid,” Tav said. She awkwardly readjusted in her bindings. “What does it say? Who is it from?”

To her horror, Haarlep decided to join her on the bed with the note in hand. They crawled over, mattress dipping with each knee they took, and they situated themself over her so that their legs braced either side of her thighs - giving Tav a bird’s eye view of their barely clothed erection.

Haarlep (thankfully) shoved the note in front of her face rather than their crotch.

”I can’t read it,” she said dryly.

“Poor thing.”

To help, Haarlep read it out loud.

“Haarlep,

This mortal is a much better distraction to my son’s ambitions than you.

I suggest tempting her into a contract with your persuasive talents.

Lord Mephistopheles”

Tav swallowed. “This is a joke, right?”

Haarlep folded the letter and tossed it aside on the sheets. The back of their fingers came to caress her cheek. “Mm - no, little thief. It’s very real, as are you… here, tied up… helpless…”

“While that may be true…” Tav was beginning to feel nervous, and she resisted the urge to wriggle underneath them lest it provoke them. “Unfortunately, this situation isn’t as much of a turn on as it would be if I was here of my own volition.”

“It’s a turn on for me regardless.”

“Sure…” Tav officially hated the gods. She did not know how she was going to talk herself out of this with an incubus who was hovering over her restrained body with a hard-on, a lust-filled gaze, and an order to get her to ‘sign a contract’. She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “But you know what really gets me wet and wild, Haarlep?”

“Do tell…”

She raised herself up an inch by pulling on her bindings and stared at them with budding (pretend) lust.

“Not signing a contract.”

Was that jingling bells she heard entering the boudoir?

“Do you not want to stay here with me?” Haarlep purred, their hand trailed down to grip her chin while the other found and her collar’s chain. “You’d get to be master’s pet - my pet…”

They tugged up on the chain and Haarlep’s head moved in for the kill - intent on giving her an intoxicating kiss that would turn her to putty in their hands.

Shit.

“Ra-” Tav attempted to shout, but the cambion’s name was cut short by Haarlep’s smiling lips pressing against hers. The chain was given a light tug to force her closer, and their hot, forked tongue slid across the seam of her locked mouth… 

She did not know how long she could hold out; her lips were tingling in a pleasant way, her blood was racing, and the promise of pleasure was right there if only she would give in…

The lust she felt was no longer the pretend kind. 

“Haarlep, pray tell, who is your wayward plaything?”

Tav mentally and woozily cheered; it was Raphael!

“Was my warning not explicit enough? I will not tolerate you inviting in stray visitors because you’re bored,” continued her maybe savior. 

Tav could not see Raphael, as she was too busy being lip locked with a younger version of himself, and she wasn’t sure if he could see her with Haarlep’s wings and body in the way.

The chain went slack as Haarlep broke away. They relinquished their hold on her leash and discreetly swapped the chain for the nearby note. Between their bodies, the piece of parchment combusted into flames - destroying the proof of Mephistophele’s intentions.

Tav hissed as the melted seal dripped hot wax onto her chest.

Haarlep winked at her, and she responded with a glare.

Meanwhile, jingling boots arrived somewhere around the foot of the bed.

“Look who is here, Master!” The incubus said suddenly, removing themself from her body and moving over enough to reveal Tav in all her naked, restrained glory. “I wrapped her up like a little present! Just for you - specifically as she instructed…”

Heat crept up her body and flared in her loins.

Raphael, a talkative fiend who often talked too much, was rendered speechless and slack jawed. His brow furrowed and his nose scrunched while his mind worked to process what and who was in his bed.

It was a reaction that almost made up for being kidnapped.

His confusion cleared when his mouth snapped closed, and the look in his orange and yellow eyes turned insanely desirous.

“Uh, hello,” Tav said, giving him a polite wave while also trying to ignore the wetness that rapidly continued to pool between her thighs.

Her lips still tingled from Haarlep’s kiss, and the scene wasn’t too far off from a fantasy she’d had more than once. 

“What are you doing here, Little Mouse?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Haarlep unhelpfully supplied. “She’s here to have fun with us!”

She was grateful that Raphael looked somewhat skeptical. “Is this true, my dear?”

“It’s kind of a long story…” Tav replied.

Raphael glanced at her silk bindings.

“Forgive me - I don’t see you going anywhere anytime soon?”

“Ah, yes. Touché,” she conceded.

“I want to hear it from you,” Raphael said, a warning threading into his tone. “Why are you here?”

She looked to Haarlep, and they seemed all-too-curious in what answer she would give. It was anyone’s guess as to why they destroyed the note from Mephistopheles, and Tav wondered if they would feel at all indebted to her for not spilling the beans.

“Korrilla told me it was your Name Day last week. I realize I’m a little late, but I wanted to do something extra special since it was your… wait, how old are you exactly?”

“Funny.” Raphael’s thin smile did not reach his eyes. “Try again.”

“I was kidnapped?”

Why did it come out as a question?

“Haarlep, do get the mouse’s lips moving, won’t you? I think I will get comfortable and watch…”

The incubus happily motioned to return to his previous position over her.

“Alright - hold on!” Tav yelled, causing an amused Haarlep to stop. “I’ll tell you the truth - under one condition.”

Raphael barked a laugh.

“Again you show up in my House uninvited, this time naked and fettered to my bed, and you think you have the right to demand conditions?” His gaze turned stormy. “You are lucky that my fondness for you extended into forgiveness the first time.”

“You’ll forgive me for this second time as well, I think.” Tav smiled mischievously and parted her legs to give both cambion and incubus a better view of her sex. “I’ll give you the truth, Raphael; what I’m asking for is that I be returned home, safe and sound after we… reacquaint ourselves - without the talk or the signing of any contract.”

“You’ve already honored your contract, and I have not yet come knocking at your door with another.”

She shrugged with a shoulder. “I’ve learned you can never play it too safe with devils.”

Raphael turned suspicious. “What are you up to?”

“Just agree, Master,” Haarlep said. They licked their lips. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Judging by Raphael’s dark expression and the stiffness in his breeches, he was also tired of waiting.

“Very well; I will return you to your home, safe and sound - albeit sore. No contract will be signed during this visit. Now, the truth.”

The words easily left her. 

“The truth is I want you to fuck me, Raphael. I’ve wanted you undiluted and raw since meeting you, and imagine my disappointment stumbling upon Haarlep on my first visit. You should know they said some very scandalous things about your… performance.”

The (undiluted and raw) darkness that overtook Raphael’s features would have frightened her… if she weren’t so turned on by it. It was a dangerous mix of desire and fury; desire for her, fury for Haarlep.

“What did you tell the mouse, Haarlep?” he asked, head canting with a piercing stare directed at the incubus. “About my performance.”

Haarlep did not immediately respond; Tav could tell they were frantically plotting how to navigate a floor covered in eggshells.

“The mouse asked if you were good in bed...”

“And you told her?”

It was Haarlep’s turn to be nervous, and Tav savored every second.

“And I said, jokingly, of course, that you… weren’t. A-ha!”

“I see,” Raphael said flatly. “Well, since I am not ‘good in bed’ your participation privileges for this bed have been revoked.” The cambion’s unblinking, penetrative stare turned to her as he stalked over to the side of the bed.

“It was nothing but a joke, Master! At least allow me the opportunity to watch you fuck and fill the mouse?”

“No.” Raphael picked up the end of the chain and wrapped it once around his hand. “She’s mine...”

Sinfully wet after such a declaration, Tav turned her head to throw a secretive wink at a pouting Haarlep before they resentfully disappeared with a burst.

There was a snap of fingers, and Raphael came to be instantly naked and was very, very aroused. A second snap followed, causing a flash of heat to singe her skin as her silk bindings went up in a puff of smoke.

The cat gave the chain a tug. 

“Come to me, my little mouse.”

Before her mind could be overrun by sex and pleasure, Tav thought of a note to (never) send back to Mephistopheles.

Lord Mephistopheles,

No need for a kidnapping; all you have to do is ask. I’ll be more than happy to return to your son’s bed, no contracts necessary.

Sincerely,

The Better Distraction

[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write an Angel Dust x reader (platonic). Where the reader is sad and just lying in their bedroom. And Angel Dust tries to give their friend some comfort and tries to make them feel better. Like maybe he does their makeup, they both dress up and go out into the city. And maybe Cherri Bomb joins them💗

Title: Here, Always

Pairing: Angel Dust x reader (Platonic)

Word Count: ~2,716

In which Angel Dust comforts the reader after a hard day with a makeover and a fun night out.

A/N: Thank you for the request!! Not proofread, Pure fluff. Hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: cursing, ooc Angel Dust maybe, not too many descriptors about visual appearance just so everyone can have their own image

Pentagram City wasn’t exactly known for the kindness of its residence. Nor was it known for its tranquility or leisurely pace. It was, however, a fantastic place to be if you wanted your energy and your very willpower to be drained in only an afternoon.

You sighed against your pillow, ignoring the sensible voice in your head that told you to get up and out of bed. You had been lying there for hours, after all.

Unfortunately, a louder voice in your head continued to comfort and coddle you, reassuring you that it was okay for you to remain in bed until you felt whole again.

You liked that voice.

So you burrowed deeper into your blankets, allowing them to obscure you from view and block out the rest of the world in a last ditch attempt to pretend that you had some semblance of control over your life.

Oh, well. At least you were comfortable.

Your door opened with a bang. You shot upright.

“Heya, toots,” Angel Dust greeted as he stepped inside your room. “Charlie wants us to…” he trailed off when he saw your face. “Whatsa matta?”

You blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

His eyes roamed over your disheveled hair, your wrinkled clothes, and your unmade bed. “Nothin’, you just look a little…” he looked back up at your face. “Tired, is all.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

Angel held up two hands in surrender, though his eyes kept scrutinizing your appearance. “Ya look like someone put you in a blenda and left the remains on ya bed,” he said bluntly.

You rolled your eyes and flopped back down on your bed, turning away from the spider demon. He was one of your closest friends here in Hell, sure, but that didn’t mean you wanted to stand up to take his insults.

You listened as his light footsteps approached you, but refused to face him even when your bed dipped to signify his presence. 

A gentle hand began running its fingers through your hair. “Hey,” Angel said, his voice much softer than it had been mere moments ago. “Talk ta me. Whatsa matta?”

You wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and lift yourself up so that your friend could give you one of his all consuming bear hugs. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to move any more than necessary.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “It’s just been a rough week. I’m tired, that’s all.”

Angel Dust chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that. Trust me, I do.”

“I know,” you said, closing your eyes once again. “I wish I could kill that stupid moth for you.”

Your friend’s laugh grew louder, much to your content. “I know ya do,” Angel said, his hand still stroking your hair. “Thanks.”

You hummed in acknowledgment.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other's company in a way that you were so rarely able to do with the continuous angelic threats and Charlie’s new ideas for redemption.

Suddenly, Angel’s hand stilled. “Ya know what always makes me feel betta on a night like this?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Goin’ out for the night.”

Your eyes remained closed. “We shouldn’t get drunk, Angel, it’s against Charlie’s ‘redemption pathway’.”

You yelped as Angel gave you a light swat on the arm. “I didn’t mean it like that. We just gotta getcha dressed up and pretty, and the two of us can hit the town and have some fun without worrying about our fucked up lives.”

Truthfully, you were intrigued. You had heard stories about Angel and Cherri Bomb’s midnight outings before his stay at the hotel, but you’d never been able to experience one for yourself. Not because you and Angel weren’t close, of course, but because nights out like that meant risking everything that you had been working for here at the hotel.

You cracked open one eye. “No drinking or drugs?”

“None,” Angel promised. “Unless you’re feelin’ especially rowdy.”

You ignored him. “No killing?”

“Not unless it’s self defense,” Angel vowed.

You opened your other eye. “Just us?”

The grin in Angel’s voice was evident. “Just you and me, doll face. Not Charlie, not Husk, not anyone else. Just us. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You sat up slowly, propping yourself up against your headboard and glancing over at Angel Dust as you tried and failed to hide your growing excitement.

The two of you hadn’t had a chance to spend time together without one of the other members of the hotel since a year ago, when Lute had come back down to threaten Charlie and everything that she had built now that Adam was gone. Ever since then, all of you had been extra cautious. All except Alastor, of course, but that was to be expected. 

The last time you had spent any time alone with Angel, the two of you had stayed up all night trading stories, both good and bad, about your lives here in Hell and your lives Before. Ever since then, the two of you had been both inseparable and insufferable. You’d even been Angel’s wingwoman when he had asked Husk on their first date.

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “That could be fun,” you admitted.

Angel’s smile matched your own as he jumped up from your bed. “‘Course it does. Come on, we’ve gotta get you ready.”

Your smile dropped as you suddenly remembered your haphazard appearance. “I’m sure I can find something to wear-”

“Uh-uh,” Angel interrupted, shaking his head in disagreement. “If we’re goin’ out, we’re gonna do it right. Meet me in my room and I’ll see what I can do.”

You watched as he walked out confidently, throwing you a wink before he disappeared from your sight. You huffed out a laugh and buried your face in your hands. 

The two of you would probably get in heaps of trouble with Charlie later, but if you got to experience one of Angel Dust’s famous night outs, it was going to be worth it.

~~~

You smiled as Angel Dust carefully ran a comb through your hair. You hummed mindlessly as he worked, his attention focused on getting his work done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

He had already dressed you in an outfit made to draw attention, and transformed your face with a bit of foundation, eye shadow, and blush. The only thing left was your hair, which Angel was being surprisingly gentle with.

You closed your eyes as you silently enjoyed the feeling of the comb running through the strands of your hair again and again. It reminded you of Before.

After a few moments, you opened your eyes again, looking into Angel’s vanity mirror. “I’m not questioning your skills at all, but you’ve been brushing my hair for a while now,” you said with a grin.

Angel met your eyes in the mirror, a sly smile growing on his face. “You looked like you were enjoying it, sugar. Who am I to take away that pleasure?”

Your smile softened. “I was enjoying it, actually. Thanks.”

The demon winked at you before placing the comb down and getting to work on styling your hair. 

“So, where are we going?” you asked, trying to contain your eagerness. “We can go to a club without drinking, can’t we?”

Angel snickered. “Don’t get too excited, toots. If we’re gonna behave tonight, we’re gonna have to avoid some of my regular places.”

“You’ve basically been everywhere in Hell,” you countered. “I’m not worried. We’ll still have a good time.”

Angel stepped back, two hands on his hips as he admired his finished work. “You bet your ass we will. Now get up so we can get this party-”

The door to the bedroom flew open. You and Angel whirled around to face the newcomer as Cherri Bomb sauntered in without a care in the world.

“What’s up, bitches?” she called out as she entered. “I heard we were throwing a party.”

You recovered quickly, grinning back as you stood with your arms outstretched. “Hey, Cherri,” you greeted as you gave her a quick hug.

Angel Dust was close behind, wrapping his arms around his friend before releasing her and slinging an arm over her shoulders. “You heard right,” he said as he pulled her further into the room. “We’re gonna have an all out, hard core-” 

You cleared your throat.

Angel stuck a finger in the air and plastered a false innocent smile on his face. “And responsible night around town.” 

“Hell yeah! I’m in,” Cherri said before looking over at you. “Angel and I know all the best spots in this dump. Get your arse up and let’s get moving!”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Angel said as he moved away from Cherri. “We were just gonna go out for a few drinks and some dancin’. Nothin’ too big. It was gonna be our night, ya’ know?” He hesitated before gesturing over to you. “Just the two of us.”

A stab of guilt tore through your chest as Cherri’s smile dropped. She was quick to hide it, though, pasting another grin on her face before waving her hand in indifference. “Whateva. Who needs you lot anyway? I’ll have my own night out and let you two know what you missed out on.”

As she turned away, you noticed the guilty grimace on Angel’s face. 

You wanted nothing more than a day to spend time with one of your closest friends, but you knew that neither one of you would be able to enjoy your night with feelings of regret eating away at you. Besides, Cherri was another sinner who had always had your back and understood your past trauma. Why wouldn’t you want to share your night with her?

“Wait,” you called out before she could reach the door.

Both Cherri and Angel turned to face you.

You shrugged and gave a small smile. “The more the merrier, right? I bet three of us could cause a lot more trouble than just the two of us.”

Cherri’s smile grew. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, bitches.”

Angel shot you a grateful look before clapping his hands together, a devious smirk growing on his face. “Alrighty then. Let’s get this party started.”

~~~

“How did you even know we were going out?” you asked Cherri Bomb as your small group staggered out of a bar. Your third bar of the night.

It probably hadn’t been the best idea to allow Cherri to create tonight’s itinerary, given the fact that you and Angel were two of the hotel’s best chances to prove that redemption was possible. You couldn’t say that you had ended the night with any regrets, though.

Cherri shrugged at your question and shot you a quick grin. “I always know when there's a party goin’ on. It’s like my special skill.” Her smile sharpened. “Well, besides being able to hold my liquor better than you lot.”

Angel shot her a wink as he draped an arm over your shoulder, gently leading your group back to the hotel. “Whateva’ ya say, babes. You comin’ back to the hotel with us?”

Cherri snorted and held her hands up as she backed away from you. “Back with Princess Redemption? Nah thanks, I’ve still got a few shots left in me. You two have fun, though.”

“Will do,” you said as Angel began leading you away.

“And let me know when the next party is,” Cherri shouted after you.

“We will,” Angel called back as he walked.

You looked up at him with a slight frown. “Are we in a rush? I feel like we’re rushing.”

Angel glanced down at you with a raised eyebrow. “What’dya ya talkin’ about?”

You looked back over your shoulder as Cherri disappeared into another building. “I don’t know. We’ve only been out a few hours, and we’ve only been to a few clubs. I thought-”

“You thought we were gonna go bat-shit crazy and ruin our progress?” Angel interrupted with a smirk on his face.

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I didn’t think we’d go that crazy. But I just thought…I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d want to spend more time with Cherri.”

Angel smiled. “You kiddin’? I love spendin’ time with her.”

“Then why did we leave so soon?”

Angel glanced down at you fondly, using his other hand to grasp one of yours so that you were walking hand in hand. “I meant what I said, toots. This is our day, you ‘n me. Sure, hangin’ out with Cherri’s great, but I don’t want you tryin’ to find happiness at the bottom of a bottle.”

You snorted, swinging your hands between you as you walked. “Happiness is me in my bed, Ange, not in a bar.”

Angel pulled you closer, his arm still around your shoulders. “Fair enough,” he said smoothly as he led the two of you back to the hotel.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a moment. Demons turned to stare, of course, and some stopped to take pictures. You were walking with the Angel Dust, after all. But even with the extra attention, the two of you felt a sense of peace that had grown almost foreign to you both.

“Did it help?” Angel asked suddenly, looking down at you as you neared the hotel doors.

You glanced up at him. “Tonight, you mean?”

Angel nodded, his expression apprehensive. “I know you ain’t like me and Cherri. You like havin’ some fun, sure, but…'' he looked away. “I know your limits are different. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand. “I’m fine,” you said softly.

And you were. It wasn’t getting out of the hotel that had helped, or even spending a few hours with someone with as positive a vibe as Cherri. It was the fact that your friends were so willing to help you, and the fact that you had finally been able to spend time with the first person in Hell to make you feel safe again.

“I’m glad,” Angel said as you walked through the doors of the hotel.

He led you straight to the stairs with a quick wave and a wink to Husk at the bar.

You laughed as he pulled you along. “Where are we going?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” he asked, a mischievous grin on his face. “The day ain’t ova yet. We’ve got one more thing left on the list.”

~~~

You snuggled deeper into the thick blanket surrounding you on Angel’s bed, scratching Fat Fuggets behind the ears as Angel Dust got comfortable beside you.

“What’d I tell ya’?” Angel asked as he propped his head on his hand. “Perfect end to a perfect night.”

You grinned and nodded, watching as Nuggs walked over to Angel and cuddled him.

Angel embraced his pig, petting him lightly as his eyes roamed over your face in mild concern. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly.

You averted your gaze. “Talk about what?”

Angel didn’t respond, his gaze heavy as he raised a silent eyebrow.

You sighed and looked back at him. “I love the hotel,” you said quietly. “It’s great. Really, it is. But sometimes-” you took a breath and closed your eyes. “Sometimes, everything’s just a lot. You know?”

Silence.

You opened your eyes when you felt a warm hand on your cheek. Angel was smiling down at you, his eyes warm. “Yeah. I get it,” he said with a small shrug. “But ‘ey.” He winked. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

You laughed, moving closer and allowing Angel to wrap his arms around you and Nuggs. “And you’re the best,” you offered.

“Hells yeah, I am,” Angel murmured as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Get some rest, babes. I’ll be here.”

And so, you slept. You slept more peacefully than you had slept in a long, long time. 

And when you woke, true to his promise, Angel Dust was right beside you.

He gave you a soft smile. “I told ya’,” he said, careful not to wake Fat Nuggets. “I’m here.

Always.”