#natural hand carved stone

[gtfoimrocking]

Natural Stone Pavers in Phoenix Ideas for the stone landscaping of a sizable Mediterranean courtyard.

[gamemakxr]

Landscape New York Here is an illustration of a sizable Mediterranean courtyard landscape.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

Stan Twin Headcanon #3

Ford likes to leave little gifts for Stan around the shack/Stan O’ War II, because it’s easier than just giving them to him.

Stan, not one to be outplayed, starts leaving trinkets in place of the gifts for Ford to find later.

They never talk about it, it’s an unspoken thing they do.

Bonus:

When Ford is upset with Stan, he still leaves things for him. It’s just that he leaves things like plastic spiders and animal teeth instead of his usual gifts.

Stan just doesn’t leave gifts at all when he’s upset with Ford (the spiders do not help)

[lcvemiyuki]

"in proximity" | hq, ushijima

content: ushijima asking for help on English is one thing--him sitting just inches away from you is another

tags+warnings: fluff, ushijimaxfem!reader, thirdyear!ushijima, tendou+semi appearance, not proofread

character(s): ushijima

word count: 1.6k

a/n: im sorry in advance this was written on the bus LMAO

Brown shoes pattered as the students of Shiratorizawa started to cluster in the slightly filled classroom. It was lunch break, and you decided to stay in with your feet bouncing slightly and earbuds in, the music blasting so loud it could be heard from the external world. It was so loud you didn’t pick up on the dress shoes cladding on the wooden floor. You were so focused on reading up the next lesson for English that you didn’t feel a tall, looming presence in front of the desk.

“[Y/N].”

A few more seconds passed until an unknown hand plucked your right bud out of your ear.

The muted classroom suddenly filled your hearing, and the chatter of classmates could be heard crystal clear. Your eyebrows furrowed at the action, and you trailed your eyes to follow up the cladded arm until you reached a calm, yet slightly tilted head.

Wakatoshi Ushijima.

Your mouth clamped shut with only a slight hum in response to the stunned and sudden intrusion of the ace on your academy’s precious volleyball team.

Your puzzled expression had you blinking your eyes more than usual, causing him to only slightly clear his throat.

“I know you may not know me, but you’re [Y/N], right?” His expression remained unchanged as if carved from stone. It almost felt like you were in deep trouble with how a million eyes darted right at the two of you.

After quickly glancing around the now hushed classroom, you peered back up at him and nodded, “Of course, I know who you are, Ushijima-san.”

The pressure of possibly being the next target of rumors in the upcoming week terrified you. It was astonishing at the rate and creativity these students could create over the slightest piece of information.

He only nodded in return and began to rummage through the black book bag slung across his body. It took him a moment to finally find what he was looking for, and he stretched out his unwavering hand to reveal another English textbook.

“I was hoping you could tutor me for the upcoming finals.”

“Huh?” You quickly zipped your lips shut as the thoughts in your head blurted out.

Okay, that really stumped you; your eyes scanned the area for some sort of snicker or nudge of the arms as a sign of a prank.

But that wasn’t part of his nature, was it—no, he meant business with how his sandy-brown eyes never left yours.

It wasn’t like he was trying to hide it either. His voice was crystal clear and projected enough for everyone to chime in. You would expect that from the volleyball captain, yet he still needed your help with English.

“What do you need help with?” you continued.

There was a short pause as he suddenly moved away from your gaze, his hand reaching out for a vacant chair and pulling it up next to you. The slightly grating sound of the chair legs scraping against the wooden floor paused any remaining conversation in the classroom, drawing all eyes to the two of you.

His sudden presence filled your senses in seconds as his side profile came into view. The scent of fresh laundry lingered in the air as he was near. You could see the fine details of his chiseled jawline, and the determined set of his brow. Up close, it was no surprise he looked even more handsome.

Suddenly, your palms felt a little sweaty, and the room got a little warmer.

His intense focus and proximity made it hard to breathe steadily. His huge frame caused him to lean back on the small wooden chair, making it creak slightly under his weight. Meanwhile, your frame remained sort of uptight, your back straight as a rod, in fear you might accidentally touch him.

The sheer size of him was overwhelming; his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than the chair allowed, and his legs spread slightly to accommodate his height. His arm brushed lightly against yours as he reached forward, causing a spark of electricity to shoot up your spine.

He placed the blue textbook next to yours, his large, calloused hands moving with surprising gentleness. Flipping to a certain page, he revealed a passage that had been neatly bookmarked, as if he already knew exactly what he needed help with. The text was underlined and annotated in pencil, showing his efforts to understand it on his own.

His voice, low and steady, broke the silence. "I figured you would be the best to tutor me."

He glanced over at your in-progress notes, his gaze unwavering and thoughtful. The closeness of his presence made the air around you feel charged, every small movement amplified your heightened awareness.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I... I’d be happy to help, Ushijima-san."

He nodded appreciatively, his stoic expression softening ever so slightly. “Thank you. I won’t take much of your time. It’s quite difficult to find time after school to study.”

As you started to explain the notes you had been working on, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze on you. It was intense like he was studying every word you said, every movement you made.

The sliding door abruptly slammed open, the force of it causing a few heads to turn in surprise. An overly excited redhead waltzes into the room, a completely annoyed companion trailing behind him.

“I thought I saw ya in the window while walking past, Ushi!” Tendou explained, his mouth wide open with a pearly-white smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. His voice echoed through the now silent classroom, making sure everyone knew of his arrival.

Ushijima barely reacted, his focus still on the textbook in front of him, but a faint sigh escaped his lips. You, on the other hand, jumped slightly in your seat, your eyes widening at the sudden intrusion.

Tendou stopped just inside the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual, almost theatrical air. Semi stood beside him, his expression shifting into one of mild entertainment at the sight. “And look who you’re with! [Y/N], right?” Tendou’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he peered over in your direction, taking in the view of the English textbooks and your notes spread across the desk.

You nodded, trying to compose yourself. “Yes, that’s right.”

Tendou grinned wider, not moving from his spot. “Tutoring, huh? Just like we sai—uh, thought so!” He straightened up slightly, trying to awkwardly save himself from the slip-up. His eyes darted everywhere as he looked around, trying to gauge the room’s reaction.

The ash-blonde friend next to him raised an eyebrow in amusement, then let out a small scoff, clearly entertained by Tendou's ridiculous attempt to cover up his mistake.

Ushijima glanced at his teammates, his expression unchanging as he blinked up at the two.

“Yes, that’s right.” he parrots you as he responds to Tendou.

Tendou chuckled, his voice carrying easily across the classroom. “Well, we wouldn’t want our star player struggling with finals, would we?” He shot you a teasing grin before wiggling his eyebrows.

Tendou clapped his hands together, the sound startlingly loud in the quiet room. “Alright! Let’s go and nourish our starving bellies, Semi-pooh,” he cooed, waving a hand towards the sliding door.

Semi’s eye twitched as he muttered a curse word under his breath. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbled, his annoyance clear, but he still followed Tendou out of the classroom.

As they left, Tendou continued to chatter animatedly, his voice fading as they walked down the hallway. Semi’s occasional responses, a mix of chuckles and sighs, echoed faintly back into the room.

You were left there dumbfounded in your chair as you couldn’t help but glance back at Ushijima. He, on the other hand, resumed his notes like nothing had happened.

‘Huh, that was weird.’

You decided not to think anything of it.

𓇢𓆸 Later that day

“I told you to sit across from her, not next to her!” Tendou’s voice echoed out from the locker room, a blend of exasperation and amusement in his tone.

Ushijima glanced up from his phone, intrigued. Tendou’s rants were a familiar occurrence, but this time, there was a sharpness to his words that captured Ushijima’s attention.

“You were practically crowding her! I could feel the awkward tension all the way from the doorway!” Tendou continued, his arms waving dramatically as he paced back and forth. His eyes were wide with mock horror, clearly relishing the chance to tease his stoic friend.

“I thought it would be more efficient,” Ushijima said, his brow knitting slightly.

Tendou snorted, laughter reverberating in the confined space. “Efficient, huh? Sure, let’s go with that.” He gave Ushijima a knowing look, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. “Come on, Ushi, we both know why you really wanted to sit next to her.”

Ushijima’s expression remained impassive. “I respect her intelligence.”

Tendou’s grin broadened, his enjoyment evident. “Mhm? And you wanted to be close to her too~”

Ushijima’s gaze dropped back to his phone, his fingers idly tapping the screen as he sat on the dark wooden bench, his posture relaxed.

“That’s why I suggested you ask her for help,” Tendou said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned against the lockers. “You needed an excuse to spend time with her.”

The room was filled with the familiar silence Tendou was accustomed to.

He clapped Ushijima on the shoulder, his cue that he was taking off. “You’ll get the hang of it. Just remember to give the lady a little space next time.”

Ushijima remained seated on the bench, fingers navigating to his contact list. At least he got one thing right: asking for your number.

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[thesecondhandwoman]

GILDED WARMTH

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Ambessa could tell that you have been wearing yourself thin lately, so she decides to help you by allowing you to both bathe with one another.

A/N: I honestly just needed to write a moment with this woman because omg.

The night hummed with the low murmur of distant city lights and the faint clang of metal on metal. Noxian evenings were never quiet, but within the grand villa of Ambessa Medarda, the world outside felt like a far-off dream. Warmth radiated from every corner of the marble-clad bathroom, the glow of soft amber sconces dancing against the stone walls. The scent of sandalwood and spiced vanilla lingered in the air, curling like a lazy ribbon of smoke.

You stood at the threshold, gaze flicking from the large, sunken bath filled with steaming water to the imposing figure at its edge — Ambessa. Her eyes, sharp as ever, tracked your every movement, a predator’s focus softened only by the faintest tug at the corner of her lips. She wore a loose robe of crimson silk that hung lazily off one shoulder, her bronze skin kissed with the glow of the flickering lights. Power and elegance radiated from her in equal measure, her presence filling the room as easily as the rising steam.

“You’re just going to stand there gawking, little one?” she asked, arching a brow. Her voice was smooth but edged with mischief, like velvet draped over steel. “Or do I need to come fetch you myself?”

Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes as you stepped forward. “You like making me squirm, don’t you?”

Her laugh rumbled low in her chest, a sound rich with amusement. “Of course I do,” she admitted, reaching out a hand toward you. “But tonight, I’m feeling indulgent. Come here.”

You took her hand, and in one smooth pull, you were drawn closer, the warmth of her body a stark contrast to the cool air. She tilted her head, gaze softening as she looked you over. Her thumb traced slow, lazy circles over your knuckles.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged, haven’t you?” she murmured, her golden eyes narrowing in quiet scrutiny. “I can see it in the way you carry yourself.”

You shrugged, eyes flitting to the bath behind her. “I’ve been fine. Busy, but fine.”

“Mm,” she hummed doubtfully. Her other hand lifted, two fingers brushing tenderly over your cheek. Her touch was gentle, but there was no mistaking the command in her voice. “No more of that tonight. Undress.”

Your heart skipped, your breath hitching just a fraction. Her gaze held yours, steady and unwavering. It wasn’t a demand—it was a gift, a kindness disguised as command. Slowly, you nodded, fingers fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

Her eyes never left you.

There was no shame in the way she watched. No hunger, no impatience��just a quiet appreciation as if you were a canvas she intended to study every inch of. As you stripped away the last layer, goosebumps raised on your skin from the cool air, but Ambessa’s gaze burned hotter than any flame.

“Beautiful,” she said plainly, like it was a fact of nature rather than a compliment. Her eyes met yours, unwavering. “In every way.”

Heat bloomed again—not embarrassment, but something warmer, deeper. You glanced away, biting back a grin. “You flatter me far too much...”

“Only when the truth demands it,” she replied, her voice rich with sincerity.

With a gesture, she released the knot of her own robe, letting the fabric slip from her shoulders like a silk waterfall. Her body, all carved muscle and sharp elegance, was unashamedly on display. A living monument to strength. She stepped into the bath first, the water rippling around her as she sank to a seated position with a contented sigh. She leaned back, arms stretched out along the edges, her eyes half-lidded with the sort of satisfaction that only comes from absolute control over one’s own world.

“Come,” she said again, her voice softer now but no less firm.

You followed, carefully lowering yourself into the water. It was hotter than expected, but the heat quickly eased into your muscles. A sigh escaped you unbidden, your eyes falling shut for a moment. Warmth curled around every inch of you, like being embraced by sunlight after a storm.

Before you could fully settle, Ambessa’s hands were on you—large, steady hands guiding you to sit between her legs, your back pressed to her chest. Her skin was slick with heat, and her arms wrapped around you with the certainty of a shield.

“Better?” she murmured against the shell of your ear, her breath warm on your skin.

“Much,” you admitted, letting your head fall back against her shoulder. The steady thump of her heartbeat echoed against your spine. For a moment, you let yourself be still. No deadlines. No tasks. Just this. Just her.

Her fingers moved slowly, languidly, dragging through the water to find your arm. She lifted it, her fingers massaging the muscles with care. Firm but gentle. Purposeful. She worked her way from your shoulder down to your fingertips, every knot of tension she found undone with practiced ease.

“You’re always so stubborn,” she muttered, pressing her thumb into a particularly tight spot in your forearm. “Always carrying more weight than you should. It’s a foolish habit.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” you shot back, peeking at her with a raised brow.

Her grin was all teeth. “A fair point,” she allowed, pressing a kiss to the curve of your shoulder. The heat of her lips lingered long after.

She continued her work, lathering sweet-scented oils onto her palms before running them down your arms, over your shoulders, and across your back. The glide of her hands against your skin was slow, deliberate. Each touch was a reminder that you were here, that you were seen. She worked the oil into your scalp next, her fingers threading through your hair, her nails scratching lightly at your scalp. It was intoxicating, the feel of her hands, her presence.

“You’re mine,” she said softly, like an oath. Her lips brushed the side of your temple. “Even if the world takes you away from me for a time, you will always return, hm?”

Her words settled into you, their weight heavier than stone, but not unwelcome. You tilted your head, letting her see the fondness in your eyes. “Always.”

For a while, the two of you stayed like that—your body melting under her ministrations, her strong hands never ceasing their gentle work. The water grew cooler, but the warmth between you never faltered.

When at last she stirred, it was with a soft hum of discontent. “Come, little one. Before the cold finds us.”

Reluctantly, you shifted, letting her rise first. Water streamed off her form in rivulets, and she stepped out of the bath with all the grace of a lioness on the prowl. She grabbed a thick towel from a nearby rack, turning back to you. Her brow raised expectantly.

“Do I have to?” you whined, still soaking in the warmth of the bath.

Her eyes narrowed playfully, but she said nothing. Instead, she held open the towel, arms wide, gaze fixed on you with patience sharpened by affection.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, lifting yourself out of the water. Cool air prickled your skin instantly, but before you could shiver, she wrapped you in the towel, her arms encircling you once more. The scent of her filled your senses—cedar, white musk, and something unmistakably her.

She rubbed the towel over you with slow, deliberate movements, drying every inch of you with care. Her lips pressed light kisses to the crown of your head, to your cheek, to the soft space just behind your ear. You melted anew, every ounce of tension gone.

When she was satisfied, she draped a second towel over your shoulders, like a queen bestowing a royal mantle. Her gaze swept over you with approval, her hands resting on your waist.

“You are mine, little one,” she said again, leaning down until her forehead touched yours. Her eyes locked with yours, golden and fierce. “And I take care of what is mine.”

Her lips met yours—not with hunger, but with certainty. A claiming kiss. A promise.

And in the quiet glow of that room, the world outside ceased to matter.

The weight of everything could wait.

You were hers.

A/N: I know this is kinda short, but I hope it wasn’t too bad. It was a kinda-in-the-moment-but-I-need-that type of mood.

[rinnstars]

4 walls!

in which itoshi rin builds a wall between him and the world and youre the only one with the key

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, drabble + not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated

to the world, itoshi rin is somehow cold, emotionless, unaffected - the way his face is fixed in the dead-panned face as though carved into it by a sculpture, the way he doesnt bother responding or dignifying jabs or comments as he walks past the desks, the way his eyes linger on only his goals over the people that surrounds him. to his first football club, he is nothing short of a disappointment, always compared to his genius of a brotehr, nothing short of dull, always hiding his report cards whenever exam season arrives, nothing short of cold, his mouth barely spoke a word during his stay there. to his classmates, he is just an average joe - just another classmate not focused in class, too busy focusing on his dream world wrapped in the football magazines he has stacked underneath his table, just another guy, albeit way more quiet and responsive than most students, just another mediocre and average student, with grades that just passed the mark to move on to the next and with abysmal club attendance.

yet, to him, he knows he is the opposite of all the things they say - he knows he’s rather soft hearted, a cry-baby at the slightest tone change, he’s rather insecure, each comparison to his brother only digs the knife slotted against his heart deeper into the already gory mess of an organ it has become over the years, he’s rather passionate, driving him to continue persevering against all odds, against his own belief and reality, against his own blood. but he rather it stays that way - maybe its better to not let them see the real him, to not let them too be disappointed at the real reflection that stares back at him in the dirty mirror, to not hurt himself more by giving them the full him.

and so he builds a wall. he builds a wall made of bricks and stones, block by block until he is trapped in his own making, until he no longer can get hurt or even see the outside world outside of the house he has essentially trapped himself in, until he wont get hurt anymore - not by his club members, not by his classmates, not by his brother. and he tries to convince himself, he likes it better this way - without others, there wont be another sae - he wont have to witness his own heart ripped out and thrown on the grassy patch of field another time, he wont have to go through nights of sobbing uncontrollably that leaves his pillow gross and wet by the time morning rolls around, he wont have to feel as though he lost a loved one to death as he occasionally open his drawer that features a photobook of him and his brother still grinning without a care in the world without knowing what would have happened next with dried tears stains that dirty those photographs.

and yet, its with you, rin thinks his walls are entirely down. to him, youre the key to the complicated lock in his heart that he without a doubt passes to you. you’ve always been beside him, even when his eyes were fixated on sae that has always been in front of him - beside him in class where you two slacked at the back of class playing your phone and him reading soccer magazine underneath the table as you two occasionally bicker whilst laughing, beside him on his bed right on top of the messy blankets he knows you dont mind with his arms around you like its second nature to him, beside him on that bus whether to and fro school or even to his training facility that takes practically hours to get to as you drool on his uniform that he doesn’t have the heart to let you know even after all these years.

you’re the bright star and sun that melts away his icy cold castles and mountains of walls as though they were nothing, rin thinks. the way you beam at him whenever you see him right at the bus stop, waving your hands excitedly as your footsteps springs towards him and he feels like he’s in those cliche romance mangas you talk about, almost seeing those cherry blossom trees and hearing that love song that repeats in his head whenever youre oh so close to him. the way you listen to him, nodding along even though half of what he’s saying are nonsense word jumbles practically sews and patches his broken heart back, warming his once ice cold atmosphere. the way you do things — passing him those sugary sweet candies that tastes just like you, letting him copy off your homework while you both laugh quietly at the back of class makes him wish this could last forever, the way your hands so gently combs through his emerald hair makes him melt into a lovesick puddle right in your hands as he looks at your eyes that he swears the whole galaxy is inside it.

and maybe youre like those hero’s and magicians he’s watched in those cartoons when he was a little kid, you must be. so enchanting: how you manage to coax him out of his room time and time again to go to wherever you want, hell rin thinks he would even go to the very end of the world if you simply asked. youre like the fire element to his ice element in those stupid games, the sun and the moon from those posts he reads about your favourite love mangas to catch up to you, the golden retriever and the black cat trope he hears you rave about, the “lalala” and “okokok” tiktok trend and everything under the sun. if youre not a secret extraterrestrial creature that he bets you are, the equivalent to his new found destroyer ego to make a team together to destroy the earth or something like that he jokes, maybe just maybe you two were destined by fate.

in another life, you would be the witch to find an abandoned familiar he thinks - warming and melting his icy exterior with both your warmth you exude and too the hot soup you always cook for him whenever he’s running a cold. in another life, you would have been the hero to have helped him out of whatever villainous organisation he finds himself trapped in in his rage and fear with your warmth and that bright cheshire grin of yours anytime. in another life, you would have been the bright and well-liked royal of the castle who finds him, a lonesome and attempting knight and make him yours he thinks. he’s sure of it — where yours and his constellations are always beside each other, where your palm fits perfectly with his like two puzzle pieces merged together, where yours and his heart and ribs and guts are shared together.

so for now, rin will sit here right beside you, enjoying the warmth you exude as he places his head right on your shoulder, smiling at your yelp at surprise and attempts to push him off back to his side of the bed: youre the only one he would let in to see the raw him, and he hopes he’s the same to you too, the one you can truly always shine the brightest with.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lost In Paradise

Azriel x reader

a/n: I don’t know what the fuck overcame me when writing this—heads up they’re in the Day Court, by the way

Warnings: dear gods Azriel, Azriel in jewellery—diamond piercings to be precise, with kohl lined/smudged eyes, biting, oral (f receiving), smut, overstim, Azzie being a bit mischievous—implied orgasm denial, light wing play, light breeding kink

word count: 3,009

“We have a dinner to go to, Az,” you insist, inclining your chin as he noses along your throat, broad palms running slowly, reverently, up and down the bare skin of your back. Calloused and scarred hands rasping against the smooth, shimmery expanse of your skin, fingers touching along the knuckles of your spine.

“You’re a three course meal all on your own, pretty thing,” he murmurs beside the shell of your ear, gripping your waist lightly, letting his touch span across the sheer silk of your dress, marvelling at your feel, your shape beneath his hands—how finely you fit with him. 

Your pulse spikes at the flattery, heart beating quick in your chest, head tipping back as his lips press firmly to the small notch in your throat, kissing down to your collar bones, keeping you tight to his front, grip firm and unrelenting. “We’re guests,” you try faintly, already lost in his heaven, “it would be bad etiquette to not show up to the first meal—Az…!”

In one smooth motion he’s swept you off your feet, guiding your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips while his palms appreciatively support your ass. “Bad etiquette would be not eating you out before I fuck you,” he drawls atop your mouth, a cocky smirk on his softened lips, staring down at you with his kohl-smudged eyes, diamonds swinging from his ears, the gold fastenings gleaming in the burning yellow sunset, setting the ocean on fire with molten metal as the sun melts atop the glistening waves. 

“Bad etiquette would be wasting a perfectly romantic evening for the sake of one measly dinner that we aren’t even required to attend,” he murmurs, that smug, self-satisfied look in his shining hazel eyes, flecks of amber and jade set alight through the refraction of the setting sun. Gleaming and swirling like they’re precious stones infinitely more valuable than even the tiny, glittering diamonds making up the jewellery adorning his marvellously handsome features. 

“You look good in Day Court attire,” you mumble breathlessly, clinging onto him as he walks you out onto the balcony, laying you down atop the pillowy, padded massage table, creamy fabric turned a perfectly-baked, golden-brown in the evening light, fitted over the cushions.

“You like how much skin it shows,” he drawls, palms settling either side of you, your hair splayed out from where he’s set you, strewn in lustrous glory against the pillow. “You like how easy it is to manoeuvre around.” 

Sure enough, with the soaring temperatures during a sun-filled day, with heat beating down upon the marble-carved pillars, the attire is perfectly suited for the arid climate. Clothing comes in light colours—mostly cream or off-white—and it contrasts the colour of his skin perfectly. The flush on his cheeks despite the cocky look highlights the hunger delightfully. And thanks to the opulent nature of the Court itself, it gives reason for your mate to wear some of the piercings he rarely adorns himself in for the sake of practicality. The ones you love—his ears the main focus, but with wandering hands your fingers clutch the hem of pale, heated linen, raising it from his toned stomach to reveal the incredibly self-indulgent piercing he’d gotten for his belly button, white diamonds set around the narrow golden band. 

“Gods you’re edible,” you pant, the shallow breaths having little to do with the heated evening and more to do with the hot and hungry look he’s pinning you with as he pulls the troublesome shirt off and over his head. His wings flexing and flaring now they’re rid of the fabric brushing the base of the great limbs. Showing off his well-endowed magnificence, as he should.

“Feel better about skipping that dinner now, pretty thing?” Azriel asks roughly, fingers catching the hem of your dress and swiftly pulling it out from under you, pushing it away further along the pale, padded table. “Maybe you had a point about my bad etiquette,” he drawls hotly, open palm coasting up your stomach, fingers grazing between your breasts. He leans over, dark silky hair flopping across your brow, kohl-rimmed eyes making the hazel of his irises simmer with the ravenous intensity of the setting sun, setting you ablaze. “I’ll be eating first.” 

“How brash,” you breathe, fingers dancing up the bare muscle of his upper arms, nails squeezing lightly at his shoulders, raking teasingly over his gloriously powerful back. He begins laying kisses to your collar bones, teeth nipping at your shimmering skin—you’d spent some time refreshing and making use of the scented, swirling lotions available—slowly trailing down between your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples teasingly. “Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?” 

“How can I resist when there’s such a beautiful meal before me? Taste is important but it’s more than that, wouldn’t you say?” Fingers hook beneath the golden strings at your hips, guiding them down your thighs as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your stomach. “I need to appreciate all of you. Not just with my mouth, but with my skin, and touch. How can I enjoy you without indulging all my senses?”

“All of them?” You question, back arching as he reaches your abdomen, fingers threading through his hair to encourage him closer. 

Azriel laughs, the sound coming from deep in his chest, splashing over your skin like melted butter and honey, bathing you in arousing sweetness. “All of them,” he whispers. 

“Sight.” Dark rimmed eyes flick upwards, licking over your form as he connects with you, lashes thick and heavy atop his gaze—equally heavy. 

“Smell.” He noses the intimate skin of your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs to make room for himself, your ass resting just at the edge of the cushioned table.

“Touch.” Fingers slip between your parted thighs, trailing up and down your centre, slicking himself in your wetness. Circling your clit twice before dipping back down. 

“Sound.” His thick digits slide in, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he curls them causing your back to arch, beckoning you forward, a heady moan spilling from your mouth as he pushes deeper, rubbing against spots he knows you like. 

“Would you like to tell me the fifth one?” Azriel drawls, dangerously low, arousal thickening his tone to something dark and syrupy. 

“Taste…” You breathe desperately. “Taste…Azriel!” 

“Good girl.” His lips curve in a sinful grin, diamonds twinkling their mirth as he lowers himself to your cunt. “You’ve earned it.” 

A rich, heady moan spills from your mouth as his tongue flattens over your clit, fingers working you with heavenly ease while his mouth remains at the apex of your thighs. It’s nothing short of paradise, floating high above in the clouds, nestled in a pillowy cushion as he bathes you in pleasure, rubbing it into you in ways that shouldn’t be permitted—how can something so good exist on this plane of reality?

Your head tips back into the cushioning, moans rising from your chest unabashedly, singing your pleasure with every curl of his fingers, every lovely flick of his tongue. The high approaches far faster than you ever would have expected, spine arching, grinding down on his mouth, hips swirling as he suckles at your clit, able to feel the impending high as your muscles brace for the powerful onslaught. 

You cry out as you come, nails raking through his hair, his wings flaring with male satisfaction as you orgasm, feeling you tighten and flutter around his thick fingers, clit pulsing as pleasure rapidly fires through your body, racing up and throughout your skin, spreading right to your fingertips. Your mouth opens as sound fails you, eyes squeezing shut, Azriel’s rough palms gripping your hips tight as you begin to squirm and writhe, seeking to crawl away from the pleasure—but he likes seeing you like this, and won’t allow it to end anywhere near prematurely. 

His forearm bands across your hips, pinning them down as you try to buck upward, forcing you through the aftershocks that have your body trembling, strength draining, leaving you powerless to resist his dominating touch. Azriel’s relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure, keeping his fingers tucked inside of you, keeping the pace, keeping his tongue swirling around your hardened clit, dragging it between his lips when he feels you coming down and teasingly tugging on it with his teeth.

A lovely whimper graces his ears, mouth parting into a wicked grin as you muster the strength to look down at him, your legs spread with slick gleaming on his lips, threading between your inner thighs where he’s gotten you especially messy. 

“Ready for the main course?” He drawls, your nipples peaking at the rough, rolling timbre of his voice, skin prickling as awareness sweeps through you. “Main course?” You pant, already falling out of it, unable to grasp what he’s referring to with that wicked smile as he stands, wings looming over his shoulders. Shadows pull the band of his loose, pale linen trousers from their already low placement on his hips, allowing his hands to settle either side of your waist as he presses flush to your messy heat. 

“Both of us,” he whispers, leaning down atop your mouth, “together?”

You think your eyes roll slightly at the reminder, nails threading through his inky hair as you pull him into a hot kiss, thighs wrapping snugly around his hips. His cock rests hot and heavy against your cunt, slowly riding back and forth to coat himself thoroughly, before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Go slowly,” you beg, clutching onto him with anticipation—you’re far to sensitive for any of his rough treatment. But he smirks over your lips, hips drawing back so his tip drags down over your hardened clit, his leaking cock nudging the entrance of your drooling cunt, messy and sloppy from previous attention—about to be made much messier. 

“Go slowly?” He muses, a low laugh in his voice that makes your skin prickle, hairs standing on end. “You’re perfectly warmed up, aren’t you? All ready and pliable, huh? What could you possibly want me to go slowly for?” You flush deeply, hands twining together over his broad shoulders, trying to push as much sternness into your gaze as you can manage—which isn’t much, judging by the way he chuckles. 

“Is my girl too sensitive?” 

That smirk. That sinful fucking smirk. 

“Whatever you do to me I’ll be delivering right back,” you warn, thighs squeezing his hips. “I’m getting you in my mouth after this, remember…” 

“How could I forget?” He groans, hips pushing forward. “Gonna taste both of us.” 

A pleased moan sighs from your lips as he fills you up, gripping one leg to bring it up his chest—the underside of your thigh pressing to his lower stomach as he pushes tight against you. Azriel’s gaze is nothing short of ravenous as he takes in the arch of your spine as his palm splays across your abdomen, applying a slight pressure to really get you to feel him. 

“Like that?” He asks, short on breath. Mouth curved in that smug grin. So self-satisfied. “Look at you,” he coos, shifting his hips, dragging them back so his head is again at your entrance, before pushing his cock all the way back inside. “So hot and flushed. All of this for me?” His thumb swipes across your clit, and you moan helplessly, tossing your head to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, nails scraping over the cushioning. 

Before you can formulate a reply he’s setting his pace, giving deep, almost punishing thrusts of his hips that roll firmly to your own. Sharp and decisive, just as you like, spine arching with every buck. 

“Can you even count to three right now?” He taunts, shadows swirling over your breasts, teasingly playing with your nipples, curling around them and tugging lightly. You try to shoot him a glare—that side of him has been coming out more frequently as of late, and you really don’t want to deal with his mean streak right now. Not on such a perfectly set up evening for romance and intimacy. 

So you extend your arms toward him, fingers opening and closing as if to grasp onto him. “Azriel…” you moan, reaching. His hips buck sharply of their own accord, swearing you could feel him twitch from pleasure—he might enjoy being mean from time to time, but it’s all for getting you nice and needy. He’s an undeniable soft spot for your desperation. Like putty in your hands once you reach for him, your toes curling from pleasure.  

“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath, driving his cock firmly into you as his palms splay either side of you, letting you touch and feel all over him, practically shivering with the greed in your fingers as they explore and grope. “Such a sweet little thing to everyone else, aren’t you? Such a wicked little devil when you’re with me.” 

Teeth tug on your lower lip as you try to keep your smile to yourself, but you fail miserably, smiling wide as your head tips back into the pillow, relishing the pleasure. “Wicked devil?” You moan out, forcing yourself to meet simmering hazel, heat sizzling just beneath your skin, clit itching for release as his abdomen grazes the apex of your thighs. 

“Like this?” 

A startled noise slips from his lips as you reach further over his shoulders, stroking his wings slowly. Teasing out his pleasure to have him playing nice with yours. His forehead drops to your own, brows pressing together, close enough to share panting breaths, your breasts grazing his chest with each heaving inhale. 

His lips part on an unabashed groan that licks up your spine, pooling between your legs at his deep confessions to pleasure, repeating the slow strokes to his wings. 

“Like that,” he confirms, jaw wound tight as he tries to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of stimulation. Hazel eyes warily open, a sharp glint in them as his instincts snarl and grapple with reasoning, but you want him to yield to them, not fight them. 

It seems he gets the message. 

Azriel’s palms snatch at your wrists, slamming them down on the cushioned table to keep you pinned, forcing you to take every brutal buck of his hips and you can feel as both of you swoop for that high that’s rising. His wings flare wide, their total span easily twice his height, casting a dark, dominating shadow that you know is an instinctive show of possession. 

Shadows wrap beneath the arch of your spine, clutching your hips to raise them from the table, and the angle has you going dizzy. Moans spill and babble as he pounds into you, grip remaining tight on your wrists to keep them trapped, driving in and out relentlessly until you think you might have screamed from overstimulation, panting and out of breath when you return to reality beneath him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your skin, teeth scraping the tender length of your throat, searching for a spot to choose, to bite down on. He picks a section, pushing his teeth in, licking and sucking to push a feverish kiss into your skin, only pulling away once he’s satisfied. 

“Az,” you whine, cupping his cheeks in your hands, squeezing lightly as you arch into him. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” His hand wraps around your wrist, nosing the centre of your palm, pressing a kiss to its heel, delivering a small lick that zaps straight to your clit. His hips pull away, then push back in, able to feel as his cum begins seeping out of you. “You’ve hardly taken any of it, pretty thing. You need to be full up before moving onto me. Can’t have you going on empty, hm?” 

“Azriel!” You yelp as he rolls his hips to yours more firmly, bucking against you with enough force to nudge you further up the table. “That isn’t fair,” you squawk indignantly.

“My sweet little devil’s going to tell me what’s fair now, is she?” 

His lips curve into that smirk, and your willpower crumbles, legs wrapping themselves tighter around his waist to press him deeper. Azriel’s subsequent laugh reignites arousal in the pit of your stomach, tightening around his cock, urging him to follow through with his taunts. “Do it,” you whisper, “hurry up.” 

“You wanted me to go slowly earlier. I said you needed to be filled up, not that you needed to come.” 

“Azriel!” You gasp when he pulls out entirely, flipping you onto your front so you’re bent over for him, arms forcefully dragged behind your back to give him full control. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to me,” he muses, lining himself up. “But the evening’s too good to waste, don’t you agree? It would be a shame to have it over and done with so quickly.” 

“And you called me the devil,” you mumble into the cushioning, squirming lightly beneath him to feel the unrelenting strength of his grip. “You’re going to cry when I get my mouth on you.” 

He chuckles again, shackling your forearms to the base of your spine with his shadows, rough palms easily gripping your hips. “It’s adorable you think you’re going to make it through that far. We both know you’ve never managed.” 

Azriel leans over you, cock slowly sliding in as he settles at your back. You can feel his lips against your ear, breath fanning the sensitive expanse of your neck. “I’d tell you to hold on tight, princess, but you can’t even manage that most nights. So tonight all you need to do is lie still, and take it.” 

His palm slides beneath your jaw, raising you from the cushioning, a mocking note to his deep and honeyed voice. “How does that sound?” 

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[talesofesther]

something like love

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aemond finds a gentle love with you.

A/N: Let me know if you want to see more of Aemond here. :)

Masterlist

The feeling of a spring air still lingered in the garden, even if it was already the beginning of fall. A few flowers still bloomed, the trees still had green leaves that danced slowly with the wind.

It was a peaceful place, removed from the weight that lingered inside the walls of The Red Keep. As Aemond lazily walked the overgrown stone path, he decided he quite enjoyed the quiet.

He rubbed at the skin of his palm with his other thumb, his eye scanning the surroundings, searching. He's not sure why he volunteered to come, if he was simply looking for an excuse to get away for a moment, or something else.

You usually liked to hide away in the gardens. "It's beautiful and calm there." Aemond heard you telling Helaena the other day, as he'd been selfishly taken a liking to observe you more lately.

It was your fault, really. For having a voice that wasn't sharp to his ears and for looking at him as if the painful reminder of his past hadn't been forever carved onto his skin, as if he was still worthy of a pretty lady's attention.

It was farfetched to think he could ever gain your affection, Aemond knew this. Yet it didn't stop his heart from wishing, and he also knew, that if anyone were to give him a sweet demise, it would be you.

He found you after rounding a corner hidden away by a big willow tree that had its trunk crooked and bent in a weird way, as it had made its way around other trees to reach sunlight. You sat on the grass, tucked away in a secluded nook, and weaving together small flowers until they haphazardly formed a crown. Flowers bloomed in the bushes around you and it was as if nature itself bent its rules to match your beauty. There was a delicacy about you that was foreign to Aemond's world and he worried he was becoming addicted to it.

The way the prince's heart leaped in his chest was instant, his hands grew clammy, and he felt a prickling need to turn around and rush back to the castle; for he was suddenly a thorn in your field of flowers. He hesitated, feet unmoving while he watched you from afar.

It couldn't be. Aemond's lips hung open, mouth dry. He was nervous.

He'd never been alone with you before.

The wind carried your perfume to him, and eventually, your gaze. Your eyebrows raised softly in surprise upon catching him just standing there, watching you, with arms limp beside his body and hands closed in loose fists.

Aemond felt his cheeks warming up, his heart now beating faster in a manner he was all too used to. His mind raced when thinking of how pathetic he must look, like a scared boy cowering from a pretty girl, what must you think of him-

"My prince," you spoke, bringing him away from the darkest places of his mind, voice as sweet as the small smile you had on your lips; for him. You lay the flower crown you held in your hands back in the grass where it came from. "You've found me."

Aemond had trouble shaking the feeling that you seemed pleased to see him. It was almost as if you'd hoped he'd come find you. He cleared his throat, avoiding his eye from yours with the guise of bowing his head in a cordial nod. "My lady," he began, internally wincing when his voice came out just a little too breathless, "I've come to escort you back inside, dinner should be ready shortly."

Your smile shifted into a smirk that Aemond had trouble reading, there was an alluring glint to your eyes that called him in. "Oh, how kind of you."

He took the final steps to close the distance between you, mindful to avoid stepping on the pale pink flowers you seemed to like so much. He offered you his hand, yet worried, even if in the back of his mind, whether you'd actually take it or not.

You didn't hesitate for a moment before placing your palm in his, allowing his fingers to close around yours and pull you up effortlessly. Your hand lingered in his for just a moment, before you let go to brush off any grass that had stuck to your clothes.

When you looked back up at Aemond again, your stomach filled with the familiar feeling of butterflies and your heart swelled with the hints of affection you'd inevitably developed for him; for the way his eye softened with only a small ring of color around his blown pupil, for the way his long hair fell over relaxed shoulders and framed his handsome face, for the way his lips tilted just a tad up into a smile, features soft and free of any burden. Whether he realized it or not, Aemond seemed to let down his armor around you, if even a little.

You both walked the stone path that led back to the castle at a slow pace, side by side with your shoulders occasionally brushing against each other. A mutual silent understanding between you that neither you nor him were particularly eager for the moment to end.

Despite the time of year, many flowers remained in the grass and in between shrubs. Some of them had a lovely perfume, some of them housed eager bees and butterflies. One in particular caught your eye, however, and you approached it with a spring in your step.

It was a small little thing, with white petals and a yellowish middle; it wouldn't be missed in the big expanse of the garden. With a deft grip, you plucked out the flower. There was a hint of a smile on your lips as you looked at it, twirling the tiny thing between your index finger and thumb.

Aemond had gone quiet but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. He did that a lot, you noticed; looked at you when you weren't looking at him.

With no words, you turned around and extended the small flower to him, the tilt of your head and the sway of your lips spoke enough, a silent; 'for you'.

Aemond concealed his surprise. Or he tried to. He had both hands clasped behind his back, but you could see his shoulders tensing as soon as your attention diverted back to him, as if waiting, expecting something unkind. His eyebrows furrowed softly, pinching together in curious confusion while his good eye drifted between you and the white flower held between your fingers.

He took his time. The soft breeze blowing through the garden made his hair flow, strands of it getting caught in his eyelashes and forcing him to push it behind his ear; you followed the motion with your gaze, wishing to be the one who brushed his hair and whispered comfort into his skin. You'd wait, for as long as he needed to understand you were not one of the unkind ones.

Delicate.

His touch was as delicate as the flower. With the same hand with which he wielded swords and commanded a dragon, he reached for yours. His fingers grazed yours when he took the flower from you, and he did so slowly, bordering on hesitant, as if the white petals would wither and die by his touch.

Part of you didn't expect his delicacy. Part of you has always known he was nothing but delicate. Not as fragile or weak as the white flower, no. But delicate, soft, something to be handled with care. Beneath the rough facade, hid a gentle heart after all.

Your smile widened when his own lips twitched upwards as he gazed down at the flower in his hand like it was the most precious gift he'd ever held. His other hand came up, fingertips grazing the white petals as if to confirm they were real. There was a soft pink hue to his cheeks, his eye shining with something foreign to you, yet that you already adored. You felt privileged. No one knew this Aemond but you.

When he finally looked up at you again, there was a newfound vulnerability to his gaze, his features, all of him. His lips hovered but no words came out, he blinked once, twice, and took a step toward you.

You understood the words stuck in his throat. Gratitude. Gratitude for loving him.

With more boldness than rational thought, you stood on your tip toes and lay a chaste yet lingering kiss on the corner of his lips. And Aemond leaned into you once you pulled away, chasing after your touch.

It was your turn to feel your cheeks heating up, as you raised an arm and hooked it around one of his own, tugging him along the overgrown path of the garden.

For a cherished moment, peace reigned. Aemond pulled you closer.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[coweye]

Just Logan

The worst Logan part ii

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 10k words

Summary: You return from the void ready to navigate your new reality with the not-quite-love-of-your life. Second Part to worst Logan.

Warning: Mentions of drugs, Canon Typical Violence, gratuitous Laura paternal love. smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, assplay mentioned.

AN: Fair warning my loves - this hasn’t been proof read… unless you’re reading this after the 26th August! I’m currently posting this on my phone at an airport 💖 I love you all so much and can’t express how much your love for my stories has meant to me!

Achilles once said “I would recognize you in total darkness, were you mute and I deaf. I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. and I would love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion."

For seven excruciating years you’d been without him. 

Eventually, time had dulled the ache, made it so you forgot what it was to have another hold you through the night, to make you feel safe and loved. Love was like a drug; one you had unknowingly spent the past half a decade weaning yourself from.

Then he appeared; ‘The worst Logan’ as Wade had not-so-affectionately dubbed him, and in one fell swoop undid years of hard work. He came and reminded you just how fucking good drugs were - that motherfucker was class-A narcotics and he was addictive as hell.

By mid morning you were already desperate for another hit, your eyes searching for him around every corner.  Part of you was afraid you had gotten him all wrong, that perhaps you didn’t know this man as well as you thought you did. Though at the last second Logan had shown up, unfolding him from the boot of the Honda and joining the fray, every inch the hero he insisted he wasn’t. 

You and Laura sliced a path through your enemies, side by side, the two of you moved in perfect synchronisation. In the years since his death, she had taken Logan’s position in your formation, and now the two of you fought together as naturally as breathing. 

Logan couldn’t help but watch the two of you together for a moment, though after a knife to the ribs as reward for his lack of awareness, he shakes his head free from the indulgence of his ready-made-family and returns to the task at hand, carving his way through the enemy to get to Cassandra. 

 It had been a hard-won battle, though Laura had been extraordinary. You, yourself had been outmatched with the Juggernaut, only in a position to bend the light keeping yourself from sight as you inflicted shallow cuts with your blades along his arms and torso creating confusion and pain that allowed Laura to find her openings.

Your girl sliced through his Achilles bringing him to his knees before she ended his life with four claws through his chest. 

In your eyes, as she stared down Goliath her soft features melted into a renaissance painting. A woman in her own right, overflowing with untold power, those shades making her look every inch the badass motherfucker you knew she was.

You can’t help your untimely realisation that your daughter has grown into a formidable woman as you propel her through the air with bubbles of psionic energy to deliver the helmet to her not-quite-father and Wade.   

The brief moment of triumph as you overcome Cassandra’s men is followed in quick succession by the sobering loss of Logan for a second time, as he leaps through the golden shimmering portal.

It had been the plan all along, and yet you couldn’t quite account for the stone in your stomach weighing you down at the realisation he is gone yet again.

Laura’s deep brown eyes, all too often full of difficult emotions, are hidden behind the colourful sunglasses, though you can tell from the fall in her shoulders that your girl feels the same grief. She had held out childlike hope that the two of you would stay with him despite his earlier brush off and you are far too ashamed to admit you had been harbouring similar hopes.

To have gotten him back for a single day only to lose him again, for you it is painful. For her, it must be torment.

So, you put a pin in your pain for now. Loss is an old friend, one that will no doubt visit in the dead of night when sleep inevitably evades you, but Laura needs you.

Swallowing your grief deep down, you begin by tucking her wild dark hair back behind her ears and with the bone of your knuckle you wipe an errant splatter of blood from her brow.

Around you, your team bask in the defeat of Cassandra and her people, yet the two of you mourn losing yet another Logan.

“The time we had with him was a gift.” You whisper to her. The second you touch her palm with your finger tips; her claws instantaneously retract. You interlock your fingers with her own bloodied ones. 

For a moment the two of you stand together like this, coming to terms with the loss. It doesn’t destroy you the same way North Dakota had, but it has certainly taken the air from your lungs. 

“What now?” Laura asks, burying her emotions, more like Logan than you care to admit.  

“Now we find a way to get back home, Cassandra’s not hunting us anymore, maybe we can-“

“Miss Y/LN, Miss- “At the sound of an unfamiliar voice your head whips round and you are armed with a knife before you even make the decision and from the telltale ‘snikt’ behind you so is Laura.

 “Holster your weapons.” The agent shouts as the group of forgotten heroes turn their gaze on the TVA squad who have appeared from the orange glowing doorway. “You have been offered a pardon on order of the time variance authority - please come with us.”

 Laura steps forward, though you place a steady hand on her shoulder stopping her in her tracks. “The last time we trusted you people, we ended up in this dump.” You shout across the gulf that the agents have left between you. 

When has anything in life been this easy?

 “Mr Howlett and Mr Wilson saved the multiverse. All they have asked in return is for a second chance for the people who helped them do it.”

Whilst remaining utterly compelling it still feels far too good to be true. You look at your daughter; she pushes her sunglasses to the top of her head and nods once. She’s not a little girl anymore and she wants to go through the damn doorway.  With little in the way of options you decide with a deep sigh to be an optimist, which is how you end up in Wade Wilson’s apartment.

Five people (six if you include Dogpool) living in a two-bedroom apartment was …  to put it lightly, snug. Wade being the secret gentleman he was, offered up his room to you and Laura.

Nights he didn’t spend at Vanessa’s were spent sharing a bed with Al, much to her delight, which left Logan sleeping on the couch.

Logan: This Logan was nothing short of an enigma to you. 

The two of you had been friendly, smiling and laughing, sitting together at the party Wade had thrown to celebrate saving the universe.

It felt good, easy even to joke with him and Laura. You had felt like a real family as you sandwiched the young girl between the two of you, taking it in turns to make her laugh.

When she had abandoned the two of you to talk with Yukio and Ellie,  you had fallen into comfortable companionable silence. The simple fact of the matter was that you didn’t have much in the way of small talk, all of your talk was massive talk. A mountain you’d soon have to overcome, but neither of you wanted to break the spell.

So, you simply enjoyed each other’s company and when your knee knocked against his under the table, you didn’t bother pulling back. Instead, when he didn’t immediately recoil, you left it there pressed against the warm muscle. 

This casual touching was new to both of you and you were drunk on it, occasionally you’d brush his plaid covered bicep as you leaned across to stroke the monstrosity that was Mary Poppins or you’d brush your fingers against his with a smile when you handed him a fresh beer.  

It’s fair to say, you are both black belts at emotional avoidance. 

Her abandoned airbed, more electrical tape than plastic at this point, lies deflated in the corner of the bedroom, dual holes from slender claws having led to its untimely end.

With a sigh you rise, stretching your aching back. 

Wincing as it cracks from contorting on the edge of the double mattress- even in the goddamned void, you’d had more personal space than this.

Sparing a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, you see it’s 6:23am. In a vain hope you just listen to the sounds of the quiet apartment, no one else has awoken yet. You sigh with relief, desperate for some alone time, after living for a week with everyone underfoot. 

Closing the bedroom door behind you as silently as possible, you tiptoe with bare feet with the honest intention of going to the kitchen for some coffee.

Only you’re sidetracked by the man sprawled across the sofa looking like he was carved from goddamn marble.

The blanket is wrapped around his plentiful jean covered thighs as his bare size twelves extend comically over the arm of the sofa. Logan’s thick, veined and extremely bare arm hangs off of the leather cushion, whilst the other clutches a pillow under his head. Logan is wearing a white vest that leaves very little to the imagination, so much so you’re unable to help the flashback of stroking the abs you know linger below the almost transparent white cotton. You’re unsure how long you stand there, but it can’t be more than 30-seconds before his eyes wearily blink open, startling you.

“Paint a picture, it’ll last longer, Bub.” When he speaks, his voice is even thicker than usual with sleep, it’s like honey on gravel and it makes your skin tingle.

“Uh-” You’re lost for words after being caught ogling the sleeping man. All you can do is a quick apology as you carry on through to the kitchen.

When you’re safe from view, you slap palm to your forehead - Why? Why couldn’t you for once in your life just be smooth? 

The second you're out from under his searing gaze a million infinitely suaver responses flood your mind. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ ‘Don’t tempt me.’ 

You’re nearly (Y/A+7 years) old, not the idiot girl that pined after the unattainable bad boy of the mansion. For the love of all that’s holy; two different versions of that man have been inside of you, and you ran away!

You’re pacing in front of the fridge when you hear his body slide against the leather of the couch. Honestly, you’re praying for the void to swallow you back up as you try to act casual, filling the coffee machine with water.

 “Mornin’.”

“Good Morning, Logan.” You reply though you can’t quite meet his eyes as you flick the switch for the drip to begin. 

“Back on the couch - Eh, I was just kiddin’ around, Bub.” He scratches his neck awkwardly.

“Oh. I, uh, I know.” You reply, finally meeting his eyes. Those hazel eyes stop you in your tracks as they scan your face for any trace of emotion. He’s as out of his depth as you are, and that thought alone calms you. “I’m sorry, If i’ve been strange the past few days… I thought…I just assumed I would never make it out of the void and I was there for months and uh-”

“Bub… y/n... I don’t hold you to what happened that night.”

“What?” You narrow your brows in confusion, you were only going to talk about the uncomfortable adjustment period to regular life.  

“You were vulnerable, I look like your guy. I get it.” His voice is still deep and he’s trying to be so understanding and noble, you can’t help as you reach out and grab his bare wrist, your forefinger can't even meet your thumb as you hold onto his thick warm flesh.

“Logan, no that’s not what I meant at all. I-” 

“-Mornin’ love birds! Don’t let me stop ya’ from takin’ care of that mornin’ wood, just getting some delicious nectar of the gods.” Wade comes from the bedroom wearing Al’s lilac dressing gown and what looks suspiciously like the older woman’s pyjamas, riding far too high up his shins to be his own for the much taller man. Wade leans against the counter next to you and the coffee machine, burying himself in the neck of the dressing gown and looking pointedly at your hand around Logan’s wrist and whispers. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“God give me strength, Wade.”  Somewhere along the way, Logan’s rage with the mouth has dampened to the point there’s no real threat behind the warning.

As there’s probably about a few teaspoons of coffee in the machine, every fresh drop plinks against the glass jug only enhancing the newfound silence in the kitchen.

“Good Morning, Wade.” You sigh finally, rubbing your thumb against the hair covered flesh of Logan’s wrist in a promise as you try to use your eyes to communicate; we will discuss this. 

“Honestly, I’m not even here. Just go back to staring longingly at each other, talk amongst yourselves.”

“Fu-” Logan starts, his nose flaring at the man beside you, his finite patience already slipping.  

“Incoming.” Wade sings-song lowly, as he drops his head onto your shoulder.

“What are we all doing in the kitchen?” Laura asks through a yawn, her bed head innately ridiculous standing up on all sides - probably from a night spent tossing and turning, kneeing you in the spine. When Logan tears his wrist away from your hand it stings a little, but you understand, the last thing Laura needs in her life is more confusion.

“There’s a line for the coffee, kiddo.” Logan gives her a look that's somewhere between a smile and a grimace. The man’s sharp edges were slowly being worn away again and he was really trying with his daughter, though a tiny growl leaves the young woman at his words.

“She’s not a morning person.” Is the only answer you have for him when he looks your way both confused and quite frankly a little frightened as your daughter takes the first cup of coffee and returns to her room slamming the door behind her with her foot.  

“Teenagers, huh? Whatcha’ gonna’ do with them?” Wade sighs, still leaning his head on your shoulder having made no effort to stop the queue jumper.

Logan gives Wade a meaningful look and tilts his head towards the door, which the man currently invading your personal space bubble continues to ignore. 

There’s something about Wade you can’t find it in yourself to be annoyed by. 

Those years on the run with Charles, Logan and Caliban had been so hopeless, so void of laughter, that the man with the constant jokes puts you at ease, makes your heart feel lighter. Wade makes you smile which has been a rare commodity in recent years.

Perhaps it's the fact he makes the world feel a little lighter that makes you so willing to tolerate the overly familiar head on your shoulder. 

The two men are having a silent conversation, as you stare at the fridge awkwardly.

“I…uh… I think I’ll jump in the shower.” You detangle yourself from Wade and place a meaningful hand on Logan's arm. “Talk later?”

He looks to your hand, and then to your face and simply nods. 

Only, you don’t end up talking later, because after your shower, you return to your bedroom hell bent on getting dressed and heading out into the city for the day to get some distance before you start your new job tomorrow.

That’s when you find Laura twisting her hands and waiting for you. The second you close the door behind you, she stands.

“You alright, bug?” You ask, giving her the opening she so desperately needs. 

“I, um, have some news.” She can barely meet your eyes, a trait you’re sorry to say she’s picked up from you. 

“Yeah?” You prompt, taking her hand in yours.

“I want to join the X-Men.” Your mouth opens involuntarily to reply, but no words can find their way up your throat; you’re irrevocably thrown. 

In the years since the devastation Charles had wrought on the manor, you hadn’t been able to muster the strength to return to West Chester.

“I know, you might not be sold on the idea but I want to use my powers for good, I don’t want to get a normal job - not that the coffee shop isn’t great for you - but I’m-”

“It’s great, Laura.” Your voice sounds wrong even to your ears. “I’ll do my best to get used to being back in the Mansion-”

“No.” You can tell it slips out, she honestly doesn’t mean it to. “I … I, uh, want to join the X-Men, me. I want to go alone.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the deflated sound of your voice, you hadn’t foreseen your daughter breaking up with you when you woke up this morning.

“No, mamá,” She takes your hand in hers, desperate to fix it. “I love you and I can’t ever repay-”

“No, Laura.” You tell her. She looks terrified before you rush to finish. “You don’t ever have to repay me. You are fucking magnificent, so you go be an X-Man. I love you so much.” 

She wraps her arms around your middle, buries her face in your  shoulder and squeezes, she's just as tall as you are now at nineteen years old and fuck if it doesn’t break your goddamn heart.. “If you get yourself hurt with those do gooders, I’ll fucking kill you.”

After dressing and many more tearful hugs as the two of you talk logistics, it's decided she’d be heading over to the mansion in the morning. 

You start work and so does she.

Your heart drops when you hear she’s put off telling you for the past five days, ever since she’d had the offer from Ellie and Yukio at the party. 

Later that evening telling Logan goes, well, about as well as you might expect.

“No.” He growls furiously. “Absolutely, no fuckin’ way.”

“Logan-” You try.

“You agreed to this?” He’s blind to reason as he turns on you. Al and Wade both sit in the living room, having called an ‘urgent family meeting’. 

“I for one think it's a great idea! - not that we haven’t loved having-” One look from Logan does what you had up until this very moment thought impossible and shuts Wade up. 

“Logan, she’s an adult - she wants to join them. We should be supportive.”

“Supportive?!” He’s incredulous as he laughs harshly, voice utterly brimming with condescension when he continues. “You forgettin’ what happened there, huh, bub? You and I are the fuckin’ sole survivors - Last of the class! How's your Storm doing? Your Hank? Your Scott? Oh wait, their all fuckin’ dead!”

Your Logan never spoke to you this way. Never directed that fire within him at you, it's unfair, the comparison, you know this but your brain is misfiring with shock. 

Had your Logan ever truly cared about anything this much when you’d been together in those dark days? Had all the fight truly left him back then? Had the two of you just ended up together out of mere convenience?

When you don’t reply, he just stares your way, his nose flared still utterly furious, at you, your betrayal, at Laura, at this situation he’s not emotionally equipped to deal with. This Logan’s shoulders are squared like he’s preparing to go a few rounds with you and not in a sexy way. 

It's not a situation you’re entirely sure you’ve been in before; you’ve never been his enemy.  So you’re not sure how to approach this cornered animal, ready to swipe out at you in his fear. 

“If I didn’t go to that school, I never would’ve met any of you. I would be back in Y/H/T (your hometown) and I’d be lesser for it.” 

It utterly disarms him, he’d clearly been prepared for harsh words to combat his own.

Pacing like a tiger locked in a cage, he finally sighs rubbing his forehead irritability. Logan turns, grabbing his leather jacket making the doorframe shake as he slams it after himself. 

“I think he’s secretly happy for you, Laura.” Wade’s voice is light and full of sarcasm.

“That went just about as well as to be expected.” Al huffs from her position at her side as she takes Laura’s hand in her own. “I’m sorry, Sweetie. He’ll come round to the idea.”

“Yes, he fucking will.” Seeing your daughter's face crumble as he storms off like a child is apparently your breaking point.

You follow after him, though as you’re a grown adult in charge of her emotions you simply allow the door to close behind you.

“Haha! - She’s gonna beat the shit outta’ him! Its gonna’ be like 454 when she-” You hear Wade cackle as you take off.

It doesn’t take long to find him, you know the man better than you know yourself, though it does certainly help that he’s predictable as shit.

The closest bar to the apartment is where he’s pulled up a stool, his nose flares the second he smells you.

“I mean it this time, I’m not looking for damn company.”

You ignore him, just as you did the time before. 

“Two Corona’s please.”

“I don’t drink that shit.” he huffs. “Corona and a Blue Ribbon.”

It shouldn’t hit you the way it does. 

Just like before, this miniscule insignificant difference, it utterly devastates you.  

A simple fact; his favourite beer. The drink he ordered at every bar he entered without fail - is suddenly, without warning, repulsive to him. 

It just serves to remind you that the man slouched on the bar stool beside you is a complete stranger wearing the face of your dead lover.

Perhaps your Logan drank it simply because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings? 

Had he hated it all along? 

Did he only drink it because you did? 

Maybe the beer is a pertinent metaphor for your entire life.

He only drank the beer because it was there, just like he only fell for you because there was no one better around. 

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, you’re only bought out of your spiral by a bottle being placed down in front of you.

Shaking your head, you will yourself to calm down. After a few centering breaths, Logan is looking your way. 

“Thought you were comin’ to give me a talkin’ to.”

It's funny, in a way, your spiral actually has calmed you, reminded you that this isn’t your Logan. 

He’s a different man with his own set of wounds, trying to navigate this awful situation just like you are. 

“I was going to. You were a dick to her back there.” You sigh, taking a sip of your beer. “Then I remembered everything… everything you’ve lost and I thought maybe I could just cut you some slack this time.”

“That's generous.” He shakes his head, sipping his own beer. “This whole things a fuckin’ mess.”

You can’t help but agree with a nod. 

The two of you sit in silence, which would appear to be the norm these days, you have so much to say to one another, yet you can’t seem to find the words. 

Speaking to him, finding out more of the things that are different about him, terrifies you.

Little do you know, Logan is fighting a similar battle.

He hates the weight of your gaze, how it seems to hold the expectation of the great man you’d lost with every glance, it's a constant reminder how short he falls of the anchor being this world lost. 

“Where am I in your world?” You ask the question you’ve had on your mind since meeting him. He knows almost everything about you, and yet you know so little.

“Dead.” He sighs rubbing at his eyes. “With the rest of them.”

“Did we ever?” He looks your way sharply at this question, then gives a harsh shake of his head. 

It hurts a little to know you were always in the background for him - it's difficult to think of a world where you always loved him from afar, never getting to feel his skin on yours. 

“I mean - you’d have had to pay attention to someone other than her for that to happen, I guess.”

“How the fuck’-” He growls voice filled with a new emotion, one you’re not quite familiar with. Bemusement? Disbelief?  “-has this turned into me being the bad guy for not noticing you?” 

“Eh - you were a real asshole upstairs.” Smirking, you take another sip of your drink. “Question for a question? - Take it in turns?”

“I don’t wanna’ know anythin’ about your world.” He snaps, turning his head back, though you can see him watching you in the mirror beside the booze. 

It's like a countdown, you watch him battle his volatile emotions. 

5, 4, 3 , 2, 1.

“Fine.” He grunts into his beer bottle. “How’d they die?”

That throws you, you’d expected how’d we meet? What happened to Charles? Instead he hits you with that straight out the gate.

“Uh - Charles had started showing signs of a degenerative brain disease. I mean,  he was old, prone to seizures. We were desperate to find a way to control them. We were blind… to the reality of the situation.” You take a sip, resting your forehead on your hand as your eyes ache and threaten to water, this was the first time you’d ever discussed this out loud.. “Then, he had a fucking grand mal … it … it wiped out everyone within a 100,000 foot radius.” 

Unable to help it, you pick at the skin around your thumb. “It was… devastating. He killed them all. All the kids in their classrooms, our friends and family. Not even Jean could stop him.”

“He… he killed Jean?”

You're a little ashamed of the flare of jealousy at his devastation about the woman you’d always come second to. But you push that deep down, it's not the time nor place.

“How’d you survive?” He questions. 

“I was away. I’d heard of a neurosurgeon in Germany, he was developing… Well, it doesn’t matter now. But I was away, whilst everyone I cared about died.” 

You’d never had a need to speak of it, Logan had lived it alongside you - there was something cathartic about saying it all out loud. You wipe at your cheek as you gulp down the last of your drink, a heavy stone weighing your stomach now. 

“Your turn.” Logan’s voice is deep in thought as gestures to the bartender for another. He’s extending an olive branch, a kindness in the face of your vulnerability. 

You think about it for a moment, what you’d like to know. 

“We were friends at least?”

“Oh yeah, we were the best of friends, Bub. You were… uh … a lil’ younger back there, never really looked at you that way.” He scratches at his bearded chin, he’s avoiding looking your way again, uncomfortable sharing these parts of himself. “You… uh… you were gonna have pups with Pete.”

“With Maximoff?!” You squeak disbelieving, whilst taking a sip of your beer prompting a coughing fit to end them all, as you gasp for air. 

Logan sighs, slamming his open palm between your shoulder blades. He rubs the spot he just hit in a circle pattern, reminding you somewhat of the last time he drew circles.

“I had a baby with Peter?” You push your hair back from your face. “...That's why he used to stare at me … y’know there was one time…” 

You smile fondly recounting a time you caught him staring creepily across your classroom before you remember that sweet silver haired kid in your memories is dead. The smile drops from your face in an instant; you didn’t have children with him because he’s six feet under. 

“No. You were pregnant when….” He grunts, his voice has a raw edge to it. For two people constantly at odds, your souls were in the same state of flux, continually aching for vastly different reasons, yet at the root, the same cause. 

The two of you sit in silence for a moment or two, you’re processing the fact that you almost had kids with Quicksilver and he’s no doubt regretting ever playing this game.

The game. 

“It's your turn.”

“This is why she shouldn’t join them, everyone we know is dead.” Logan has had enough of the game as he sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Being a goddamn hero gets you killed.”

“Logan.” You touch the back of the hand currently gripping the beer bottle neck like it owes him money. “She’s strong, stronger than me. Laura is you in every way that counts. She’s ridiculously stubborn, headstrong - even when she’s wrong - and she has a kind heart. She wants to use those gifts you’ve given her for good. How can you stand in the way of that?” 

Logan’s hand flips over, his warm callused fingers coming to link around your own. 

“The kind heart is all you, bub.” 

The beers have loosened your tongue, made your anxieties seem a little further away.

“I don’t know. You have your moments.” His fingers dance along your palm, stroking the broken planes.

The two of you enjoy this easy intimacy you’d been forming over the past few days. 

“How’d we get together?” Those instruments of death you’ve seen take countless lives, glide over the soft skin of your wrist. Your eyes, usually so afraid to meet his, can’t leave their hazel captivity as you process his blunt question

“Oh, uh…” Tucking your hair behind your ear with your free hand, your eyes dart to his fingers still drifting across your flesh.

“Don’t get shy on me now, bub.” He smirks, though his heart’s not in it. 

That asshole. 

Taking a deep gulp of your third beer, you rely on the liquid courage, before raising your eyes back to his.

“One night. It was a few days after everything, we had finally got a sedative for Charles. We had a moment to take stock of everything we’d lost. You … uh … he came to me and … he cried. The first time I’d seen it.” His hand pulls back, but you can’t help it, you refuse to release your hold. You don’t want to lose this connection. Your thumb dips, rubbing at his knuckle, at the joint where his claws always caused the bone to ache. “I held him and he kissed me, it was messy. It was desperate but I think we both needed to feel something that wasn’t grief.” 

“And I thought I was special… ” His voice holds sarcasm though you can tell the sentiment behind it is anything but humorous.

“You are special to me.”

“Yeah.” His voice is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying.

“You are.”

“I look like the guy who’s special to you, darlin’. I’m not him, as much as you may wish I am. Hell I wish I was.” He has snatched his hand away as he slams cash down on the bar.

Logan has started the short walk back to the apartment, cutting through the alley.

He’s hurt, burying it deep beneath the rage. His anger is an old friend. One he’s comfortable confronting.

“I’m done with your stupid games. I’m done with it all. Haven’t you got the memo? I’m the worst Logan.”

“I’m so fucking sick of that! You’re so goddamn cruel to yourself.” You cry out at his leather covered shoulders, that in itself seems to stop him in his tracks. The Y/N from his world was a mousy wallflower through and through, nothing he’d seen from this world led him to believe you were any different and yet his ears weren’t deceiving him. “I loved my Logan - I fucking adored him. Yes, sometimes it's hard to separate the two of you, but I care for you.”

He stands motionless in the alley as you bare your soul. 

“I’ve known you for a week. I can’t love you the same because you’re not the same person, not entirely, but my soul knows yours. You’re Logan.” You’ve closed the distance but he still wont turn around and perhaps that's what makes it easier to say the things you’ve been desperate to say for days. “I look in your eyes and I feel safe, when you touch me everything feels like it's going to be okay. You’re not the worst, you’re not the best. You’re Logan; you’re just Logan.”

Logan is on you instantly, silencing your words with a scorching kiss. It's the kind you see in movies, desperate, filled to the brim with passion, usually taking place in the rain.

His hands find your lower back, pulling you to him as your wrap your arms around his neck, making sure he can’t escape from your grasp, as he growls and pushes you against the brick wall. 

Your nose aches from the pressure of his cheek pressed against it as he devours your mouth with his own. He is claiming your mouth with a week of pent up emotions. He grips your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist, pressing the hardened bulge of his jeans against your core. 

“Mom? … Logan?” 

There in the street light Laura is illuminated. Her face gives nothing away, she may as well be wearing those sunglasses for all you can garner from her expression. 

“Hey Love! - I.. We…uh-” Logan slowly releases your thigh, slyly adjusting his jeans in an attempt to hide his erection. You do your best to stand in front of the -ahem- sizeable bulge. 

“How's it going?” You ask with a faux air of casualness as you place your hands on your hips, though your voice has a weird edge.

“Pretty good. How’s it going for you?” Her own voice has a coy little smile to it, which puts you at ease just a little. 

“Great, I’m great. Logan? You great?”

“Great.” He grunts behind you. 

“Great! - Everyone’s … great.” 

The three of you stand in silence for a second or two, processing what's just happened or perhaps trying to decide if great is still a real word.

“You’re so weird.” Laura snorts. “For the record I’m happy that you both pulled your heads out of your asses.”

“Baby-”

“Kid-” You and Logan speak in sync. Your eyes lock as you both try and decide how the other was going to finish that sentence.

“Laura - me and your Mom… uh… things are complicated… and we don’t want to drag you into this.” Logan, the man of very few words, has managed to find them. You’re stunned into silence as he takes control of a conversation… about feelings… with his daughter.

This is not any Logan that you know.

Laura looks to you, waiting for your seal of approval on the message.  

“I know how confusing things are already, Bug.” You close the distance between the two of you, linking your fingers with hers.  “Me and your dad, we’re working through some things.”

You notice Logan’s shoulders setting straighter at his new title, like a welcome weight has been placed upon them. She nods at your words, smiling devilishly.

“It was just a matter of time, Mama. He has a staring problem.”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t.” He growls from behind you both. Your heart feels lighter than it has in a decade as the two of you cackle at his defensive response.

He digs his hands into his pockets glaring your way, though it has no heat whatsoever behind it, in fact he looks like he’s fighting a smile.

With your hand still firmly in Laura’s you pull her back towards the apartment, linking your arm through Logan’s warm, thick leather clad one. He doesn’t take your hand, but he also doesn’t pull away as the three of you walk back to the house. 

“Can we get pizza? - For emotional trauma?” She questions.

“Baby, I’ll buy you all the pizza in New York.” You reply rolling your eyes.

“Not with fuckin’ pineapple on.” Logan groans.

“Pineapple on pizza is objectively delicious!” Laura defends from her place on your otherside, she pulls on your hand still hanging between the two of you. “Back me up.”

“I will always have your back … but…. pineapple on pizza is in fact a crime against humanity.” 

Logan lets out a guffaw of victory, as Laura snarls his way. You take a mental picture, the warmth in your chest, bracketed in by your two favourite people in the world. Life is good.

Laura leaves the next morning. 

It is a difficult pill to swallow, after seven years by her side. You can’t quite make the leap to take her to the mansion, it's something she understands. So when you embrace her at the doorway after Ellie reassures you for the 30th time she’ll look out for her, you find it hard to let go.

There hasn’t been a day you’ve been without her since you first met the scrawny 12-year old in Mexico. Laura is an extension of you, like your heart is on the outside of your body and you’re not ready for your heart to go to West Chester without you being there to protect it. 

At that moment you understand why she needs this independence, she’s 19 years old. She needs her own life, to experience everything it has to offer but that doesn’t make letting go any easier.

“You call if you need anything, anything at all.” You tell her as you push her hair behind her ears. “Don’t stay up too late but also don’t go to bed too early to make friends but make sure you get plenty of sleep.”

“I will get the perfect amount of sleep, don’t worry.” She grabs your wrists, removing your hands from her hair.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” You sigh, your anxiety is eating away at your stomach. She’s not the vulnerable child being hunted anymore, you try to remind yourself. “If you need me-”

“-If you need us. We’ll be there.” Logan cuts you off, interjecting his own amendment. 

In a show of affection you’re not quite expecting, he hugs the girl. It's somewhat awkward and clumsy, the two have known each other for a week, but when they pull back, you can see the gesture was all that really mattered.

He hands her her backpack, which she throws one strap over her shoulder. The two smile at each other in their silent language, both such quiet souls. 

When she turns back to you, you ask. “We can walk you down?”

“Stay here? It’s easier this way.” She looks so small as she pleads with you.

Taking mercy on her, you nod. 

“Okay.” Waving you watch her turn for the door. You don’t expect however when she turns back and barrels into your chest for a final time, burying her face in your neck.

“I love you, Mama.” She whispers, you can’t help it as your eyes water. You wrap your arms around her, squeezing her tightly to your chest. 

“I love you. You are my world.” You know she needs you to let her go for her to be able to walk through that door. So with a deep inhale of her hair for the road, you pull back gathering your strength. You pull her other strap onto her shoulder and push her hair back from her face. You wipe her tears from her cheeks and give her the biggest smile you can muster, despite your teary eyes and broken voice. “Give them hell, baby.”

Laura nods, giving her own matching teary smile. Her back straightens and her shoulders square as she follows Yukio and Ellie down the hall. The duo waving at you as they descend down the stairs.

You’re so busy watching your world disappear down the hall you barely feel the heavy warm hand wrap around your shoulder in comfort. You melt into Logan’s side as your heart shatters.

You wait for him to leave in a hurry, only he does the last thing you expect of the Wolverine. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. You close your eyes as the tears begin to fall against your will. 

Logan strokes your back. He doesn’t offer any words of comfort, but he doesn’t need to, his presence alone is enough.

His trimmed beard, bristles against your hair as he places a kiss on the top of your head, burying his nose in your hair as he holds you. 

It's hard to say how long the two of you stand there like that. Only when your body stops shaking do you finally look up through tear streamed eyes.  Logan looks down at you, his face is lined with concern. 

“You good?”

“I will be.” Your voice is broken from crying. “I-”

“I know, Bub.” He smiles your way, one you’ve not seen, perhaps ever.

It's soft, sympathetic but filled with adoration. He pushes the strand of hair, now sodden with tears, back behind your ear. His finger lingers on the curve of the bone for a moment or two before he pulls back. 

“Bar?”

“Bar.”

Things change when Laura leaves. Not massively, and not entirely for the worst.

You and Logan had started sharing the bed, not like that (unfortunately), but sleeping next to one another. It was comfier than the sofa and his body curled around yours made you sleep a hell of a lot more soundly. Suddenly years of insomnia were cured by his muscled warmth curled around you like a safety blanket.

He never made a move to further it, even if you had once or twice tried to entice him by grinding your backside against his morning wood. The man was nothing if not resilient as he rolled away, grunting.

The two of you had been getting to know one another, you had resolved to treat him like a whole new man. This revelation meant that their differences weren’t such a blow anymore, you didn’t actively compare the two of them as much.

You had created a clear picket line in your head and it seemed to be working. They were two different versions of the same man, each with their own merits and disadvantages. 

They weren’t to be compared.

The two of you had started a ritual of movie nights, evenings where you’d sit a little too close on the couch and pretend it wasn’t happening. He’d share a blanket he knew he didn’t need just to get close to you. It was a little uncomfortable when Wade asked to come under the blanket but you enjoyed the time spent with the clown,  

In fact, your favourite night had been when you, Wade and Al had all sat down to watch the Notebook - the movie Logan point blank refused watch.

Yes, the movie he objected to so strongly, then proceeded to watch from behind the couch, standing awkwardly on the threshold of the lounge. Where he lingered for the first half an hour pretending to have no interest in it. 

When the end credits came around he was back under the blanket with you and Wade, utterly refusing to admit that he’d cried. 

That argument with Wade had gotten heated and he’d put three little tears in your blanket, but it was one of your fondest memories in this apartment. 

It had been three weeks now. Only two of them had been spent hunting for a room that you could afford on a barista’s salary, which was the only job you were qualified for after dropping off the planet for the past ten years.

Colossus had offered you your old teaching position though you didn’t want to cramp Laura’s style and you didn’t think you could face stepping foot back in that mansion, too many of your ghosts lingered there. The same could be said for Logan, though he had found much better paying work at St Margarets.

He and Wade did odd jobs, merc work to pay the rent. They killed bad guys and got paid for it, and boy they got paid a hell of a lot more than you.

The coffee shop below Wade’s apartment, or waking hell, as you’d come to know it was your slice of a regular life; trying to push your circle peg into a triangle hole.

Its a 24-hour coffee shop, cause who doesn’t need caffeine at 3am? Tch. New York. You’re leaning on the counter a million miles away, contemplating if the graveyard shifts are worth the illusion of paying your way when Logan makes up most of your share of the rent anyway.

Your singular customer is a young guy typing away on his laptop, desperately trying to finish what looks like a college essay. He’s eleven espressos in and has been here since before your shift started at 5pm. You haven’t been told if you can cut someone off, but surely that much caffeine must count as overserving. 

The bell above the door tingles loudly, the warm lights illuminate his red mask. 

Wade.

“Hey angel baby!” He comes to the counter, pretending to read the board as if he hasn’t been here a million times before.

“Hi Wade.” You smile tiredly at the man. “What’cha want? It's on the house!”

“Ooooh, gimme’ a Caramel Macchiato but hit me with like 6 shots espresso, extra caramel and don’t skimp on the whipped cream - I like to call this the don't stop til dawn.”

“Your insides must be a mess.” You shake your head and get to making his drink. 

“How’s the soul crushing service industry treating ya?” He asks, leaning one hand on the counter.

“It’s okay. A little boring, but not so bad, nobody's shooting at me.” You motion downwards with your eyes to the fresh bullet holes in his red suit.

“Ha! Yeahhh. But it's good old fashioned fun, beating guys to a pulp, saving kids from trees, taking candy from cats.” You roll your eyes at the man. “But they say, if you love your job you never work a day in your life! And boy, I love my job.”

You're steaming the milk when he speaks up again, shouting loudly over the machine. “You should come and work with me and Logi Bear. He’s 10% less of an old grumpy fuck when you’re around.”

He’s still shouting when the machine quietens, making your cringe a little as the kid looks your way. This isn’t the first time Wade’s broached the subject with you.

“I get you wanna move out, we love having you, but I get that Al’s old lady smell can get sorta’ overwhelming after a while.”

“Wade.” You sigh, admonishing his jokes about the lady who you’ve grown to care for in the past month. “If you didn’t live in a two bed, I’d love to stay, but it's just too small and I want you to have your bedroom back. I hate feeling like a burden.”

You secure the lid to his drink when its finally complete. “One heart attack in a cup.” 

“My favourite.” His mask contorts around the eyes showing his smile. “Oh Wolvie’s upstairs in bad shape. Something took a fuckin’ chunk outta him.”

“What the fuck Wade?! Why didn’t you lead with that?” You’re pulling off your apron and halfway around the counter before you remember your shift isn’t over for another hour.  

“Cause’ then you wouldn’t have made my fast juice.”

Ah fuck it.

“Don’t steal the cash register.” You warn the kid looking your way. “He’ll hunt you down and beat the crap out of you.”

Wade waves at the kid behind you, he has his macchiato in one hand and baby knife in his other for special effect. The kid gives a look of ‘Jeez’ before returning to his work.

“You coming?” You ask when your almost half way through the door.

“Nah - saving innocents makes me hungy. Fork hands has his healing factor. He'll be fine.” Wade replies dismissively.

Huffing you turn on your heel and practically run to the apartment. 

A chunk out of him? 

Logan's healing factor was significantly better without the adamantium poisoning but surely he could die. In an instant you’re back in North Dakota, holding his hand as he fades away. 

Your breath is heavy as you take the steps two at a time. 

Not again. 

The door is thrown open and instead of chaos you find the lights dimmed, candles all over the apartment and there Logan stands in a new plaid buttondown and his finest wranglers. He’s holding a bouquet of sunflowers in those veined hands you love so much. It's like something out of a Danielle Steel novel and you utterly melt.

The panic that had clutched your heart recedes. Your anxiety releases its grip on you. 

“You’re not hurt?” 

“No, bub. I’m fine. Sorry for the clown. He offered to help and I…”

You shake your head and smile at him, hesitantly you take a step forward. When you’re close enough he hands them your way. “I have it on good authority, they’re your favourites.”

“They are.”

“I wanna give you what you deserve, sweetheart.” He starts, it's like he’s rehearsed it in his head. Little do you know it's all his thought about for the past three weeks. “You deserve more than a romp in the woods, or an alley.” 

He seems to cringe at this before continuing.

“I’m not like the other guy. He was a goddamn anchor being, hero through and through from what I hear about him. I’m angry, I kill people and I drink too goddamn much, but when you look at me, I feel like I could be him.” For the first time, it is him that takes your hand in his much larger one. “Do you know how jealous of that asshole I am, Bub? That he got you first? That he got to have your uncomplicated love. If you’d been older in my timeline, I would've’ met you first, I wouldn’t have looked twice at another and I’d have fallen for you the second you looked up at me from beneath those eyelashes, how could I not when everything about you is so easy to love?” 

You’ve always been a crier, and this is no different. The man is stamping down every single one of your insecurities, reassuring you as you go. Making you feel more loved then you’ve ever felt before.

“I adore you. From your crappy cooking-”

“-Hey.”

“Your porny books you think I don’t see, to the way you cry at movies, how much you love our daughter. I fuckin’ love you Y/N. Its messy and complicated, I’m not sure if you could-”

In a total role reversal it is you who cuts him off, grabbing his face in your palms and dragging his face down to yours. Your mouths join for the first time in weeks, it is hot and full of desire and love. It's like the two of you are releasing all of your tension into this kiss, finally the air has been cleared and it's rejuvenating. 

You press your forehead to his, gasping for breath as his kisses steal the air from your lungs.

“Lo, I guarantee every version of me loves you, even if you were too blind to see it in your world.” 

“You were a married woman in my world, bub.”

You gasp theatrically. “Adulturerer.”

“You’ve spent too much time with that fuckin’ idiot.” He kisses your lips, though you don’t let it turn into anything deeper, as you pull back rubbing your nose against his. 

“Fornicator.” 

“tch… stop.” He groans, grabbing your ass pulling you into his bulge, you bite his lip with a giggle. “Why do you have these lined up?”

He never gets his answer as he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his back and carries you through to the bedroom. You pull away from his mouth, looking over to the set dinner table.

“The food… you went to all that effort!” He is kissing your neck, nipping and lathering the bites with his tongue. 

“Can’t cook for shit, darlin’. It’s take out, we can heat it up. I’m hungry for your fuckin’ sweet cunt right now. “

Your lower stomach clenches at his positively filthy words, you join your lips back to his. His teeth nip at your lip as he plunges his tongue into your mouth, running the tip along your teeth. 

Before there had been need, but now, you’re both desperate. You’ve had a mere taste of what the other has to offer and now you’ve starved yourself for months. 

“Not gonna’ last long on the first, darlin’.” He groans into your mouth as your hand works its way into his pants. He is eager as he throws you back onto the bed and is already working at peeling your black jeans down your legs. “Those fuckin’ shorts you sleep in, fuck. I’ve been dreamin’ about buryin’ myself in ya’ for weeks.”

“Please, Lo.” You’re not sure what you’re already begging for but you are desperate. You’re left in your uniform tee and panties, as he slowly unbuttons his button down, slowly revealing the white undershirt beneath. You’ve never found collarbones particularly attractive, but the tanned skin stretched across his is quite frankly delectable. 

You pull your shirt over your head, all too eager to be rid of the reminder of the job you should by all rights be at right now. Your bra is quick to follow.

“Those gorgeous tits, been thinking of these every fucking night.” You groan at his admission. He himself is shirtless, you have half a mind to return the same complement as your hands brush against his perfectly sculpted pecs. 

This man was the perfect specimen, it was unfair, t shirts should be outlawed for him. He grabs the waistband of your panties. 

‘Snikt’ and a rip sound and you are utterly bare before him, laying across Wade’s bed. 

Those gorgeous strong hands trace the planes of your body, circling your nipples before his mouth takes their place. 

He groans as his hands descend to your core. “All this for me? I’m gonna’ fuckin’ slide in, Baby.” 

And he does, two fingers push through your tight slick opening, three weeks of foreplay have left you soaking wet and wanting. How can you live with a man who looks the way he does, who consistently works out in the living room shirtless and not have the ocean in your panties. 

It seems Logan has had all he can take as he slides a third finger in, pumping it in and out of you, rubbing at your clit with his thumb. Gasping you grab at your sheets desperate to anchor yourself. 

He kisses up your breast, lavishing your chest in kisses and bites. Never enough to leave a mark but just enough to excite you. 

When he’s at your neck he leans in, whispering into your ear. “I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin that pussy.”

You can’t help it, maybe you’re a whore for this man, but you don’t fucking care. Your legs part even further on the bed.

“Please, Logan. I need you to fuck me.”

He grins savagely, pushing his already undone belt and jeans down his hips. He’s back up and claiming your mouth, your legs wrapped around his ass, pulling you down to him before he knows it. 

One hand is bearing his weight as the other disappears, he lines himself up at your entrance, the head of his cock breaching your folds. He’s thick, thicker than you remember, but there isn’t any discomfort this time. He settles for a moment, his forehead against yours. His mouth dips to join your lips, his tongue lashing out and fucking your mouth as his hips leap forward spearing you on his cock. The bed creaks with the power of his hips as he fucks you hard into the matress. 

Skin slapping on skin is all that can be heard as he readjusts onto his knees, he’s desperate to be as deep as possible and you need the same thing. 

“Lo-”

“I know, darlin’.” He grabs your waist, lifting you as if you weigh nothing at all and flips you over. Suddenly you’re astride him, your knees either side of his hips as his head rests in the pillows. 

His eyes are distracted by your tits as he smirks, happy with the view. 

You ache for him, so you reach down, lining his thick purple headed member with your core before you sink down in one stroke, his extended groan absolutely wrecks you as his big hands come to rest on the meat of your hips. 

You rest your hands on his amply hair covered chest, using his pecs as leverage before you raise your hips before slamming back down and bottoming him out. 

He’s so deep inside you, the tip of him must be brushing your goddamn cervix as you raise yourself once more, until he almost slips out before meeting his hips once more. 

Logan’s strength never fails to surprise you as his hands follow your lead yet help lift you through the manoeuvre. 

You’re bouncing on his cock, quick rise and fall sporadically grinding your clit deliciously into his pelvis. 

Logan feels fucking amazing inside of you, maybe its been the buildup of weeks but you find yourself heading towards the dive faster than ever before. 

“Ride my cock,sweetheart. That’s it, make yourself feel good.”

Gasping at his words and the change of position as he sits up, wrapping his arms around you and claiming your mouth. The second you find the angle that feels amazing against your clit, you hit it again and again, grinding hard against him.

“Lo - I’m gonna … I’m gonna -” You crash before you can get the words out, your toes curl by his knees and your whole body seizes in ecstasy. The world feels right as the stars appear behind your eyes.

The world stopped for you for a moment but not for Logan. He has bought his knees up and is pistoning his hips into your contorting body. He’s holding you against him, groaning into your neck as he continues to fuck your clenching pussy relentlessly.

“Oh fuck … your so fucking tight. Fucking perfect cunt- made - for - me.” He growls into your neck, but you’re too cock drunk to hear it properly, as he frantically thrusts his powerful hips up and into you. 

“Where? ” He pulls back, never slowing his hips as he grabs your cheeks with one hand. Your sweat laden face, vacant and looking back at him, your cunt hasn’t stopped clenching around him as he plunders your depths, his voice is strained as he asks again  “Darlin’...you gotta … tell me … where?”

“...inside, Lo. Please come inside me…” Your so overstimulated, you could cry.  The sound of his balls slapping against skin as he thrusts upwards deep inside of you, whilst he pulls your body down. He’s so fucking deep inside of you, your pussy squelching from a mixture of precum and your arousal.

With another string of lewd words he’s coming hard, Logan’s head has fallen back against the headboard exposing the thick chords of muscle, you can't help sinking your teeth into it, you dip your hand and rub at your clit clumsily, you’re so fucking overstimulated from watching him you follow him over the precipice once more, giving him an insanely tight sheath to come in. 

“That’s it, take it all, sweetheart” He groans as he continues to slowly pump his seed deep within you

Gasping you fall slack in his arms, your bones are jelly and your muscles ache, you really are a pillow princess. 

“Still with me?” You manage to nod your clammy forehead against his pec, you currently have your cheek squished against. He chuckles, as he lies back against the pillows, leaving his cock still inside of you, you can feel him leaking out of you as he softens a little, recovering for what you imagine will be another enthusiastic round if history is a teacher. 

You are utterly fucked out as you lie on his chest, listening to his breath with his cum slowly leaking from your abused hole. 

The two of you have never needed words, you lie against his chest, the hands you adore so much, come out to stroke your hair.

Rubbing soothingly at your scalp before running his calloused fingers through the locks and repeating. 

When you’ve finally gathered enough strength you lean on your hands, looking up at him.

“Welcome back, bub.”

“Hello.” You smile shyly, like you hadn’t just sunk your canines into his neck whilst wantonly riding his cock to oblivion. 

“You okay?” He asks, his hand rising to stroke your swollen bottom lip.

“Someone fucked me brain dead - but yeah, I’m good.” You smirk, nipping at his thumb.

He grins wolfishly and chuckles with his whole body, the movement causes his cock to move inside of you. Slowly you feel him hardening once more.

“You can still talk, Darlin’. Means I haven’t done my job properly.” The predatory gaze in his eyes excites and scares you in equal parts. Though you’re probably asking for trouble when you take his thumb back in your mouth. 

It's light outside when you finally have to tap out. 

Your pussy is aching, your ass is stinging from the new sensation, your jaw throbs and your entire body is boneless. 

You can’t quite catch your breath and your cunt is leaking so much cum, that you’re probably 10% Logan at this point. 

The Wolverine has utterly devoured you, making up for three weeks of torment in one night. Though he’s not all bad as he feeds you noodles from chopsticks as you lay on his muscled hair laden thighs. 

When Logan had suggested food, you’d had to stop him from eating Wontons from your belly button as none of your holes were currently operational. 

The two of you have dressed, though that is a strong use of the word as you’re wearing only his button down and him only his underwear. 

You’re lazing on the couch watching reruns of Friends as your bed sorely needs fresh sheets and a new base. Poor Wade, you’d have to replace it before you move out. Like he could read your mind, Logan begins. 

“I found a new place, its nothing fancy but its got four walls and no roommates.” You smile at him around your mouthful of noodles as he takes his own bite.

Sitting up you smile. “That’s great news, Lo.”

“I uh- wanted to see, if you’d wanna come with me.”

You can’t help your grin. 

fin.

I am currently posting this at the airport before my flight. I love you all! 💖

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Magic-Related Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Amulet: An object worn, carried or placed to guard against negativity or other vibrations. A protective object.

Astral Projection: The practice of separating the consciousness from the physical body so that the former may move about unhindered by time, space or gravity.

Bane: A poison; that which destroys life. "Henbane" is poisonous to hens.

Banish: To drive away evil, negativity or spirits.

Beltane: An ancient folk-festival day observed by Witches that celebrates the fully blossomed spring. April 30 or May 1.

Censer: A vessel of metal or earthenware in which incense is burned. An incense burner.

Chaplet: A garland or wreath of flowers or leaves worn on the head, as in the chaplets given to classical Greek heroes as symbols of honor.

Clairvoyance: Literally "clear seeing." The ability to perceive facts, events and other data by other than the five "normal" senses, unaided by tools.

Curse: A concentration of negative and destructive energy, deliberately formed and directed toward a person, place or thing.

Divination: The art of finding things out through means other than the five senses, using tools such as tarot cards, crystal balls, and so on.

Enchant: "Sing to." Magically speaking, a procedure whereby herbs are aligned with your magical need prior to their use.

Evil Eye, The: Supposed glance capable of causing great harm or fear, once almost universally feared.

Fascination: The art of placing other people under one's power through sounds, gazes, colors, etc.

Hex: An evil spell; a curse.

Incubus: A male demon or spirit which was believed to sexually tempt and abuse women; the succubus was the corresponding female demon.

Infusion: An herbal tea.

Lughnasadh: An old harvest festival celebrated on August 1st or 2nd in Europe, reverencing the abundant (harvested) fruits of the Earth. It is still observed by Wicca.

Magic: The practice of causing needed change through the use of powers as yet undefined and unaccepted by science.

Magic Circle: A ritually-created circle (or sphere) that offers protection to the magician during magical rites.

Magician: A person of either sex who practices magic.

Magus: A magician.

Midsummer: The Summer Solstice, usually on or near June 21st, one of the Wiccan festival days and an excellent time to practice magic.

Pendulum: A tool of divination which consists of a heavy object suspended from a string or cord. The end of the cord is held between the thumb and forefinger; questions are asked and their answers divided by the movements of the pendulum.

Pentagram: A five-pointed star which has been used in magic for centuries. Highly symbolic, it is also a protective device.

Poppet: A small doll made of various substances to influence a person's fife. In herb magic, either a carved root or a cloth image stuffed with herbs. The use of poppets is known as "image magic."

Power Hand, The: The hand you write with; the dominant hand. This is a magically potent hand.

Samhain: An ancient festival day marking the beginning of winter. Also known as "Halloween" and All Hallows Eve. It is observed by Wicca with religious ceremonies.

Scry: To gaze into a pool of ink, fire, crystal ball, etc. to awaken and summon psychic powers.

Spell: A magical rite.

Talisman: An object worn or carried to attract a specific influence, such as love, luck, money, health; as opposed to an amulet which keeps forces from its bearer.

Wicca: A contemporary religion with spiritual roots in prehistory that worships the life-force of the universe as personified as a God and Goddess. It is sometimes erroneously referred to as "witchcraft."

Witch Bottle: A bottle or jar containing herbs, pins, shards of glass and other objects, designed to protect a person or area from evil and curses. Usually buried or placed in a window.

Witchcraft: The practice of natural magic, as that of herbs, stones, and candles. Spell-casting. Still used by some to refer to the religion of Wicca.

Wort: An old word meaning "herb." Mugwort preserves the term.

Excerpt from Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs More: Word Lists ⚜ Esoteric Vocabulary ⚜ On Magic

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Northman!Price 🪓

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Born from this post and a late night conversation/brainstorming sesh with the lovely @flowermiist !!

This was so fun, and Northman!Price is now occupying my mind 24/7 lol

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─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Northman!Price who's a lone wolf. Likes being on his own, surrounded by the thick and vast forest surrounding his wooden cabin. The quietness of it all gives him peace of mind when he listens only to a soft breeze rustling the branches of the tall and strong trees.

Northman!Price who built his cabin with his own two hands. It's quite spacious at that, and the intricate carvings on the wooden door beams add a mystical touch.

Northman!Price who's big and burly. Bulging muscles that are covered with a layer of soft pudge and a thick blanket of hair. Strong arms and a broad back that have lifted many logs and various kinds of animals for dinner.

Northman!Price who's covered in meaningful markings and tattoos. Some for battles won or lost, and others just because. They decorate his arms and his chest, all the way to the beautifully woven Celtic knot that adorns his shoulder blade, moving in sync with the rippling of his muscles.

Northman!Price who has two wolf companions that pull his sled in the deep winter, making the thick snow a breeze to get through. Yrsa and Trygve, his loyal pups that he rescued from traps and nursed them back to health. He never planned on keeping them, but they just wouldn't leave. Staying by his side until he relented and took them in.

Northman!Price who's covered in furs, leather, and other natural fibers. Layers are key in such a bitter winter, after all. The huge bear hide is what keeps him warm most of all, held in place with leather straps over his linen underclothes.

Northman!Price who has a thick leather belt, holds all kinds of useful things. Knives of many different sizes, some for carving others for breaking down animals or adding a new scar to the raiders that dared to cross his territory. Pouches with materials to start a fire, a quiver, and a small axe.

Northman!Price who takes great care of his beard, always keeping it nice and groomed. His hair on the other hand, not so much. The longer locks are pulled back into a bun, a few strands falling in his face still. There are a few small braids scattered throughout, some wrapped with twine or leather strings with a charm carved from bone dangling from it.

Northman!Price who's lost a wolf companion before. He knew it would happen eventually. The graying fur around the wolf's face and the slower pace gave it away. With great sorrows, he buried his friend in their favorite place in the woods and fashioned a small wooden marker so he wouldn't forget. He wears one of their fangs around his neck, right above his heart.

Northman!Price who wears a singular earring made of stone with a rune carved into it. A tradition he continued to hold dear even after he made the choice to leave his family behind and make a peaceful life for himself in the deep forest.

Northman!Price who, when he goes out hunting, only takes what he needs. Who humanely and respectfully puts the animal to rest and always thanks Mother Nature for keeping him and his wolves fed. He uses every part of the animal, so their sacrifice wasn't in vain. Uses the bones for tools, the hide to keep warm, the sinew to patch up any holes and the antlers to decorate his cabin.

Northman!Price who's very knowledgeable when it comes to plants and herbs, always gathering bundles in the summer months. Especially when spring comes so the animals he killed during winter can replenish their numbers.

Northman!Price who despite his intimidating and scary appearance couldn't be more of a gentle soul. Not so much towards humans if he does cross one once in a fortnight, but he has all the animals eating out of the palm of his hand, literally.

Northman!Price who has fallen asleep with Yrsa and Trygve on more than one occasion. It always happens on accident, but who's he to complain? It happens a lot in the fall when he chops wood outside, preparing for the harsh cold months. He thinks he deserves a quick break, wiping the sweat from his brow, only to immediately nod off with his two wolves nuzzled close to his side, keeping him warm.

Northman!Price who always keeps his battle axe strapped to his back, right next to his bow. He doesn't use it unless he needs to fight off some unwelcome guests, but having the weight of it pressing between his shoulder blades is more reassuring than it should be.

Northman!Price who can't help but feel a little lonely sometimes. It would be nice to have another human around, he thinks. Maybe even someone to love. He grunts in frustration at his ridiculous thoughts and lets out his feelings at the chopping block, splitting wood until the horizon has swallowed the sun whole.

Northman!Price who has a stream not far from his cabin. It's his main water source. In the summer, he bathes right in the stream and brings water back for his wolves and himself. In the winter, however, he heaves bucket after bucket to his cabin to boil it, needing a hot bath to warm him up and release the tension from his muscles.

Northman!Price who traces the many scars on his body, some he looks at with fond memories while others only seem to make his heart ache. They remind him of when he was with his family, his people, storming into battle with his friends to defend their honor. Unfortunately, as time went on, he kept returning with fewer and fewer comrades and made the decision to put down the battle axe.

Northman!Price who has matured and doesn't crave the thrill of battle like he used to. He never passes up an opportunity to slice up some raiders or bandits, however. But the guilt lays heavy on his shoulders, knowing that if and he and his friends hadn't been so naive, he would still talk to them and share some mead instead of going to visit where they fell.

Northman!Price who indulges the playful moods of his pups and wrangles them to the ground with a boisterous laugh, even letting them win. The sweet nudges of their wet noses never fail to make a smile crack on his face.

Northman!Price who loves sitting outside on a cold winter night and admires the sparkling stars and constellations. Or how the Moon shines her light on the snow and makes it look like a blanket of precious stones. His favorite, however, is when he can spot the occasional Aurora Borealis.

Northman!Price who goes out hunting one day, taking care to take slow and quiet steps so as not to scare the deer that has its snout buried in the snow, looking for food.

Northman!Price whose body moves without thinking, crouching for cover and carefully readying his bow to take the shot. The cold is biting at his fingertips, but his hands are steady nonetheless.

Northman!Price who lets out a breath, his fingers slowly slipping to loose the arrow, only for the deer to drop dead accompanied by the whiz of someone else's arrow cutting through the air.

Northman!Price who's immediately alert and on edge, stashing away his bow and pulling out the small axe he has attached to his belt. He keeps his eyes trained on anything that might move and slowly starts to approach the dead deer.

Northman!Price who ducks behind a tree, when he sees a bush rustling. He tightens and adjusts the grip on his axe, just in case.

Northman!Price who doesn't know what to do or think when you come out from the bush and cautiously look around, bow still in hand. He watches, frozen, as you kneel before the deer and whisper illegible things, but the tone of your voice alone is enough to soothe his soul.

Northman!Price who finally takes you in. Same as him, you wear furs to keep you warm, but you don much less weapons than him. A bow with a quiver and a small knife is all you have. He lowers his guard and continues watching.

Northman!Price who thinks you're way too soft and sweet to be out here like this. He's seen his fair share of female warriors, raiders, and such, and he doesn't think you couldn't be those things, but something about you gives him the immediate urge to take care of you. Keep you close and make sure you have the best life he can give you.

Northman!Price who's lowered his guard too much, and when he comes back from his thoughts, you're gone. The deer is still there, so is your arrow lodged in its heart, but you're nowhere to be found.

Northman!Price who thinks he must've been dreaming, but the arrow that clearly doesn't belong to him makes doubt tug at his mind. He hasn't started to lose his sanity from being alone for so long, has he?

Northman!Price who mirrors your actions and makes his way to the deer to kneel before it. He removes the arrow and runs his fingers over the delicate carvings adorning the shaft.

Northman!Price who's, for once, completely unaware of his surroundings just because he saw a strange woman take down a deer with a shot so precise, he swears he's never seen anything like it before.

Northman!Price who lets out a grunt when something is pressed into the middle of his back and a glinting blade is held dangerously close to his neck.

Northman!Price who shivers when you lean down to talk into his ear.

"Hasn't your mother taught you not to spy on women, hm?"

Northman!Price who can feel your breath down his neck and takes every ounce of his self-control not to buckle.

Northman!Price who wants to turn his head and look at your face to see if you're as beautiful as he thinks you are, if your enchanting voice does you justice. However, he has your knee digging into his back and your knife against his throat, but all he can think is that he's in love.

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Consider me deceased 😵‍💫��

he's just so AURGHHAHAJAJAJAJA

More of my work -> 💫

[internet-rat]

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

He makes you sit on his lap after a long day in the Red Keep~ No warnings~ A little Aemond fluff bc he needs love

In the seclusion of Aemond's private chambers in the Red Keep, the torches flickered against the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that played across the grand furnishings. The room was adorned with the luxuries befitting a prince of the realm — rich tapestries hung heavy and fragrant incense burned in the corner. The door was firmly closed, muffling the distant sounds of the feast celebrating Maelor's nameday.

Aemond sat sternly in a high-backed chair carved from dark wood, his one good eye reflecting the fire's light with a predatory glint. The sapphire that filled his other socket shimmered eerily, adding to his imposing presence. His long silver hair cascaded over his broad shoulders, framing his sharp Valyrian features. His expression was one of contemplation, his lips pressed into a thin line.

As you entered, his gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that caused the air to thicken. With a firm but gentle hand, he beckoned you closer. There was no need for words; his desires were clear in his silent command. His strong hands grasped your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap, facing him. The proximity to him was overwhelming; his presence enveloped you, his heat and the scent of spiced leather and metal filled your senses.

Aemond’s touch was both possessive and protective, a complex amalgamation reflective of his tumultuous nature. His fingers traced the line of your jaw gently yet with a firmness that reminded you of his undeniable strength. Leaning in, his voice was low and husky, a sound that resonated with a command yet carried an undercurrent of vulnerability that he revealed to no one but you.

“Today’s revelries matter little,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Here, with you, I find a moment’s peace amidst the storm that ever churns around me. Tell me, my love, does the heart of the Red Keep feel as oppressive to you as it does to me?”

His question hung in the air, a testament to the rare occasions he chose to voice his concerns. In these private moments, Aemond Targaryen, the fierce dragonrider and prince, sought solace in your presence, showing a side of himself kept hidden from the world. His fingers continued to explore, tracing the lines of your arms down to your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours, grounding himself with your touch. His fingers were rough and calloused, but undeniably warm and strong. He used his thumbs to caress your hands. To ease his worries you plant a soft kiss on his cheek. As the softness of your lips graced his scarred cheek, a subtle shift occurred in Aemond's demeanor. Such a tender gesture, simple yet profound, pierced the hardened exterior of the prince known for his ruthless aggression. His eye, usually so piercing and guarded, softened remarkably, reflecting a fleeting glimpse of the man buried beneath the layers of duty and battle scars.

He inhaled deeply, drawing in the scent of your hair, a mixture of lavender and the subtle hint of the sea, perhaps a memory of calmer days. His grip around you tightened momentarily, a silent acknowledgment of your comfort before he relaxed again. Each touch from you seemed to anchor him further away from the tumultuous thoughts that plagued his mind.

"Your kindness is my fortress," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting something sacred and secret. The intensity of his gaze locked onto yours, seeking, perhaps, a haven only you could provide. With his other hand, he carefully tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

In a soft voice you tell him you love him and nestle closer to his chest. Reacting to your tender words and the closeness of your body nestling against his, Aemond's armored façade melted away under the warmth of your affirmation. His hand, typically prepared for war, shifted with a gentleness reserved solely for these intimate moments. He cradled the back of your head, guiding you to the security of his chest, where the steady beat of his heart played a rhythmic testament to his deep, abiding affection for you.

"I love you beyond the reach of shadows," Aemond whispered, his voice a deep, melodious rumble that resonated within the confines of his chest. The breath of his confession brushed against the crown of your head, imprinting his vow into the very air around you.

In the sanctuary of his embrace, the world's weight—that of a prince expected to be both a warrior and a ruler—seemed to dissolve into the background. Here, in the quietude of his chambers, you were his solace, and he, your unwavering protector. His arms tightened around you, a fortress built not of stone and steel, but of flesh and bone and heartfelt promises.

"Your love is the star by which I navigate the darkest nights," he continued, his hand tracing soothing patterns along your back. The intimacy of the moment grew with each shared breath, pulling him further from his usual world of strategy and strife.

"Let us forget the court, forget the intrigues," Aemond suggested, his tone a blend of longing and decisiveness. "Tonight, it is only you and I, and nothing else shall intrude upon this peace." His fingers paused at the ends of your hair, playing with the strands as though they were precious silks.

[elysiaheaven]

𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠- 𝐃𝐫 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 𝐱 𝐅.𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (Smut)

Words:6000

Genre: Smut

Summary: You decided to help him create a alabaster sculpture, after he broke it. He invites you to a bath, Only to fucking read a damned book

CW: Mentions of Hickey, Marking, Degradation, Overstimulation, Bondage kink, Dom Ratio, Bottom y/n, Dirty talks, Fingering, Rough sex,

You stand in Dr. Ratio’s dimly lit workplace, the faint scent of drying plaster and damp stone lingering in the air. Sunlight filters through tall windows, casting long shadows across the half-finished sculptures and scattered tools. A broken alabaster headpiece sits on a table nearby, the remnants of his last attempt—one that shattered due to his frustration.

He’s leaning over a block of clay now, his wavy violet hair obscuring the sharp focus in his eyes as he meticulously carves details into the surface. You try to suppress a smile, but you can’t help it. Despite his irritable and sarcastic nature, you adore him.

“Focus,” Ratio’s voice slices through your thoughts. He glances at your work with a smirk that borders on condescension. “If you’re going to waste my time, at least try to do it properly.”

You huff, rolling your eyes at his sharp tongue, though deep down, you find comfort in the familiar banter. After all, this wasn’t about proving yourself to him. It was about being close to him—no matter how cruel he sometimes tried to be. He enjoyed teasing you, and you let him because, well… you loved him.

Your hands move over the clay in front of you, smoothing out the rough edges as you try to mirror his techniques. Every movement is deliberate, as if he’s watching your every misstep.

It hadn’t always been this way.

There was a time you were with Aventurine, a bond you once thought would last. The two of you shared long nights under the stars, discussing investments and strategies in a way only the IPC’s brightest could. But things changed after a specific incident—a time where you felt doubt creep into your relationship, where you felt unsure of what you wanted. Topaz offered you a new position, a way out of the pressure you had put on yourself with Aventurine. And you took it.

He made you forget it

You and Ratio met not long after that. You worked together, your skills and ambitions clashing but complementing one another in unexpected ways. It wasn’t until one fateful night in Penacony, that he confessed.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Ratio had said, his usual confidence flickering for the briefest moment. “You and Aventurine… you were something. I don’t want to be the rebound—don't want to be the second choice. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel something for you. So, there. I’ve said it. Do with that what you will.”

Your heart had pounded in your chest, unsure of how to respond. You nodded, too overwhelmed with emotions to find the words. That had been the turning point. Now, you stood by his side, his lover, his student, and more.

“You’re messing up the contours again,” he snaps, pulling you back to the present. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Maybe if you weren’t so mean about it, I’d do better,” you mutter under your breath, not entirely joking. His eyes narrow slightly, but the corner of his lips twitch upward, betraying a smirk.

"Maybe," he replies, setting his tools down and crossing his arms. "But then where’s the fun in that?"

You give him a playful glare and return to your work, but his presence beside you is comforting. He walks over, looming behind you. His muscular build casts a shadow over your small sculpture, and without warning, his hands cover yours. He guides you in carving smoother lines, his touch both firm and surprisingly gentle.

“You’re making it too complicated,” he murmurs in your ear, his voice low but full of that familiar arrogance. “Simplicity is key. Don’t overthink it.”

The sensation of his breath on your neck sends shivers down your spine. He’s close, too close for you to focus on the task. But you pretend, anyway.

“Is this better?” you ask, turning your head slightly to meet his reddish-pink eyes. They flicker with something unspoken, but he nods after a moment, letting go of your hands.

“Passable,” he says, moving away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smile.

The hours pass in a comfortable silence, the two of you working on the new alabaster headpiece for him. His sharp criticisms gradually soften into suggestions, and eventually, you create something he approves of—a new sculpture, perfect for him to wear.

You take a step back, admiring the finished product with pride.

He picks it up, turning it over in his hands before placing it on his head, the alabaster gleaming in the light. He looks at you, his usual smugness replaced with a rare moment of sincerity. “Not bad,” he says.

It’s as close to a compliment as you’re going to get, but it’s enough.

Ratio steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’ve done well,” he murmurs, voice lowering as he reaches out to gently tilt your chin up. “And… I’m glad you stayed, despite everything.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels still, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. He leans in slowly, his lips brushing yours in a soft, almost hesitant kiss. It’s brief, but the warmth lingers as he pulls back, eyes searching yours.

“And don’t think for a second that means I’ll be easier on you,”

You roll your eyes..

You stand back to admire your work, you don’t realize your hands are still caked in clay until you try to brush a stray hair out of your face. The smudge leaves a streak across your cheek, and when you look down, your clothes are covered in it too. You groan softly, trying to wipe it off, but it only smears further.

“You’re a mess,” Dr. Ratio’s voice comes from behind you, rich with amusement.

Before you can respond, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. His muscular frame is warm against your back, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he holds you close. He leans his chin lightly on your shoulder, his violet hair brushing your skin as his reddish-pink eyes lock onto yours in the reflection of a nearby glass pane. There’s a playfulness in his gaze, but also something deeper, something that makes your heart race.

"You’re dirty right now,” he murmurs, his voice carrying that usual commanding tone, though softer than usual.

You twist in his arms, a teasing grin forming on your lips. “Or maybe you’re just too clean,” you whisper before leaning up to kiss him lightly, just brushing the surface of his lips.

Ratio’s eyes darken as he narrows his gaze at you. The air between you crackles with tension, and for a moment, he just stares at you, unblinking. “I’m the one who kissed you, right?” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

You barely have time to react before he cups the back of your neck and crashes his lips onto yours, kissing you with a fierce intensity that sends a wave of heat rushing through your body. His grip tightens slightly, pulling you even closer, and you melt into him, losing yourself in the moment.

His lips move against yours with practiced precision, but there’s an underlying hunger, a need that he’s finally letting surface. He tilts your head slightly, deepening the kiss, and you can feel him smile against your lips when you gasp softly. There’s something both possessive and tender in the way he holds you—like he’s teaching you how to give in completely.

After a moment, Ratio pulls back just enough to speak, his voice huskier than before. “You need to stop teasing if you want to learn,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

You feel his lips brush yours again, slower this time, more deliberate. His hands guide your face as he kisses you deeper, teaching you the rhythm he wants. His tongue traces your lower lip, coaxing a response from you as his kiss grows more insistent, almost like he’s showing you every secret behind his confident, often cold demeanor.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you lean into him, completely lost in his touch. The clay on your hands leaves marks on his skin and clothes, but neither of you care. The world fades around you as Ratio pours all his frustration, passion, and unspoken feelings into the kiss, guiding you with every motion, every shift of his lips against yours.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing heavily, the air between you charged. His eyes search yours, and the usual smugness in his expression is softened by something more vulnerable, more real.

“I hope you’re paying attention,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your cheek lightly. “Because I’m not going to repeat that lesson.”

You cross your arms and give Ratio a teasing grin, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. "I didn’t get it," you say, feigning innocence, "Maybe I need a few more lessons." You bat your eyes playfully, knowing full well what you’re doing.

Ratio sighs, his lips twitching in that familiar mix of amusement and frustration. "You’re impossible, you know that?" His eyes narrow, though there’s a glint in them that says he’s not entirely annoyed. He looks down at both of you, noticing the clay smeared across your clothes, his shirt, and even your hair. "Look at us, we’re both a mess." He runs a hand through his wavy violet hair, now streaked with bits of clay. "I’m going to take a bath."

He turns to walk away, his tone casual as if what he’s about to say next is no big deal. "You should join me."

You hesitate, unsure if he’s serious. "It’s okay, I’ll—"

Ratio turns his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as if challenging you. "I don’t believe you," he says, his voice low and smooth, leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicker with something unreadable. "You’ll join me."

You swallow, your heart racing as you nod, not entirely sure what’s pulling you into this but unable to say no.

You don’t know how it happened, but here you are—submerged in fragrant, warm water, the scent of rose petals filling the air as they float lazily on the surface. The steam curls up around the edges of the large marble tub, wrapping around you like a blanket. You’re sitting across from Ratio, both of you completely naked, the water lapping softly against your skin.

Ratio, in typical fashion, looks completely unbothered. He’s reclining back, his eyes skimming over the pages of a book he must’ve grabbed on the way in. His muscles are relaxed, his toned form half-submerged in the water, and yet there’s something almost regal about the way he sits—completely in control, even in this intimate setting.

Meanwhile, you’re blushing furiously, trying to keep your eyes from wandering. The bubbles and rose petals do a decent job of covering the most vulnerable parts of your body, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. You bite your lip, the silence between you heavy, but neither of you speaks. The only sound is the gentle sloshing of water and the occasional soft rustle as Ratio turns the page of his book.

A small yellow rubber duck bobs between you two, bumping against your knee. You can’t help but huff in annoyance. Here you are, completely flustered, and Ratio is sitting there, reading—acting as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

"Seriously?" you mutter under your breath, half-joking but half-frustrated. "You’re just going to ignore me and read your book? Insensitive much?"

Ratio doesn’t even look up from his book, though you can see the slight curve of a smirk on his lips. "You’re the one who said you didn’t get it," he says, his tone maddeningly calm. "Maybe if you paid more attention, I wouldn’t have to keep teaching you."

Your eyes narrow, but before you can retort, his gaze finally flicks up to meet yours. His reddish-pink eyes, framed by the soft curls of violet hair, pierce through you, making your breath catch. There’s something dark and amused in his expression, as if he’s enjoying every bit of your frustration.

"Do you want my attention, or are you just trying to be difficult?" His voice is smooth, but there’s a challenge hidden underneath it, one that makes your heart pound even faster.

You huff, crossing your arms as you stare at him, the frustration building. “You’re so unromantic,” you complain, your voice edging into a whine. “We’re in a bath together, surrounded by rose petals, and you’re just… reading?”

Ratio doesn’t even flinch, casually turning another page in his book. “The rose petals,” he says, his tone as indifferent as ever, “are for the scent. Nothing more.”

You blink at him, completely thrown off. “For the scent? You’re kidding, right?” Your eyes narrow, and you give him a look that clearly says you’re unimpressed. “Who puts rose petals in a bath just for the scent? That’s such a ridiculous excuse.”

Finally, he lowers his book slightly, glancing at you with a cold, unreadable expression. “It’s not an excuse. It’s practical.” His voice carries that usual sharpness, cutting through the thick steam around you. “Do you want the truth, or do you prefer fantasies?”

Your frustration boils over, and you push yourself up from the bath, the water cascading down your skin as you start to stand. “Unbelievable!” you mutter under your breath. “I don’t need lessons on scents from someone who doesn’t understand basic romance.”

But before you can fully rise, Ratio’s hand shoots out, gripping your wrist with surprising speed. In one swift motion, he pulls you back down into the water, his strength undeniable as you fall against his chest. The splash sends water spilling over the sides of the tub, and the air between you crackles with tension.

“Sit,” he commands, his voice low and firm, not giving you a chance to argue.

You glare at him, but your body goes still as you feel his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer. His skin is warm against yours, and his touch sends a shiver down your spine, despite your irritation. He leans forward, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks, his tone slower now, more deliberate.

“You want romance?” His voice is barely a whisper, yet it sends a jolt through you. “Let me teach you something about scent.”

His hand trails up your arm, pausing to brush away a strand of wet hair from your face. “Scent is powerful,” he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “It’s not just for decoration, it’s a signal. A memory. The roses… you’re not paying attention to what they’re really doing.”

You shiver, his words sinking in as he continues. “Roses have always been a symbol of passion, of longing. Their scent is designed to linger, to invade your senses.” His hands move up to cup your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “When you think of this moment, the scent of these petals will remind you of it—whether you like it or not.”

Your heart races, your breath coming in shallow as Ratio’s eyes hold yours, his intensity making it impossible to look away. His voice drops even lower, a subtle challenge laced within. “So, tell me again, is this unromantic? Or are you simply unaware of what’s really happening around you?”

You’re speechless, caught between the frustration you felt moments ago and the way his words now swirl in your mind. Before you can gather a response, Ratio smirks faintly, brushing his thumb against your lips.

“Next time, think before you act. You’ll find there’s more to everything than what you see on the surface.” He leans in, his lips hovering close to yours but not quite touching. “Now… do you still need another lesson, or have you learned enough?”

His words hang in the air, and you realize you’re clinging to him, your frustration long forgotten. The rose petals drift around you, their scent now intoxicating as you sit there, your body pressed against his. You bite your lip, but the heat in your cheeks is impossible to hide.

“Maybe…” you whisper, eyes half-lidded as you lean into him, “I need just one more lesson.”

As the kiss deepens, Ratio’s hands move with deliberate precision, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He releases you from his embrace, his fingers trailing lightly down your arms, leaving a trail of tingling warmth.

“Let’s add a little more… complexity to your lesson,” Ratio murmurs, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. He reaches over to a nearby cabinet and retrieves a soft, silk blindfold. The fabric glides between his fingers as he holds it up, inspecting it with a contemplative look.

You blink, your heart pounding as he brings the blindfold closer. “What are you—”

Before you can finish, Ratio gently but firmly places the blindfold over your eyes, tying it securely behind your head. The darkness is immediate and complete, enveloping you in a world of black.

You shift uncomfortably, trying to adjust to the sudden loss of sight. The warmth of the bath and Ratio’s presence are the only things grounding you now. “Ratio… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, you hear him move around, the soft rustle of his clothing and the gentle splash of water filling your senses. “Studies show that when you can’t see what’s happening,” he starts, his voice a smooth, calming presence in the darkness, “your brain becomes more attuned to other senses. Touch, sound, scent—they all become heightened. It’s a fascinating phenomenon.”

You shiver, your skin tingling with anticipation and curiosity. “And what does that mean for me?”

“It means,” he says, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, “that you’re going to experience everything in a new way.” His fingers brush lightly against your arm, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “You’ll have to rely on your other senses to understand what’s happening.”

His touch is feather-light, making you shiver as he explores your skin with a practiced, teasing touch. His fingertips graze your shoulders, your neck, and the small of your back, each touch sending waves of sensation through you. The silk blindfold leaves you feeling both vulnerable and exhilarated, heightening every whisper of his touch, every movement.

Ratio’s voice becomes a soft murmur, though it’s clear he’s enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “When the brain can’t see, it often fills in gaps with what it already knows or anticipates,” he explains. “It’s a way of adapting, of creating a picture from incomplete information. Right now, you’re creating an experience based on the limited input you’re receiving.”

You feel his breath against your ear, and his voice lowers even more, almost a purr. “The question is, how much of this can you interpret? How much will you understand without seeing it?”

His hands move to your waist, guiding you gently but firmly. His touch is both confident and tender, each caress and stroke meticulously designed to draw out your reactions. You can’t help but respond, your body leaning into his touch, the warmth and closeness of him filling your senses.

A soft, playful chuckle escapes him. “You’re reacting quite beautifully. It’s interesting how the brain can be so focused on sensation when it’s deprived of sight.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he continues, his voice a low, intimate whisper. “Every touch, every sound, every breath I take is magnified for you. Your mind is building an image of me, of what I’m doing, based on what you feel.”

His hands wander gently over your body, teasingly exploring every inch of your skin, making you squirm and gasp with each new sensation. The anticipation and the unknown heighten every touch, every whisper, making your pulse race.

Ratio’s fingers trail up to your neck, his touch light yet purposeful. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “what do you think I’m doing now? Can you imagine it? Can you sense the intention behind each touch?”

You breathe heavily, trying to focus on the sensations he’s providing, each one building a complex picture in your mind. “I… I think you’re—”

He cuts you off with another teasing touch, his fingertips tracing slow, deliberate patterns on your skin. “Think harder,” he encourages, his voice laced with amusement. “The more you pay attention, the clearer the picture becomes.”

Ratio’s lips brush lightly against your ear, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. His kisses are soft, teasing, a gentle press of warmth that contrasts with the cool air around you. The blindfold makes everything feel more intense, each touch and kiss magnified in the darkness.

You gasp softly as his lips move along the sensitive skin of your ear, trailing slow, deliberate kisses. His breath is warm and teasing against your skin, and each soft touch makes you more aware of how sensitive you are to his every move.

His hands, still resting on your waist, move upward with a tender, almost reverent touch. He explores the contours of your shoulders and neck, his fingers brushing lightly over the sensitive skin there. Each touch feels like it’s designed to provoke a response, making you squirm and lean into him more.

Ratio’s lips continue their path along your ear, his kisses growing more insistent, more lingering. He traces the outer edge of your ear with his lips, planting soft kisses along the delicate folds. The contrast between the soft, teasing kisses and the firm grip of his hands makes every sensation feel more intense, more immediate.

“You’re very responsive,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “It’s fascinating how much the brain can focus on when it’s deprived of sight. You’re feeling everything more acutely.”

His fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your neck, drawing patterns that make you shiver with anticipation. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the cool air around you, creating a heightened sense of awareness. Each kiss, each caress, seems to build a growing tension, an almost unbearable anticipation of what’s coming next.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to whisper in your ear, his voice soft and intimate. “Do you feel how much more vivid everything is? How each touch is amplified because you can’t see it?”

Before you can answer, Ratio’s lips find their way back to your ear, his kisses becoming more fervent. His tongue occasionally flicks out to trace the delicate skin, each movement precise and deliberate. You feel his hands gently slide from your neck to the sides of your torso, his touch both gentle and commanding.

His kisses become more exploratory, his lips moving to the sensitive spots just behind your ear. The sensation is almost overwhelming, making your breathing come in short, erratic bursts. He continues to tease you with soft, lingering kisses, his touch expertly calibrated to make you shiver and gasp.

“I want you to understand,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive whisper, “how every sensation is magnified when you can’t see. It’s a lesson in perception and anticipation.” He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that makes your pulse quicken. “Each touch, each kiss, is meant to make you feel more intensely. I want you to remember this feeling.”

Then! Life was tooo good! He told you a business and you were ready to suck it off!

You immediately got down to business.

You did everything as carefully as possible and delayed the process in order to tease Veritas and see how he would react. He was reacting, even if he barely showed it. His breathing was labored, but he was still looking at you with the same arrogance.

You continue your meticulous work, you're keenly aware of every reaction from Ratio. His breaths grow heavier, his arrogant gaze softening just a fraction. But still, he maintains that cool demeanor, watching you intently as you go about your task.

With each teasing delay, each flick of your tongue, you sense his control slipping. Yet, he holds onto his composure, refusing to show you any satisfaction until you've earned it.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of torturous pleasure, you taste the first signs of his release. His cock twitches in your hand, pulsing as thick spurts of cum coat your tongue. You try to pull away, wanting to avoid the mess, but his grip tightens in your hair, yanking you back down.

"No, keep going," he commands, his voice strained but still commanding. "Take it all."

His command sends another wave of arousal through your body, and despite yourself, you comply. You continue to suck and lick, taking in every last drop of his cum while he watches, his eyes burning with a mix of satisfaction and possession.

When he finally pulls free, you gasp for air, your mouth slick with his seed. But before you can wipe your lips clean, he binds your wrists behind your back, then grabs a length of rope and begins tying a blindfold around your eyes.

"Let's see how well you do without being able to watch me," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "And remember, every point you earn gets you closer to freedom."

Without warning, he plunges a digit inside you, feeling your walls clench around him instinctively. Hmm, looks like you're already quite ready for my cock, he muses, adding another finger to stretch you wider.

Ratio continues to explore your depths with his fingers, his movements deliberate and calculated. "As you can feel, your inner muscles are already contracting around me," he explains, his voice a low purr against your ear. "This is a natural response to stimulation, a sign of your body's readiness for penetration."

His fingers curl inward, rubbing against that sensitive spot deep within you. "The G-spot, as it's commonly known, is actually an area of concentrated nerve endings," he continues, his words a sensual counterpoint to the sensations he's evoking. "Stimulation here can lead to intense pleasure and even orgasm."

He adds a third finger, stretching you further as he applies gentle pressure to your clit. "Your body's reactions are telling me that you're highly responsive to these types of touches," he notes, his tone clinical yet infused with dark desire.

Ratio's fingers delve deeper, you can't help but cry out, your moans echoing in the room. "It's too much," you whimper, but the truth is far different. Your body craves more, hungers for the fullness only his cock can provide.

"You study so much," you breathe out between gasps, "but don't forget to enjoy the results." Even as you speak, your hips buck against his hand, seeking friction where you need it most.

His kiss is a claiming, his tongue dominating yours in a dance as old as time. It's a stark contrast to the scientific observations he's been making moments ago, but it fits perfectly with the primal urge coursing through your veins.

He breaks the kiss, his fingers stop their relentless assault, leaving you hanging on the edge of bliss. "Remember, this is just the warm-up,"

Ratio pauses his ministrations, letting you bask in the waves of pleasure that ripple through your body. He gives you a moment to catch your breath, his fingers trailing tantalizing patterns across your heated flesh.

"How do you feel?" he queries, his voice laced with a hint of concern. "Are you enjoying this? Or do you wish I'd hurry things along?" Despite his seemingly detached inquiry, his touch betrays his own growing excitement.

Before you can answer, he abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty and craving. "No," he says firmly, catching your hands in his and pinning them above your head. "I want to see how you handle the absence of sensation. How does that make you feel?"

Your mind reels from the sudden loss of stimulation, your body screaming for more even as you struggle to form coherent thoughts. "N-nothing," you stammer, your voice shaking. "It feels like nothing at all."

Ratio hums thoughtfully, his fingers trailing down your side to rest on your hip. "Interesting," he muses. "Your brain is processing the lack of sensation, interpreting it as a void rather than actual pain or discomfort. This suggests a high level of sexual tolerance and adaptability."

He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "I think we can push you even further. Let's see how you react when I deny you both touch and sight." With that, he reaches for the blindfold, preparing to cover your eyes once more.

...................!!!!!!!! "It's..time to go on."

With a swift movement, Ratio removes the blindfold, revealing the world once more to your desperate eyes. But instead of touching you himself, he simply places his hand near your throbbing center, his fingers hovering just above your most sensitive spot.

"Cum for me," he commands, his voice firm and commanding. "Show me what I've done to you." His hand remains still, not providing the direct stimulation you crave, forcing you to rely on your own efforts to achieve release.

The tension coils tighter within you, your body begging for relief. But without his guidance, you're left to navigate the storm of emotions and sensations on your own.

With a sharp cry, you finally surrender to the mounting pleasure, your body convulsing as waves of climax crash over you. Your juices gush forth, soaking Ratio's hand and dripping onto the bed beneath you.

But the reprieve is fleeting. Before you can even catch your breath, he pushes you back onto the mattress, holding you down firmly. "That was just a preview," he declares, his voice a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. "Now, let's continue our little experiment."

He leans over you, his gaze locked onto yours as he teases open your folds with his fingers. Each slow, deliberate thrust sends another shockwave of pleasure through your system, reigniting the flames of desire that had barely begun to cool.

"Study and lesson," he reminds you, his tone dripping with carnal intent. "And remember, I'm in control."

Ratio's fingers continue their torturous dance, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure from your quivering body. But then, without warning, he replaces his fingers with the thick, rigid length of his cock. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, your body stretching to accommodate his size.

He takes his time, savoring each inch as he slides deeper inside you. The stretch and burn are exquisite, pushing you to new heights of arousal. "Feel that?" he growls, pausing to give you a moment to adjust. "That's power. That's control."

With a steady pace, he begins to move, setting a rhythm designed to drive you mad with lust

Moans spill from your lips, raw and primal, as Ratio drives into you relentlessly. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of ecstasy crashing through your body, threatening to sweep you away in its intensity.

"Louder," he demands, his voice strained with effort. "Let me hear how much you love this." He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

Your cries echo off the walls, mingling with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh. The pleasure builds higher and higher, coiling tighter within you until you feel ready to burst.

The rubber duck he always keeps innocently floats past, and you had half a mind to reach out and turn its gaze away from the 'scene'.

"Focus on the sensation," Ratio instructs, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. "Notice every detail - the heat, the friction, the way my cock stretches you open."

As he speaks, he adjusts his angle, hitting a sweet spot deep within you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "This is crucial data," he continues, his thrusts becoming more erratic as his own pleasure mounts. "Understanding the nuances of pleasure will help me craft the perfect experience for you."

His words are a distant hum, lost in the sea of sensation that engulfs you. All you can do is cling to him, arching your back to meet his increasingly brutal thrusts.

Cries of pleasure and frustration tear from your throat as Ratio's relentless pounding drives you closer and closer to the edge. Each word he utters only serves to fan the flames of your desire.

"That's it," he praises, his grip on your hips tightening. "Endure it like a good little bitch you are." His words are a crude insult, but they only add to the eroticism of the situation.

The coil inside you snaps, releasing a torrent of orgasmic bliss that washes over you in powerful waves. Your inner walls clench around Ratio's cock, milking him for all he's worth.

The final tremors of your shared climax fade away, Ratio collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the tub. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly.

"I want to feel you come undone one more time," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with satisfaction. Slowly, almost gently, he begins to move inside you once more, coaxing your oversensitive body towards yet another peak.

With a final, powerful surge, he buries himself deep inside you, his cock pulsating as he spills his hot seed into your waiting womb. The sensation triggers another orgasm, your body trembling and convulsing around him as you milk him dry.

Your moans mingle with his grunts of exertion, creating a symphony of passion that fills the room. Together, you climb the slopes of ecstasy, racing towards the pinnacle of pleasure. And as you crest the final hill, tumbling into oblivion together, you know that this is only the beginning of your journey into the depths of depravity.

The aftermath of your intense and passionate encounter leaves you feeling both exhilarated and drained. You’re trying to shake off the lingering sensations and focus on the task at hand: cooking. Your legs still tremble slightly as you attempt to prepare a meal, the aftermath of Ratio’s teasing and touch making it difficult to concentrate.

Ratio stays close by, his presence a constant reminder of the events that just unfolded. He watches you with an amused smirk, his gaze flickering between you and the cooking. “You’re not doing it quite right,” he says, his voice carrying that familiar mix of criticism and amusement. “The way you’re handling the ingredients is all wrong.”

You huff, your frustration bubbling up. “Oh, really? Maybe if you hadn’t spent so much time teasing me, I wouldn’t be such a mess right now.”

Ratio raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a more intense expression of amusement. “Is that so? It’s not my fault if you’re unable to focus. Perhaps you need more practice.”

You shoot him a glare, but before you can say anything else, Ratio steps closer. His movements are quick and decisive, and before you fully realize what’s happening, he gently but firmly pushes you onto the table. The action catches you off guard, and you find yourself splayed out on the surface, the cool touch of the table against your skin contrasting with the warmth of the kitchen.

Ratio stands over you, his eyes glinting with a mix of dominance and satisfaction. “I think you need a different kind of lesson,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “One that doesn’t involve cooking.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you struggle to regain your composure. “Ratio, what are you—”

He silences you with a finger on your lips, his touch light but authoritative. “Shh. Cooking can wait. Right now, you’re going to learn something more practical.”

His hands move with a deliberate calmness, as though he’s in complete control of the situation. He leans over you, his proximity making it hard to think clearly. His gaze is intense, his presence overwhelming.

“You were so eager to challenge me earlier,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive whisper. “Now, let’s see if you can handle a different kind of lesson.”

His hands roam lightly over your body, his touch both firm and gentle. The contrast between the cool surface of the table and his warm, teasing touch creates a heightened sense of awareness, making every movement more intense.

“Tell me,” he says, his lips brushing against your ear, “how do you feel now? Do you understand the difference between the lessons I’ve given you and the ones you’re trying to master?”

You try to respond, but your voice comes out as a shaky whisper. “I… I get it. I’m sorry for complaining. I just—”

Ratio interrupts you with a soft, teasing kiss along your neck, his touch sending shivers through you. “You’re not just apologizing for the cooking, are you?” he asks, his tone playful yet commanding. “You’re acknowledging that there’s more to learn, more to experience.”

His hands continue their exploration, his touch both tender and possessive. You find yourself unable to resist the sensations he’s creating, the way his presence and touch make everything else fade into the background.

“Cooking will come later,” Ratio says, his voice a seductive whisper as he leans in even closer. “Right now, focus on what’s happening here, on what you’re feeling.”

[seospicybin]

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU TOO.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Related chapter: I Put A Spell On You.

Synopsis: Having a common enemy, you and Hyunjin work together to secure your futures. With your witchcraft, the plan sets in motion, the boundaries between right and wrong blur, and secrets begin to unravel, leaving you and Hyunjin bound by more than just circumstance. (22,4k words)

Author's note: It's Friday the 13th, join the circle and enjoy this piece of magic ♡

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!)

The first light of dawn filters through the blinds, painting faint golden streaks across the walls. The air is thick with the scent of burning sage, the smoke curling lazily upward before dissipating into the stillness of the room. 

You stand barefoot before the altar, its surface a collection of well-worn spellbooks, crystals, and a single flickering candle. The morning ritual is second nature to you now—a daily reminder of the power simmering beneath your skin, waiting to be unleashed. 

With steady hands, you trace the sigil carved into the small bowl before you. The words come easily, slipping past your lips like a promise: 

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

The candle flame responds, leaping higher for a moment before settling back into its steady glow. The familiar hum of energy vibrates through your body, faint but undeniable. It’s not enough yet—your magic is still rebuilding, still growing—but it’s there. A spark, waiting to ignite. 

You inhale deeply, the air filling your lungs with a mix of hope and resolve. Every day brings you closer to reclaiming the strength you once had, closer to the moment when the world will finally recognize your worth. 

Reaching for the almanac resting at the edge of your altar, you flip to the marked date. The book feels heavy in your hands, the weight of countless predictions and warnings etched into its pages. Your eyes skim the delicate handwriting, pausing on the entry for today: 

"The winds shift in the favor of the wary, but beware those who wield false crowns. Their power is fleeting, but their reach is long." 

A chill runs through you, the words sinking in like a stone in still water. False crowns. Your mind flickers to the new CEO, the unsettling man who now occupies the highest seat in the company. You’ve felt his shadow looming since the day he arrived, his presence like a storm cloud waiting to break. 

You close the almanac with a soft thud, the foreboding message settling heavily in your chest. The city stirs outside your window, but in this quiet moment, it feels as though time stands still. 

You glance at your reflection in the nearby mirror, studying the determination etched into your features. You’ve come so far, yet there’s still so much to do. 

Today is just another step forward, another piece of the puzzle. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on. The world doesn’t know it yet, but its days of underestimating you are numbered. 

“Today the world bends, and all power is mine.” 

-

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and there he is—Hyunjin. Perfectly dressed as always, his hair immaculate, his expression cool and distant. He steps in without a glance in your direction, his presence commanding the small space like a storm that doesn’t need to rage to be felt. You step back to give him room, not that he notices. He presses the button for his floor, and the doors close, sealing you in together. 

The silence is suffocating, a weight pressing down on your chest. You’ve grown used to this—his deliberate ignorance, the way he carries himself as though you don’t exist. It’s not new, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

The memory of his smile, the warmth of his laughter, and the fleeting moments when he looked at you like you were the only person in the world flash through your mind. It’s almost cruel, how vivid those memories are, knowing they mean nothing to him now. To Hyunjin, it’s as if none of it ever happened—as if the love spell never existed, as if you never existed. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to let it show. After all, no one knows the truth but you. The weight of it is yours alone to carry. Every stolen glance, every pang of longing, every ounce of guilt—it’s all yours. You shift your gaze to the floor, pretending to study the polished tiles. You can’t let yourself get lost in the what-ifs again. 

When the elevator chimes for his floor, he steps out without so much as a glance in your direction. No words. Not even a polite nod.  You let out a soft sigh once the doors close again, leaning back against the wall. Despite everything—despite his indifference, his coldness, the way he behaves as if you’re a stranger—you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pride when you think about him. 

Hyunjin’s name has been buzzing in the office lately. The whispers of his upcoming promotion are impossible to miss, and the thought of him moving up fills you with quiet satisfaction. He deserves it. Every bit of it. He’s one of the hardest-working people you’ve ever met, and no amount of his harshness toward you can erase that.

For all that’s happened—or hasn’t happened, in his mind—you wish him nothing but the best. It’s a bittersweet truth, but one you’ve come to accept. The elevator finally stops at your floor, and you straighten your shoulders, ready to face the day.

-

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps out, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. As he moves through the hallway, his mind lingers on the ride he just shared with you. 

He hadn’t meant to notice, but he did. That look again—sad and distant, like you were carrying the weight of something invisible. Like you were carrying him. 

It’s not the first time he’s caught it, either. The way your eyes linger on him, quiet and heavy with something he can’t name. It unsettles him, that expression. Almost as if he’s hurt you somehow. 

He frowns, shaking the thought away as he reaches his office. You’re just a coworker, someone he passes in the halls. Whatever story you’ve written for yourself, whatever sadness you carry—it has nothing to do with him. It *can’t.* Hyunjin sets his bag down on his desk and exhales slowly, trying to refocus. There’s too much on his plate today to be distracted by fleeting glances and unanswered questions. He sits, pulling his laptop open, and begins sorting through the mountain of emails waiting for him. 

Barely an hour has passed when his desk phone rings. 

“Hyunjin, can you come to my office for a moment?” Mr. Campbell’s voice is clipped, leaving no room for interpretation. 

“Of course, sir,” Hyunjin replies, already standing. He smooths his jacket, preparing himself for what he assumes is good news. After all, the whispers of his impending promotion have been growing louder by the day. 

The walk to Mr. Campbell’s office feels longer than usual, but Hyunjin steadies his nerves. This is it, he thinks. Finally, recognition for all his hard work. 

But when he steps into the office, Mr. Campbell’s expression isn’t celebratory. If anything, it’s tight with discomfort. 

“Have a seat,” Mr. Campbell says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. Hyunjin hesitates but complies. 

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Mr. Campbell begins, folding his hands together. “You’ve been an exceptional employee, Hyunjin. Your performance has been nothing short of stellar, and I’ve personally been advocating for your promotion.” 

Hyunjin’s heart begins to race, anticipation bubbling in his chest. 

“However,” Mr. Campbell continues, his tone taking a sharp turn, “with the new CEO stepping into the role, there have been… adjustments. Your promotion has been postponed.” 

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Postponed?” Hyunjin echoes, his voice tight with disbelief. 

“Yes. The position you were being considered for has been filled by someone else, chosen directly by the CEO, Mr. Hargrave himself.” 

Hyunjin blinks, struggling to process the words. The work, the late nights, the endless hours of proving himself—it was all for nothing? 

“With all due respect, sir,” Hyunjin says, his voice rising slightly, “this is unfair. I’ve worked hard for that promotion. I’ve earned it.” 

“I don’t disagree,” Mr. Campbell says, his tone apologetic but firm. “But this decision is out of my hands. The CEO has made his choice.” 

Hyunjin clenches his fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So, that’s it? Years of dedication mean nothing?” 

“I understand your frustration,” Mr. Campbell replies. “But I need you to remain professional about this. There will be other opportunities.” 

Hyunjin stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more without letting his anger slip entirely. 

“Thank you for your time,” he says curtly, turning on his heel and leaving the office. 

As he stalks back to his desk, the weight of the conversation settles heavily on his shoulders. The unfairness of it burns in his chest. How could this happen? How could they just take everything he’s worked for and hand it to someone else? 

His jaw tightens as he sits back down, trying to focus, but the injustice keeps replaying in his mind. He’s not just upset—he’s furious. 

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunjin feels something dangerous brewing beneath the surface. 

-

The boardroom feels unusually tense this morning. The usual low buzz of pre-meeting chatter is muted, replaced by an air of nervous anticipation. It’s your first meeting with Flint Hargrave, the new CEO, and even without the rumors, you’d know he’s not a man to be trifled with. 

You take a seat at the long, polished table, your folder of documents in front of you. Flint hasn’t arrived yet, but you’ve already heard the whispers—he’s harsh, demanding, and utterly unyielding. A few employees exchange worried glances as they shuffle their papers, the tension palpable. 

When the doors open, all conversation ceases. Flint strides into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. He’s tall and sharply dressed, his suit immaculate. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—cold, piercing, and calculating—scan the room like he’s sizing up prey. 

You don’t falter under his gaze. If he’s looking for weakness, he won’t find it here. 

As the meeting begins, you wait for your turn, forcing yourself to focus. When it finally comes, you stand, walking to the head of the room where the projector is already set up. Taking a deep breath, you begin your presentation. 

Your voice is steady as you explain your proposal, detailing the steps, objectives, and the benefits it would bring to both the company and its employees. You make eye contact with the board members and occasionally glance at Flint, gauging his reaction. 

Unlike some higher-ups, Flint doesn’t interrupt or appear distracted. He leans slightly forward, his hands folded on the table, giving you his full attention. His gaze is steady and sharp, making you feel like you’re under a microscope. 

By the time you finish, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe Flint isn’t the tyrant everyone claims he is. 

The room is silent for a moment before Flint speaks for the first time. 

“Thank you,” he begins, his tone professional but firm. “Your presentation was clear, and the proposal has merit.” 

You feel a small sense of relief. 

“However,” Flint continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “I have a few adjustments I’d like to make before I approve this.” 

He leans back slightly, his tone calm but carrying an edge of authority as he outlines his demands. The adjustments he proposes are subtle but significant, reshaping the very purpose of your proposal. They would disserve the employees, prioritizing cost-cutting and efficiency over fairness and well-being. 

You clench your hands beneath the table, keeping your expression neutral. As he speaks, you realize this isn’t just a misunderstanding—Flint knows exactly what he’s doing. 

When he finishes, you respond as diplomatically as possible. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Hargrave. However, I believe these adjustments might undermine the goals of the proposal, particularly in terms of employee satisfaction and long-term productivity.” 

Flint doesn’t flinch and daringly holds your gaze. “I appreciate your perspective, but my priority is ensuring that the company operates at maximum efficiency. Your proposal is promising, but it needs to align with those objectives.” 

“But,” you persist, your tone steady, “if we implement those changes, it could lead to dissatisfaction among the employees, which in turn could impact overall morale and performance. This proposal was designed to balance both efficiency and employee well-being.” 

Flint leans forward, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you want my approval, you’ll make the adjustments.” 

The room falls silent. Every pair of eyes is on you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. You swallow your frustration, your mind racing. Flint isn’t just demanding changes—he’s testing you, pushing to see how far you’ll bend. 

“Understood,” you say finally, your voice even. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you rattle. 

Flint nods, his expression unreadable. “Good. I expect the revised proposal on my desk by the end of the week.” 

As the meeting adjourns, you gather your materials, your stomach sinking. Flint has made it clear that he’s not a man who compromises—and now you’re left to figure out how to deal with him. 

-

The meeting room empties slowly, the air still charged with the weight of Flint’s words. You gather your things methodically, trying to shake the tension from your shoulders.

As you step out, the sight of Hyunjin catches your attention. He’s on your floor. For a moment, your heart stirs with hope, and you almost smile.

Has he finally been promoted? The thought alone is enough to bring a flicker of happiness amidst the dread of Flint’s demands. 

But that moment of hope is short-lived. 

Hyunjin’s stride is brisk, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating anger. He brushes past you without so much as a glance, his eyes locked on one target: Flint. 

You pause, watching as he storms toward the man who’s still lingering near the doorway of the meeting room, flanked by his assistant. 

“You!” Hyunjin’s voice echoes across the floor, sharp and furious. Heads turn as his words cut through the low hum of office chatter. “How dare you sabotage my promotion!” 

Flint doesn’t flinch, his expression as calm as ever. If anything, his interest seems mildly piqued, as though Hyunjin’s outburst is merely an inconvenience he anticipated. 

Hyunjin doesn’t stop, one index finger pointed at Flint’s chest. “I’ve worked my ass off for this position! I’ve earned it!” His voice rises with every word. “You think you can just walk in here and decide I’m not good enough? You don’t even know me!” 

The assistant takes a nervous step back, but Flint doesn’t move. His hands rest loosely at his sides, his gaze locked on Hyunjin with unsettling composure. 

“Mr. Hwang,” Flint finally says, his voice smooth and unbothered. “I understand you’re upset—” 

“Upset?” Hyunjin snaps, cutting him off. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re not fit to be CEO if this is how you run things! Favoring people who haven’t put in half the work I have? What kind of leadership is that?” 

You stand frozen, your files clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve seen Hyunjin upset before, but this is different. His rage is fiery, unrestrained, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s about to lunge at Flint. 

But Flint remains unshaken. His calm is unnerving, as if he’s watching a predictable scene unfold rather than being the target of Hyunjin’s anger. 

Security steps in before things escalate further. Two guards approach swiftly, placing themselves between Hyunjin and Flint. 

“That’s enough, Mr. Hwang,” one of them says firmly, motioning for Hyunjin to step back. 

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his jaw tight. For a moment, it looks like he might resist, but after a tense pause, he takes a step back, his breathing heavy and labored. 

“This isn’t over,” Hyunjin mutters, his glare piercing. 

The guards escort him away, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. You glance back at Flint, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains unreadable. 

As the hallway clears, Flint turns to his assistant, his voice low but deliberate. “Have Hwang’s file on my desk. Immediately.” 

The assistant nods and rushes off without a word. 

Your stomach sinks. You’ve already seen how Flint operates—calculated and unyielding. And now, with Hyunjin’s outburst, it’s clear he’s caught Flint’s attention in the worst way. 

A chill runs down your spine as you walk back to your desk, your thoughts racing. Flint doesn’t let things go. He doesn’t forgive. And after what you’ve just witnessed, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s already planning something sinister for Hyunjin. 

You sit down, your hands trembling slightly as you replay the scene in your mind. Hyunjin’s fiery passion versus Flint’s icy composure—it’s a clash that could destroy everything. 

And for the first time, you wonder if Hyunjin’s rage will be his downfall. 

-

The night is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your book of spells. The faint light from a single candle flickers, casting long shadows across your workspace. The book lies open before you, its yellowed pages filled with faded script and intricate diagrams. 

Your eyes scan the instructions, pausing on a ritual for protection. It’s a spell you’ve never attempted before, but tonight, it feels necessary. Flint’s chilling composure and whispered orders earlier still linger in your mind, and the memory of Hyunjin’s fiery rage has etched itself into your heart. 

You gather the ingredients, laying them out meticulously: A sprig of rosemary for clarity and purification. A small piece of obsidian for shielding against negativity. A dried bay leaf for protection. A strand of your own hair, tying your energy to the spell. 

You pull out a small black pouch and place it beside the items. The air feels charged as you light a bundle of sage, letting the smoke cleanse the space. You place the rosemary and obsidian into the pouch first, followed by the bay leaf. With each addition, you focus on Hyunjin—his face, his energy, his fiery determination. Finally, you add the strand of your hair, knotting the ends to hold your intent firmly in place. 

With the pouch in your hands, you draw a protective circle around yourself with chalk, marking the edges with small crystals. Sitting cross-legged at its center, you hold the pouch close to your heart, the candlelight reflecting in your eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you chant: “By leaf and stone, by flame and thread. Shield him well from paths of dread. Let no harm pierce, let no ill stay. Protect him now, by night and day.”

You repeat the words three times, your voice steady, each syllable carrying your intent into the universe. As you chant, you feel a warmth build in your chest, spreading through your hands and into the pouch. The air grows still, as if the world is holding its breath. 

When the final word leaves your lips, the candle flickers wildly before extinguishing itself, leaving you in darkness. A shiver runs down your spine, but you know the ritual is complete. 

Carefully, you tie the pouch shut with a red thread, knotting it three times for strength. You hold it in your hands, the weight of it light yet significant. 

“This will protect you,” you whisper, imagining Hyunjin’s face. “This will keep you safe.” 

For a moment, you allow yourself to hope. Even if Hyunjin never knows what you’ve done for him, even if he never remembers what you once shared, at least you can still protect him. 

-

The office is unusually quiet during lunch breaks, and you know this is your best chance. Taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag and pull out the small talisman you crafted for Hyunjin. 

The pouch feels warm in your hand, almost pulsing with the protective magic you infused into it. You look around to make sure no one is watching and quickly make your way to Hyunjin’s desk. His briefcase is propped open, papers and files neatly organized inside. With steady hands, you slip the talisman into one of the inner compartments, tucking it safely beneath a folder. 

A sense of relief washes over you as you straighten up. It’s done. Hyunjin might not know it, but he has a layer of protection now. Even if you’re unsure of how strong your magic is, you’ve done everything you can to help him. 

You return to your desk, a small flicker of hope settling in your chest. Despite everything, you’ve done something good for him. 

Later that day, as the clock approaches the hour for your meeting with Flint, an uneasy feeling creeps into your stomach. The hallway to his office feels colder than usual, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Clutching your notebook to your chest, you silently chant your usual spell under your breath as you walk: 

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

The words give you a fragile sense of courage, but it falters when you reach the heavy oak door. Taking a deep breath, you knock. 

“Come in,” Flint’s voice calls, low and authoritative. 

You step inside, shutting the door softly behind you. Flint is seated at his desk, an imposing figure with a sharp suit and an even sharper gaze. The room smells faintly of leather and coffee, and the blinds are half-drawn, casting slanted shadows across the desk. 

As you stand there, your eyes flicker briefly to the stack of files on his desk. Among them, unmistakably, is Hyunjin’s file. Your stomach tightens, but you quickly shift your focus back to Flint as he speaks. 

“Well?” Flint says, his tone cool but demanding. “Have you made the adjustments I requested?” 

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve reviewed your demands, sir, and I wanted to suggest a few alternative approaches that could meet the company’s goals without—”  Flint raises a hand, silencing you. His gaze is sharp, almost predatory. “Let me stop you right there. I wasn’t asking for alternatives. I was asking if you’ve done what I told you to do.” 

Swallowing hard, you summon your courage. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe those adjustments align with the purpose of my proposal. They would negatively impact employee morale, and—” 

Flint leans back in his chair, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across his face. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you? I admire your spirit, though I’m starting to wonder if it’s misplaced.” 

The air in the room grows heavier as he continues, his voice cutting like a blade. “You know, for someone in your position, you’d think you’d know better than to argue with your superior. Maybe this is why women like you struggle to make it past middle management.” 

His words hit you like a slap, but you keep your expression steady. “I don’t see why that has something to do with my ability to do my job, Mr. Hargrave?” you ask, your voice firm but controlled. 

Flint’s smirk doesn’t waver. Instead, he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled. “Oh, I’m sure you think that. But let me remind you, this isn’t about fairness or ideals. This is about doing what you’re told.” 

You feel your pulse quicken, your grip on your notebook tightening as he continues. 

“If you want to keep rebelling against me,” he says, his tone almost taunting, “go right ahead. But I’d be very careful if I were you. You might not like what happens next.” 

For a moment, you’re frozen, staring at him as the weight of his words settles over you. Flint is dangerous—more dangerous than you realized. His calm demeanor only makes him more threatening, and you’re reminded once again that this is not a man to cross. 

Summoning what little composure you have left, you nod. “Understood, sir,” you say, your voice quieter now. 

Flint leans back in his chair, satisfied, and waves a hand dismissively. “Good. Now, get back to work.” 

You turn on your heel and leave the office, your heart pounding as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you, and only then do you allow yourself to take a shaky breath. 

Walking back to your desk, you can’t shake the image of Hyunjin’s file sitting on Flint’s desk. Whatever Flint is planning, it won’t just affect you—it’ll affect him too. And no matter how dangerous Flint is, you know you have to do something. 

-

A few days have passed, and you begin to feel a slight sense of relief. The talisman is working, or at least you hope it is. Despite seeing Hyunjin's file on Flint’s desk that day, nothing significant has happened. Hyunjin still walks through the halls, just as indifferent as ever. And you... well, you’re still the same.

Watching him from afar, your heart quietly aching for the bond you both shared, but knowing it’s gone, just like the magic you once cast on him.

As usual, you take the elevator down to the parking basement, stealing glances at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye. The elevator is crowded, and it’s hard to even think of doing anything but keeping your distance.

The silence between you two is deafening, as if the space around you had a barrier, both emotional and physical. You want to say something, anything, but the words are lost before they can even form.

The elevator dings, signaling your stop. The doors open, and you step out, your eyes lowering to the ground as you make your way toward your car. You tell yourself to let go of the past, but the weight of it lingers, thick in the air.

You unlock the door to your car, your hand trembling slightly as you grip the handle.

"Wait."

You spin around at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you can react, he grabs your elbow and flips you around, his grip firm but not painful. The world seems to slow as you look up into his eyes—eyes that are no longer filled with warmth but something else. Something searching.

“What is this?” Hyunjin demands, holding up the small talisman you slipped into his briefcase, his expression tense, almost accusing. His eyes narrow as he waits for your answer.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You hadn't expected this. He found it. The talisman.

"It's... it’s uh..." you say, trying to steady your voice, but it comes out quieter than you intended. "A talisman."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his expression hardening. “A talisman?” His tone is sharp with disbelief. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"

The accusation stings, but you quickly shake your head. "No, no curse. It’s meant to protect you."

He doesn't let go of your wrist. "Protect me?" His eyes search yours, but there's a flicker of something else—suspicion. "Why would you protect me?"

The question hangs in the air, and you feel the truth swelling in your chest, but you can’t speak it. The reason you want to protect him... because you care. You care too much. But you can’t admit that to him. Not now. Not when everything between you has been reduced to this awkward distance.

You swallow hard and blur the truth. "I saw your file on Flint’s desk. I know he plans on doing something to you. I don’t want you to get hurt," you say quickly.

"And I hate Flint too. I do. I know this one spell so I think we could work together to take him down. I just need your—”

You can feel his grip falter slightly, but then his gaze flickers to something else entirely. Something that causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

"Wait... are you saying you actually practice witchcraft?" he asks, his voice shaking with a mix of incredulity and fear.

The world spins. You don’t even know how to respond. You could lie, but his eyes are burning into yours, and for some reason, lying doesn’t feel like an option. Not now.

"Yes," you say softly, unable to stop yourself.

He stares at you in silence for a long moment, and you feel as if the air has been sucked out of the world around you. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the shock, the disbelief, the fear all rising to the surface. It’s too much. Too much for him to process.

And then, before you can say anything else, you hear it—the words you never wanted to hear.

“Stay away from me.”

The coldness in his voice cuts through you like a blade. It’s like an icy wall has been erected between you, one you can’t get past. The small spark of hope you’d held onto—the hope that Hyunjin might remember, might somehow feel something for you again—dies in that instant.

You take a step back, unable to move for a moment, before you finally blink and lower your gaze. His words echo in your mind, a cruel reminder of how much you’ve lost.

“Hyunjin, I—”

He interrupts, his tone harsh now. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t ever come near me again. Don’t use your... your magic on me.”

His words sting, like acid on an open wound. And all you can do is nod, silent tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there. The good you tried to do has backfired completely. The last shred of hope you had is shattered.

And now, it’s clear: Hyunjin will never see you the way you want him to.

-

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens when he spots you heading toward the elevator at the same time as him. His gaze sharpens, and he throws you a glare as if to remind you of the boundary he firmly set. You stop in your tracks, hesitating as if his silent warning alone is enough to keep you at bay.

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps inside without sparing you another glance. But just before the doors close, he catches that look on your face again—the same sad, almost resigned expression that’s been haunting him lately. It lingers in his mind for a moment before he forces it away with a shake of his head.

Arriving at the office floor, Hyunjin immediately senses something is off. Several of his colleagues are gathered around his desk, rifling through his drawers and gathering his belongings. Anger bubbles to the surface as he storms over.

“What the hell are you doing with my stuff?” Hyunjin demands, his voice cutting through the commotion.

One of his coworkers flinches, looking away uncomfortably, while another mutters, “Sorry, Hyunjin, we were told—”

“Told by who?” he snaps, but before he can press further, someone places a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hyunjin,” comes the calm yet weary voice of Mr. Campbell, his superior. “I need you to come with me to my office.”

Hyunjin hesitates, his eyes darting to the boxed-up items on his desk. “What’s going on?”

Mr. Campbell only sighs and gestures for him to follow. Reluctantly, Hyunjin obeys, but unease twists in his stomach as he steps into the office.

Once seated, Mr. Campbell doesn’t waste time. “Hyunjin, the company has received an anonymous tip that you’ve been sharing confidential intel with a competitor.”

The words hit Hyunjin like a punch to the gut. His brow furrows in disbelief. “What? That’s ridiculous! I would never—”

“I know, and frankly, I don’t believe it either,” Mr. Campbell interjects. “But these are serious allegations, and the audit team is already investigating. Until they conclude their review, you’re suspended.”

Hyunjin shoots to his feet, his frustration boiling over. “This is Flint, isn’t it? He’s trying to get rid of me!”

Mr. Campbell raises a hand to calm him. “Hyunjin, I understand your anger, but making accusations without evidence will only make things worse for you. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you go home and let the audit team do their work.”

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his mind racing. Every fiber of his being screams at him to march straight into Flint’s office and confront him, but Mr. Campbell’s warning rings in his ears. After a tense moment, he exhales sharply and storms out of the office.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

-

Instead of heading home as Mr. Campbell suggested, Hyunjin finds himself at a bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in the middle of the day. The amber liquid burns his throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in his mind. He feels angry, frustrated, and—though he hates to admit it—utterly defeated. Flint had outmaneuvered him, and now he was sidelined, his career hanging by a thread.

He shoves a hand into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing against something unfamiliar. Frowning, he pulls it out and stares at the small pouch you had slipped into his briefcase. The talisman.

For a moment, he debates tossing it right then and there, but something stops him. He knows he should’ve burned it the second he discovered it, should’ve gotten rid of it if he truly believed it might bring him bad luck. Yet, as he observes it now, he feels a flicker of curiosity rather than fear.

Your words echo in his mind. “I hate Flint too. We could work together to take him down.”

Hyunjin takes another sip of his drink, the idea slowly settling in. Teaming up with you doesn’t seem entirely ridiculous anymore. After all, the enemy of his enemy should be his ally. But before he makes any decisions, he wants to confirm something first.

By the time he steps out of the bar, the sun has already begun its descent. With his phone in hand, he searches for the address of a shop he’d found online earlier—a place that specializes in witchcraft. It’s not long before he arrives at an unassuming storefront with a sign that reads “Moonlit Mystics.”

The moment Hyunjin pushes open the door, he’s hit by the pungent scent of sage. The interior is dimly lit, cluttered with shelves full of crystals, candles, herbs, and other esoteric items. It’s exactly what he expected, almost to the point of being a cliché.

“Welcome,” a woman’s voice greets him from behind the counter.

Hyunjin turns to see a middle-aged woman with a serene expression, her dark hair streaked with silver. She’s dressed in flowing fabrics, her bracelets jangling as she leans forward.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice warm yet curious as she studies him.

Hyunjin hesitates for a second before stepping closer and placing the talisman on the counter. “I found this in my bag and I need your help to know what is this.”

The woman picks it up delicately, her eyes narrowing as she examines it. She unties the pouch and carefully empties the contents—a sprig of rosemary, a small piece of obsidian, and other small tokens—onto the counter.

“This,” she says, her tone thoughtful, “is a protection talisman.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “Protection?”

She nods, pointing at each item as she explains. “The rosemary wards off negative energy, the obsidian absorbs harmful intentions, and the other elements… they’re all chosen to shield the bearer from harm. Whoever made this put a lot of care into it.”

Hyunjin stares at the talisman, a strange mixture of relief and unease washing over him. Your explanation was true. There was no curse, no sinister intent—just protection.

“That’s all?” he asks, needing the reassurance one more time.

The woman smiles and slides the opened talisman back to him. “That’s all. You’ve got nothing to fear from this.”

Hyunjin thanks her quietly and leaves the shop, slipping the talisman back into his pocket. As he steps into the cool evening air, a thought settles in his mind.

Maybe you weren’t as dangerous as he’d first assumed.

-

Your fingers skim over the faded pages of the spellbook, the faint scent of aged parchment and herbs filling the air around you. The ritual you’ve been studying for days is intricate, layered with steps that demand precision and, more dauntingly, someone else’s involvement.

You’ve read and reread every line, trying to find a way to execute it alone. Hyunjin is no longer an option, and though the thought leaves a bitter pang in your chest, you know you can’t afford distractions. Flint has to be dealt with, and you can’t let emotions—especially feelings for someone who now despises you—get in the way.

A sharp knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts. You jolt upright, your heartbeat quickening. You aren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, paranoia creeps in. Has Flint somehow discovered your plans? Bracing yourself, you approach the door and crack it open, only to freeze in place.

Hyunjin. It’s impossible not to think of the last time he showed up unannounced. Back then, his smile was warm, lighting up the space between you like a ray of sunshine. Now, that warmth is gone, replaced with a neutral expression that borders on cold. Still, it’s him. And despite everything, seeing him standing there stirs a flicker of hope deep inside you.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone low and guarded.

Wordlessly, you step aside, letting him in. Hyunjin walks past you, his gaze sweeping over your small apartment. His eyes linger on the shelves lined with books, jars of herbs, and candles. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he takes it all in, piecing together your world.

Finally, he turns to face you. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You cross your arms, unsure of where this is going. “What about it?”

“That we could work together to take Flint down.”

Your eyes widen. Of all the things you expected, this wasn’t it. “You’re serious?”

He nods. “We have a common enemy, don’t we? And after everything that’s happened…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “Let’s just say I’m willing to reconsider.”

You study him carefully, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Why the change of heart?”

Hyunjin shrugs, his tone nonchalant. “Because I hate him. And I think you do too.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “That’s putting it lightly.”

He takes a step closer, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “So? What’s the plan?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Bringing Hyunjin into your world again—after everything that’s happened—feels risky. But he’s here, willing, and you need his help.

Wordlessly, you walk over to the table where your spellbook lies open and gesture for him to follow. As he approaches, you turn the book toward him, pointing at the page outlining the ritual.

“This,” you say, your voice steady, “is the ultimate plan.”

Hyunjin leans in, his eyes scanning the intricate diagrams and detailed instructions. The more he reads, the more his brows furrow. When he finally straightens up, his expression is a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“You’re serious about this?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes,” you reply.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, breaking the tension in the room. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You can’t tell if it’s an insult or a compliment, but you choose to ignore it. Instead, you get straight to the point.

“I need you to follow Flint,” you say. “Learn his routine, his habits, where he goes when he’s not at the office. It’ll help me figure out the best time and place to execute this.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, still smirking. “So I’m your spy now?”

“If you want Flint gone as much as I do, then yes.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to believe in all this…” He gestures vaguely at the book. “Magic stuff.”

You meet his gaze, your voice firm. “You don’t have to believe in it. You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Let’s see where this takes us.”

For the first time in days, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you can pull this off.

-

Hyunjin knocks on your door, his mind a whirlwind of frustration. He’s spent the entire day tailing Flint, only to come up empty. Tight security, bodyguards, private drivers—Flint might as well be untouchable. He’s ready to let you know just how impossible your plan is when the door swings open, and there you are.

You don’t look surprised to see him, but your calm demeanor only adds to his irritation. “Come in,” you say simply, stepping aside.

Hyunjin steps into your apartment, glancing around out of habit. The room feels different tonight—dim, shadows stretching across the walls, and that faint smell of something herbal lingering in the air. It makes his skin prickle. His eyes land on the open spellbook on your table, pages marked with symbols he doesn’t understand, and for a second, he wonders just what kind of person he’s teamed up with.

“Did you find anything?” you ask, sitting down at the table.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, dropping into the chair opposite you. “Flint’s a ghost wrapped in money and muscle. He lives in a penthouse with security tighter than a vault. He’s got his assistant slash his bodyguard with him at all times, a driver who doesn’t leave his side, and the only place he goes after work is some exclusive club. And guess what? That place is crawling with security too.”

You nod slowly, processing his words without a hint of panic. It annoys him. “So, no easy access,” you say, almost to yourself.

“None,” Hyunjin says bitterly. “This whole thing is a waste of time.”

But you don’t look deterred. Instead, you lean back in your chair, tapping a finger against the table. “There is one way,” you say, voice steady.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “And what’s that?”

“I’ll seduce him.”

He blinks, sure he must have misheard you. “What?”

You meet his stare, unwavering. “If I make him interested in me, I can get close to him. Close enough to do what needs to be done.”

Hyunjin stares at you, caught between disbelief and a strange, simmering unease. “Are you serious? You think Flint would go for someone like you?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

Something about the confidence in your voice sends a shiver down his spine. He tries to shake it off, folding his arms across his chest. “This is insane. And dangerous.”

“Everything about this is dangerous,” you shoot back, leaning forward now. “But do you have a better idea?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. He knows you’re right—there’s no other way. Still, the thought of Flint and you in the same room, let alone this… plan, twists something uncomfortable in his gut.

“What do you need from me?” he asks reluctantly.

“I need you to get something for me,” you say, your tone shifting.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Flint’s hair.”

For a moment, he thinks you’re joking. When your expression doesn’t change, he feels his stomach drop. “His hair? Why the hell do you need that?”

“For a spell,” you say simply, as if that’s supposed to make sense.

Hyunjin stares at you, his jaw tightening. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What kind of spell?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

The casual way you dismiss his question only makes his unease grow. He leans forward, trying to read your expression, but you’re impossible to decipher. “You’re asking me to steal a piece of his hair, and you’re not even going to tell me why?”

“Exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze head-on.

Hyunjin leans back, running a hand through his own hair. This is reckless. This is dangerous. And yet…

“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll figure out a way to get it. But this better not blow up in our faces.”

“It won’t,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin doesn’t believe you, not fully. But he’s already in too deep to back out now. Standing, he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he glances back at you, still sitting at that table with your strange book and your even stranger confidence.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he mutters before stepping out into the night.

As the door shuts behind him, a chill creeps up his spine. This alliance feels like walking a tightrope over a pit of flames, but what choice does he have?

-

After Hyunjin leaves, the apartment feels eerily quiet. You close the door and stand there for a moment, staring at the space he just occupied. There’s a heaviness in your chest, but you push it aside. There’s no time to dwell on emotions when there’s so much to be done.

You grab your spellbook from the table and flip through its worn pages, searching for the ritual you need. The words blur slightly under the dim light, but you recognize the spell when you see it—the ritual to enhance allure, to make yourself irresistible, particularly to a specific target.

Flint may be powerful, but magic is older and stronger than any man.

Taking the book with you, you head to the bathroom. You start by filling the tub, the sound of running water echoing around the small space. As the water rises, you gather the ingredients: dried rose petals for attraction, cinnamon for warmth and desire, honey to sweeten your aura, and a single white candle for purity of intention.

You kneel by the tub, the steam rising to kiss your face. One by one, you add the ingredients to the water, watching as the petals swirl and the honey dissolves. The cinnamon spreads like whispers of fire across the surface, and you swirl it all together with your hand, moving clockwise.

Closing your eyes, you begin to chant:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night. Rose and honey, sweet and true. Let my charm be seen by you. By earth and air, my power takes flight. Grant me allure, shining bright."

The words feel heavy on your tongue, their weight sinking into the water as you chant. The air in the bathroom shifts, thickening with an unseen energy.

You remove your clothes and step into the tub, the warm, fragrant water enveloping you. A shiver runs through your body—not from the temperature, but from the unmistakable pulse of magic that seems to seep into your skin, wrapping itself around you like a second layer.

As you sink deeper into the water, you chant the spell again, your voice softer this time, almost a whisper:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night."

The energy hums beneath your skin, subtle but undeniable. You lean back, letting the water cover your body, and close your eyes. For a moment, you feel powerful, invincible.

When you finally step out of the tub, droplets of enchanted water slide down your skin, leaving behind a faint warmth that lingers. You wrap yourself in a towel, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. There’s something different in your eyes—something sharper, more confident.

-

The almanac is clear: wear blue today. Blue is the color of trust, calmness, and, most importantly, attraction. It’s a shade that commands attention subtly, not overtly.

You pull out a fitted blouse and a pencil skirt, pairing them with heels that click confidently against the floor as you move. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjust your hair and take a deep breath. This isn’t just about Flint seeing you; it’s about him wanting to see you again.

Arriving at work, you keep your plan simple. Flint always leaves his office at some point during the day—whether it’s for a meeting or simply to make his rounds. That’s when you’ll strike.

You grab a stack of files, deliberately choosing ones that look bulky and hard to manage. The weight of them grounds you, keeping your hands from trembling as you wait near the corridor. Minutes feel like hours, but finally, Flint’s door opens, and he steps out, his usual bodyguard trailing behind him.

You start walking, eyes cast downward, pretending to be absorbed in your papers. Just as he’s about to pass you, you execute your move.

“Oh!” you gasp as you stumble slightly, letting the files slip from your grasp. Papers scatter across the floor in a dramatic mess, a symphony of fluttering pages.

You immediately bend down to pick them up, keeping your movements deliberate. You arch your back slightly, your skirt hugging your curves as you gather the scattered papers.

“I'm so sorry, sir,” you say softly, glancing up at Flint through your lashes. Your tone is humble, apologetic, but not groveling.

For a moment, he does nothing but stare. His expression is unreadable, his sharp eyes watching your every move. Just as you’re starting to feel the tension in the air thicken, he moves. He bends down—not fully, just enough to pick up a stray document near his polished shoe.

“Here,” he says, handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you reply, your fingers brushing his briefly as you take the paper. Your heart beats a little faster, but you keep your composure.

You stand, clutching the files to your chest, and smile shyly. “I’m so sorry again. I wasn’t paying attention.”

For a moment, your eyes meet his, and you take your chance. Quietly, subtly, you chant the spell in your mind:

"With this gaze, let me linger in your thought. A presence remembered, a web unwrought. See me, recall me, let me stay. In your mind, come what may."

There’s no way to know if it works—not yet. Flint straightens his tie and gives you a curt nod before walking away, his assistant close behind. You sigh softly, relieved the interaction is over, and start to collect the rest of your scattered papers.

But then, just as you’re stacking the last of the documents, you feel it. A faint prickle at the back of your neck. You glance up and catch Flint looking over his shoulder at you before disappearing down the corridor.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s not confirmation, but it’s a start.

-

Hyunjin leans back in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. The leather creaks beneath him as he shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position in his cramped car. He’s been parked across from Flint’s office building for hours, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Suspension has its perks, he tells himself, though the bitterness lingers in the back of his mind. No endless meetings, no rushed deadlines. Just this: a stakeout that feels like a low-budget spy movie. His career might be teetering on the edge of collapse, but at least he has time to figure out what Flint’s up to.

Finally, just as dusk begins to settle over the city, Flint emerges from the building. Hyunjin straightens in his seat, his heart giving a small jolt of anticipation. Flint strides confidently to his car, his ever-present assistant trailing close behind. Hyunjin starts his engine, keeping a safe distance as he tails them through the city streets.

After a short drive, they pull into the parking lot of a high-end restaurant. Hyunjin follows, finding a discreet spot to park before slipping inside. He tugs his cap lower over his face and scans the dining area, his eyes locking on Flint almost immediately.

To his surprise, Flint isn’t dining alone. Seated across from him is a woman Hyunjin recognizes instantly—Brownwyn, the secretary to the head of the legal team. Flint’s body language is relaxed, his attention fully on her. Brownwyn leans in slightly, a coy smile playing on her lips as she twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows. This doesn’t look like a business dinner.

Sliding into a corner booth with a clear view of their table, Hyunjin orders a coffee he doesn’t intend to drink and settles in for the long haul. The restaurant buzzes with quiet conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery, but Hyunjin’s focus never wavers.

He watches as they share a meal, the interaction between them confirming his suspicions. Flint laughs at something Brownwyn says, leaning closer as the evening progresses. There’s an intimacy in their exchange that has nothing to do with work.

When they finally leave, Hyunjin follows them outside, keeping his distance as they climb into Flint’s car. He trails them through the city once more, his pulse quickening when they pull into the parking lot of a nearby hotel.

Hyunjin parks and enters the lobby just in time to see Flint and Brownwyn at the reception desk. He watches from the shadows as they’re handed a keycard and head toward the elevators, Flint’s hand resting casually on the small of Brownwyn’s back.

That’s all he needs to see. Hyunjin lets out a low breath and turns back toward the exit. He doesn’t need to guess what’s going to happen next, and honestly, he doesn’t want to. What matters is that he now has something tangible to work with—a secret Flint wouldn’t want getting out.

Slipping into his car, Hyunjin pulls out his phone and jots down a few notes. His night hasn’t been wasted after all.

-

Hyunjin stands outside your door, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates, then does it anyway. It’s late, but this couldn’t wait.

When you open the door, he’s taken aback. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about you is… different. There’s a subtle glow to your skin, a softness to your features that wasn’t there before. He shakes the thought away as you invite him in, your voice as composed as ever.

Once inside, Hyunjin gets straight to the point. "I followed Flint today," he says, his tone clipped.

He recounts everything—the restaurant, the intimate dinner with Brownwyn, the trip to the hotel. “I think we should spread it around the office,” he concludes. “If people know about his fling with Brownwyn, it could ruin his reputation.”

But you shake your head, crossing your arms. “That’s not enough to bring him down, Hyunjin.”

Frustration bubbles in his chest. “Not enough?” he snaps. “I’m suspended. Do you understand what that means? I might not even have a job to go back to!”

You meet his glare with a steady gaze. “Once Flint is taken down, it’ll be easier for you to get your job back,” you say firmly. Your confidence in your plan only makes him angrier, but he knows you’re right. Flint is the key.

You shift the topic. “Did you get the hair?”

Hyunjin sighs and pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket, holding it up like it’s a prize. “Yeah. I snuck into the coat room at the restaurant and found a strand on his coat.” He places the tissue on the table, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment despite himself.

Your lips curl into a small smile. “Good. That’s one step closer.”

He watches as you carefully pick up the tissue, your fingers grazing the edge of it with reverence, as if it holds the answer to everything. Then a thought strikes him.

“What about your plan to seduce him?” he asks. “You really think that’s going to work?”

You glance up at him, and for a moment, there’s something in your eyes—something sharp and knowing. “I’ve already started,” you say simply.

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know if you’re the type he’d go for,” he mutters, though the words sound more skeptical than cruel.

“I’ve done it before,�� you reply confidently, your voice carrying a weight that makes him uneasy.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, trying to read between the lines. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

Your gaze flicks to him, lingering for a second too long. There’s something in your expression—a glint of mischief, but also a flicker of sadness. It’s unsettling, like you’re holding onto something he can’t see.

“It means,” you say slowly, “I know how to get what I want.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, Hyunjin feels like you’re not talking about Flint at all.

-

The night feels heavy, the air thick with unspoken urgency as you prepare for the ritual. Hyunjin’s growing anxiety about his suspended career gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you’re running out of time. If Flint doesn’t fall into your trap soon, the plan will crumble, and with it, any chance of saving Hyunjin's job—and perhaps even yourself.

You glance at the small tissue placed carefully beside the almanac. Inside it lies Flint’s hair, the most critical component of the spell. Hyunjin came through, and now, there’s no time to waste.

With steady hands, you gather the rest of the ingredients: rose petals for passion, honey for sweetness, and a drop of your own blood for power and intent. Each item is laid out before you in a precise circle, their arrangement forming the spell’s foundation.

You light the candles one by one, murmuring the incantation under your breath as each flame flickers to life. The room grows warmer, the air thick with the scent of herbs and wax.

Sitting cross-legged before the altar, you pick up the strands of Flint’s hair, weaving them carefully into the rose petals. Closing your eyes, you focus on the image of him—his sharp gaze, his commanding presence. You imagine him looking at you, drawn to you with an uncontrollable desire.

You begin the chant, your voice steady and low at first, then rising in intensity. Each word carries your intent, your need, your determination. The energy in the room shifts, buzzing like static electricity.

"By fire’s light and heart’s desire. Let him be drawn, his soul inspired. Through thought and dream, he seeks for me. Bound by will, so let it be."

As you chant, you feel the power building within you, a heady sensation that sends chills down your spine. Your hands move instinctively, blending the ingredients with precision, each motion an extension of your will.

When the final words of the spell leave your lips, you take a deep breath and release it slowly, feeling the magic settle over you like an invisible veil. You open your eyes and look at the small bundle of ingredients now bound together with red thread. It hums with energy, glowing faintly under the candlelight.

You place the bundle into a small pouch, clutching it tightly in your hands. The ritual is complete, but the true challenge lies ahead—facing Flint and testing the spell’s power.

-

The next morning, you wake up earlier than usual, carefully selecting your outfit and ensuring every detail of your appearance is flawless. If the spell worked, today will be the day Flint notices you, truly notices you.

As you step into the office, a surge of determination courses through you. When you knock on Flint’s office door, your pulse quickens. His voice calls for you to enter, and you step inside, flashing your most charming smile. He barely glances up from his paperwork, his usual cold demeanor intact.

“Sir,” you begin, stepping closer to his desk. “I heard you have a meeting with a client this afternoon. I’d like to take care of the presentation for you.”

His pen pauses mid-stroke, and he looks up at you. For a moment, there’s nothing in his expression—just the same sharp, calculating stare you’ve come to expect. But you press on, your voice warm and persuasive.

“I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve reviewed the files. I’m confident I can handle it, and it’ll give you more time to focus on… other matters.” You let your words linger, tilting your head slightly as if you’re offering more than just a simple favor.

He studies you in silence, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. Finally, he exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair.

“Fine,” he relents. “But don’t mess it up. The meeting’s at two. Be ready.”

You nod, trying not to let the victorious smile show too much. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

By the time two o’clock rolls around, you’re impeccably prepared. Standing in the elevator beside Flint, you notice his usual air of authority, but there’s something else—something quieter, like curiosity.

As the elevator hums to life, you turn to him with a polite smile. “May I?” you ask, gesturing to his tie, which is slightly askew.

He glances at you, then nods. “Go ahead.”

You step closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the fabric as you adjust the knot. His eyes remain fixed on you, his expression unreadable but intent. You can feel his assistant’s glare burning into you from behind, but you ignore it, focusing on Flint.

“There,” you say softly, straightening the tie and stepping back. “Perfect.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer, and you meet it with a confident smile before turning away as the elevator doors open.

In the meeting room, you deliver the presentation with practiced ease, your voice steady and your points concise. You notice, however, that Flint’s eyes remain locked on you the entire time. It’s not the typical critical gaze he gives his employees—it’s something heavier, something that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

You meet his eyes briefly during the presentation, letting a small smile play on your lips before returning to your slides. Each time you glance his way, he’s watching, his expression unreadable but intense.

When the meeting concludes, you gather your papers, feeling a rush of pride and anticipation. As everyone files out, you linger slightly, hoping Flint will say something—anything—to confirm the spell is working.

But he doesn’t. He simply nods at you before walking away, his assistant trailing after him.

You stand there for a moment, the air of victory you’d felt earlier evaporating. Did it work? you wonder, doubt creeping into your mind.

Maybe the spell wasn’t strong enough. Maybe Flint’s will is stronger than you anticipated. Or maybe… just maybe… it’s working more subtly than you realized.

-

Hyunjin paces in front of your door, his frustration bubbling under the surface. He hasn’t felt this restless in a long time—his career hanging by a thread, his life spiraling out of control, and no certainty in sight. He clenches his fists, trying to push back the overwhelming sense of failure creeping in.

Every sound in the hallway makes him turn his head, and when the elevator dings, he freezes. You step out, a look of surprise flashing across your face when you see him.

“Hyunjin?” you ask, your voice soft yet cautious.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, the floodgates open. “I’m losing my mind here. Do you know how hard it is for me to just sit and wait? To follow your plan when I don’t even know if it’s working?” His voice rises slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “My career is on the line, my life is on the line, and all I’m doing is running around in circles for this!”

You stand there, calm and collected, letting him vent without interrupting. When he finally pauses to take a breath, you step closer, your tone steady but firm.

“It is working, Hyunjin. You just have to trust me.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Trust you? I don’t even know if—”

“Have you eaten?” you cut him off, your eyes narrowing slightly as you take in his pale complexion.

“What?” he asks, caught off guard.

“You look like you haven’t eaten all day. Come in, I’ll make you something,” you say, unlocking your door and holding it open for him.

Hyunjin hesitates, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach betrays him. He follows you inside, sinking into a chair at your kitchen table while you move around with ease, preparing a simple meal.

The smell of food fills the small space, and despite himself, Hyunjin feels his tension begin to ease. When you set the plate in front of him, he doesn’t even bother to argue, picking up his fork and digging in.

As he eats, a strange sensation washes over him. He glances around the room, the soft lighting, the faint scent of whatever incense you burned earlier, and the way you’re moving about the kitchen—it all feels familiar.

Too familiar.

He pauses mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air as a wave of déjà vu hits him like a freight train. He’s been here before. He’s sat at this table before, eating a meal you prepared, sharing this moment.

But that’s impossible.

“Have we…” he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He shakes his head, trying to push the strange feeling aside.

Before he can finish his thought, your phone buzzes on the counter. You glance at the screen, and your demeanor shifts instantly. You grab the phone, answering it with a tone that’s light and professional.

“Hello?” you say, your back to him as you pace slightly.

Hyunjin can’t help but strain to hear the conversation, catching snippets of your words. “Yes… tomorrow night… drinks? Of course… I’ll be there.”

When you hang up, you turn back to him with a spark of triumph in your eyes. “That was Flint.”

Hyunjin sits up straighter, his curiosity piqued.

“He just invited me for drinks tomorrow night,” you casually say as you pick up your fork to continue eating.

In that moment, Hyunjin instantly regrets that he didn't trust you in the first place.

-

The almanac doesn’t leave room for second-guessing, so you stick to its advice, dressing in the suggested color—a deep, alluring shade that accentuates your figure. You take extra care with your appearance tonight, ensuring every detail is perfect. Flint has to notice you; he has to want you.

The pub Flint mentioned in his call is nothing extravagant, but its cozy, vintage atmosphere is charming in its own way. You arrive purposefully late, just enough to seem like you’re not desperate for his attention.

As you step inside, the warm lighting and low hum of conversation wrap around you. You spot Flint almost immediately, seated in a booth near the back. His ever-present assistant slash bodyguard is by his side, like a shadow that never strays too far.

But tonight, Flint looks different—dressed casually, the stiffness of his usual office attire replaced with a relaxed charm. He seems more his age, and it strikes you that he’s only three years older than you.

When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face, and as you approach, his eyes trail over you. The attention is unmistakable, almost palpable.

“You look stunning,” he says, his voice smoother than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you,” you reply with a small smile, tilting your head just enough to let your earrings catch the light.

He leads you to the booth, and to your relief, he gestures for his assistant to leave. As the assistant fades into the background, you feel a slight wave of freedom—it’s just you and Flint now.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, motioning for you to sit.

“Of course,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him.

He leans back slightly, studying you with an intensity that feels almost disarming. “I wanted to thank you for the presentation yesterday. You did a great job.”

You smile, dipping your head modestly. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I have to admit,” he continues, a playful edge in his tone, “I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve surprised me.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh? And how exactly did you see me before?”

His smile turns flirtatious, his eyes gleaming. “I thought you were uptight, always buried in your work. I didn’t know there was this… fun side to you.”

You feign a pout. “That’s disappointing. I’m sad you never paid enough attention to me to notice before.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich. The conversation flows easily, growing more intimate with each passing minute. His charm is undeniable, but you keep reminding yourself this isn’t about you; it’s about the plan.

And then, he leans in.

His face is close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his gaze locked onto yours. Your heart races, not with excitement but with the weight of the moment. You promised yourself you’d do anything to make this work, anything to bring Flint to his knees.

But as his lips move closer, something in you snaps.

At the very last second, you dodge, turning your head slightly so his kiss lands awkwardly near your cheek. The air shifts instantly.

When you look back at him, the expression on his face tells you everything. The interest, the desire—it vanishes like a flame snuffed out.

Flint pulls back, his demeanor cool and detached. “I just remembered,” he says, his tone suddenly businesslike, “I have something I need to take care of.”

You nod, even though you know the truth. His excuse is nothing more than a polite dismissal.

As he stands and adjusts his jacket, you force a smile, pretending you don’t see the disappointment in his eyes—or feel the failure burning in your chest.

When he leaves the pub, you remain seated, staring down at the untouched drink in front of you. Your plan has failed, and the weight of that realization sits heavy in the pit of your stomach.

-

Hyunjin hesitates as he steps off the elevator and walks toward your door. He isn’t sure if you’re back yet, but the uncertainty doesn’t stop him. He’s been restless since earlier tonight, an uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

When the door opens, his breath catches for a moment. You’re standing there in a bathrobe, your hair damp and clinging to your neck. Your expression is unreadable, but it’s enough to tell him that things didn’t go as planned.

You don’t say a word, just push the door open wider, allowing him to step inside. Hyunjin walks in slowly, his eyes flickering to you as you close the door behind him.

The silence feels heavy, but he doesn’t press you. He moves to the dining table and takes a seat, his gaze following you as you head to the kitchen. The way you saunter to the counter, grab a glass, and fill it with water is oddly mesmerizing. There’s something different about you tonight—no sharp quips, no smug assurance.

Finally, he breaks the quiet. “How did it go?”

You pause mid-sip, the rim of the glass pressed against your lips. Lowering it slowly, you let out a bitter laugh and lean against the counter. “It went fine... until it didn’t.”

Hyunjin frowns. “What do you mean?”

You recount everything—the pub, the conversation, how everything seemed to be going perfectly until you dodged Flint’s kiss. Your voice remains steady, but Hyunjin can hear the frustration laced in your words, the self-reproach hiding beneath them.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do all that. Really.”

But you shake your head, your eyes narrowing. “No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t enough. I should have done my part right. If I had just—”

“You don’t have to push yourself this far,” Hyunjin interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve already done so much.”

You glare at him, the fire in your gaze a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched into your features. “You don’t get it,” you snap, but your tone lacks venom. It’s frustration—at yourself more than anything.

Hyunjin stares at you, trying to find the right words. But as he watches you stand there, gripping the edge of the counter as if trying to hold yourself together, something shifts in him.

This whole time, he’s been so focused on his own frustrations, his own doubts about the plan, that he never stopped to consider how much you’ve been sacrificing, how much you’ve been giving to make this work.

For the first time, Hyunjin sees the weight you’re carrying—and how deeply determined you are to see this plan through.

“I see it now,” he says softly, almost to himself.

You glance at him, your expression wary. “See what?”

He shakes his head, offering you a faint smile instead of answering. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Then you sigh, push off the counter, and make your way to the table.

“I’m not giving up,” you say, sitting across from him. There’s a quiet determination in your voice, one that Hyunjin can’t help but admire.

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady. “And I’ll make sure we see this through.”

-

The plan you created with Hyunjin echoes in your mind as you park your car in the office lot, waiting for most people to leave. You glance at Flint’s car still parked a few spaces away, and your heart races. This is your moment to get his interest back.

Taking a deep breath, you pop the front hood of your car and adopt a distressed expression. You lean over the engine, pretending to inspect it, though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Pulling out your phone, you stage a fake call for help, your voice carrying just enough to be heard if someone were near.

Time stretches painfully slow until you finally spot Flint walking out of the building with his ever-present assistant trailing behind. Your pulse quickens, but you keep your expression pitiful, glancing down at the engine in feigned confusion.

Flint walks straight toward his car without sparing you a glance, his assistant opening the car door for him. Your chest tightens as doubt creeps in—this might not work.

Swallowing your hesitation, you take the next step. You approach his assistant with timid steps, clutching your hands together nervously.

“Excuse me,” you say, your voice soft but loud enough to stop him. “Can you help me check what's wrong with my car? Please?”

The assistant glances at Flint, who gives him a slight nod. Without hesitation, the assistant walks over to your car and leans over to inspect the engine.

“Looks like your car’s out of commission,” he declares after a quick glance. “You’ll need a mechanic.”

You let your shoulders sag in an exaggerated display of disappointment, biting your lip as you feign helplessness. Flint watches from the comfort of his car, his expression unreadable. It isn’t until his assistant walks back and murmurs something to him that he rolls down the window slightly.

“It’s late,” Flint says, his tone casual but laced with authority. “I’ll have my driver drop you off. Get in.”

You flash him a grateful smile, walking to the car and slipping into the seat next to him. The door shuts with a solid thud, and you feel his presence keenly, even in the spacious interior.

“Thank you,” you murmur, adjusting your posture to seem both grateful and charming.

As the car begins to move, you glance at him shyly. “I really appreciate this. And, by the way, I had fun the other night. It’s a shame it ended so soon.”

Flint turns to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if gauging your sincerity. “Is that so?”

You nod, letting a coy smile grace your lips. “I guess I was just nervous. You caught me off guard.”

The ride feels both endless and fleeting. By the time the car pulls up in front of your apartment building, you steel yourself for the final step. The driver opens your door, but you make no move to leave just yet.

Turning to Flint, you lean in closer, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes widen slightly, his body going rigid as you press your lips to his in a soft but deliberate kiss.

When you pull away, his expression is a mix of surprise and intrigue. You smile at him, your voice sultry. “I should’ve done that sooner.”

Before stepping out, you cast him one last glance, your lips curling into a playful smile. “See you tomorrow at the office, Mr. Hargrave.”

With that, you step out of the car, feeling his gaze linger on you as you walk toward your building.

The plan is officially back on track when you catch the sight of Flint’s sleek car parked right out front of your apartment building the next morning. Your pulse quickens with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.

As the car door opens, Flint steps out, looking as polished and composed as always. His lips curve into a smile, and for a moment, you revel in the small victory. The spell is working.

“Good morning,” he greets warmly, gesturing toward the open car door. “Shall we?”

Feigning surprise, you raise an eyebrow and offer him a playful smile. “What’s this? You went out of your way to pick me up?”

He chuckles softly, brushing it off. “Your car broke down, didn’t it? I thought it’d be a shame if you were late to work because of that.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with a curious gaze. He looks so nonchalant, but you know better. Beneath his composed exterior, the spell is undoubtedly weaving its magic.

“Well,” you say, stepping closer to him, “thank you for the thoughtful gesture.”

Your smile deepens as you slip into the car, catching the faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes before he closes the door behind you.

As the car glides through the streets toward the office, you can’t help but feel a surge of confidence. The plan is back in motion, and Flint is right where you want him—under your spell.

-

Hyunjin leans against the wall of the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed tightly as he watches Flint’s car pull up outside your building.

It’s become a routine he hates—Flint stepping out, opening the car door for you like some picture-perfect gentleman, and the two of you exchanging pleasantries that seem far too intimate.

Tonight is no different. Hyunjin’s jaw tightens as Flint helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your arm longer than it should. You and him exchange a few words, Flint’s deep voice carrying softly in the still evening air.

Then, as if to push Hyunjin further into frustration, Flint tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips before stepping back.

Hyunjin’s fists clench at his sides. If he didn’t know this was all part of a carefully crafted plan, he might have believed the two of you were genuinely in love. But the knot in his chest isn’t just frustration—it’s jealousy. Why?

The question eats at him as he waits for Flint’s car to drive away. When it finally disappears down the street, Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and heads up to your apartment. He knocks sharply, his impatience barely contained.

You open the door almost immediately, as though you were expecting him. Your expression is calm, maybe even a little amused.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks, his eyes scanning your face for any sign that something is wrong. “Did Flint… do anything to you?”

Your lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “I’m fine,” you say coyly, stepping aside to let him in. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

Hyunjin follows you into the living room, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “We should speed this up,” he says, his voice sharp with urgency. “Let’s execute the plan quickly so you don’t have to keep being around him.”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t enjoy his company, either,” you say with a shrug. “But the best time for the ritual is Friday. Until then, I have to keep the act going.”

Hyunjin stares at the floor, jaw tight. “I just don’t like seeing you with him,” he admits, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “He’s… he’s dangerous. I’m afraid he’s going to do something to you.”

You step closer, your expression softening. “Hyunjin, I can handle Flint,” you say gently, your voice steady.

But your reassurance doesn’t ease the tightness in his chest. Hyunjin looks up to meet your gaze, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. Is it really Flint’s cruelty that bothers him, or is it something else entirely?

-

In the office, you step into Flint’s room, proposal folder in hand. He looks up from his desk as you enter, offering a faint smile as you approach. You present your proposal with a professional demeanor, walking him through every point with precision. Once you’re done, you pause, your hands resting lightly on the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Hargrave,” you say, your tone shifting slightly, “may I be unprofessional for just a moment?”

Flint raises an eyebrow but leans back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Go ahead,” he says with a small smile.

You smile back, your gaze steady. “You once promised me dinner,” you begin, tilting your head slightly. “I was wondering… when you plan on making good on that promise.”

Flint chuckles, his amusement deepening. “If you’d like,” he says smoothly, “we can have that dinner tonight.”

Feigning a thoughtful expression, you shake your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I have a better idea,” you say, leaning in just slightly. “How about I cook you dinner? At my place.”

Flint’s eyebrows lift, curiosity sparking in his expression. “Your place?” he repeats, clearly intrigued.

You nod, adding with a sly smile, “A dinner at my place is far more intimate. Besides…” You glance over your shoulder, as if expecting to see his ever-present assistant lurking nearby. “I hate seeing your assistant hovering around all the time.”

Flint lets out a low laugh, nodding his agreement. “Fair enough,” he says. “Dinner at your place it is.”

Satisfied, you excuse yourself, turning to leave. But before you can take more than a step, Flint stands and closes the distance between you.

“Since we’re still being ‘unprofessional,’” he says, his voice low, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you closer. His lips meet yours in a firm, calculated kiss, one that you have no choice but to return.

As you kiss him, your eyes flick to the mirror on the wall. Your reflection stares back at you, your lips curved in a small, knowing smile. Mischief glints in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the game you’re playing and the plan that’s slowly coming together.

-

Hyunjin knocks on your door, shifting uncomfortably as he waits. When you open it, his breath hitches slightly. You’re dressed in a stunning silk dress, its fabric clinging perfectly to your frame, and your hair is styled in a neat bun that leaves your neck and shoulders elegantly bare.

For a moment, he forgets why he’s here, caught off guard by how effortlessly beautiful you look.

“Come in,” you say with a faint smile, stepping aside to let him in.

He follows you inside, watching as you glide toward the kitchen, your heels clicking softly on the floor. The table is already set, and Hyunjin can see the attention to detail you’ve put into everything.

“Did you get it?” you ask, your tone calm but firm as you begin arranging utensils.

Hyunjin quickly retrieves a small bottle from his pocket—the sleeping pills you asked for—and hands it to you. You take it without hesitation and tuck it away in one of the kitchen drawers.

“Anything else you need?” Hyunjin offers, his voice tinged with concern.

You glance at him over your shoulder and shake your head. “I’ve got it under control. You should go now, before Flint gets here.”

Hyunjin hesitates, standing awkwardly by the counter. “Are you sure? I can stay a little longer—”

You cut him off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just be ready for my call when it’s time.”

He nods, but his feet remain rooted to the floor. He can’t shake the unease bubbling in his chest. Part of him worries about what Flint might try tonight, and another part—one he doesn’t want to acknowledge—resents the entire situation.

Finally, he sighs and heads for the door, turning back one last time. “Be careful,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than he intended.

You meet his gaze, your expression steady. “I will.”

Reluctantly, Hyunjin leaves, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step away from your apartment.

-

After dinner, Flint takes a leisurely stroll around your small apartment, his curious eyes wandering over the space. You remain in the kitchen, slicing fruit and arranging cheese to go with the wine. Thankfully, you had the foresight to stow away your witchcraft tools earlier, hiding them in the closet where they’re safely out of sight.

“It's a small apartment so there's not much to see,” you tell him with a small smile.

“I like it. It's cozy.” Flint responds from across the room.

As you glance over your shoulder, making sure Flint’s attention is elsewhere, you slip two sleeping pills into his glass of wine. Your heart races slightly as the pills dissolve into the deep red liquid, but you maintain your composure. With everything ready, you carry the tray to the living room and place it on the table.

Flint returns to the sofa, smiling as he settles beside you. “You’ve really gone all out,” he says, raising his glass in a toast.

You raise your glass as well, playfully saying. “Anything to impress you.”

You clink glasses with him, forcing a smile, and take a small sip of your own wine while keeping a careful eye on him. As he drinks, you ensure his glass never stays full for long, subtly encouraging him to refill it.

After a while, Flint pulls you closer, draping an arm around you as he begins kissing your neck. You suppress the instinct to recoil and instead lean into his embrace, pretending to enjoy the intimacy. You kiss him back, but your mind is elsewhere, silently urging the sleeping pills to take effect.

When his hands begin to wander, you gently push away, offering an apologetic smile. “I need to use the bathroom,” you say softly, slipping out of his grasp.

He nods, clearly disappointed so you place a quick peck on his lips as consolation. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you take a deep breath, counting the seconds as you hope the pills are working.

After a few minutes, you return to find Flint still sitting on the sofa, though his eyelids are heavy, and his movements sluggish. He looks up at you with a faint smile, oblivious to what’s happening.

“You look tired,” you say, sitting beside him and offering your arms. “Here, rest for a bit.”

Flint leans into you, his head resting against your chest as his breathing grows slow and steady. A moment later, he’s fully asleep.

Once you’re certain he’s out cold, you carefully ease him off you and grab your phone. Dialing Hyunjin’s number, you speak in a hushed tone. “It’s time.”

-

Hyunjin doesn’t bother knocking; you’re already there, opening the door as if you’ve been waiting for him. The moment he steps inside, his eyes land on Flint, sprawled out on the sofa and deeply asleep thanks to the potent sleeping pills Hyunjin sourced from his pharmacist friend. He notices you tidying up the remnants of your staged evening, clearing the glasses and dishes from the coffee table.

“What do you need me to do?” Hyunjin asks without preamble, his voice low.

You motion toward the furniture. “Help me move everything.”

Together, the two of you shift the furniture to the edges of the room. Once the space is cleared, you roll up the carpet, revealing a carefully drawn rune beneath it, etched onto the floor in a pattern that Hyunjin can only describe as intricate and otherworldly.

“Lift him,” you say, gesturing to Flint.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate, though he grits his teeth as he hauls Flint’s limp body off the couch and carries him to the center of the rune. Once Flint is positioned as instructed, you disappear into the bedroom to retrieve more items.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on the rune as he waits, a sense of unease creeping into his chest. When you return, you’re carrying an array of tools and objects he can’t even begin to identify. Candles, vials, a small chalice, and—most unsettling—a dagger.

“Set the candles around the circle and light them,” you instruct, kneeling on the floor as you arrange your witchcraft materials.

Hyunjin obeys, carefully placing the candles at specific points around the rune and lighting them one by one. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the room, the atmosphere growing heavier with each passing second. He finishes and steps back, watching as you lay your tools in front of you and take a deep, steadying breath.

“Anything else?” he asks, though the tension in his voice is clear.

You glance up at him briefly. “Step back. I need to start.”

Hyunjin retreats to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall as he watches you. He’s never been one to believe in witchcraft or rituals, but something about the way you move, the focus in your eyes, makes him hesitate.

You begin chanting, your voice low and rhythmic, as you add ingredients one by one to the chalice. Hyunjin watches as you pour liquids, crush herbs, and sprinkle powders, each action deliberate and precise. Then, you take the dagger, holding it with a calm determination that makes his stomach churn.

Without hesitation, you press the blade against your palm, cutting deep enough for blood to bead and then flow freely. You ball your hand into a fist, letting the blood drip steadily into the chalice. Hyunjin stiffens, torn between stepping in and letting you continue.

As the blood mingles with the other ingredients, you set the chalice on the floor and light a small flame beneath it. The mixture begins to burn, smoke curling upward as you chant louder, your voice rising with each repetition.

Hyunjin’s unease deepens as the room seems to shift around him. The air grows thick, pressing against his skin, and the flickering candlelight feels almost alive. He tries to convince himself it’s just his imagination, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is happening.

Hyunjin watches in tense silence as you place the chalice at the heart of the rune, the contents still smoldering. You close your eyes, steadying your breathing as you stretch your arms outward, the dagger still held tightly in one hand. Then, in a language that sounds ancient and otherworldly, you begin the incantation:

"To the peace of death, I call you forth. Let your life fuel my flame. Through natural fate, this path unfolds. From blood and soul, my magic returns to me."

Your voice resonates, starting low but growing with intensity. Each word seems to ripple through the room, vibrating in Hyunjin’s chest like an unearthly hum. The candles, though extinguished, seem to glow faintly, the runes on the floor pulsing with a strange energy.

You move to the chalice, gripping it tightly, and continue the spell, your voice now echoing as if the words are being spoken in tandem by someone—or something—else:

"From the shadows of this world, I draw the light. Flint Hargrave, I take your life. Nature shall not see this as betrayal. For your soul becomes my tool."

Hyunjin can’t look away as you pour the remaining contents of the chalice over the center of the rune, the liquid sizzling against the air as if it were molten. A deep rumble vibrates beneath his feet, subtle at first but growing stronger.

Then, gripping the dagger tightly, you press it against your palm once more, fresh blood dripping onto the circle as you chant the final, most powerful lines:

"My blood, your blood. I give life to reclaim my magic. Let my soul be eternal. And let your death appear as nature’s will."

The air explodes with energy as the rune flares to life, a bright, unnatural light illuminating the room. Flint’s body jerks as if an invisible force is gripping him. His chest rises once in a shallow breath before his entire body relaxes, utterly still.

Hyunjin shivers as the room goes deathly quiet again, save for the soft crackle of dying embers from the chalice. The energy in the air feels different now—charged and alive, yet cold and foreboding.

You rise slowly, wiping the blood from your hand onto a cloth as you look over your shoulder at Hyunjin. For a moment, he sees something in your eyes—a glint of power, or perhaps something darker.

“It’s done,” you announce.

Hyunjin stares at you, uncertain of what he just witnessed but knowing, without a doubt, that something far more significant than a simple ritual has taken place.

-

You and Hyunjin are moving the furniture back into place, the room slowly returning to normal. Hyunjin keeps glancing at your hand, his brows furrowed as his eyes linger on the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around it.

“Just a small cut,” you assure him, catching his concern. “I’ll handle it later.”

Hyunjin doesn’t look convinced but says nothing as you direct him to help move Flint to your bed. He pauses, clearly uncomfortable. “Why not just leave him on the sofa? He’s out cold. He won’t even notice.”

“It’s better if it looks like we slept together,” you reply, your tone even and practical. “It makes the story more believable.”

Hyunjin mutters something under his breath but follows your instructions, carefully lifting Flint’s limp form and carrying him to your bed. As he starts undoing Flint’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he glances up—and freezes.

Across the room, you're changing out of your dress, slipping into a silk nightgown that clings to your form. The dim light casts shadows that highlight every curve, and for a moment, Hyunjin finds himself staring at the bare expanse of your back. His throat tightens as unease washes over him.

He quickly looks away, focusing on pulling the blankets over Flint’s body.

“You okay over there?” you ask, your tone light but teasing as you tie the straps of your gown.

Hyunjin clears his throat, his voice coming out a bit strained. “Yeah, just... making sure everything looks convincing.”

Once Flint is settled, Hyunjin hesitates by the doorway, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

“Nothing left but to wait,” you say, brushing a hand over your hair as you settle into the chair by your vanity.

Hyunjin nods slowly, his jaw tightening. His eyes flicker to the cloth on your hand again, and his uneasiness spills into his words. “Just uh... take care of that cut, okay?”

“I will,” you reply softly, offering him a faint smile.

Reluctantly, Hyunjin turns to leave, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way out of your apartment. As the door closes behind him, a strange silence settles over the room, leaving you alone with Flint—and the heavy weight of what you’ve just done.

-

The sleeping pills must be far stronger than you anticipated because Flint sleeps through the entire morning. His phone vibrates on the nightstand for what feels like the hundredth time, the name "Assistant" flashing on the screen. You sigh, brushing your hair out of your face as you glance at the time.

Climbing onto the bed, you carefully settle yourself next to him, your movements deliberate and gentle. Leaning over, you softly shake his shoulder. "Flint," you say, your voice light and melodic. "Time to wake up."

He stirs, letting out a small groan before squinting up at you. His eyes struggle to focus, confusion flickering across his face.

You smile warmly, tilting your head. "Good morning, sleepyhead," you sweetly greet, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. "Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. I think your assistant’s starting to worry you’ve dropped off the face of the earth. If you don’t pick up, they’ll probably assume you’re dead."

That earns a groggy chuckle from him as he sits up, rubbing his face. He grabs his phone and answers it briefly, mumbling reassurances before hanging up.

When his gaze finally returns to you, his brows knit together slightly. “What... happened?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

You let out a light laugh, reaching out to straighten the rumpled sheets around him. “Oh, come on!” you tease, feigning a hint of hurt. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. We had such a good time last night.”

He blinks, his confusion shifting to realization as he looks down, noticing for the first time that he’s naked under the blanket. His eyes widen slightly, and a slow smirk creeps onto his lips.

You giggle, playfully running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you take your time piecing it together,” you say, slipping off the bed with a practiced grace.

“For now, how about breakfast?”

As you walk toward the kitchen, a quiet, satisfied smile graces your lips. Inside, you’re celebrating your triumph. Everything is moving perfectly according to plan.

-

Three days have passed, and Hyunjin finds himself pacing his apartment, his mind restless. The uncertainty gnaws at him, a constant hum of tension in the back of his thoughts. He’s not sure how long the spell takes to work—or if it’s even working at all.

His mind circles back to you, as it often does these days. He worries about you being stuck in this fabricated relationship with Flint if things don’t go as planned. Worse, he can’t shake the thought that you might have to keep playing along indefinitely, enduring Flint’s company far longer than you should.

Hyunjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s not just his own career hanging by a thread—it’s yours too. The weight of it all feels suffocating.

The sudden ringing of his phone snaps him out of his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, he sees the office number flashing and hesitates for a moment before answering.

“Yes?” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“We need you to come in tomorrow for further examination,” the voice on the other end informs him. “Please be on time.”

Hyunjin’s grip tightens around his phone. “I’ll be there,” he says, keeping his response curt before hanging up.

He stares at the phone in his hand, unsure of how to feel. Does this mean things are moving forward, or is it just another step in prolonging his uncertainty? He can’t tell if this is a good sign or a bad one. What he does know is that his future remains unclear—and yours feels equally bleak.

On the way to your apartment, as he waits for the traffic light to turn, Hyunjin catches sight of Flint’s car pulling up in front of your building. He sees you step out, Flint following to open the door for you. Flint leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips before returning to his car.

From where Hyunjin stands, he can’t see your expression. He can’t tell how much effort it’s taking you to keep up the charade. Hyunjin clenches his fists and forces himself to calm down as he crosses the street.

When you open the door for him, you’re as composed as ever. You step aside, letting him in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But as he looks at you, something feels off. There’s no spark of confidence in your eyes, none of the determination you’d had when you first presented this plan.

“Do you think it’s working?” he asks cautiously.

You hesitate. Your gaze flickers to the floor, then back to him, and he feels the weight of your silence before you even speak.

“There’s a chance it’s not working,” you admit quietly. “I’ve… lost my magic.”

Hyunjin blinks, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What do you mean you’ve lost it?”

You press your lips together, avoiding his gaze. “I did something. Something that cost me my power.”

Hyunjin’s brows knit together, his unease mounting. “And you’re only telling me this now?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it.

You look at him, guilt etched into your features. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I—” You pause, then force the words out. “I cast a spell on you, Hyunjin.”

The room feels colder all of a sudden, and Hyunjin steps back, staring at you. “What?”

“I used my magic on you,” you say, voice trembling. “And I gave up my powers in exchange for being able to revoke it.”

Hyunjin stands there, frozen, trying to process what you’ve just told him. His mind flashes through your time together, questioning every moment, every interaction. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. The betrayal, the shock, the confusion—it’s all too much.

Finally, he looks at you again, his expression unreadable. “You… cast a spell on me?” His voice is quiet, strained.

You nod, guilt heavy in your eyes. "I didn’t know it would lead to this."

Hyunjin turns away, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t speak either, his mind spinning as he tries to come to terms with what you’ve just confessed.

-

When Hyunjin shows up at your door, his expression says everything before he even speaks. He steps inside, and you prepare yourself. After the initial pleasantries, he asks the question you knew was coming.

“You… cast a spell on me?”

The moment hangs heavy between you, and you realize there’s no way out of this. You have to tell him everything. So you do. You confess to casting a love spell on him, to manipulating his feelings. You explain how you sacrificed your magic to undo the damage, thinking it was the only way to make things right.

As you speak, you watch the light in his eyes dim, the distance between you growing with each word. You can feel him slipping away from you all over again, and it makes your heart ache in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

When you finish, silence fills the space between you. Hyunjin doesn’t say a word, his expression unreadable. You don’t know if he’s upset, angry, or simply in shock.

You force yourself to look at him, your voice trembling as you speak. “I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me. I promise I’ll stay away from you.”

He doesn’t respond, his silence louder than any words he could have said. Finally, he turns toward the door, and you realize this might be the end. The final goodbye.

“Wait,” you say, your voice cracking.

Hyunjin pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You rush to your bedroom, grabbing something from a small box tucked away in the corner. When you return, you hold out a talisman.

“I know you’re being called to the office tomorrow,” you say, your voice soft. “Please, take this.”

He takes it from you without a word, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment before he steps out of your apartment.

As the door clicks shut, you stare at the empty space where he stood, the sound of your whispered “Goodbye” barely audible even to yourself.

-

Hyunjin’s head feels like a chaotic storm, each thought crashing into the next, leaving him unable to focus. The talisman you gave him is tucked into his pocket, but he hasn’t thought much about it since leaving your apartment. Right now, none of it seems to matter. Not the examination, not his job, not even the mess he’s left behind with you.

As he sits in the cold, sterile interrogation room, he stares blankly at the table, his mind drifting. He’s been waiting here for nearly an hour now, and the oppressive silence only amplifies the noise in his head.

Maybe I should just resign, he thinks bitterly. Spare them the trouble. What’s the point of dragging this out?

He starts tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, muttering under his breath. “What’s taking so long? Are they trying to torture me or what?”

The door finally creaks open, and a staff member steps in. Hyunjin straightens up, expecting the examination to finally begin.

“Sorry for the delay,” the man says, his tone formal. “I'm afraid we need to reschedule the examination.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Reschedule? What? Why?”

The man hesitates, looking uncomfortable. “News just broke out... CEO Flint has passed away.”

Hyunjin’s fingers abruptly stops tapping the table and he freezes on his seat. “What?”

“It’s all over the office,” the man continues. “Apparently, it was a sudden heart attack.”

Hyunjin’s mind blanks for a moment. Flint is dead. The words echo in his head, feeling surreal.

“A sudden heart attack,” he repeats slowly, almost as if testing how it sounds.

“Yes. I’m sure more information will come out soon, but for now, the office is in chaos.”

The man leaves the room, but Hyunjin barely notices. His hands rest on the table, fingers tightening into fists as the weight of the situation sinks in.

The spell worked.

His heart feels heavy, a mixture of relief, shock, and guilt flooding his system. Hyunjin isn’t sure what to feel. Flint is gone, and the dark cloud looming over his and your lives has lifted, but at what cost?

-

It’s been a week since the news about Flint’s sudden death, and Hyunjin’s been reinstated with a clean slate, or at least that’s how it seems. No conclusive evidence, no real suspicion, and here he is, back in his seat, his career still intact.

He should be relieved, he knows that. He should be celebrating that the spell worked, that Flint is gone, and he’s free from the twisted situation that had him tangled up in it all. But instead, there’s this hollow feeling gnawing at him, and it's impossible to ignore.

With a sigh, Hyunjin pulls the talisman from his pocket. The small object feels heavier in his hand now, its meaning no longer as simple as a mere piece of luck. This was supposed to be his victory—his triumph. The key to his freedom. And yet, all he feels is sadness.

His fingers trace over the edges of the charm, memories of the nights spent with you flooding back. The time he spent with you felt like an illusion now, a dream that’s shattered. He’s angry, of course, at the deceit. You cast a spell on him, used magic to manipulate him without his knowledge. He didn’t even have a chance to choose. Betrayed, he feels the sting of that truth, raw and cutting.

But underneath that anger is something else, something he can’t shake. A deep sense of loss. He can’t understand it. Why does he feel this way?

"I got what I wanted," he murmurs to himself, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So why does it feel like I’ve lost everything?"

The bustling noise of the office around him fades into the background as his thoughts consume him. He wants to hate you for what you did. He wants to walk away and leave everything behind. But he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, a part of him still cares for you. And that part of him can’t stop wondering if he made a mistake when he walked out of your apartment that night.

-

You take a deep breath as you gather the remnants of Flint's presence in your apartment—the items he touched, the things tainted by his energy. One by one, you place them in a bag, careful not to let your emotions creep back in. It’s not just about removing his physical traces; it’s about banishing the negativity that still lingers, suffocating your space.

With the bag clutched tightly, you step outside to a safe spot and set it ablaze. The flames crackle and hiss, consuming every last fragment. You whisper under your breath, a spell to release the darkness.

"By light of stars and flame of sun. Cleanse this space; let harm be none. All shadows fade, all ill be gone. This is my will; let peace be won. So mote it be."

The fire dies down, leaving behind nothing but ash. You exhale deeply, feeling a small weight lift from your chest.

Back in your apartment, the air still feels heavy, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You draw yourself a bath, infusing the water with a few drops of essential oils—lavender for peace, eucalyptus for clarity. As the warm water embraces you, you feel a subtle shift in your energy.

Once submerged, you whisper another spell, letting your voice carry into the water:

"From root to crown, from heart to soul. Let purity and light take hold. All dark removed, all wounds made whole. By power divine, restore control. So mote it be."

The words resonate through you, calming your mind. You close your eyes and let the spell do its work, envisioning the negativity dissolving into the water. You imagine it swirling away, leaving you lighter, clearer.

When the bath is done, you step out feeling renewed, wrapping yourself in a soft towel. The final step is to cleanse the air around you. You light a white candle and carry it through each room, whispering the same purification spell for the space. As the soft glow illuminates the corners, you feel the lingering shadows retreat.

Finally, you sit in the center of your living room, lighting a bundle of sage. The smoke curls into the air, spiraling upwards, carrying away the last traces of darkness. You speak firmly:

"This space is mine; it is sacred and free. No harm may enter; no ill may be. Only light and love dwell here with me. So mote it be."

The silence that follows feels comforting, like an embrace. You smile faintly, knowing you’ve taken the first step to reclaim your life and your peace. But before you can fully settle, there’s a knock at the door.

Hyunjin.

You debate ignoring it, letting the past stay behind that door, but the longing within you wins. Wrapping yourself in your robe, you pad to the door and open it.

There he is, standing on your doorstep, a faint, hesitant smile playing on his lips. It’s not the expression you expected—no anger, no bitterness, just something softer, something unsure.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. You don’t trust yourself to speak, afraid of what might spill out if you try.

The air feels heavy as you stand in the doorway, watching Hyunjin step inside. His presence stirs up emotions you’ve been trying to suppress for days. His smile is soft, but there’s a nervous energy about him, as though he’s unsure of what he’s doing here.

“I didn’t see you at work,” he starts, his voice light, as if trying to mask the tension. “Thought I’d check in. You know, make sure you weren’t... taking days off as a grieving girlfriend for Flint.”

His attempt at humor makes your chest tighten, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. You cross your arms, standing stiffly as he slowly moves around your space, his eyes scanning the room like he’s committing every detail to memory.

When he finally stops, his gaze locks onto yours. His expression shifts, the teasing gone, replaced by something deeper. “Why did you revoke the love spell?”

The question hits you like a wave. You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Part of you wants to avoid it, to bury the truth even deeper, but you know he deserves to hear it.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. “Because I love you,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Too much to keep you like that.”

The confession spills out, leaving you vulnerable in a way you haven’t been before. Tears threaten to blur your vision, but you fight to hold them back, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.

Hyunjin steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “You remember everything, don’t you? From when I was under the spell?”

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he presses, his voice tinged with both frustration and hurt.

“I tried,” you choke out, tears now freely falling. “I tried so many times but you... you hate me too much.”

Your voice cracks, and you look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. Every word feels like a dagger to your heart, reopening wounds you thought had begun to heal.

Suddenly, Hyunjin closes the distance between you. His hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. The tenderness in his touch makes you crumble, and you can’t stop the sobs from escaping.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers, his voice soft now, almost pained.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle yet urgent, a mix of longing and regret. You melt into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he might vanish if you let go.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the ache in your chest subsides, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

-

Tracing every curve of your body feels like a trip back to his favorite place. Hyunjin may not remember it but he knows, he's been here before and it brings out that sense of belonging. He uses his hands, his lips to retrace the steps and as he puts his body on top of you, his body fits yours like two pieces of puzzle.

“How can I forget such beautiful body?” He mutters with a gentle kiss on your navel.

He continues the kisses upward until his lips reunite with yours again and each kiss he plants is harder and longer than the previous one. One hand glides down your front and not stopping until his fingers meet your wet sex.

Intrigued by the delicate flesh, Hyunjin looks down as he pushes his slender fingers inside you, he watches as you take them and his eyes widen at how you clench around them. He gulps air before saying, “You know how to get me impatient.”

Slowly, he pulls his two fingers and not wasting time to shove them into his mouth, his luscious lips wrapped around his fingers as he sucks, hard.

“How can I forgot this sweet, sweet taste.” His voice is so low it's almost like a whisper.

His patience runs thin. He parts your legs wider and positions himself in between. While stroking his cock in his hand, Hyunjin’s intense eyes fixated on yours and the way he can see the want in your eyes... he's stroking his cock faster than before.

Hyunjin can’t waste another second just looking at your gushing cunt and let it tantalizing him the longer he looks at it. He holds the side of your thighs after placing his cock in your wetness, he begins rocking his hips back and forth, rubbing his length in between your slit and at the same time, smearing your essence all over it.

“Fucking goodness!” He breathlessly says with his deep, heavy voice, tinted with hurries.

Hyunjin glides his hands down to your hips and holds you still as he pushes his cock, his eyes fixated on watching his length disappearing into you little by little. He unconsciously holds his breathe watching you take it, the size, the girth, and the veins coiling around it.

The moment he's fully sheathed inside you, Hyunjin drops his head into the crook of your neck. With his mouth resting so close to your ear, you can hear his raw, low groans. After a moment of composing himself, Hyunjin hovers above you, a hand cupping your jaw.

“Tell me, mmh?” He hastily kisses your lips in between sentences. “Tell me how can I forgot this tightness, this... fucking good pussy?”

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you as he begins moving his hips, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fluttering shut as if he can't comprehend the sensation of each his movement caused.

“Oh, fucking...” He can't even finish his sentence but pulls out of you immediately. He knows that if he's inside you for a second longer, he'll lost it.

He frowns at the detachment and makes up for it by kissing you, placing his lips on every inch of skin available to him that breathing becomes unnecessary to him. Hungry for more skin to kiss, he flips you over, one hand holding you down by the nape of the neck as his plush lips peppering your back with soft yet searing kisses.

“How are you so soft all over?” His voice filled with disbelief but he doesn’t necessarily needs an answer from you as he plants his mouth on the base of your spine.

He makes use of his other hand to fondle your ass cheeks and from there, it's making its way back to your cunt, fingers teasing around your entrance, making it wet as he's ready to penetrate again.

On his second attempt, Hyunjin has better self control, he takes a deep breathe once he's fully buried inside you and then slowly, he lays on top of you, his chest meeting your back, skin to skin.

Lying face down with your head on the pillow, he puts all of your hair to the side and then presses a gentle kiss on the column of your throat. With utmost carefulness, Hyunjin begins thrusting from behind you and the skin slapping sounds filling the room.

Putting his hand around your neck, he tilts your head to the back until your eyes meet his. “You feel so fucking good, do you know that?” A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he says it.

You only nod as you innocently gaze into his eyes and lowly moaning to his thrusts, arousing him more than he expected. You drop your head to the side, leaning against his forearm as he intently watches your facial expressions ever changing as the pleasure mounting inside you.

“You're close, mmh, beautiful?” He's picking up the pace but he asks you so sweetly.

Your wide-eyed gaze lingers on him as you lick your lips and nod.

Hyunjin can’t help himself but kisses your open mouth as he feels you tightening around his cock and plants a lingering peck on your lips. “I'm not going to stop until you come around my cock.”

He takes your hand and laces it together as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hips not slowing down even for a moment, determined to give you your release.

“Hyunjin...” you softly whine.

It's hard to ignore how you tighten around him, how you're sucking him deeper into yours as you hit your climax. He holds on to his last shred of self control to not lose it there. He wants to make this lasts for as long as possible.

As you're dealing with the waves of pleasure lapping over you, Hyunjin places kisses on your neck and shoulders, eventually your lips as satisfed moans spilling out of your parted lips. He holds you close and as he maneuvers himself to lay back on the mattress.

Giving you a moment of rest, Hyunjin uses the time to cuddle you, wrapped his muscular arms around you and stays like that as you're relishing your orgasm.

You turn your head to the back to face him, demanding a kiss from him and he gives it without a doubt, pressing a kiss on your lips.

The sheet is a crumpled mess as you bodies slithering together, limbs all over each other, touching, squeezing, pressing... it doesn’t take long to get you hot all over again.

Hyunjin reluctantly lets go one of his hands busy fondling your breasts and lowering it to your core, rubbing your clit that engorges the more he stimulates it. If only his mouth was resting close to it, he'd suck on it. He uses his fingers instead, pinching it in between, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Hyunjin,” you softly call his name. “Put it back in.”

In response, Hyunjin hastily kisses your lips. “With pleasure.”

In the midst of him thrusting you from behind, you lift your leg and put it over his thigh, providing him more depth and allowing him to continue circling your clit to give you extra  stimulation.

His lips keep lathering yours and he likes how your moans spilling into his mouth, hot and sultry, and at times, he doesn’t stop himself from playfully sucks on your tongue.

“Keep clenching around me like that and I'm going to... oh, cum a lot inside you,” he finishes his sentence with a haste kiss on your lips. “Is what where you want it, mmh? Inside?”

You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close for a kiss. “Inside. Yes.”

“Thank fuck!” He playfully curses against your lips. “Cause I don't think I'd be able to pull out right in time.”

With that being said, Hyunjin moves at such ease, trying to delay his high as long as possible and savoring every second of it, his arms tightening around you as he thrusts into you slowly yet with such intensity that makes your body squirms in reaction.

His head is buried deep in your neck as he incessantly moving to chase his high and when he finally comes undone, he holds you tightly.

With his head still clouded with overwhelming pleasure, you bring his hand that is resting between your legs to your mouth and he watches as you take each one of his fingers into your mouth, sucking it with your eyes closed. Once you're done with all the five fingers, you bring his hand down to your breast to fondle it together with him.

You turn your head to the side to capture his lips in yours and Hyunjin likes every bit of this moment. The intimacy, the tenderness of it all, you.

He slightly pulls away from the kiss to say. “I don't want to forget this.”

Lying beside you in the quiet stillness of your bedroom, Hyunjin feels a rare sense of peace. He pulls you closer, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. His gaze softens as it meets yours, and he notices how the faint glow of moonlight highlights the lingering sadness in your expression.

Without thinking, his hand reaches for yours, his thumb brushing over the tender scar on your palm. It’s a reminder of the ritual you performed, the night everything began to shift.

His voice is soft as he asks, “Does it still hurt?”

You shake your head, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. But Hyunjin’s heart aches all the same. Slowly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred skin. The simple act feels more intimate than anything he’s done before, as though he’s sealing his own unspoken promise.

There’s something stirring in him—an ache, a yearning, a strange sense of déjà vu. It’s like his heart remembers moments his mind refuses to recall, fragments of the love spell that linger despite everything. As he holds you, Hyunjin begins to wonder if the spell merely amplified something that was already there.

His voice breaks the silence as he sees the tenderness in the way you gaze at him. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes searching his face, before answering quietly. “Do you still hate me?”

Hyunjin laughs softly, shaking his head and then presses a kiss on your lips.

“No,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “Not even close.”

-

Your mornings have become a ritual of their own. The day always begins earlier now, with Hyunjin beside you. The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, illuminating his peaceful expression as he lies next to you. It’s a moment you savor before the world demands the façade of professionalism you’ve both agreed to maintain.

Hyunjin stirs, pulling you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbles, his voice husky with sleep.

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Only five,” you tease, knowing full well it’ll stretch longer.

Soon, what started as lazy cuddles turns into a heating moment of your bodies pressed so close together and a little later, he has you around him.

You're straddling him on the bed with both feet planted against the mattress as a leverage, allowing you to bounce on his cock. His hands resting on each side of your waist, angling your body and at the same time, guiding your movements.

Hyunjin’s mouth is full of your flesh, his tongue circling around your nipple before sucking it as hard as he could. His eyes are wide and dark with lust, looking up at you with his mouth gaping open.

“Keep going, baby.” He sweetly mutters with a haste kiss on your neck and jaw. “Fuck me good. Drain me.”

Instead of adding speed, you choose to keep the steady pace but you switch to roll your hips while intentionally clenching around him. You like watching him overwhelmed by pleasure, his mouth gaping open with raw groans spilling out of it.

When he finally cum around you, you hold his gaze and watch as pleasure filled his eyes. Hyunjin tightens his hold around you and draws you close as he releases his seed inside you. His lips begin to plant kisses on your skin, shoulder, chest, neck and then he traces down your jaw with his plush lips before capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“It's been more than five minutes, ” you playfully say and he looks so beautiful as you cradle his face in your hands that you can't help but kiss his red, full lips.

He shakes his head and wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Stay. Don't pull away yet.”

His hand glides up to the nape of your neck, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases as he leans in for a long, lingering kiss that takes your breath away. He smiles when he breaks the kiss and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he jokingly says, “You didn’t put me under a spell again, right?”

You loop your arms around his neck and play with the tendrils of hair on the back of his head. “Even if I did, it's a spell to make you less clingy around me.”

Hyunjin lets out a low chuckle but it's enough to make his eyes form two crescent moons. “Are you sure it's not the other way around?”

“A hundred percent sure.” You place a long peck on his lips as he reciprocates with a longer one.

“We should do it.” Hyunjin says out of the blue.

You blink at him, confused. “Do what?”

“I saw it on your spellbook,” Hyunjin says, his gaze steady and unwavering. “The one that binds our souls together.”

Your reaction is immediate—your eyes widen in shock, and you shake your head. “No,” you say firmly. “You don’t have to do something like that. You don't have to prove anything.”

“It’s not about proving anything,” Hyunjin says, sitting up slightly so he can look at you more directly.

“It’s about not forgetting. I don’t want to lose this—or you—again. If there’s even a chance it could happen…” He trails off, his voice softening. “I want to remember. All of it.”

You sit up as well, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Hyunjin, this isn’t something to take lightly. Our souls would be connected forever. You don’t want to do this.”

But Hyunjin has already made up his mind. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know what I want,” he says gently. “And it’s you. So if this is the way to keep you, then let’s do it.”

His resolve is unwavering, and though doubt flickers in your eyes, Hyunjin knows you’ll agree. You love him, and you’ve already sacrificed so much to be with him. Now, it’s his turn to choose you.

-

Reluctantly, you flip through your spellbook, finding the ritual you hadn’t dared to consider before. The process is simple, yet the weight of its meaning is anything but. You scan the instructions one last time and gather what you need: a spool of red thread and the candles from your altar.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of flickering candlelight dancing against the walls. You’ve drawn the rune onto the floor with meticulous care, the ancient symbol connecting you both to the magic you’re about to invoke. Sitting across from each other inside the rune, you watch Hyunjin’s face, searching for any sign of hesitation.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm.

“I’m sure,” he says, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“This is permanent,” you remind him one last time as you hold the spellbook in your hands. “Once our souls are bound, there’s no undoing it.”

Hyunjin meets your gaze, his expression calm but resolute. “I know,” he says.

You nod, swallowing the knot of nerves in your throat, and reach for his hands. They’re warm and steady as they clasp yours, his touch grounding you as you prepare for what’s to come.

With slow, deliberate movements, you begin to wrap the red thread around your joined hands, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you secure the bond. The thread feels heavier than it should, its weight symbolic of the promise you’re making to each other.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the words of the spell flow from your lips like a soft melody:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

The candles around you flicker, their flames growing taller as the magic begins to take hold. The air feels charged, alive with energy, and you open your eyes to see Hyunjin watching you intently.

“Repeat after me,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Hyunjin nods, his voice strong and clear as he echoes your words, completing the incantation:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

As the final words of the spell fall from his lips, you both feel it—the shift, the connection, the unexplainable pull that tells you the ritual has worked.

You look up at Hyunjin, your hands still bound by the red thread. His gaze is soft, almost reverent, and without thinking, the two of you lean toward each other. Your lips meet in a kiss that feels different from any you’ve shared before. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a vow, a seal, a promise etched into the very fabric of your beings.

When you finally pull back, the red thread glows faintly for a moment before fading into nothing, leaving only the warmth of Hyunjin’s touch and the knowledge that your souls are now—and forever—bound.

For better or for worse, you are his, and he is yours.

-

When the day finally begins, it’s with a shared rhythm. A warm shower where water cascades over tangled limbs, soft laughter echoing off the tiles. Breakfast at the table, the mundane act of eating transformed into something tender in the quiet intimacy you share.

Hyunjin always leaves first, heading home to change before work. You watch him go, knowing you’ll see him soon. True to habit, the two of you arrive at the office at almost the same time.

In the elevator, it’s a delicate dance. The veneer of professionalism must remain intact, yet the shared glances and sly smiles betray the connection between you. There’s a thrill in the secrecy, a spark that makes each stolen moment feel more precious.

As the elevator chimes at Hyunjin’s floor, he steps out, turning to flash you a smile just before the doors close. It’s small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to you, it’s everything.

When the elevator resumes its ascent, you find yourself smiling too. But it’s not just the thought of Hyunjin that occupies your mind. As you glance at your hands, you feel it—the power surging beneath your skin, stronger than ever.

The binding ritual didn’t just intertwine your soul with Hyunjin’s. It did something more. It restored what you thought you had lost, your magic power returning with a force you hadn’t expected. The price? Flint’s soul.

You tell yourself it wasn’t intentional, that his death appearing so natural was merely an unforeseen consequence. Yet deep down, you know the truth.

The sacrifice wasn’t accidental. It was necessary.

Now, you’re more powerful than ever. Hyunjin doesn’t know, and perhaps he doesn’t need to. What matters is that your soul is bound to his, and with your magic restored, you can ensure it stays that way.

You clench your hands into fists, feeling the hum of energy within. For the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid. Not of Flint, not of losing Hyunjin, not of anything.

This is your world now. And you’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.

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

-

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[curiouselleth]

Nerdanel’s first project after each of her sons were born was a statue of them. Carved from a stone Feanor helped to craft, the stone would grow as they did, and as they changed and grew, so did the statues. All on their own.

Even as her sons wandered to the edges of Aman, the statues would still change as they did. They cut their hair - a chunk of statue falls to the ground, the lines shift, to reflect it.

When Celegorm got his tattoos as one of Orome’s hunt, they too appeared on the statue, as though the color of the stone changed to match from some natural process.

The day of the darkening, and those immediately after, nothing seems to change. But their eyes do. They take on a strange look, one Nerdanel does not recognize.

Then they follow their father. They leave. Nerdanel is left with just these statues of them, wondering if they will continue to change as they do. If she will still be able to see her sons.

To her relief, they did. But far too quickly her relief turned to horror. As she saw the stone of Amrod’s statue melt on the surface and glow, leaving terrible burns. The statue remained standing.

As she saw lines and cracks begin to cover Maedhros, water turned red from iron in the stone pouring out of these cracks, and though she would scrub and brush them, the stain would not leave the cracks. So many times, she wished to destroy it. All of them. But she couldn’t. They were her only tie to her sons. She watched as the joyous look on Maglor’s face turns to one of severity and sorrow, as the scars on Maedhros multiply. Celegorm and Curufin become more harsh, Caranthir more closed off. Amrod recovers some, he and Amrod too become more harsh and wild.

Until one day. When the right hand of Maedhros’s statue snaps off. She clutches it, holds it as she once did. She sobs. She does not return to see the statues for many years.

Until she does. She cannot bear the uncertainty. They all still stand. The lines covering Maedhros have faded. The expressions of the others less harsh. She hopes.

For a long time, little change comes, and she hopes. The occasional scratch or crack comes, but so few, so infrequent. She hopes. Until one day, new cracks, wounds, appear on them all. But they all still stand.

She watches as Celegorm and Curufin’s faces turn dark. Until one day. When three gain great wounds, then… the statues fall. Nerdanel does too.

Long she is there, amongst the ruined statues. Until one comes, picks her off the ground and embraces her, takes her away, and has the statues covered.

None go in that courtyard after, the rubble of the statues remain on the ground.

One day, a servant peers out into the courtyard. Two more statues have fallen. Word is sent, and she returns.

She does not cry, no tear is in her eye. She already cried them all when the first three fell. She stands amongst the rubble, in dry eyed shock. Her youngests were gone now too.

She uncovers the two remaining. Traces the new scars with her fingers, brushes their cheeks where paths from tears have been carved. But their expressions too stand empty, and no tear falls.

Not long after, a ship arrives. Tells of what happened.

Nerdanel cleans up the rubble of the fallen statues. Carefully tucks it away into chests, set deep in the keep in a room where none go. She stands before the two that remain. She screams. She begs. Why. There is more anger, more outrage, then there is sadness. More confusion too. How could her sweet boys do this?

The war begins to close, or so they hear. She checks on the statues again, for the first time since cleaning up the fallen.

She is there as Maedhros’s statue, in a brief, brilliant moment, glows brighter than the silmarils. Then it crumbles into glowing hot rubble. She sobs. Turns desperately to Maglor, and sees a burn appear on his hand. She knows, it was a silmaril.

She stares, but the statue does not fall. Days, she barely left. Until the hosts return, and tell of his fate. Free. But lost. Never to return. She never goes back to the courtyard again.

[heraxic]

I’m sorry if you already answered this (I didn’t find it mentioned) but why was Kyril/Karl mutated, imprisoned and hunted in the Greek Myth AU? This definitely feels like Miranda/Athena was punishing him. What happened?

Thanks for asking!

Here’s pre-curse Kyril (story under cut, body horror/gore warning)

Yes, it was meant as punishment (unlike Alina and Daphne), and to no one’s surprise his crime was hubris.

Kyril worked at his father’s forge, far surpassing his skills in both metalworking and stone masonry. As such he was blessed by Hephaestus himself.

He got commissioned to make a statue of Athena in honor of her craftsmanship. He rolled his eyes and set to work, complaining that it’d be more fitting to make one of Hephaestus, who picked up the slack, since Athena abandoned her craft and stopped making beautiful things for the sake of her sick game (Athena’s Gauntlet of Monsters, so far containing a living whirlpool and a sphinx, was widely known and many daydreamed of or even sought the glory of defeating the beasts). In spite of his grumbling the statue came out stunning with clean cut stone and gilded detailing.

The next day, a weaver came to Kyril’s forge saying she’d heard his complaints about her goddess, which confused her cause with a statue that beautiful a blessing would naturally be in order, yet he burned that bridge. ‘What if she could give you the power to make the most life-like statues in the world?’ Kyril laughed and said it wasn’t her domain, and besides he didn’t need it.

Refusing a blessing from a god is one thing, but to mock them and be telling the truth at the same time is unforgivable.

The weaver lifted her shawl from her head and revealed a brilliant blue plume and with it a golden helmet. Athena arose to her full dreadful height, one hand holding her winged spear, the other pointed towards the terrified sinner in front of her. ‘You will know what power is when you see it. You shall have my blessing whether you wish or not.’

In a second, Kyril fell to the floor screaming with blinding agony, feeling horrible squelching and crunching as bone and muscle grew where it shouldn’t. His nails fell out and out of the raw empty spots grew thorny black claws; his spine extended to accommodate a tufted lion tail; the skin of his back ripped to tatters to unfurl two sets of bloody grey wings; his black curls turned to angry, writhing snakes, each more venomous than the last; his teeth grew sharp and pointed, cutting rifts on his tongue so blood filled his mouth; and lastly his eyes grew heavy in their sockets as they were imbued with the last of the goddess’s curse.

Hearing the commotion, Kyril’s father rushed in and cradled the strange figure he knew was his son, turning his head towards him. He instantly froze in place, a perfect image of paternal worry, and the monster felt the arms holding it turn hard and grating like stone.

Athena took him away to her islands somewhere in the Cyclades to become the next glorious creature on her roster, the Gorgon. There he lied writhing in pain for 12 days without sleep or food (besides the right leg of Pallas, which further changed his body and gained him far more muscle and size). When the pain subsided enough to let him speak he prayed for his patron Hephaestus to help him, but alas gods can’t break each other's curses. Instead he carved out a spacious cave for him in which to seek shelter as well as several unbreakable stonemason and smithing tools to keep up his spirits.

700 yrs later Elias comes to the islands.