#neither for herb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

charliemwrites · 4 months ago

Text

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry.

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair.

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead.

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs.

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold.

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy.

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #nikto fic #nikto cod #nikto x reader #witch reader #afab reader #mind the warnings #heavy kink

1K notes · View notes

transbee · 2 years ago

Text

can't find the post but don't hmu im gonna be listening to albums. yeah it's gonna be all day.

#saw a family of geese and their BABIES if you even CARE!!#yard work and soo much weeding and mulching and prepping my herb garden bed. ims gots this #already getting a late start but that's neither here nor there -_-#OKAY i gots this #.txt

1 note · View note

n0tamused · 7 months ago

Text

Your dragon lover who comes home to you after a long time spent apart and goes to immediately hug you from behind, his arms locking you in his loving embrace and you can feel his heartbeat against your back. He is nosing at the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent that lingers with the smell of spices and herbs from the meal you're preparing. He loves you so much, and he tells you so. Not only through words but the way he holds you as if you're the sole provider of oxygen. The way his teeth lightly nip at your supple skin, leaving behind little faint marks of his love, all over your shoulders and on your nape. He is pawing at your hips, begging you to just come to the couch, to bed, hold him or let him hold you, just allow him the time to be close to you. Allow him the time to show the parts of his love that his words fail to describe. And when you give in you find yourself below him, his head on your chest listening to the drumming of your heart that he couldn't directly kiss. Your fingers are combined through his hair, creating separations in his locks before messing it up gently once more and starting over. His low, quiet sounds of pleasure tell you all you need to know about how he's enjoying this, low and soft grumbles urging you to keep going. Any more of this and he'll start purring on your chest like an oversized cat, but neither of you would mind. Not when he's holding you like his most precious treasure, wrapped around you like a rope, and not when you hold him so tenderly.

Characters: Zhongli, Neuvillette, Jiyan, Mortefi + any of your faves as dragons

1K notes · View notes

otkuhotgirl · 2 months ago

Text

─── 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐎𝐑 .

# with trafalgar law.

your captain was nothing if not thorough — and as talented doctor, he offered quite a luscious method to help with your cramps.

⎰ & KINKTOBER. smut (mdni!). period sex. bloodplay. fingering (reader!receiving). blood!tasting (menstrual blood, yes). afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2.3k.

trafalgar law was a doctor — sadistic, yes; self-taught, of course; but one regardless. his mind was attuned to his crew’s health properties, from allergies, to those who had a lower immunity system; from the divergent blood types to medical-related phobias. bepo hated oral medicine with overly sweet tastes; jean bart, although sizable, could not stand needles. and you had a set of quite awful cramps, enough to leave you bedridden until the week’s ending. it was, without an ounce of doubt, your most prominent issue — the one who bought him the greater worry. it left him wary enough then, yet said coddling had a gradual increase once he engaged in a relationship with you.

law had the interval of your period scheduled; committed to memory. pain medicines were reserved with the purpose of aiding you; thermal bags were both heated and freezed beforehand. he researched herbs with soothing properties and went as far — a proof of his love, he would add — as inquiring the straw-hats’ cook on teas that could, somehow, offer some respite. law had tried on a dozen sets of solutions, which one to no avail, for your ache lingered regardless of the chosen method. it left him with an ever-present bitter taste at the tip of his tongue, as the man was unused to said hopelessness, all but forced to sit back and witness your pain without a decent manner with which to soothe it.

you were not present for breakfast that morning, whereas bepo had a sheet with your shifts and duties, dividing them with shachi. for your pain was too sharp, you were granted a week-worth of rest, unallowed to lift a weight heavier than a plume. ikkaku had then entered the shared kitchen, holding an emptied cup — whose previous contents he presumed to be water — and discarding a plastic, pill bottle of a potent medicine he had prepared, a week prior. ikkaku informed him that you were resting — a bit nauseous, as expected, yet nothing quite worrisome — and though the woman had not read underneath the lines of what you stated, law understood it well enough. you were discarding his lingering aid, willing to withstand the cramps without him, for law grew twice as frustrated every month, and you had noted.

he left the kitchen right thereafter, his mood souring. it was ridiculous; unfathomable. law was a doctor — a surgeon — who had healed life-threatening diseases and wounds, yet failed to soothe the merest cramps; to offer comfort to the one he loved the most. he clicked his tongue, rummaging through the books in his office, convinced that he was but missing something, prideful enough to refuse the perspective of succumbing to a thing such as morphine.

nerves. brain chemicals. it should not have taken him that long to figure that out, but it did — and he was fuming. orgasms increased the blood flow; released endorphins; decreased the levels of cortisol. how could have he forgotten that? law clicked his tongue regardless, filled with clear annoyance at himself as he strived for your shared bedroom with ikkaku, delighted, at last, at the fact neither of you would be bothered, for the crew, too, was well-aware of the intensity of your pain.

he knocked — once, twice. not an answer was received, yet law entered regardless, eyes getting used to the overall darkness of the room, granting him the sight of your figure underneath the bed sheets. he approached you, placing a hand on your forehead; relieved to know you were far from feverish. your knees were pressed to your chest, and he could see slight eye-bags, pointing to a clear lack of sleep due to the pain. you were dozing off, unaware of your surroundings, set for a nap. he felt a pang of guilt as his arms removed you from your solace, holding you bridal-style, the activation of his powers leading you both to his own bedroom.

“law?” you inquired, nuzzling closer, a bit confused at the sudden shift. your voice was rough — pained —, and he caught himself filled with the urge to protect you, yet again.

“did i wake you?” he murmured, landing you on the mattress with certain tenderness.

“no,” you lied, ever more comfortable at the press of the sheets under your sore body.

law hummed, not believing a thing, yet not willing to pester you either. instead, he placed a set of pillows under your hips, caressing your cheek with calculated gentleness.

“i figured something that might help,” law whispered, allowing his hand to travel down your neck.

“i took some pills a while ago,” you meekly pointed out, sighing in relief as his fingers brushed against your collarbone. “and that infusion you made me drink tasted like shit. no offense.”

“none taken,” he reassured, licking his lips as his eyes swallowed the sight of you. “it’s a more pleasant one, if you’re willing.”

you stared at him through a half-opened eye, intrigued despite the context. you wore a thin, silken nightgown, the straps slipping past your shoulders, not much left for the imagination. it gave him a glimpse of your curves; your breasts; the underline of your underwear. law spared a mere glance at his sheets, deciding the incessant brushing of the blood stains right thereafter would be far worth it, so long as he could claim you. his hand hovered over your covered intimacy, applying a natural pressure, however neither forceful nor demanding.

“if you’re willing”, law repeated, and you licked your lips, wincing ever-so-slightly at a sudden, sharp pang. he could see the mental effort required for the production of words, soothing your unspoken worries with a caress of his thumb. law was a doctor; blood did not phase him, rather brought forward certain excitement. he all but wished for you to understand that. “i’m willing.”

“are you sure?” you croaked out, pain so sharp you could barely keep your eyes open.

“let me take care of you,” he pleaded, with half the mind to be ashamed of the desperation in his own tone.

you offered him a curt nod of agreement; limp frame conceding to his guiding touch. law raised the nightgown past your arms, throwing it somewhere in the room. with his knees sunk on the mattress, frame towering over your laid one, he began removing your underwear, shuddering with anticipation at the sight of blood staining your pad. he hummed, regretting the eagerness that led to a lack of proper preparation, for he had neither towels nor medical gloves to contain the flow of your period. yet, his mind could not help but point out a singular thought — did he care enough about the mess to be bothered, when you were in such dire need for relief? indeed, he didn’t.

with particular attention, he discarded the underwear and panties on the ground, allowing your hips to be supported by the pillows, without a single preoccupation regarding the possible blood stains. instead, lithe fingers trailed down towards your intimacy, a pair traveling through your folds; testing the waters. law leaned forward in order to have a proper glimpse of your expressions, yet failing not to have his eyes wander to your hardening nipples. he hummed, index meeting your clit as he drew circular, slow movements on it.

the texture of menstrual blood did not seem so far off that of your pre-cum. perhaps thicker, a bit warmer, with the biggest divergence being the color; nothing else. as a digit busied itself with your swollen bud, law teased your entrance with his pinky, grunting as a clot of blood brushed against the touch.

“talk to me, baby,” he rasped out, eyes tethered to your face as his thumb increased the pace of its ministrations on your clit.

you breathed out meekly, fingers gripping the sheets, nose scrunched as you grew accustomed to the stimulation. the blood made the sliding of his thumb faster; erratic. the lascivious sound of your aroused cunt filling the room. law felt his mouth grow dry at the sight, diving into one of your breasts, swirling, warm tongue on the hardened nipple being the solution he found in order not to lap at your blood instead. your back arched, a drawn-out mewl escaping past your opened lips as he ceased the teasing of your clit, wrist angled in a way that had his index and middle finger sliding inside your entrance with extreme ease.

“faster,” you pleaded, a bit of strength returning to your voice.

law thrusted his fingers, knuckle deep, attempting to reach the deepest inches of your walls. the natural shade of his skin returned mingled with red, the tattooed E and A but a mere memory of black underneath the crimson curtain. it was stickier than the river-stream texture of one’s blood, a stubborn line connecting the middle of his fingers, breaking apart only when they were shoved inside yet again, scissoring your walls with regained fervor. he spared a glance towards your growing blissful expression, grunting at the flutter of ideas that wrapped themselves around his mind, failing to ignore the possibilities as his own blood flushed to his hardening cock.

it smeared the fabric of the pillowcase and trailed down his palm, and law spared a brief ounce of attention to the other, neglected breast, using his free fingers to pinch at your nipple before his lips detached themselves from your chest with a single ‘pop’. he adored your tits — really, could not phantom a week without his mouth sucking bruises on it — but on that particular moment, law wanted to observe the in-and-out of his fingers inside your cunt, to commit the blood-coated digits to memory. the tip of his index abused your g-spot and he all but licked his lips, starved for a taste.

your moans were but an angel’s choir, and law had to fight the urge to let a pathetic whimper of his own escape past his lips, for he was, at last, helping you; being the one to demolish the source of your pain. yet, despite his own previous delay, he could not help but to be a little egotistical, lust clouding his scarce selflessness.

“is it better?” he questioned, and you nodded meekly, eyes dazed; pupils blown.

“y-yes,” you stuttered. “don’t stop, please.”

and though his legs began to ache and his cock ached amidst the coffins of his underwear and jeans, law increased the tempo of his thrusts, adding a third finger at the assurance that your walls were parted enough. you bit the back of your hand, swiftly muffling a shout. law groaned, using the thumb of his other hand to draw circles on your clit, marveling at the speed with which blood invaded the inside of his nail; smeared the poor digit.

“i’m close, baby,” you warned, without a need per say, for he noted the approach of your orgasm through the manner with which you clenched around him; impossibly tighter.

“let go for me,” he encouraged, retreating his fingers to the point of his nails before thrusting them yet again, knuckles bloodied; palm sticky.

your entire figure trembled, legs desperate; back jumping from the mattress. his glance was enraptured by the sight of your cum, white mingled with red, an ever-crescent battle whose stage was the pillow underneath, growing wet and dark at the onslaught of your essences. law removed his fingers, raising them to the light, obsessed with the strings intertwined around them; the state of his nails; the memories of parted clots staining the digits. he was but hypnotized, ignoring the confused calling of his name, the ever-so-grateful words you poured into his ears. instead, law began to drag his bloodied fingers on the flesh of your bare stomach, pupils blown with lust as the shade of you, too, grew smeared.

law wiped his fingers clean, and was swift to insert two of them inside your sensitive entrance. your body the canvas, whereas your cunt was the pallet, sheltering the red dye that would grant him the creation of a masterpiece — one he strived to ruin, for law was far from an accomplished, patient painter. he continued with the drag of his fingers on your flesh, from your ribs to your hip-bones; from your breasts to the spot under your navel. at every brief thrust of his fingers, teasing of your folds, you sucked in a harsh breath, your entire body reacting to the somewhat overstimulation.

when law could not hold himself back any longer — the famished beast gnawing underneath his ribcage — he dived in, tongue wiping the mess he had made. law left long stripes of saliva in its wake at every lick, his mouth sucking newer bruises on certain inches of flesh. the taste was not as metallic as he had expected, not as strong, either. it had a lingering bit of salt amidst the iron, for it was mingled with your cum, and both made for a thicker, stretchier combination on his tongue, an unique texture he had never tasted before. law spared particular attention to your breasts, hungrily lapping at it; collecting every last drop of lingering blood.

he distracted you from the fact that his pants and underwear had slid off from their previous position; that his leaking cock had slapped his stomach before he guided the tip to your abused entrance. when law pushed an inch inside, your eyes widened, hands wrapping around his neck out of instinct.

“can i?” he inquired, pressing his palms against the mattress, one at each side of your head.

“yes,” you breathed out. “please, baby.”

law was careful, a languid shove of his hips stretching your walls until he bottomed out, grunting with his eyes closed. he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, breathing into your mouth as he began to move — thrusts with a wild tempo, the incessant chase for his own orgasm. a crown of blood wrapped itself around his tip, his entire girth a shade of bright red; pale pink. law hid his face in the crook of your neck, moaning as your hands slipped under this shirt, nails dragging on the bare skin of his back.

he brushed against your g-spot; thrusted himself deep enough to challenge your cervix. you moaned, pain long-forgotten as his tip all but drooled inside your walls, spreading them open without an ounce of mercy. law’s knees buckled; you began to squeeze his girth as though a ruthless, famished beast, so tight he would not be able to slide as freely, was it not for the present blood.

“cum for me again,” law encouraged, meeting your glance, his voice raw and desperate. “let me—ngh—take your pain, baby. c’mon.”

you whimpered, a broken, mute moan preceding the second tide of your orgasm after a particular harsh set of his thrusts. your expression, contorted in pleasure, had him removing his cock swiftly, pumping it twice before shooting his load on your stomach, mouth agape at the blood that surrounded his shaft; stained his palm. law struggled to collect his breath, shifting in order to sit on the mattress and offer his knees a well-deserved rest, one of his hands meeting your own as he intertwined your fingers together.

after prolonged, tired minutes spent in comfort within the walls of a bedroom that reeked of sex, sweat and blood, your voice echoed.

“i liked this method,” you whispered, and he angled his head to get a glimpse of your face.

“yeah, me too.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : damn this writer’s block got hands!!!! jokes aside, i love freaky law!!!! send more freaky law requests i’m going to get thru this writer’s block 👏 by writing more 👏.

522 notes · View notes

seospicybin · 2 months ago

Text

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

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

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

🎧 I PUT A SPELL ON YOU Playlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, the world will bend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But neither are you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was only one person in your way—Hyunjin.

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

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

Of course, Hyunjin is here. What a joy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you know better.

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

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

Typical.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, it’s time to change things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next day at the office feels like any other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunjin is the center of attention, as always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, one day, it happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, the ritual begins.

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

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

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

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

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

Friday – The Initiation

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday – The Strengthening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday – The Final Binding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Hyunjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stumbles. “Back down?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hyunjin?" You softly call.

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Support my works by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo

#stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut

601 notes · View notes

novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

A little bit of angst here, could I get one with cregan and rhaenyras daughter where, after their first child, reader and cregan are having difficulty making a second child. Eventually reader gets pregnant a joyous day for winterfell. As the weeks pass, cregan and reader are frequently spotted by the folk of winterfell sharing tender moments between one another, maybe a kiss to readers belly, maybe cregan almost always has a hand to her stomach etc. one day (maybe cregan is at the wall or on a hunt) reader receives a raven from dragonstone saying Jacaerys is dead. Readers grief overcomes her and she loses the baby. After news reaches cregan about Jace, he rushes home to comfort his wife, knowing she’d be overcome with grief, and he is met with the aftermath. Cregan is filled with grief and anger and a lust for revenge for the person at the hands of the death of his friend, the grief of his wife and the loss of his child.

The Gullet's Price

Requests are closed!

- Summary: The day you received the news about the death of your brother, another life was lost.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The snow fell gently outside the thick stone walls of Winterfell, casting a blanket of white over the sprawling castle. Inside, however, warmth radiated from every hearth. You sat by the window, watching the snowflakes drift lazily in the twilight, your hand absentmindedly resting on your belly. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant sound of footsteps from the courtyard below.

It had been months—many long, aching months—since you and Cregan had first tried for a second child. After the birth of your son, the heir to Winterfell, you had both longed for another, but it seemed the gods had been slow to answer your prayers. There had been whispers among the maesters, suggestions of herbs and tonics, but nothing had come of it. Each passing moon only deepened the ache in your heart, and though Cregan never showed it, you could see the worry in his eyes, the way his hand lingered on your shoulder a moment too long, the way he would pull you into his arms as if holding you close could somehow solve what was out of your control.

The door creaked open, and there he stood—Cregan, your husband, lord of Winterfell, with his ever-brooding presence softened by the sight of you. His dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his grey eyes—so often stern in the face of duty—softened as they found yours. Without a word, he crossed the room, his boots barely making a sound against the stone floor, and knelt beside you, placing a warm hand on top of yours.

"Still watching the snow, love?" he asked, his voice low and filled with a tenderness reserved only for you.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It reminds me of the first night I spent here. You used to say the snow welcomed me to the North."

Cregan smiled at the memory, his fingers gently entwining with yours. "Aye, and it seems the North has claimed you as one of its own ever since."

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the snow drifting outside, and the fire crackling softly beside you. Then, without warning, Cregan shifted slightly, his free hand coming to rest on your belly—just as it had so many times before, a hopeful gesture, though for so long it had brought neither joy nor comfort.

You looked down at his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch. "Perhaps it's not meant to be," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Perhaps one child is all we were granted."

Cregan's grip tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your dress. "You’ve always been stronger than fate, Y/N. If we are meant to have more children, we will. And if not..." He paused, looking up at you with such intensity that it made your heart skip a beat. "Then we will cherish the family we have."

The sincerity in his words brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press a kiss to his brow. "I love you, Cregan Stark."

"And I love you," he whispered, his lips brushing against the skin of your belly as he spoke. It was such a simple act, but the tenderness of it, the love that radiated from him, made your chest swell with emotion.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next. Winter held the North in its grip, and though life within Winterfell continued as always, there was a quiet hope that lingered between you and Cregan, an unspoken understanding that perhaps, just perhaps, the gods had not forgotten you after all.

Then one morning, as the sun barely crested the horizon, you woke with a strange feeling in your stomach—not pain, but something else. Something new. You lay still for a moment, waiting, your heart pounding in your chest as realization dawned upon you.

"Cregan," you whispered, nudging him awake beside you.

He stirred, groggy from sleep, but the moment his eyes met yours, he was alert. "What is it?"

"I... I think I'm with child," you said, the words feeling foreign and yet so familiar on your tongue.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, Cregan sat up, his hand already moving to your belly as if to confirm what you had just said. His grey eyes were wide with disbelief, and for the first time in what felt like years, there was unrestrained joy in his expression.

"Are you certain?" he asked, though the hope in his voice was undeniable.

You nodded, tears already welling in your eyes. "I'm certain."

The joy that erupted in the days following was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Winterfell, normally so cold and solemn, felt alive with the news of your pregnancy. The people celebrated quietly at first, but soon the halls were filled with laughter and congratulations. The maesters confirmed your suspicions, and Cregan all but swept you into his arms, grinning like a man who had won the greatest battle of his life.

From that day on, it was rare to see you without Cregan by your side. He was never far from you, his hand constantly finding its way to your stomach as if to remind himself—and everyone else—that life was growing within you. The people of Winterfell spoke of it often, how their lord was more tender with you than they had ever seen before. Some swore they saw him press soft kisses to your belly when he thought no one was watching.

You, too, felt the change in him. His protectiveness over you grew tenfold, but so did his tenderness. He would sit with you by the hearth in the evenings, his hand resting on your belly as the fire crackled beside you. "I can't wait to meet our child," he'd say softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if they'll have your eyes."

"And your stubbornness," you teased, smiling as he chuckled.

Every tender moment between you was a reminder of the love you shared. The people of Winterfell watched with quiet admiration, and as the weeks passed, it became clear that this child—your child—would be born into a house filled with love, protected by both the Starks and Targeryens.

One evening, as the snow began to fall once more, Cregan knelt before you, resting his head against your belly. "Our child will be here soon," he whispered, his voice full of wonder. "And I will love them just as much as I love you."

You smiled down at him, your hand stroking through his dark hair. "I know you will, my love. I know."

The sky was a cold, slate gray, reflecting the heaviness that weighed on your heart. You had been restless all day, your hand unconsciously drifting to your swollen belly as you paced the stone floors of Winterfell. Cregan had gone to the Wall, seeing to matters with the Night's Watch, and while he often left for such duties, his absence felt more pronounced today, leaving you feeling uneasy.

You paused at the window, watching the snow swirl in the bitter northern wind. There had been no ravens for days, no word from Dragonstone, and though you had tried to push away your fears, the growing knot in your stomach told you something was amiss.

And then, it came. The raven. Black wings against the pale sky.

When the maester handed you the scroll, your fingers trembled, sensing the weight of it before your eyes even scanned the words. It was from Dragonstone—your mother’s seal—but it was not her handwriting. The letters blurred as you read them, and the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only the devastating truth in front of you.

Jacaerys is dead.

He had been slain at the Gullet, struck down during a battle with the greens. The words felt unreal, distant, as if they were written for someone else. But no, they were meant for you. Your Jace, your closest friend, your blood, was gone.

A choked sob escaped your lips, your body trembling as the grief hit you all at once. The scroll slipped from your hands and fell to the floor, unnoticed. All you could feel was the crushing weight of loss—the loss of your brother, of someone who had been part of your life for as long as you could remember. The one you had grown up with, laughed with, fought beside. The one who had been by your side during the most difficult moments of your life.

Jace.

You pressed your hand to your belly, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as the sorrow became overwhelming, twisting inside you like a blade. The baby... your baby. You could feel it—something was wrong. The sharp pain in your abdomen stole your breath, and suddenly the warmth you had cherished, the life growing within you, felt cold. Empty.

"No..." you whispered, stumbling backward as another wave of pain coursed through you. You clutched your stomach, but it was no use. The grief, the heartache—it was too much. You collapsed to the floor, clutching at your belly, the realization sinking in that the life you carried had slipped away, just as Jace had. Gone.

Servants found you there, unconscious and bleeding, their screams echoing through the halls of Winterfell as they rushed to fetch the maesters. But no maester, no amount of care, could undo what had already been done. By the time you awoke, it was too late. You had lost the baby.

When Cregan finally returned, having received word of Jacaerys's death at the Wall, his heart was already heavy with the knowledge of how devastated you would be. He had pushed his horse hard, riding through the night to return to you, knowing you would need him now more than ever.

But nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him.

The moment he stepped through the gates of Winterfell, he knew something was wrong. The air was thick with tension, the usual quiet bustle of the castle replaced with a heavy, oppressive silence. The servants barely met his eyes as they bowed, their faces pale. His chest tightened, fear creeping into his heart as he made his way through the familiar halls.

"Cregan," a voice called softly, and he turned to see the Maester Kennet approaching him with a grave expression. The look on his face confirmed Cregan's worst fears.

"She..." the maester began, his voice shaking slightly. "She lost the child, my lord. It happened shortly after the raven arrived from Dragonstone. The grief—"

Cregan didn’t wait for him to finish. He rushed past the maester, his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way to your chambers. He flung the door open, and there you were, lying in bed, pale and weak, your eyes red from crying. The sight of you like this, broken and devastated, was like a dagger to his heart.

You looked up when you heard the door, and when your eyes met Cregan’s, the dam broke again. Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as you whispered, "He’s gone, Cregan... Jace is gone... and... our baby..."

Cregan crossed the room in an instant, gathering you into his arms, holding you as you wept into his chest. His own heart shattered as he held you, feeling the weight of your loss, your grief. He didn’t speak; words wouldn’t help, not now. All he could do was hold you, his strong arms wrapped around you as if he could somehow protect you from the pain you were feeling. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t shield you from this.

Inside, Cregan’s own grief began to twist into something darker—rage. Jacaerys had been his friend, one of the few he could trust in the turbulent world of war and politics. The news of his death was a blow to his own heart, but seeing you like this—broken and empty, having lost not only your brother but your child—it was unbearable.

He clenched his jaw, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. Whoever was responsible for Jacaerys’s death would pay. He would see to it. The rage that simmered in his veins burned hotter with every passing moment.

"I swear to you," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a quiet fury, "whoever is responsible for Jace’s death will pay. I will see to it myself."

You lifted your tear-streaked face to look at him, and for a moment, you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. Cregan was always strong, always steady, but now—now there was something else in him. Something dangerous.

"Cregan," you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying. "Don’t... please, don’t go."

His gaze softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing away the tears from your cheek. "I won’t leave you, not now. But justice will be done, Y/N. For Jace, for our child. I promise you."

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace even as the world around you felt cold and desolate. Cregan held you tightly, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge, of the blood that would be spilled in the name of those you had lost.

He would not rest until the one responsible for this pain had paid with their life.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x reader #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x y/n

521 notes · View notes

solbaby7 · 10 months ago

Note

I loved Blurred Lines!! Do you think you’d ever want to do a part 2 for when Rhys shows up? 👀 👀🔥

[ part one ]

Rhysand hears you before he see’s you.

Unhinged shouts and the rhythmic smacking of skin on skin pulling him closer, beckoning him inside. The concealed safe house reeks of sex, clothes scattered around the floor from the moment he walks in; chairs are tipped over, rugs askew and there’s a dent on the hallway wall.

He doesn’t bother calling out for you, certain that you probably wouldn’t hear him anyway through the drug-induced haze. The traces of it lingers in your scent, spiking sweet honey and brown sugar with strong notes of spicy cinnamon that settles thick in his throat. “Swear, I can take it, Az.” Desperate whines and choppy breaths coupled with deep grunts and a husky swear at the sound of your plea. “Just a little harder.”

Rhys knew it shouldn’t have affected him the way it did. The blood that rushed between his legs at the sound of Azriel complying, doing everything you’d asked for and more. Neither of you even notice him, shadows too distracted in squeezing at heaving breasts and gliding up the length of your neck. A soothing cool to combat the overwhelming heat that Azriel had spent hours trying to quench.

It would work for a little while before the need grew again, demanding more tongue and teeth biting into your shoulders. Blazing for the harsh grip of Azriel’s hands on your hips as his cock nudged in as far as your body allowed. “Rhys will be here soon,” He’d mutter into the shell of your ear when you’d clench around him, hips stuttering and tears streaming down your cheeks from the sensitivity of yet another orgasm.

And yet, still your body commanded more.

“It won’t stop,” Sweat beads at your hairline, hair tangled and lips swollen as your body holds onto Azriel like a lifeline. Filthy sounds squelch between where you begin and he ends, arousal dripping like a leaky faucet. “Why won’t it stop?”

“Rhys,” Azriel sighs in relief when the High Lord comes into view, exhaustion evident in tousled inky hair and droopy lids but he’s too lost in the feeling to stop. The spymasters wings are splayed out behind him as your hands wander freely along the leathery texture, hips rocking and tongue dragging along the side of his neck. “You’re here.”

Rhysand nods once, easing you off and into his arms. You find instant relief with his touch, face buried in his neck as he guides you into the bathroom. The water in the tub had long since ran cold and yet it’s perfectly warm when he rests you inside. “Took you long enough,” You whisper weakly, voice raspy from overuse. “I nearly broke him.”

His jaw clenched, unreasonable jealously tickling at the edge of his mind at the sight of Azriel’s marks on you. “I can see that,” Rhys pushes damp hair from your face, cupping at flushed cheeks to stare into your eyes. At the bright specks the shade of lavender dotting the iris, a stark contrast from pupils blown with lust. “Amren said it sounds like you were drugged with a strong mix of herbs; mostly meant to disorient but a natural side-affect is debilitating arousal.”

“She say how long it’ll last?”

Rhys grimaces slightly, hesitating before answering. “Depending on how much you ingested? Roughly a few hours, possibly less.”

Your heart plummets. So much time had already passed. How much more could you possibly endure?

More. More. More.

Every bone in your body screams as you watch the High Lord undress, exposing sun-kissed skin and mouth-watering tattoos. The water trickles when your thighs shift, searching for friction as a fresh wave of need rises. “In that case,” Your hand trails down beneath the water, hyperaware of the violet stare tracking every move. “I hope you brought your stamina.”

He’s quick to join you in the tub—even quicker when he tugs you on top of him, pressing claiming kisses to your mouth and he slides in with ease, hushed curses falling from full lips from the near unbearable heat of your cunt. “It’s not my stamina you should be worried about,” Rhysand’s deliberate in the way he slowly lifts you off him, watching more of his length come into view until only the fat tip of his cock is inside. “I’ll spend all night fucking the smell of him off you if I must.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #azriel #high lord rhysand #acotar azriel #rhys x reader smut #rhysand smut #high lord of the night court #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar

1K notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 4 months ago

Text

Cursed Flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

word count: 8k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, rough sex, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), biting, oral fixation, enemies to lovers (as much lovers as I could fit into an 8k fic) | mentions of: blood, attempted murder via witch curse | strong language ] summary: When Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, stumbles into a healer's shop under a mysterious curse, it sets off a chain of events neither could have anticipated. As the skilled healer works to unravel the dark magic threatening his life, tension and attraction crackle between them. author's note: SO EXCITED FOR YALL TO READ THIS ONE!!!!!!! i received this ask a bit ago and i couldn't wait to write it. i hope you all enjoy! as per usual, no beta, so if you see any typos no you didnt ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The shop is a warm refuge in the heart of the Autumn Court, its walls painted a calming sage green and lined with shelves filled with jars of dried herbs and roots. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting soft, golden light on a thick, woven rug. The scent of lavender and rosemary lingers in the air, mingling with the quiet crackle of a low fire in the hearth.

You move methodically around the shop, stocking freshly dried herbs on the shelves. Your fingers brush over the labels, ensuring everything is in its place. The rhythmic work is soothing—a welcome distraction.

Reaching up to place a jar on the top shelf, you're caught off guard when the door suddenly slams open. The force of it startles you, and you instinctively drop the pendant of your necklace from your mouth as you spin around to face the intruder.

Eris Vanserra stands in the doorway, his usually pristine appearance disheveled, his skin pale and lips tinged with an unhealthy shade of blue. He looks unwell — like something is gnawing away at him from the inside out.

“Looking a little paler than usual,” you murmur, your tone caught between concern and the dry sarcasm that usually colors your interactions with him. But even as you speak, you’re already moving toward him, instinctively assessing his condition. Grabbing your tools, you hurry to where Eris has collapsed into the armchair by the hearth.

“What happened?” you ask, scanning him for visible injuries but finding none. “When did this start?”

Eris leans back, his breathing labored, and then he coughs violently, a splatter of blood staining his hand. He looks at it with shock and frustration.

“Tell me everything,” you demand, already rifling through your supplies for anything that could help diagnose whatever this is. “What did you eat? Drink? Did you come into contact with anything unusual?”

His eyes narrow in irritation as you continue to probe. “Why does it matter? Just heal me and I’ll be on my way.”

You give him an incredulous look, stunned by the sheer stupidity of his question.

“What…? Mother above- if you want me to help, I need to know what’s causing this. Did you encounter any dark magic?”

You move to check his pulse, frowning at the erratic rhythm and his lack of response. “If you’re going to be like that, just go to your family’s healer,” you mutter, not bothering to hide your irritation. You place the back of your hand on his forehead, noting the strange combination of cool skin and unnatural heat radiating from his chest.

“Do you think I’m here because I’d like to be?” Eris snaps, coughing again, though this time with less blood.

You ignore his tone, turning your attention to the herbs and ingredients at your disposal. After a few minutes of methodically preparing and steeping the herbs, you hand him a steaming cup. “Drink this,” you instruct.

He takes the cup but eyed it skeptically. “What is it?”

“It’ll react if there’s poison in your system,” you explain, your tone firm as you watch him closely, waiting.

He lifts the cup reluctantly, sipping as you hover your hands over his chest, closing your eyes to focus on sensing any magical disturbances. “Why can’t you see your family’s healer?” you ask, murmuring a chant under your breath as you work.

“He’s busy,” Eris replies tightly, though his expression suggests there’s more to the story.

You press your lips together as you complete your chant, waiting for any sign of magic—an aura, a pulse of energy, anything. But there’s nothing. Frustration wells up, and you move to the shelves, selecting a vial of a potent potion that reveals the presence of dark spells. You hand it to him, but before you can tell him to wait, he lifts the vial to his lips.

“Wait—” you start, but it’s too late. He drinks the contents of the vial, grimacing at the taste as he swallows.

The dark tendrils of the potion begin to swirl beneath his skin, their movement barely noticeable through the fabric of his shirt. Panic surges through you, and without thinking, you reach forward and rip open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere.

Eris recoils slightly, a flash of irritation crossing his face. “Do you have any idea how much that shirt costs? More than you make in a month, I’d wager.”

You shoot him a sharp glare, not bothering to hide your exasperation. “Definitely not as much as making that potion cost me,” you retort, focusing on the dark tendrils now clearly visible beneath his skin. The potion is reacting to something, though it’s still not enough to fully reveal what’s wrong.

Eris glares at you, but before he can respond, another wave of pain hits him, forcing a troubling series of coughs out of him. This time, blood stains his lips, and the dark tendrils pulse ominously with the movement.

Ignoring his earlier complaint, you press your hand against his chest, feeling the unnatural heat beneath your fingertips. The tendrils shift and twist just beneath the surface of his skin as if something dark is trying to break free. “Are you usually this hot?” you murmur, more to yourself than to him, as you watch the tendrils fade back into nothingness.

Eris’s lips curve into a smirk, despite his condition. “I wasn’t aware you found me so irresistible,” he drawls, his tone laced with that familiar cocky arrogance.

You roll your eyes, not even dignifying his comment with a response, refocusing on the task at hand.

With a sigh, you grab the vial from him and set it aside, biting your thumbnail as you wrack your brain for ideas. You decide to turn to a more traditional method. “Stand up,” you instruct, grabbing a fresh egg from a small basket. Eris raises an eyebrow, but you don’t give him a chance to question it. “I’m going to perform an egg cleanse. It’s an old method, but it’s effective for detecting curses.”

He complies, albeit reluctantly, standing from the chair. You glance up at him, realizing you can’t quite reach the top of his head. “Bend your knees a bit. I can’t reach that high.”

Eris smirks, but obliges, lowering himself slightly so you can reach the crown of his head. You begin by holding the egg just above his scalp, moving it slowly around the top of his head and down his neck. You notice his jaw clench, the muscles tightening under your careful movements.

You continue to work your way down, the egg warming slightly in your hand as it absorbs the negative energy. The air feels thick with tension as you move the egg over his shoulders and bare chest, noticing how he tenses when you pass it over his thighs. His body reacts subtly, with a slight shift in posture, a clenching of his fist at his side, as if he’s fighting to keep his composure.

“Anything yet?” Eris presses, his tone light, almost as if he’s making conversation, but you can hear the underlying tension. “Or are you just playing with eggs for fun?”

“Hold still,” you mutter, ignoring his jab as you complete the cleanse. When you reach his feet, you pause, feeling the unsettling energy still clinging to the egg in your hand. You ask him to lift each foot slightly so you can pass the egg underneath. He does so with a small huff of annoyance, muttering something you couldn’t bother yourself to care about.

Finally, you finish the cleanse, bringing the egg back up to his head and closing the circle. The egg feels heavier in your hand now, almost throbbing with the energy it’s absorbed. You step back, holding the egg up to the light, examining it carefully.

“What are you seeing?” he asks, his voice steady, but you catch the edge of something beneath the calm facade. “What’s wrong?”

With a frown, you walk to the counter, grab a glass, and fill it with water. Eris watches you, curiosity and impatience on his face as you crack the egg into the glass.

The moment the shell breaks, your breath catches in your throat as the realization hits you like a physical blow. The web-like structures forming in the egg’s whites, the dark red blood swirling through the yolk—they aren’t just signs of any curse. They’re markers, symbols that reveal the curse’s origin. A curse that dark, that potent, could only come from someone with a deep, intimate connection to the target. Someone who shares his blood.

Eris leans over your shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the sight. “That’s not normal, is it?” he asks, his tone still deceptively casual, but you can hear the sharp edge of concern creeping into his voice.

You shake your head slowly, staring at the cursed egg. “No,” you reply, your voice low and tense. “Eris,” you begin, your voice trembling slightly as the weight of your discovery settles in. “This… this isn’t just any curse. It was arranged by someone who’s tied to you by blood. They must have paid a witch to curse you.”

His eyes widen, the casual facade slipping as your words sink in. He straightens, stepping back as if physically recoiling from the truth. For a moment, he’s silent, his usually sharp mind racing to process what you’ve just told him. But the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clench into fists, betrays the anger simmering beneath the surface.

“One of my brothers,” he murmurs, his voice low and deadly. There’s no question in his tone, only cold, calculated fury. The possibility of betrayal from within his own bloodline cuts deep, and you can see it in the way his expression darkens, in the way his shoulders stiffen as if preparing for battle.

You nod slowly, still staring at the cursed egg, your mind racing as you try to make sense of it all. “Whoever did this didn’t just want to hurt you—the curse is meant to kill, Eris.”

His gaze flickers back to you, and for a brief moment, you see something vulnerable in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. But then it’s gone, replaced by the cold determination that you’ve come to expect from him.

As you stare at the cursed egg’s results, frustration and determination mix in your mind. You need to figure out where the curse is coming from. “Wait here,” you tell him, already moving towards the shelves.

You start rummaging through your collection of enchanted tools and artifacts. You pull out a magnifying glass with runes etched into its frame—designed to detect magical auras. With it, you examine the egg’s remnants, trying to find any additional clues. Still focused, you then grab a small jar of salt, used for creating protective circles, and a vial of basic anti-magic tincture.

You hold the magnifying glass over Eris’s body, carefully examining for any magical disturbances. The glass shows a faint, dark aura around his entire form, but it’s still unclear where the source is. The salt is meant to amplify magical reactions, so you grab the jar and sprinkle some in a protective circle around him. As you observe, the dark aura becomes more pronounced, shifting and swirling. Still, it’s not pinpointed enough to identify the exact source of the curse.

You then use the anti-magic tincture, dabbing it on various parts of him: his hands, shoulders, his ankles, and on his clothing. The tincture reacts, but again, it does not specify where the curse is anchored. You decide to turn to a more direct method.

You remove one of the rings from Eris’s hand, placing it on a small tray before examining it closely with the magnifying glass. The ring is stunning, with a polished tiger’s eye stone that seems to capture and reflect the light with every movement. The stone is set in intricately crafted silver, engraved with delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of flames. It’s a ring befitting Eris Vanserra—elegant yet undeniably powerful. This time, you notice the dark tendrils of magic intensify around the ring, more clearly than on the other items.

“This ring,” you say, realization dawning as you see the dark magic swirling more intensely, “Have you given it to anyone lately?”

Eris’s brows furrow in confusion. “No, why would I do that? It’s one of my favorites.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms and biting your lip in thought. “Are you sure? Any recent changes, anyone who might have had access to it?”

He hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. “I—well, I didn’t give it to anyone, but…” He sighs, sitting back down and looking down at the ring. “I woke up one morning and found it missing from my jewelry box. I only found it a few days later, yesterday, under the dresser.”

You nod, your mind racing with the implications. “That’s significant. The timing fits with when the curse seems to have taken hold. It’s likely that someone who knew about the ring might have tampered with it.” Eris’s expression darkens, and he clenches his jaw.

You give him a sympathetic look. “Luckily, it seems whoever cast this curse used extremely rudimentary techniques. I should be able to take care of it relatively easily… Go lie down in the back room,” you tell him, pointing at the door behind the front counter. “I’ll be there in a bit with what I need to start the healing process.”

Eris nods and heads to the back room, his demeanor more subdued now. As he disappears behind the door, you turn back to the counter, gathering the rest of your supplies. The task ahead is daunting, but you’re determined to see it through.

As he disappears into the back room, you take a deep breath, centering yourself as you gather the necessary items for the healing process. Your mind is consumed with the details of what you need, and you absentmindedly reach for a pen from the counter, sliding the end of it between your lips as you think through your list—cleansing herbs, protective talismans, and special antidotes to counteract the curse. You pull out a small wooden box and start preparing the mixtures, setting out vials and jars with practiced ease.

You move through the shop, grabbing the fresh batch of herbs and an old family recipe for a purification salve. As you’re about to head to the back room, you pause, realizing you need one more item. You hastily grab a small vial of enchanted water, known for its potency in breaking curses.

With everything in hand, you head towards the back room, your nerves steeling for the task ahead. You open the door and step inside, where Eris is lying on the sofa, looking more subdued and less defiant.

“Alright,” you say, laying out the items on a nearby table. “I need you to strip, so I can massage the salve into your skin.”

Eris raises an eyebrow, his posture relaxed despite his condition. He lounges on the plush sofa, the luxurious fabric seeming to contrast sharply with his unwell state. He is draped elegantly over the cushions, looking effortlessly refined even in his weakened state. “Are you always so forward with your clients?” he asks, a lazy, yet sardonic smile playing on his lips.

You shoot him a wry smile. “Only the ones who show up at my door covered in curses. I promise, I’ll try to keep it as professional as possible.”

Eris arches an eyebrow, glancing down at his torn shirt before meeting your eyes with a smirk. “I’ll be curious to see just how ‘professional’ you manage to be, given the state of my shirt.”

“I suppose my attempt at professionalism might seem a bit questionable after that,” you respond, trying to match his playful tone. “But given the circumstances, I promise to keep my focus on getting you sorted out.”

Eris smirks, clearly entertained by your response. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replies, making no move to cover up as he removes his shirt. He casually kicks off his boots and slips out of his pants. He starts to remove his underwear, but you quickly hold up a hand, a hint of discomfort in your voice.

“Uh, you can keep those on,” you say, your tone awkward. “I really don’t need to see more of you than I already have.”

Eris raises an eyebrow but complies, lying back on the sofa in his remaining attire. He stretches out, his posture relaxed despite his state.

You try to maintain your composure as you prepare to apply the salve, aware of the subtle flush on your cheeks at the sight of him.

You take the salve and begin applying it to his skin, your hands gliding over the thick, soothing mixture. The salve is warm and slightly sticky, and you work it into his flesh with careful, deliberate strokes. His skin is pale and warm under your touch, marked with faint, livid lines where the curse has taken hold. Despite his condition, his muscles are firm and well-defined.

You try to focus on the task, but the proximity and the intimate nature of your work make your cheeks flush. Your hands move methodically, spreading the salve evenly over his torso, smoothing it into every defined contour. The tension in the room is almost tangible, and you do your best to maintain your composure, concentrating on the rhythm of your movements.

After a few minutes, you glance up at Eris, only to find him watching you with a smirk. You assume he’s noticed your nervousness and it makes your blush deepen, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks.

You hum as if asking “What?”, but it comes out a bit strained.

Eris chuckles softly, the sound low and knowing. “What’s the pendant on your necklace?”

You pause, momentarily distracted by his question. You glance down at the pendant but realize you’ve been toying with it between your teeth. You drop it, a sleek piece of black tourmaline set in a delicate silver setting. It catches the light, its dark, glossy surface reflecting an eerie, protective shimmer. “It’s black tourmaline,” you explain, trying to keep your voice steady as you wipe your hand on the skirt of your dress. “It’s known for protection.”

You reach up and carefully open the locket, revealing a small, intricately illustrated image nestled inside. The illustration depicts you and a scruffy little dog, your faces pressed close together. His warm brown eyes are visible, reflecting the affection between you. The artist’s delicate strokes bring out the softness and warmth of the scene, with a gentle, glowing quality.

“Here,” you say, offering the locket for Eris to see. “That’s my dog, Cedar. He’s my best friend.”

Eris glances at the illustration and raises an eyebrow. “Cute dog,” he remarks, his voice softening slightly. He takes a moment to admire it before you close the locket and turn your attention back to the task at hand.

You resume applying the salve, your hands moving carefully over his thighs. Your proximity is close, and you can’t help but be aware of the intimate nature of the task.

Eris breaks the silence, his tone is casual yet curious. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a dog person. What’s he like?”

You continue working the salve into his skin, your hands deftly spreading it. “Cedar? He’s a little bundle of energy. Loves to play and is always up for an adventure. Not very fond of arrogant redheads.”

Eris chuckles softly. “Sounds like quite a character. I’ve got a few ghost hounds myself. Jasper’s the mischievous one, Ember’s more reserved but loyal, and Thorne... well, he’s a bit of a troublemaker. They each have their own quirks, but they’re a handful.” He smiles faintly, a hint of fondness in his eyes.

You nod, trying to focus on the salve while managing the awkward proximity. “Sounds like they’re quite a pack.”

Eris’s eyes twinkle with a mixture of amusement and affection as he regards you. “They are. All twelve of them.”

You clear your throat, doing your best to shake off the distraction of Eris’s body under your hands. “Twelve? That’s… quite a lot,” you manage to say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how flustered you are.

Eris gives a small, almost smug nod. “They’re quite the company.”

You force a small smile, quickly refocusing on the task at hand before your scent gives you away. “Alright, I need you to flip over so I can get your back,” you instruct, your voice steadier now.

Eris moves with a grace that belies the curse’s toll, turning onto his stomach. As he settles, you catch yourself marveling at the expanse of his back, the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. You work the salve into his skin, starting at his shoulders and moving downward. Your fingers glide over the planes of his back, kneading the thick mixture into his skin with slow, deliberate motions.

When you reach his lower back, you can’t help but notice how firm and tight his muscles are. You swallow hard, trying to focus on the task and not on how ridiculously sculpted he is. This close, his scent—woodsy and warm, with a hint of spice—mixes with the herbs of the salve, creating an intoxicating blend that makes your heart race.

With the salve fully applied, you stand and step back, wiping your hands on a cloth. You retrieve the small vial of enchanted water from your supplies. The liquid inside shimmers faintly, a sign of its potency.

You kneel beside Eris and unstopper the vial, letting a few drops spill into your palm. “This will help neutralize any residual dark magic,” you explain, mostly to fill the silence as you pour the water into your hands. It’s cool to the touch, sending a slight tingle through your fingers.

Gently, you begin to rub the enchanted water into his skin, starting at his shoulders and moving downward again. You feel a faint warmth where the water touches his skin, a sign that the curse is reacting to the cleansing magic. You mutter a soft incantation under your breath as you work, tracing the lines of his muscles with your fingertips to ensure the water reaches every part of him.

Eris lies still beneath you, but you can sense his awareness of your every move. The tension between you is palpable, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. But you focus on your work, pushing aside the awkwardness.

You clear your throat softly. “Flip back over. I need to do your front.”

Eris obliges, rolling onto his back again. As you begin to apply the enchanted water to his chest, your hands instinctively move in slow, deliberate circles. The cool liquid glides over the hard planes of his abs and pecs, and you find yourself distracted by the feel of his muscles beneath your fingertips. His skin is smooth, marred only by the faint, dark lines of the curse, but the tautness of his body is impossible to ignore.

Your thoughts begin to wander, unbidden. The definition of his abs under your touch, the way his chest rises and falls steadily with each breath, the heat radiating from him despite the coolness of the water—all of it feels too intimate, too close. You lose yourself in the rhythm of the massage, each movement deliberate, but tinged with an awareness you wish you could ignore.

When you finally finish applying the water, you take a step back and wipe your hands again. “That should do it,” you say, though your voice comes out softer than you intended. “Now we just need to give it time to work.”

Eris slowly sits up, his movements careful and deliberate. He glances at you, and for a moment, his usual guarded expression softens. "Thank you," he says quietly, the words carrying a weight that surprises you.

You nod, unsure of how to respond to the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Just... make sure you rest. The curse should start breaking down now, but you'll need time to recover-"

Eris cuts you off, his tone turning teasing as he leans forward. "You always seem to be keeping that mouth of yours busy, don't you?"

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden comment. "Excuse me?"

His gaze drops pointedly to your hand, and it's only then that you realize your thumbnail is between your teeth. You quickly pull it away, trying to mask your embarrassment with a frown. "I wasn't-"

"Oh, you were," he interrupts, the smirk playing on his lips growing. "First your necklace, now your nails. And don't think I didn't notice you biting your lip earlier. Tell me, is this a nervous habit or something else?"

You huff, the irritation building slowly. "It's nothing. Just a habit, alright?"

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he's dissecting your every move. "A habit, hmm? Interesting."

You roll your eyes, exasperation creeping into your tone. "Look, it's really none of your business. I just did you a favor, saving your life; can't you drop the smart remarks for once?"

Eris's smirk doesn't waver. "A favor? Let's not pretend you didn't enjoy getting your hands all over me," he says, his voice dripping with mockery. "You were practically drooling over me."

Your face burns, and you take a step forward, anger and embarrassment now battling for dominance. "I was doing my job, Eris. If I took any extra care, it was because I had to-your life was in my hands, not because I wanted to."

He arches an eyebrow, clearly amused by your rising frustration. "So you admit you were being thorough."

You let out a frustrated breath, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're insufferable, you know that? Not everything is about you."

His voice drops to a low, teasing whisper. “If it’s just a job, then why do you look like you’ve been caught red-handed?”

Your eyes widen at his insinuation, and you struggle to find a retort, feeling both flustered and infuriated by his smugness.

Your heart skips a beat at the intensity in his gaze, the raw challenge in his words. "What does it matter to you?" you snap back, though your voice falters, the heat of the moment starting to overwhelm you. "You're just trying to get under my skin."

Eris's gaze flickers to your lips, and you feel the air between you grow heavy, charged with an undeniable tension. "Maybe I am," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive growl. "Or maybe I'm just waiting for you to admit you want this as much as I do."

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you, the magnetic pull between you impossible to ignore. You shake your head, trying to maintain your composure despite the heat in your cheeks. "You don't really want this," you retort, your voice coming out more uncertain than you intended.

Eris's smirk widens, and he stands impossibly close to you, his eyes dark with intensity. "Oh, but I do."

You meet his gaze, feeling a surge of defiance and desire. "Prove it," you challenge, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eris responds to your challenge with a fierce intensity. He closes the space between you with a sudden, forceful kiss that takes your breath away. His lips crash against yours, and the kiss is a wild, heated clash of desire and frustration.

Your lips meet with a ferocity that makes your head spin, his hands gripping your face as if he's afraid you might pull away. His mouth moves against yours with a demanding urgency, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with yours. The kiss is rough, almost desperate, as if he's trying to prove something with every touch.

You feel his teeth nip at your lower lip, sharp and insistent, and the sudden spark of pain only intensifies the heat between you. Your hands find their way to his hair, gripping it tightly and pulling him closer if possible, as if trying to merge your bodies together.

Eris's fingers tangle in your hair, his grip firm as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. His movements are driven by a raw, unrestrained need, and you can feel his breath come in ragged gasps against your skin. Each touch, each movement is a battle, a clash of passion and frustration.

You respond in kind, your own fingers digging into his scalp, your nails scratching lightly as you try to keep up with the fierce pace he sets. The kiss is a war of wills, a struggle for dominance that leaves you both breathless and hungry for more.

Finally, the intensity of the kiss subsides, but only slightly. You pull away just enough to look into each other's eyes, both of you panting heavily, faces flushed. The moment is charged with an electric tension, a mix of anger and desire that hangs in the air between you.

Eris's eyes are dark and intense as he stares at you, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Is that proof enough?" he asks, his voice low and rough.

Your lips slam into his again, and you press your body against his with a forceful urgency, your hands roaming over his bare torso. Eris’s initial surprise quickly turns into fervor. His hands move over your back and sides, his touch rough but deliberate. His fingers brush along the fabric of your dress, tugging it slightly as he pulls you closer. His hands glide over your waist, up your sides, and finally settle at the small of your back, pulling you so close that there’s no space left between your bodies. Your hands explore his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his smooth skin, and you can’t help but dig your nails in slightly, relishing the shudder that ripples through him.

“You’re such a pain,” you murmur against his lips, your voice breathy but laced with irritation. “Always so arrogant, thinking everyone wants you.”

Eris’s response is a low growl, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he pulls back just enough to look at you. “And yet here you were, begging me to strip under the guise of helping me. I guess my arrogance isn’t so misplaced after all.”

Your retort is immediate, biting. “Guise? I did help you, don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you—it’s about shutting you up.” You punctuate your words by biting down on his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure.

He chuckles, the sound low and mocking. “Is that what you’re telling yourself? That this is just about shutting me up?” His grip on your hips tightens, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “Keep lying to yourself if it helps you sleep at night. But we both know you’re enjoying this.”

You shove him back slightly, just enough to regain some space, your chest heaving with both desire and defiance. “You’re delusional. If anything, I’m doing this to prove you wrong.” But even as you say it, your hands are already trailing lower, brushing over the hard lines of his abdomen, testing his resolve.

Eris’s smirk never falters. “Keep telling yourself that,” he says, his voice thick with lust and challenge. “But we both know the truth—you can’t resist me any more than I can resist you.”

“Resist?” You scoff, though your voice wavers with the intensity of the moment. “Who said anything about resisting? Maybe I’m just enjoying the moment before I throw you out.”

His eyes darken further, a primal edge sharpening his features. “You talk a big game, but I can feel how much you’re into this.” His hand slides up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your dress’s long skirt aside with forceful impatience. “Or do you want me to stop and see if you beg?”

You meet his challenge head-on, your eyes blazing. “Beg? I’d rather die.”

He grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light as his hand continues its relentless exploration. “We’ll see.”

With that, he kisses you again, the force of it pushing you both back until you’re pinned against the wall, his body pressing into yours with an intensity that makes your head spin. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling hard, and he groans into your mouth, his own grip on you tightening as the need between you becomes impossible to ignore.

"You're insufferable," you hiss, though your fingers are still digging into his skin, still trailing over the hard lines of his chest.

Eris’s mouth swallows your frustrated words. “Then shut me up,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with challenge.

You take the bait, pulling him closer as you bite down on his lip again, harder this time, drawing a low groan from him. His hands slip under your dress, the roughness of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. “That all you’ve got?” he taunts, his voice ragged.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes locked with his in a heated stare. “I can do a lot more than that,” you shoot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

“Prove it,” he snarls, his hands tightening on your hips as if daring you to push the boundaries further.

Your gaze never wavers from his as you slowly begin to sink to your knees in front of him. Eris's breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and something else, something far more primal.

“Careful,” he warns, though there’s a rough edge to his voice that betrays his anticipation. “You might find yourself in over your head.”

You smirk, defiant as ever. “I’m sure I can handle you,” you say, your voice low and challenging as you settle in front of him, pulling his underwear down and freeing his cock. It springs up, slapping against his skin. Eris's breath catches again, this time more audibly, as your fingers wrap around him, the warmth of your touch eliciting a shudder from him. For a moment, the air between you is charged, thick with tension. His fiery gaze locks onto yours, his usual cool demeanor cracking just enough to reveal the raw desire simmering beneath the surface.

“Is that so?” His voice is a rasp, heavy with lust, yet there's still a trace of his usual arrogance, as if he’s not entirely convinced you know what you’re getting into. His hand slides into your hair, not quite a caress but not entirely a threat either.

You look up at him through your lashes, your smirk never fading as you lean in, the tip of your tongue teasing the sensitive head of his cock. Eris's grip tightens involuntarily, and you feel a surge of satisfaction at the way his control is already starting to slip.

“Keep pushing me, and I won’t be able to stop myself,” he growls. But you don’t intend to stop. You want to see him unravel, to take him apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of his carefully constructed composure. Your mouth closes around him, taking him deeper, your movements slow, savoring the way he swears under his breath, his hips jerking slightly as if he can’t help but respond to the pleasure you’re giving him.

“Fuck,” he mutters and braces his hand against the wall as you cup his balls. The last of his restraint frays as you take him deeper, the heat of your mouth and the slick glide of your tongue driving him mad with pleasure.

His dominance, his ever-present need to be in control, is slipping through his fingers, and you can see it in the way his eyes flutter shut, in the way his head tips back, exposing the strong line of his throat. You’re pushing him closer and closer to the brink, and the power you feel at this moment is intoxicating, heady, and utterly addictive.

His hand tightens in your hair, and just as you feel like you’ve taken control, he pulls you back with a sudden, forceful yank. The motion is swift, leaving you gasping as he tilts your head up, pressing it back against the wall. His eyes, dark and wild, lock onto yours, and you can see the moment he decides to take the power back.

Without a word, he thrusts forward, his cock pushing past your lips in a smooth, deliberate motion, filling your mouth completely. The sensation is overwhelming—the taste of him, the pressure, the way his hips move with a raw, unrestrained need. He’s no longer holding back, no longer letting you lead.

His hand in your hair tightens even more, holding you firmly in place as he begins to fuck your mouth, each thrust rougher, more demanding than the last. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s fighting to maintain some semblance of control, but it’s slipping fast, and you know you’re the one driving him to this point.

“Is this what you needed?” he growls, his voice rough with the thrill of dominance. “Always biting your nails, playing with that necklace... I knew you needed something more to keep that mouth of yours busy.”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, the dark thrill only intensifying your desire. You try to nod, but his grip holds you in place, his cock filling your mouth completely, muffling any response you could give. The way he’s watching you, eyes narrowed, intense, tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Tell me,” he demands, thrusting deeper, his voice low and laced with a dark satisfaction. “You like this better, don’t you? Better than biting down on that lip of yours? You’d rather be sucking my cock, wouldn’t you?”

The words, the sheer audacity of his tone, make you whimper around him, the sound vibrating through your throat, and his grip tightens almost possessively in response. His thrusts become more erratic, each one pushing you closer to the edge, the friction, the heat building between you until it’s all-consuming.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of mockery and admiration. “So desperate to keep your mouth busy. Is this what you’ve been wanting all along? Something to fill that pretty little mouth, something to keep you from biting down so hard?”

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, and the way he shudders makes you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’re pushing him right to the edge, and he knows it, the way his hips snap forward betraying how close he is to losing control entirely.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “You feel so fucking good—taking me so well. Just like that. Keep going, and I’ll make sure you never have to worry about looking for something to occupy that pretty little mouth with ever again.”

His words send you spiraling, your own desire mounting as you submit to his dominance. You can feel him throbbing in your mouth, the desperation in his movements telling you just how close he is to unraveling completely. His grip on your hair is almost punishing, but the way he’s losing himself in you is worth every second of it.

“Do you like this?” he taunts, his voice low and rough. “Better than anything else you’ve ever had between those lips?”

And just as you sense he’s about to tip over the edge, he pulls back, panting heavily, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and lust as he tries to regain control. But it’s too late—he’s already there, the pleasure too overwhelming to stop. With a low, guttural groan, he wraps his hand around his slick cock as he strokes himself to completion.

His hips jerk as he comes, hot and thick, painting your lips and tongue with his release. The taste of him floods your senses, salty and rich, and you can’t help but savor it, holding his gaze as you swallow every last drop. The look on his face is pure, unrestrained satisfaction, but there’s still that edge of frustration, like he’s not quite finished with you yet.

Before you can react, he hauls you to your feet, his grip firm, almost possessive. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth, gathering the last traces of his release. The movement is deliberate, his expression dark and unreadable as he holds his thumb in front of your lips.

“Open,” he commands, his voice rough, and without hesitation, you part your lips, sucking his thumb clean. The taste of him lingers on your tongue, and the way his eyes darken tells you he’s watching every second, every subtle movement.

His thumb slides free from your mouth, and for a moment, there’s a heavy silence between you, charged with the aftermath of what just happened and the unspoken promise of what’s to come next. Eris’s chest heaves with each breath, but the hunger in his eyes hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it’s only grown stronger, the intensity between you far from spent.

Eris’s hands find the laces on the back of your dress, his fingers deft as he begins to undo them, each tug of the fabric sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. His breath is still heavy, uneven, but there's a renewed focus in his movements, a meticulousness that makes your pulse quicken. The dress loosens gradually, the cool air hitting your skin as he exposes more and more of you, and the sensation of his fingers grazing your back is maddening.

You can take in the sight of him now—bare, unrestrained, his usual elegance stripped away—it sends a jolt of desire through you. But before you can revel in it, his hands are on you again, rougher this time, pulling the dress down your body until it pools at your feet.

His eyes drink you in, taking in every inch of your now-exposed skin, and the way he looks at you makes your breath hitch. There’s something almost reverent in his gaze, but it’s laced with a hunger that promises he’s far from done with you. He steps closer, and the heat radiating off him is palpable, his chest brushing against yours as he reaches down between your bodies, his hand yanking your underwear down and finding its way to your core.

Your hand slips between you, stroking him, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His fingers slide against you, a delicious friction that makes you gasp, your grip on him tightening reflexively in response. His eyes are half-lidded as he reaches behind you to undo the clasps of your bra, focused entirely on the way your body responds to him, and it sends a shiver down your spine. It’s a reminder that despite the edge you’d gained, he’s still every bit as dangerous, every bit as intoxicating.

With a growl, Eris suddenly lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he presses you back against the wall. The cool surface contrasts sharply with the heat of his body, and the sensation is almost overwhelming, his hard length brushing against your inner thigh, teasing, tormenting. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the barely restrained need as he grinds against you, his hand still between your legs, stoking the fire that’s been burning between you both from the start.

And then, with a swift, powerful thrust, he’s inside you, and everything else falls away—the tension, the teasing, the power struggle—until all that’s left is the raw, unrelenting desire that neither of you can deny any longer. He’s relentless, driving into you with a raw, primal need that matches your own, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. The sound of your bodies colliding, the wet slide of him inside you, fills the room, mingling with the ragged breaths and low moans you can’t suppress.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he bites down just hard enough to make you gasp, the pain mingling with the pleasure in a way that only intensifies the sensation. His voice is rough, laced with a dark satisfaction as if he’s finally giving you what you’ve been daring him to unleash. “You’re so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Shut up,” you snap back, but your voice comes out breathless, betraying how much you’re already unraveling. His words send a thrill through you, the taunting, the edge of danger in his tone only making you want him more. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks on his skin as you try to meet his thrusts, the pressure building inside you almost unbearable.

He smirks against your throat, his breath hot and uneven. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your pulse point before he bites down again, harder this time. “You want me to break you, don’t you?”

Your hands fist in his hair, yanking his head back so you can meet his gaze, the defiance in your eyes only fueling the fire between you. “Shut up,” you hiss, your voice trembling with the force of your impending release.

A dark chuckle escapes him, and he slams into you harder, the movement sending you both crashing further into the abyss of sensation. Each thrust drives you higher, the pressure in your core building, threatening to shatter you into a million pieces. His movements are wild, erratic, and yet there’s a precision to them, a calculated determination to make you lose control before he does. But you’re not about to give in easily, not when the taste of victory is so close.

“Faster,” you demand, your voice edged with desperation, and the way his eyes flash with something primal tells you he’s just as close to the edge as you are.

He obliges, his pace becoming almost brutal as he pounds into you, the sound of your name falling from his lips like a curse, like a prayer. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice cracking with the intensity of it all. “I’m going to ruin you.”

“I’m sure you’d love to,” you manage to choke out, but the words are barely coherent, your mind a haze of pleasure as he drives you closer and closer to oblivion.

And then he reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. The sudden, overwhelming sensation makes you cry out, your body arching against him as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in bliss.

Eris isn’t far behind, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him over the edge. He buries himself deep inside you, his own release ripping through him with a ferocity that leaves him shaking, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he finds his own release, the tension that’s been coiled so tightly between you finally snapping.

For a moment, neither of you moves, the only sound in the room is ragged breathing as you both come down from the high. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot against your lips, and for a fleeting moment, the war between you seems to fade, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection that this moment has forged.

But it’s only a moment.

“Don’t think this changes anything,” you murmur, your voice still breathless but laced with that familiar defiance.

Eris chuckles softly, the sound a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, though there’s a softness to his voice that wasn’t there before, a hint of something more beneath the layers of antagonism.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x reader smut #eris vanserra smut #acotar smut #acotar #acotar fanfic

592 notes · View notes