#the flames were a time sink but worth it

[jackdollnan]

[seospicybin]

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU TOO.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Related chapter: I Put A Spell On You.

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

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

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU PLAYLIST 🎧

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close the almanac with a soft thud, the foreboding message settling heavily in your chest. The city stirs outside your window, but in this quiet moment, it feels as though time stands still. 

You glance at your reflection in the nearby mirror, studying the determination etched into your features. You’ve come so far, yet there’s still so much to do. 

Today is just another step forward, another piece of the puzzle. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on. The world doesn’t know it yet, but its days of underestimating you are numbered. 

“Today the world bends, and all power is mine.” 

-

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and there he is—Hyunjin. Perfectly dressed as always, his hair immaculate, his expression cool and distant. He steps in without a glance in your direction, his presence commanding the small space like a storm that doesn’t need to rage to be felt. You step back to give him room, not that he notices. He presses the button for his floor, and the doors close, sealing you in together. 

The silence is suffocating, a weight pressing down on your chest. You’ve grown used to this—his deliberate ignorance, the way he carries himself as though you don’t exist. It’s not new, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

The memory of his smile, the warmth of his laughter, and the fleeting moments when he looked at you like you were the only person in the world flash through your mind. It’s almost cruel, how vivid those memories are, knowing they mean nothing to him now. To Hyunjin, it’s as if none of it ever happened—as if the love spell never existed, as if you never existed. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself not to let it show. After all, no one knows the truth but you. The weight of it is yours alone to carry. Every stolen glance, every pang of longing, every ounce of guilt—it’s all yours. You shift your gaze to the floor, pretending to study the polished tiles. You can’t let yourself get lost in the what-ifs again. 

When the elevator chimes for his floor, he steps out without so much as a glance in your direction. No words. Not even a polite nod.  You let out a soft sigh once the doors close again, leaning back against the wall. Despite everything—despite his indifference, his coldness, the way he behaves as if you’re a stranger—you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pride when you think about him. 

Hyunjin’s name has been buzzing in the office lately. The whispers of his upcoming promotion are impossible to miss, and the thought of him moving up fills you with quiet satisfaction. He deserves it. Every bit of it. He’s one of the hardest-working people you’ve ever met, and no amount of his harshness toward you can erase that.

For all that’s happened—or hasn’t happened, in his mind—you wish him nothing but the best. It’s a bittersweet truth, but one you’ve come to accept. The elevator finally stops at your floor, and you straighten your shoulders, ready to face the day.

-

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps out, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. As he moves through the hallway, his mind lingers on the ride he just shared with you. 

He hadn’t meant to notice, but he did. That look again—sad and distant, like you were carrying the weight of something invisible. Like you were carrying him. 

It’s not the first time he’s caught it, either. The way your eyes linger on him, quiet and heavy with something he can’t name. It unsettles him, that expression. Almost as if he’s hurt you somehow. 

He frowns, shaking the thought away as he reaches his office. You’re just a coworker, someone he passes in the halls. Whatever story you’ve written for yourself, whatever sadness you carry—it has nothing to do with him. It *can’t.* Hyunjin sets his bag down on his desk and exhales slowly, trying to refocus. There’s too much on his plate today to be distracted by fleeting glances and unanswered questions. He sits, pulling his laptop open, and begins sorting through the mountain of emails waiting for him. 

Barely an hour has passed when his desk phone rings. 

“Hyunjin, can you come to my office for a moment?” Mr. Campbell’s voice is clipped, leaving no room for interpretation. 

“Of course, sir,” Hyunjin replies, already standing. He smooths his jacket, preparing himself for what he assumes is good news. After all, the whispers of his impending promotion have been growing louder by the day. 

The walk to Mr. Campbell’s office feels longer than usual, but Hyunjin steadies his nerves. This is it, he thinks. Finally, recognition for all his hard work. 

But when he steps into the office, Mr. Campbell’s expression isn’t celebratory. If anything, it’s tight with discomfort. 

“Have a seat,” Mr. Campbell says, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. Hyunjin hesitates but complies. 

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Mr. Campbell begins, folding his hands together. “You’ve been an exceptional employee, Hyunjin. Your performance has been nothing short of stellar, and I’ve personally been advocating for your promotion.” 

Hyunjin’s heart begins to race, anticipation bubbling in his chest. 

“However,” Mr. Campbell continues, his tone taking a sharp turn, “with the new CEO stepping into the role, there have been… adjustments. Your promotion has been postponed.” 

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Postponed?” Hyunjin echoes, his voice tight with disbelief. 

“Yes. The position you were being considered for has been filled by someone else, chosen directly by the CEO, Mr. Hargrave himself.” 

Hyunjin blinks, struggling to process the words. The work, the late nights, the endless hours of proving himself—it was all for nothing? 

“With all due respect, sir,” Hyunjin says, his voice rising slightly, “this is unfair. I’ve worked hard for that promotion. I’ve earned it.” 

“I don’t disagree,” Mr. Campbell says, his tone apologetic but firm. “But this decision is out of my hands. The CEO has made his choice.” 

Hyunjin clenches his fists, anger simmering beneath the surface. “So, that’s it? Years of dedication mean nothing?” 

“I understand your frustration,” Mr. Campbell replies. “But I need you to remain professional about this. There will be other opportunities.” 

Hyunjin stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything more without letting his anger slip entirely. 

“Thank you for your time,” he says curtly, turning on his heel and leaving the office. 

As he stalks back to his desk, the weight of the conversation settles heavily on his shoulders. The unfairness of it burns in his chest. How could this happen? How could they just take everything he’s worked for and hand it to someone else? 

His jaw tightens as he sits back down, trying to focus, but the injustice keeps replaying in his mind. He’s not just upset—he’s furious. 

And for the first time in a long time, Hyunjin feels something dangerous brewing beneath the surface. 

-

The boardroom feels unusually tense this morning. The usual low buzz of pre-meeting chatter is muted, replaced by an air of nervous anticipation. It’s your first meeting with Flint Hargrave, the new CEO, and even without the rumors, you’d know he’s not a man to be trifled with. 

You take a seat at the long, polished table, your folder of documents in front of you. Flint hasn’t arrived yet, but you’ve already heard the whispers—he’s harsh, demanding, and utterly unyielding. A few employees exchange worried glances as they shuffle their papers, the tension palpable. 

When the doors open, all conversation ceases. Flint strides into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. He’s tall and sharply dressed, his suit immaculate. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—cold, piercing, and calculating—scan the room like he’s sizing up prey. 

You don’t falter under his gaze. If he’s looking for weakness, he won’t find it here. 

As the meeting begins, you wait for your turn, forcing yourself to focus. When it finally comes, you stand, walking to the head of the room where the projector is already set up. Taking a deep breath, you begin your presentation. 

Your voice is steady as you explain your proposal, detailing the steps, objectives, and the benefits it would bring to both the company and its employees. You make eye contact with the board members and occasionally glance at Flint, gauging his reaction. 

Unlike some higher-ups, Flint doesn’t interrupt or appear distracted. He leans slightly forward, his hands folded on the table, giving you his full attention. His gaze is steady and sharp, making you feel like you’re under a microscope. 

By the time you finish, you feel a flicker of hope. Maybe Flint isn’t the tyrant everyone claims he is. 

The room is silent for a moment before Flint speaks for the first time. 

“Thank you,” he begins, his tone professional but firm. “Your presentation was clear, and the proposal has merit.” 

You feel a small sense of relief. 

“However,” Flint continues, his gaze locking onto yours, “I have a few adjustments I’d like to make before I approve this.” 

He leans back slightly, his tone calm but carrying an edge of authority as he outlines his demands. The adjustments he proposes are subtle but significant, reshaping the very purpose of your proposal. They would disserve the employees, prioritizing cost-cutting and efficiency over fairness and well-being. 

You clench your hands beneath the table, keeping your expression neutral. As he speaks, you realize this isn’t just a misunderstanding—Flint knows exactly what he’s doing. 

When he finishes, you respond as diplomatically as possible. “Thank you for your input, Mr. Hargrave. However, I believe these adjustments might undermine the goals of the proposal, particularly in terms of employee satisfaction and long-term productivity.” 

Flint doesn’t flinch and daringly holds your gaze. “I appreciate your perspective, but my priority is ensuring that the company operates at maximum efficiency. Your proposal is promising, but it needs to align with those objectives.” 

“But,” you persist, your tone steady, “if we implement those changes, it could lead to dissatisfaction among the employees, which in turn could impact overall morale and performance. This proposal was designed to balance both efficiency and employee well-being.” 

Flint leans forward, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “This isn’t a negotiation. If you want my approval, you’ll make the adjustments.” 

The room falls silent. Every pair of eyes is on you, waiting to see how you’ll respond. You swallow your frustration, your mind racing. Flint isn’t just demanding changes—he’s testing you, pushing to see how far you’ll bend. 

“Understood,” you say finally, your voice even. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you rattle. 

Flint nods, his expression unreadable. “Good. I expect the revised proposal on my desk by the end of the week.” 

As the meeting adjourns, you gather your materials, your stomach sinking. Flint has made it clear that he’s not a man who compromises—and now you’re left to figure out how to deal with him. 

-

The meeting room empties slowly, the air still charged with the weight of Flint’s words. You gather your things methodically, trying to shake the tension from your shoulders.

As you step out, the sight of Hyunjin catches your attention. He’s on your floor. For a moment, your heart stirs with hope, and you almost smile.

Has he finally been promoted? The thought alone is enough to bring a flicker of happiness amidst the dread of Flint’s demands. 

But that moment of hope is short-lived. 

Hyunjin’s stride is brisk, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating anger. He brushes past you without so much as a glance, his eyes locked on one target: Flint. 

You pause, watching as he storms toward the man who’s still lingering near the doorway of the meeting room, flanked by his assistant. 

“You!” Hyunjin’s voice echoes across the floor, sharp and furious. Heads turn as his words cut through the low hum of office chatter. “How dare you sabotage my promotion!” 

Flint doesn’t flinch, his expression as calm as ever. If anything, his interest seems mildly piqued, as though Hyunjin’s outburst is merely an inconvenience he anticipated. 

Hyunjin doesn’t stop, one index finger pointed at Flint’s chest. “I’ve worked my ass off for this position! I’ve earned it!” His voice rises with every word. “You think you can just walk in here and decide I’m not good enough? You don’t even know me!” 

The assistant takes a nervous step back, but Flint doesn’t move. His hands rest loosely at his sides, his gaze locked on Hyunjin with unsettling composure. 

“Mr. Hwang,” Flint finally says, his voice smooth and unbothered. “I understand you’re upset—” 

“Upset?” Hyunjin snaps, cutting him off. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it. You’re not fit to be CEO if this is how you run things! Favoring people who haven’t put in half the work I have? What kind of leadership is that?” 

You stand frozen, your files clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve seen Hyunjin upset before, but this is different. His rage is fiery, unrestrained, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s about to lunge at Flint. 

But Flint remains unshaken. His calm is unnerving, as if he’s watching a predictable scene unfold rather than being the target of Hyunjin’s anger. 

Security steps in before things escalate further. Two guards approach swiftly, placing themselves between Hyunjin and Flint. 

“That’s enough, Mr. Hwang,” one of them says firmly, motioning for Hyunjin to step back. 

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his jaw tight. For a moment, it looks like he might resist, but after a tense pause, he takes a step back, his breathing heavy and labored. 

“This isn’t over,” Hyunjin mutters, his glare piercing. 

The guards escort him away, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. You glance back at Flint, hoping to gauge his reaction, but his expression remains unreadable. 

As the hallway clears, Flint turns to his assistant, his voice low but deliberate. “Have Hwang’s file on my desk. Immediately.” 

The assistant nods and rushes off without a word. 

Your stomach sinks. You’ve already seen how Flint operates—calculated and unyielding. And now, with Hyunjin’s outburst, it’s clear he’s caught Flint’s attention in the worst way. 

A chill runs down your spine as you walk back to your desk, your thoughts racing. Flint doesn’t let things go. He doesn’t forgive. And after what you’ve just witnessed, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s already planning something sinister for Hyunjin. 

You sit down, your hands trembling slightly as you replay the scene in your mind. Hyunjin’s fiery passion versus Flint’s icy composure—it’s a clash that could destroy everything. 

And for the first time, you wonder if Hyunjin’s rage will be his downfall. 

-

The night is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your book of spells. The faint light from a single candle flickers, casting long shadows across your workspace. The book lies open before you, its yellowed pages filled with faded script and intricate diagrams. 

Your eyes scan the instructions, pausing on a ritual for protection. It’s a spell you’ve never attempted before, but tonight, it feels necessary. Flint’s chilling composure and whispered orders earlier still linger in your mind, and the memory of Hyunjin’s fiery rage has etched itself into your heart. 

You gather the ingredients, laying them out meticulously: A sprig of rosemary for clarity and purification. A small piece of obsidian for shielding against negativity. A dried bay leaf for protection. A strand of your own hair, tying your energy to the spell. 

You pull out a small black pouch and place it beside the items. The air feels charged as you light a bundle of sage, letting the smoke cleanse the space. You place the rosemary and obsidian into the pouch first, followed by the bay leaf. With each addition, you focus on Hyunjin—his face, his energy, his fiery determination. Finally, you add the strand of your hair, knotting the ends to hold your intent firmly in place. 

With the pouch in your hands, you draw a protective circle around yourself with chalk, marking the edges with small crystals. Sitting cross-legged at its center, you hold the pouch close to your heart, the candlelight reflecting in your eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you chant: “By leaf and stone, by flame and thread. Shield him well from paths of dread. Let no harm pierce, let no ill stay. Protect him now, by night and day.”

You repeat the words three times, your voice steady, each syllable carrying your intent into the universe. As you chant, you feel a warmth build in your chest, spreading through your hands and into the pouch. The air grows still, as if the world is holding its breath. 

When the final word leaves your lips, the candle flickers wildly before extinguishing itself, leaving you in darkness. A shiver runs down your spine, but you know the ritual is complete. 

Carefully, you tie the pouch shut with a red thread, knotting it three times for strength. You hold it in your hands, the weight of it light yet significant. 

“This will protect you,” you whisper, imagining Hyunjin’s face. “This will keep you safe.” 

For a moment, you allow yourself to hope. Even if Hyunjin never knows what you’ve done for him, even if he never remembers what you once shared, at least you can still protect him. 

-

The office is unusually quiet during lunch breaks, and you know this is your best chance. Taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag and pull out the small talisman you crafted for Hyunjin. 

The pouch feels warm in your hand, almost pulsing with the protective magic you infused into it. You look around to make sure no one is watching and quickly make your way to Hyunjin’s desk. His briefcase is propped open, papers and files neatly organized inside. With steady hands, you slip the talisman into one of the inner compartments, tucking it safely beneath a folder. 

A sense of relief washes over you as you straighten up. It’s done. Hyunjin might not know it, but he has a layer of protection now. Even if you’re unsure of how strong your magic is, you’ve done everything you can to help him. 

You return to your desk, a small flicker of hope settling in your chest. Despite everything, you’ve done something good for him. 

Later that day, as the clock approaches the hour for your meeting with Flint, an uneasy feeling creeps into your stomach. The hallway to his office feels colder than usual, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Clutching your notebook to your chest, you silently chant your usual spell under your breath as you walk: 

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

The words give you a fragile sense of courage, but it falters when you reach the heavy oak door. Taking a deep breath, you knock. 

“Come in,” Flint’s voice calls, low and authoritative. 

You step inside, shutting the door softly behind you. Flint is seated at his desk, an imposing figure with a sharp suit and an even sharper gaze. The room smells faintly of leather and coffee, and the blinds are half-drawn, casting slanted shadows across the desk. 

As you stand there, your eyes flicker briefly to the stack of files on his desk. Among them, unmistakably, is Hyunjin’s file. Your stomach tightens, but you quickly shift your focus back to Flint as he speaks. 

“Well?” Flint says, his tone cool but demanding. “Have you made the adjustments I requested?” 

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve reviewed your demands, sir, and I wanted to suggest a few alternative approaches that could meet the company’s goals without—”  Flint raises a hand, silencing you. His gaze is sharp, almost predatory. “Let me stop you right there. I wasn’t asking for alternatives. I was asking if you’ve done what I told you to do.” 

Swallowing hard, you summon your courage. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t believe those adjustments align with the purpose of my proposal. They would negatively impact employee morale, and—” 

Flint leans back in his chair, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across his face. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you? I admire your spirit, though I’m starting to wonder if it’s misplaced.” 

The air in the room grows heavier as he continues, his voice cutting like a blade. “You know, for someone in your position, you’d think you’d know better than to argue with your superior. Maybe this is why women like you struggle to make it past middle management.” 

His words hit you like a slap, but you keep your expression steady. “I don’t see why that has something to do with my ability to do my job, Mr. Hargrave?” you ask, your voice firm but controlled. 

Flint’s smirk doesn’t waver. Instead, he leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled. “Oh, I’m sure you think that. But let me remind you, this isn’t about fairness or ideals. This is about doing what you’re told.” 

You feel your pulse quicken, your grip on your notebook tightening as he continues. 

“If you want to keep rebelling against me,” he says, his tone almost taunting, “go right ahead. But I’d be very careful if I were you. You might not like what happens next.” 

For a moment, you’re frozen, staring at him as the weight of his words settles over you. Flint is dangerous—more dangerous than you realized. His calm demeanor only makes him more threatening, and you’re reminded once again that this is not a man to cross. 

Summoning what little composure you have left, you nod. “Understood, sir,” you say, your voice quieter now. 

Flint leans back in his chair, satisfied, and waves a hand dismissively. “Good. Now, get back to work.” 

You turn on your heel and leave the office, your heart pounding as you step into the hallway. The door clicks shut behind you, and only then do you allow yourself to take a shaky breath. 

Walking back to your desk, you can’t shake the image of Hyunjin’s file sitting on Flint’s desk. Whatever Flint is planning, it won’t just affect you—it’ll affect him too. And no matter how dangerous Flint is, you know you have to do something. 

-

A few days have passed, and you begin to feel a slight sense of relief. The talisman is working, or at least you hope it is. Despite seeing Hyunjin's file on Flint’s desk that day, nothing significant has happened. Hyunjin still walks through the halls, just as indifferent as ever. And you... well, you’re still the same.

Watching him from afar, your heart quietly aching for the bond you both shared, but knowing it’s gone, just like the magic you once cast on him.

As usual, you take the elevator down to the parking basement, stealing glances at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye. The elevator is crowded, and it’s hard to even think of doing anything but keeping your distance.

The silence between you two is deafening, as if the space around you had a barrier, both emotional and physical. You want to say something, anything, but the words are lost before they can even form.

The elevator dings, signaling your stop. The doors open, and you step out, your eyes lowering to the ground as you make your way toward your car. You tell yourself to let go of the past, but the weight of it lingers, thick in the air.

You unlock the door to your car, your hand trembling slightly as you grip the handle.

"Wait."

You spin around at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice, your heart pounding in your chest. Before you can react, he grabs your elbow and flips you around, his grip firm but not painful. The world seems to slow as you look up into his eyes—eyes that are no longer filled with warmth but something else. Something searching.

“What is this?” Hyunjin demands, holding up the small talisman you slipped into his briefcase, his expression tense, almost accusing. His eyes narrow as he waits for your answer.

Your heart drops into your stomach. You hadn't expected this. He found it. The talisman.

"It's... it’s uh..." you say, trying to steady your voice, but it comes out quieter than you intended. "A talisman."

His grip tightens around your wrist, his expression hardening. “A talisman?” His tone is sharp with disbelief. "What did you do to me? Did you curse me?"

The accusation stings, but you quickly shake your head. "No, no curse. It’s meant to protect you."

He doesn't let go of your wrist. "Protect me?" His eyes search yours, but there's a flicker of something else—suspicion. "Why would you protect me?"

The question hangs in the air, and you feel the truth swelling in your chest, but you can’t speak it. The reason you want to protect him... because you care. You care too much. But you can’t admit that to him. Not now. Not when everything between you has been reduced to this awkward distance.

You swallow hard and blur the truth. "I saw your file on Flint’s desk. I know he plans on doing something to you. I don’t want you to get hurt," you say quickly.

"And I hate Flint too. I do. I know this one spell so I think we could work together to take him down. I just need your—”

You can feel his grip falter slightly, but then his gaze flickers to something else entirely. Something that causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.

"Wait... are you saying you actually practice witchcraft?" he asks, his voice shaking with a mix of incredulity and fear.

The world spins. You don’t even know how to respond. You could lie, but his eyes are burning into yours, and for some reason, lying doesn’t feel like an option. Not now.

"Yes," you say softly, unable to stop yourself.

He stares at you in silence for a long moment, and you feel as if the air has been sucked out of the world around you. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the shock, the disbelief, the fear all rising to the surface. It’s too much. Too much for him to process.

And then, before you can say anything else, you hear it—the words you never wanted to hear.

“Stay away from me.”

The coldness in his voice cuts through you like a blade. It’s like an icy wall has been erected between you, one you can’t get past. The small spark of hope you’d held onto—the hope that Hyunjin might remember, might somehow feel something for you again—dies in that instant.

You take a step back, unable to move for a moment, before you finally blink and lower your gaze. His words echo in your mind, a cruel reminder of how much you’ve lost.

“Hyunjin, I—”

He interrupts, his tone harsh now. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Don’t ever come near me again. Don’t use your... your magic on me.”

His words sting, like acid on an open wound. And all you can do is nod, silent tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing there. The good you tried to do has backfired completely. The last shred of hope you had is shattered.

And now, it’s clear: Hyunjin will never see you the way you want him to.

-

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens when he spots you heading toward the elevator at the same time as him. His gaze sharpens, and he throws you a glare as if to remind you of the boundary he firmly set. You stop in your tracks, hesitating as if his silent warning alone is enough to keep you at bay.

The elevator doors slide open, and Hyunjin steps inside without sparing you another glance. But just before the doors close, he catches that look on your face again—the same sad, almost resigned expression that’s been haunting him lately. It lingers in his mind for a moment before he forces it away with a shake of his head.

Arriving at the office floor, Hyunjin immediately senses something is off. Several of his colleagues are gathered around his desk, rifling through his drawers and gathering his belongings. Anger bubbles to the surface as he storms over.

“What the hell are you doing with my stuff?” Hyunjin demands, his voice cutting through the commotion.

One of his coworkers flinches, looking away uncomfortably, while another mutters, “Sorry, Hyunjin, we were told—”

“Told by who?” he snaps, but before he can press further, someone places a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hyunjin,” comes the calm yet weary voice of Mr. Campbell, his superior. “I need you to come with me to my office.”

Hyunjin hesitates, his eyes darting to the boxed-up items on his desk. “What’s going on?”

Mr. Campbell only sighs and gestures for him to follow. Reluctantly, Hyunjin obeys, but unease twists in his stomach as he steps into the office.

Once seated, Mr. Campbell doesn’t waste time. “Hyunjin, the company has received an anonymous tip that you’ve been sharing confidential intel with a competitor.”

The words hit Hyunjin like a punch to the gut. His brow furrows in disbelief. “What? That’s ridiculous! I would never—”

“I know, and frankly, I don’t believe it either,” Mr. Campbell interjects. “But these are serious allegations, and the audit team is already investigating. Until they conclude their review, you’re suspended.”

Hyunjin shoots to his feet, his frustration boiling over. “This is Flint, isn’t it? He’s trying to get rid of me!”

Mr. Campbell raises a hand to calm him. “Hyunjin, I understand your anger, but making accusations without evidence will only make things worse for you. If you want to keep your job, I suggest you go home and let the audit team do their work.”

Hyunjin clenches his fists, his mind racing. Every fiber of his being screams at him to march straight into Flint’s office and confront him, but Mr. Campbell’s warning rings in his ears. After a tense moment, he exhales sharply and storms out of the office.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

-

Instead of heading home as Mr. Campbell suggested, Hyunjin finds himself at a bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in the middle of the day. The amber liquid burns his throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in his mind. He feels angry, frustrated, and—though he hates to admit it—utterly defeated. Flint had outmaneuvered him, and now he was sidelined, his career hanging by a thread.

He shoves a hand into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing against something unfamiliar. Frowning, he pulls it out and stares at the small pouch you had slipped into his briefcase. The talisman.

For a moment, he debates tossing it right then and there, but something stops him. He knows he should’ve burned it the second he discovered it, should’ve gotten rid of it if he truly believed it might bring him bad luck. Yet, as he observes it now, he feels a flicker of curiosity rather than fear.

Your words echo in his mind. “I hate Flint too. We could work together to take him down.”

Hyunjin takes another sip of his drink, the idea slowly settling in. Teaming up with you doesn’t seem entirely ridiculous anymore. After all, the enemy of his enemy should be his ally. But before he makes any decisions, he wants to confirm something first.

By the time he steps out of the bar, the sun has already begun its descent. With his phone in hand, he searches for the address of a shop he’d found online earlier—a place that specializes in witchcraft. It’s not long before he arrives at an unassuming storefront with a sign that reads “Moonlit Mystics.”

The moment Hyunjin pushes open the door, he’s hit by the pungent scent of sage. The interior is dimly lit, cluttered with shelves full of crystals, candles, herbs, and other esoteric items. It’s exactly what he expected, almost to the point of being a cliché.

“Welcome,” a woman’s voice greets him from behind the counter.

Hyunjin turns to see a middle-aged woman with a serene expression, her dark hair streaked with silver. She’s dressed in flowing fabrics, her bracelets jangling as she leans forward.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice warm yet curious as she studies him.

Hyunjin hesitates for a second before stepping closer and placing the talisman on the counter. “I found this in my bag and I need your help to know what is this.”

The woman picks it up delicately, her eyes narrowing as she examines it. She unties the pouch and carefully empties the contents—a sprig of rosemary, a small piece of obsidian, and other small tokens—onto the counter.

“This,” she says, her tone thoughtful, “is a protection talisman.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “Protection?”

She nods, pointing at each item as she explains. “The rosemary wards off negative energy, the obsidian absorbs harmful intentions, and the other elements… they’re all chosen to shield the bearer from harm. Whoever made this put a lot of care into it.”

Hyunjin stares at the talisman, a strange mixture of relief and unease washing over him. Your explanation was true. There was no curse, no sinister intent—just protection.

“That’s all?” he asks, needing the reassurance one more time.

The woman smiles and slides the opened talisman back to him. “That’s all. You’ve got nothing to fear from this.”

Hyunjin thanks her quietly and leaves the shop, slipping the talisman back into his pocket. As he steps into the cool evening air, a thought settles in his mind.

Maybe you weren’t as dangerous as he’d first assumed.

-

Your fingers skim over the faded pages of the spellbook, the faint scent of aged parchment and herbs filling the air around you. The ritual you’ve been studying for days is intricate, layered with steps that demand precision and, more dauntingly, someone else’s involvement.

You’ve read and reread every line, trying to find a way to execute it alone. Hyunjin is no longer an option, and though the thought leaves a bitter pang in your chest, you know you can’t afford distractions. Flint has to be dealt with, and you can’t let emotions—especially feelings for someone who now despises you—get in the way.

A sharp knock at the door snaps you out of your thoughts. You jolt upright, your heartbeat quickening. You aren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, paranoia creeps in. Has Flint somehow discovered your plans? Bracing yourself, you approach the door and crack it open, only to freeze in place.

Hyunjin. It’s impossible not to think of the last time he showed up unannounced. Back then, his smile was warm, lighting up the space between you like a ray of sunshine. Now, that warmth is gone, replaced with a neutral expression that borders on cold. Still, it’s him. And despite everything, seeing him standing there stirs a flicker of hope deep inside you.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his tone low and guarded.

Wordlessly, you step aside, letting him in. Hyunjin walks past you, his gaze sweeping over your small apartment. His eyes linger on the shelves lined with books, jars of herbs, and candles. You can almost see the gears turning in his head as he takes it all in, piecing together your world.

Finally, he turns to face you. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You cross your arms, unsure of where this is going. “What about it?”

“That we could work together to take Flint down.”

Your eyes widen. Of all the things you expected, this wasn’t it. “You’re serious?”

He nods. “We have a common enemy, don’t we? And after everything that’s happened…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “Let’s just say I’m willing to reconsider.”

You study him carefully, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Why the change of heart?”

Hyunjin shrugs, his tone nonchalant. “Because I hate him. And I think you do too.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “That’s putting it lightly.”

He takes a step closer, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. “So? What’s the plan?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Bringing Hyunjin into your world again—after everything that’s happened—feels risky. But he’s here, willing, and you need his help.

Wordlessly, you walk over to the table where your spellbook lies open and gesture for him to follow. As he approaches, you turn the book toward him, pointing at the page outlining the ritual.

“This,” you say, your voice steady, “is the ultimate plan.”

Hyunjin leans in, his eyes scanning the intricate diagrams and detailed instructions. The more he reads, the more his brows furrow. When he finally straightens up, his expression is a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

“You’re serious about this?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes,” you reply.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, breaking the tension in the room. “You’re… something else, you know that?”

You can’t tell if it’s an insult or a compliment, but you choose to ignore it. Instead, you get straight to the point.

“I need you to follow Flint,” you say. “Learn his routine, his habits, where he goes when he’s not at the office. It’ll help me figure out the best time and place to execute this.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms, still smirking. “So I’m your spy now?”

“If you want Flint gone as much as I do, then yes.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to believe in all this…” He gestures vaguely at the book. “Magic stuff.”

You meet his gaze, your voice firm. “You don’t have to believe in it. You just have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. Let’s see where this takes us.”

For the first time in days, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you can pull this off.

-

Hyunjin knocks on your door, his mind a whirlwind of frustration. He’s spent the entire day tailing Flint, only to come up empty. Tight security, bodyguards, private drivers—Flint might as well be untouchable. He’s ready to let you know just how impossible your plan is when the door swings open, and there you are.

You don’t look surprised to see him, but your calm demeanor only adds to his irritation. “Come in,” you say simply, stepping aside.

Hyunjin steps into your apartment, glancing around out of habit. The room feels different tonight—dim, shadows stretching across the walls, and that faint smell of something herbal lingering in the air. It makes his skin prickle. His eyes land on the open spellbook on your table, pages marked with symbols he doesn’t understand, and for a second, he wonders just what kind of person he’s teamed up with.

“Did you find anything?” you ask, sitting down at the table.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, dropping into the chair opposite you. “Flint’s a ghost wrapped in money and muscle. He lives in a penthouse with security tighter than a vault. He’s got his assistant slash his bodyguard with him at all times, a driver who doesn’t leave his side, and the only place he goes after work is some exclusive club. And guess what? That place is crawling with security too.”

You nod slowly, processing his words without a hint of panic. It annoys him. “So, no easy access,” you say, almost to yourself.

“None,” Hyunjin says bitterly. “This whole thing is a waste of time.”

But you don’t look deterred. Instead, you lean back in your chair, tapping a finger against the table. “There is one way,” you say, voice steady.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “And what’s that?”

“I’ll seduce him.”

He blinks, sure he must have misheard you. “What?”

You meet his stare, unwavering. “If I make him interested in me, I can get close to him. Close enough to do what needs to be done.”

Hyunjin stares at you, caught between disbelief and a strange, simmering unease. “Are you serious? You think Flint would go for someone like you?”

Your lips twitch into a smirk. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

Something about the confidence in your voice sends a shiver down his spine. He tries to shake it off, folding his arms across his chest. “This is insane. And dangerous.”

“Everything about this is dangerous,” you shoot back, leaning forward now. “But do you have a better idea?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. He knows you’re right—there’s no other way. Still, the thought of Flint and you in the same room, let alone this… plan, twists something uncomfortable in his gut.

“What do you need from me?” he asks reluctantly.

“I need you to get something for me,” you say, your tone shifting.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Flint’s hair.”

For a moment, he thinks you’re joking. When your expression doesn’t change, he feels his stomach drop. “His hair? Why the hell do you need that?”

“For a spell,” you say simply, as if that’s supposed to make sense.

Hyunjin stares at you, his jaw tightening. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What kind of spell?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.”

The casual way you dismiss his question only makes his unease grow. He leans forward, trying to read your expression, but you’re impossible to decipher. “You’re asking me to steal a piece of his hair, and you’re not even going to tell me why?”

“Exactly,” you say, meeting his gaze head-on.

Hyunjin leans back, running a hand through his own hair. This is reckless. This is dangerous. And yet…

“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll figure out a way to get it. But this better not blow up in our faces.”

“It won’t,” you say quickly.

Hyunjin doesn’t believe you, not fully. But he’s already in too deep to back out now. Standing, he shoves his hands into his coat pockets and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he glances back at you, still sitting at that table with your strange book and your even stranger confidence.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he mutters before stepping out into the night.

As the door shuts behind him, a chill creeps up his spine. This alliance feels like walking a tightrope over a pit of flames, but what choice does he have?

-

After Hyunjin leaves, the apartment feels eerily quiet. You close the door and stand there for a moment, staring at the space he just occupied. There’s a heaviness in your chest, but you push it aside. There’s no time to dwell on emotions when there’s so much to be done.

You grab your spellbook from the table and flip through its worn pages, searching for the ritual you need. The words blur slightly under the dim light, but you recognize the spell when you see it—the ritual to enhance allure, to make yourself irresistible, particularly to a specific target.

Flint may be powerful, but magic is older and stronger than any man.

Taking the book with you, you head to the bathroom. You start by filling the tub, the sound of running water echoing around the small space. As the water rises, you gather the ingredients: dried rose petals for attraction, cinnamon for warmth and desire, honey to sweeten your aura, and a single white candle for purity of intention.

You kneel by the tub, the steam rising to kiss your face. One by one, you add the ingredients to the water, watching as the petals swirl and the honey dissolves. The cinnamon spreads like whispers of fire across the surface, and you swirl it all together with your hand, moving clockwise.

Closing your eyes, you begin to chant:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night. Rose and honey, sweet and true. Let my charm be seen by you. By earth and air, my power takes flight. Grant me allure, shining bright."

The words feel heavy on your tongue, their weight sinking into the water as you chant. The air in the bathroom shifts, thickening with an unseen energy.

You remove your clothes and step into the tub, the warm, fragrant water enveloping you. A shiver runs through your body—not from the temperature, but from the unmistakable pulse of magic that seems to seep into your skin, wrapping itself around you like a second layer.

As you sink deeper into the water, you chant the spell again, your voice softer this time, almost a whisper:

"By water’s flow and fire’s light. Let allure be my gift this night."

The energy hums beneath your skin, subtle but undeniable. You lean back, letting the water cover your body, and close your eyes. For a moment, you feel powerful, invincible.

When you finally step out of the tub, droplets of enchanted water slide down your skin, leaving behind a faint warmth that lingers. You wrap yourself in a towel, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. There’s something different in your eyes—something sharper, more confident.

-

The almanac is clear: wear blue today. Blue is the color of trust, calmness, and, most importantly, attraction. It’s a shade that commands attention subtly, not overtly.

You pull out a fitted blouse and a pencil skirt, pairing them with heels that click confidently against the floor as you move. Standing in front of the mirror, you adjust your hair and take a deep breath. This isn’t just about Flint seeing you; it’s about him wanting to see you again.

Arriving at work, you keep your plan simple. Flint always leaves his office at some point during the day—whether it’s for a meeting or simply to make his rounds. That’s when you’ll strike.

You grab a stack of files, deliberately choosing ones that look bulky and hard to manage. The weight of them grounds you, keeping your hands from trembling as you wait near the corridor. Minutes feel like hours, but finally, Flint’s door opens, and he steps out, his usual bodyguard trailing behind him.

You start walking, eyes cast downward, pretending to be absorbed in your papers. Just as he’s about to pass you, you execute your move.

“Oh!” you gasp as you stumble slightly, letting the files slip from your grasp. Papers scatter across the floor in a dramatic mess, a symphony of fluttering pages.

You immediately bend down to pick them up, keeping your movements deliberate. You arch your back slightly, your skirt hugging your curves as you gather the scattered papers.

“I'm so sorry, sir,” you say softly, glancing up at Flint through your lashes. Your tone is humble, apologetic, but not groveling.

For a moment, he does nothing but stare. His expression is unreadable, his sharp eyes watching your every move. Just as you’re starting to feel the tension in the air thicken, he moves. He bends down—not fully, just enough to pick up a stray document near his polished shoe.

“Here,” he says, handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you reply, your fingers brushing his briefly as you take the paper. Your heart beats a little faster, but you keep your composure.

You stand, clutching the files to your chest, and smile shyly. “I’m so sorry again. I wasn’t paying attention.”

For a moment, your eyes meet his, and you take your chance. Quietly, subtly, you chant the spell in your mind:

"With this gaze, let me linger in your thought. A presence remembered, a web unwrought. See me, recall me, let me stay. In your mind, come what may."

There’s no way to know if it works—not yet. Flint straightens his tie and gives you a curt nod before walking away, his assistant close behind. You sigh softly, relieved the interaction is over, and start to collect the rest of your scattered papers.

But then, just as you’re stacking the last of the documents, you feel it. A faint prickle at the back of your neck. You glance up and catch Flint looking over his shoulder at you before disappearing down the corridor.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. It’s not confirmation, but it’s a start.

-

Hyunjin leans back in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. The leather creaks beneath him as he shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position in his cramped car. He’s been parked across from Flint’s office building for hours, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Suspension has its perks, he tells himself, though the bitterness lingers in the back of his mind. No endless meetings, no rushed deadlines. Just this: a stakeout that feels like a low-budget spy movie. His career might be teetering on the edge of collapse, but at least he has time to figure out what Flint’s up to.

Finally, just as dusk begins to settle over the city, Flint emerges from the building. Hyunjin straightens in his seat, his heart giving a small jolt of anticipation. Flint strides confidently to his car, his ever-present assistant trailing close behind. Hyunjin starts his engine, keeping a safe distance as he tails them through the city streets.

After a short drive, they pull into the parking lot of a high-end restaurant. Hyunjin follows, finding a discreet spot to park before slipping inside. He tugs his cap lower over his face and scans the dining area, his eyes locking on Flint almost immediately.

To his surprise, Flint isn’t dining alone. Seated across from him is a woman Hyunjin recognizes instantly—Brownwyn, the secretary to the head of the legal team. Flint’s body language is relaxed, his attention fully on her. Brownwyn leans in slightly, a coy smile playing on her lips as she twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers.

Hyunjin’s brow furrows. This doesn’t look like a business dinner.

Sliding into a corner booth with a clear view of their table, Hyunjin orders a coffee he doesn’t intend to drink and settles in for the long haul. The restaurant buzzes with quiet conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery, but Hyunjin’s focus never wavers.

He watches as they share a meal, the interaction between them confirming his suspicions. Flint laughs at something Brownwyn says, leaning closer as the evening progresses. There’s an intimacy in their exchange that has nothing to do with work.

When they finally leave, Hyunjin follows them outside, keeping his distance as they climb into Flint’s car. He trails them through the city once more, his pulse quickening when they pull into the parking lot of a nearby hotel.

Hyunjin parks and enters the lobby just in time to see Flint and Brownwyn at the reception desk. He watches from the shadows as they’re handed a keycard and head toward the elevators, Flint’s hand resting casually on the small of Brownwyn’s back.

That’s all he needs to see. Hyunjin lets out a low breath and turns back toward the exit. He doesn’t need to guess what’s going to happen next, and honestly, he doesn’t want to. What matters is that he now has something tangible to work with—a secret Flint wouldn’t want getting out.

Slipping into his car, Hyunjin pulls out his phone and jots down a few notes. His night hasn’t been wasted after all.

-

Hyunjin stands outside your door, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates, then does it anyway. It’s late, but this couldn’t wait.

When you open the door, he’s taken aback. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about you is… different. There’s a subtle glow to your skin, a softness to your features that wasn’t there before. He shakes the thought away as you invite him in, your voice as composed as ever.

Once inside, Hyunjin gets straight to the point. "I followed Flint today," he says, his tone clipped.

He recounts everything—the restaurant, the intimate dinner with Brownwyn, the trip to the hotel. “I think we should spread it around the office,” he concludes. “If people know about his fling with Brownwyn, it could ruin his reputation.”

But you shake your head, crossing your arms. “That’s not enough to bring him down, Hyunjin.”

Frustration bubbles in his chest. “Not enough?” he snaps. “I’m suspended. Do you understand what that means? I might not even have a job to go back to!”

You meet his glare with a steady gaze. “Once Flint is taken down, it’ll be easier for you to get your job back,” you say firmly. Your confidence in your plan only makes him angrier, but he knows you’re right. Flint is the key.

You shift the topic. “Did you get the hair?”

Hyunjin sighs and pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket, holding it up like it’s a prize. “Yeah. I snuck into the coat room at the restaurant and found a strand on his coat.” He places the tissue on the table, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment despite himself.

Your lips curl into a small smile. “Good. That’s one step closer.”

He watches as you carefully pick up the tissue, your fingers grazing the edge of it with reverence, as if it holds the answer to everything. Then a thought strikes him.

“What about your plan to seduce him?” he asks. “You really think that’s going to work?”

You glance up at him, and for a moment, there’s something in your eyes—something sharp and knowing. “I’ve already started,” you say simply.

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t know if you’re the type he’d go for,” he mutters, though the words sound more skeptical than cruel.

“I’ve done it before,” you reply confidently, your voice carrying a weight that makes him uneasy.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, trying to read between the lines. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

Your gaze flicks to him, lingering for a second too long. There’s something in your expression—a glint of mischief, but also a flicker of sadness. It’s unsettling, like you’re holding onto something he can’t see.

“It means,” you say slowly, “I know how to get what I want.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. For a moment, Hyunjin feels like you’re not talking about Flint at all.

-

The night feels heavy, the air thick with unspoken urgency as you prepare for the ritual. Hyunjin’s growing anxiety about his suspended career gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you’re running out of time. If Flint doesn’t fall into your trap soon, the plan will crumble, and with it, any chance of saving Hyunjin's job—and perhaps even yourself.

You glance at the small tissue placed carefully beside the almanac. Inside it lies Flint’s hair, the most critical component of the spell. Hyunjin came through, and now, there’s no time to waste.

With steady hands, you gather the rest of the ingredients: rose petals for passion, honey for sweetness, and a drop of your own blood for power and intent. Each item is laid out before you in a precise circle, their arrangement forming the spell’s foundation.

You light the candles one by one, murmuring the incantation under your breath as each flame flickers to life. The room grows warmer, the air thick with the scent of herbs and wax.

Sitting cross-legged before the altar, you pick up the strands of Flint’s hair, weaving them carefully into the rose petals. Closing your eyes, you focus on the image of him—his sharp gaze, his commanding presence. You imagine him looking at you, drawn to you with an uncontrollable desire.

You begin the chant, your voice steady and low at first, then rising in intensity. Each word carries your intent, your need, your determination. The energy in the room shifts, buzzing like static electricity.

"By fire’s light and heart’s desire. Let him be drawn, his soul inspired. Through thought and dream, he seeks for me. Bound by will, so let it be."

As you chant, you feel the power building within you, a heady sensation that sends chills down your spine. Your hands move instinctively, blending the ingredients with precision, each motion an extension of your will.

When the final words of the spell leave your lips, you take a deep breath and release it slowly, feeling the magic settle over you like an invisible veil. You open your eyes and look at the small bundle of ingredients now bound together with red thread. It hums with energy, glowing faintly under the candlelight.

You place the bundle into a small pouch, clutching it tightly in your hands. The ritual is complete, but the true challenge lies ahead—facing Flint and testing the spell’s power.

-

The next morning, you wake up earlier than usual, carefully selecting your outfit and ensuring every detail of your appearance is flawless. If the spell worked, today will be the day Flint notices you, truly notices you.

As you step into the office, a surge of determination courses through you. When you knock on Flint’s office door, your pulse quickens. His voice calls for you to enter, and you step inside, flashing your most charming smile. He barely glances up from his paperwork, his usual cold demeanor intact.

“Sir,” you begin, stepping closer to his desk. “I heard you have a meeting with a client this afternoon. I’d like to take care of the presentation for you.”

His pen pauses mid-stroke, and he looks up at you. For a moment, there’s nothing in his expression—just the same sharp, calculating stare you’ve come to expect. But you press on, your voice warm and persuasive.

“I know it’s last-minute, but I’ve reviewed the files. I’m confident I can handle it, and it’ll give you more time to focus on… other matters.” You let your words linger, tilting your head slightly as if you’re offering more than just a simple favor.

He studies you in silence, his gaze lingering a moment longer than usual. Finally, he exhales through his nose and leans back in his chair.

“Fine,” he relents. “But don’t mess it up. The meeting’s at two. Be ready.”

You nod, trying not to let the victorious smile show too much. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

By the time two o’clock rolls around, you’re impeccably prepared. Standing in the elevator beside Flint, you notice his usual air of authority, but there’s something else—something quieter, like curiosity.

As the elevator hums to life, you turn to him with a polite smile. “May I?” you ask, gesturing to his tie, which is slightly askew.

He glances at you, then nods. “Go ahead.”

You step closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the fabric as you adjust the knot. His eyes remain fixed on you, his expression unreadable but intent. You can feel his assistant’s glare burning into you from behind, but you ignore it, focusing on Flint.

“There,” you say softly, straightening the tie and stepping back. “Perfect.”

His gaze lingers on you a moment longer, and you meet it with a confident smile before turning away as the elevator doors open.

In the meeting room, you deliver the presentation with practiced ease, your voice steady and your points concise. You notice, however, that Flint’s eyes remain locked on you the entire time. It’s not the typical critical gaze he gives his employees—it’s something heavier, something that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

You meet his eyes briefly during the presentation, letting a small smile play on your lips before returning to your slides. Each time you glance his way, he’s watching, his expression unreadable but intense.

When the meeting concludes, you gather your papers, feeling a rush of pride and anticipation. As everyone files out, you linger slightly, hoping Flint will say something—anything—to confirm the spell is working.

But he doesn’t. He simply nods at you before walking away, his assistant trailing after him.

You stand there for a moment, the air of victory you’d felt earlier evaporating. Did it work? you wonder, doubt creeping into your mind.

Maybe the spell wasn’t strong enough. Maybe Flint’s will is stronger than you anticipated. Or maybe… just maybe… it’s working more subtly than you realized.

-

Hyunjin paces in front of your door, his frustration bubbling under the surface. He hasn’t felt this restless in a long time—his career hanging by a thread, his life spiraling out of control, and no certainty in sight. He clenches his fists, trying to push back the overwhelming sense of failure creeping in.

Every sound in the hallway makes him turn his head, and when the elevator dings, he freezes. You step out, a look of surprise flashing across your face when you see him.

“Hyunjin?” you ask, your voice soft yet cautious.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, the floodgates open. “I’m losing my mind here. Do you know how hard it is for me to just sit and wait? To follow your plan when I don’t even know if it’s working?” His voice rises slightly, his frustration bleeding through. “My career is on the line, my life is on the line, and all I’m doing is running around in circles for this!”

You stand there, calm and collected, letting him vent without interrupting. When he finally pauses to take a breath, you step closer, your tone steady but firm.

“It is working, Hyunjin. You just have to trust me.”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Trust you? I don’t even know if—”

“Have you eaten?” you cut him off, your eyes narrowing slightly as you take in his pale complexion.

“What?” he asks, caught off guard.

“You look like you haven’t eaten all day. Come in, I’ll make you something,” you say, unlocking your door and holding it open for him.

Hyunjin hesitates, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach betrays him. He follows you inside, sinking into a chair at your kitchen table while you move around with ease, preparing a simple meal.

The smell of food fills the small space, and despite himself, Hyunjin feels his tension begin to ease. When you set the plate in front of him, he doesn’t even bother to argue, picking up his fork and digging in.

As he eats, a strange sensation washes over him. He glances around the room, the soft lighting, the faint scent of whatever incense you burned earlier, and the way you’re moving about the kitchen—it all feels familiar.

Too familiar.

He pauses mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air as a wave of déjà vu hits him like a freight train. He’s been here before. He’s sat at this table before, eating a meal you prepared, sharing this moment.

But that’s impossible.

“Have we…” he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He shakes his head, trying to push the strange feeling aside.

Before he can finish his thought, your phone buzzes on the counter. You glance at the screen, and your demeanor shifts instantly. You grab the phone, answering it with a tone that’s light and professional.

“Hello?” you say, your back to him as you pace slightly.

Hyunjin can’t help but strain to hear the conversation, catching snippets of your words. “Yes… tomorrow night… drinks? Of course… I’ll be there.”

When you hang up, you turn back to him with a spark of triumph in your eyes. “That was Flint.”

Hyunjin sits up straighter, his curiosity piqued.

“He just invited me for drinks tomorrow night,” you casually say as you pick up your fork to continue eating.

In that moment, Hyunjin instantly regrets that he didn't trust you in the first place.

-

The almanac doesn’t leave room for second-guessing, so you stick to its advice, dressing in the suggested color—a deep, alluring shade that accentuates your figure. You take extra care with your appearance tonight, ensuring every detail is perfect. Flint has to notice you; he has to want you.

The pub Flint mentioned in his call is nothing extravagant, but its cozy, vintage atmosphere is charming in its own way. You arrive purposefully late, just enough to seem like you’re not desperate for his attention.

As you step inside, the warm lighting and low hum of conversation wrap around you. You spot Flint almost immediately, seated in a booth near the back. His ever-present assistant slash bodyguard is by his side, like a shadow that never strays too far.

But tonight, Flint looks different—dressed casually, the stiffness of his usual office attire replaced with a relaxed charm. He seems more his age, and it strikes you that he’s only three years older than you.

When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face, and as you approach, his eyes trail over you. The attention is unmistakable, almost palpable.

“You look stunning,” he says, his voice smoother than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you,” you reply with a small smile, tilting your head just enough to let your earrings catch the light.

He leads you to the booth, and to your relief, he gestures for his assistant to leave. As the assistant fades into the background, you feel a slight wave of freedom—it’s just you and Flint now.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, motioning for you to sit.

“Of course,” you reply, sliding into the seat across from him.

He leans back slightly, studying you with an intensity that feels almost disarming. “I wanted to thank you for the presentation yesterday. You did a great job.”

You smile, dipping your head modestly. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I have to admit,” he continues, a playful edge in his tone, “I didn’t think you had it in you. You’ve surprised me.”

You raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh? And how exactly did you see me before?”

His smile turns flirtatious, his eyes gleaming. “I thought you were uptight, always buried in your work. I didn’t know there was this… fun side to you.”

You feign a pout. “That’s disappointing. I’m sad you never paid enough attention to me to notice before.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rich. The conversation flows easily, growing more intimate with each passing minute. His charm is undeniable, but you keep reminding yourself this isn’t about you; it’s about the plan.

And then, he leans in.

His face is close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, his gaze locked onto yours. Your heart races, not with excitement but with the weight of the moment. You promised yourself you’d do anything to make this work, anything to bring Flint to his knees.

But as his lips move closer, something in you snaps.

At the very last second, you dodge, turning your head slightly so his kiss lands awkwardly near your cheek. The air shifts instantly.

When you look back at him, the expression on his face tells you everything. The interest, the desire—it vanishes like a flame snuffed out.

Flint pulls back, his demeanor cool and detached. “I just remembered,” he says, his tone suddenly businesslike, “I have something I need to take care of.”

You nod, even though you know the truth. His excuse is nothing more than a polite dismissal.

As he stands and adjusts his jacket, you force a smile, pretending you don’t see the disappointment in his eyes—or feel the failure burning in your chest.

When he leaves the pub, you remain seated, staring down at the untouched drink in front of you. Your plan has failed, and the weight of that realization sits heavy in the pit of your stomach.

-

Hyunjin hesitates as he steps off the elevator and walks toward your door. He isn’t sure if you’re back yet, but the uncertainty doesn’t stop him. He’s been restless since earlier tonight, an uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

When the door opens, his breath catches for a moment. You’re standing there in a bathrobe, your hair damp and clinging to your neck. Your expression is unreadable, but it’s enough to tell him that things didn’t go as planned.

You don’t say a word, just push the door open wider, allowing him to step inside. Hyunjin walks in slowly, his eyes flickering to you as you close the door behind him.

The silence feels heavy, but he doesn’t press you. He moves to the dining table and takes a seat, his gaze following you as you head to the kitchen. The way you saunter to the counter, grab a glass, and fill it with water is oddly mesmerizing. There’s something different about you tonight—no sharp quips, no smug assurance.

Finally, he breaks the quiet. “How did it go?”

You pause mid-sip, the rim of the glass pressed against your lips. Lowering it slowly, you let out a bitter laugh and lean against the counter. “It went fine... until it didn’t.”

Hyunjin frowns. “What do you mean?”

You recount everything—the pub, the conversation, how everything seemed to be going perfectly until you dodged Flint’s kiss. Your voice remains steady, but Hyunjin can hear the frustration laced in your words, the self-reproach hiding beneath them.

He exhales, leaning back in his chair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to do all that. Really.”

But you shake your head, your eyes narrowing. “No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t enough. I should have done my part right. If I had just—”

“You don’t have to push yourself this far,” Hyunjin interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve already done so much.”

You glare at him, the fire in your gaze a stark contrast to the exhaustion etched into your features. “You don’t get it,” you snap, but your tone lacks venom. It’s frustration—at yourself more than anything.

Hyunjin stares at you, trying to find the right words. But as he watches you stand there, gripping the edge of the counter as if trying to hold yourself together, something shifts in him.

This whole time, he’s been so focused on his own frustrations, his own doubts about the plan, that he never stopped to consider how much you’ve been sacrificing, how much you’ve been giving to make this work.

For the first time, Hyunjin sees the weight you’re carrying—and how deeply determined you are to see this plan through.

“I see it now,” he says softly, almost to himself.

You glance at him, your expression wary. “See what?”

He shakes his head, offering you a faint smile instead of answering. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Then you sigh, push off the counter, and make your way to the table.

“I’m not giving up,” you say, sitting across from him. There’s a quiet determination in your voice, one that Hyunjin can’t help but admire.

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady. “And I’ll make sure we see this through.”

-

The plan you created with Hyunjin echoes in your mind as you park your car in the office lot, waiting for most people to leave. You glance at Flint’s car still parked a few spaces away, and your heart races. This is your moment to get his interest back.

Taking a deep breath, you pop the front hood of your car and adopt a distressed expression. You lean over the engine, pretending to inspect it, though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Pulling out your phone, you stage a fake call for help, your voice carrying just enough to be heard if someone were near.

Time stretches painfully slow until you finally spot Flint walking out of the building with his ever-present assistant trailing behind. Your pulse quickens, but you keep your expression pitiful, glancing down at the engine in feigned confusion.

Flint walks straight toward his car without sparing you a glance, his assistant opening the car door for him. Your chest tightens as doubt creeps in—this might not work.

Swallowing your hesitation, you take the next step. You approach his assistant with timid steps, clutching your hands together nervously.

“Excuse me,” you say, your voice soft but loud enough to stop him. “Can you help me check what's wrong with my car? Please?”

The assistant glances at Flint, who gives him a slight nod. Without hesitation, the assistant walks over to your car and leans over to inspect the engine.

“Looks like your car’s out of commission,” he declares after a quick glance. “You’ll need a mechanic.”

You let your shoulders sag in an exaggerated display of disappointment, biting your lip as you feign helplessness. Flint watches from the comfort of his car, his expression unreadable. It isn’t until his assistant walks back and murmurs something to him that he rolls down the window slightly.

“It’s late,” Flint says, his tone casual but laced with authority. “I’ll have my driver drop you off. Get in.”

You flash him a grateful smile, walking to the car and slipping into the seat next to him. The door shuts with a solid thud, and you feel his presence keenly, even in the spacious interior.

“Thank you,” you murmur, adjusting your posture to seem both grateful and charming.

As the car begins to move, you glance at him shyly. “I really appreciate this. And, by the way, I had fun the other night. It’s a shame it ended so soon.”

Flint turns to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if gauging your sincerity. “Is that so?”

You nod, letting a coy smile grace your lips. “I guess I was just nervous. You caught me off guard.”

The ride feels both endless and fleeting. By the time the car pulls up in front of your apartment building, you steel yourself for the final step. The driver opens your door, but you make no move to leave just yet.

Turning to Flint, you lean in closer, your heart pounding in your chest. His eyes widen slightly, his body going rigid as you press your lips to his in a soft but deliberate kiss.

When you pull away, his expression is a mix of surprise and intrigue. You smile at him, your voice sultry. “I should’ve done that sooner.”

Before stepping out, you cast him one last glance, your lips curling into a playful smile. “See you tomorrow at the office, Mr. Hargrave.”

With that, you step out of the car, feeling his gaze linger on you as you walk toward your building.

The plan is officially back on track when you catch the sight of Flint’s sleek car parked right out front of your apartment building the next morning. Your pulse quickens with a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation.

As the car door opens, Flint steps out, looking as polished and composed as always. His lips curve into a smile, and for a moment, you revel in the small victory. The spell is working.

“Good morning,” he greets warmly, gesturing toward the open car door. “Shall we?”

Feigning surprise, you raise an eyebrow and offer him a playful smile. “What’s this? You went out of your way to pick me up?”

He chuckles softly, brushing it off. “Your car broke down, didn’t it? I thought it’d be a shame if you were late to work because of that.”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with a curious gaze. He looks so nonchalant, but you know better. Beneath his composed exterior, the spell is undoubtedly weaving its magic.

“Well,” you say, stepping closer to him, “thank you for the thoughtful gesture.”

Your smile deepens as you slip into the car, catching the faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes before he closes the door behind you.

As the car glides through the streets toward the office, you can’t help but feel a surge of confidence. The plan is back in motion, and Flint is right where you want him—under your spell.

-

Hyunjin leans against the wall of the dimly lit hallway, arms crossed tightly as he watches Flint’s car pull up outside your building.

It’s become a routine he hates—Flint stepping out, opening the car door for you like some picture-perfect gentleman, and the two of you exchanging pleasantries that seem far too intimate.

Tonight is no different. Hyunjin’s jaw tightens as Flint helps you out of the car, his hand lingering on your arm longer than it should. You and him exchange a few words, Flint’s deep voice carrying softly in the still evening air.

Then, as if to push Hyunjin further into frustration, Flint tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips before stepping back.

Hyunjin’s fists clench at his sides. If he didn’t know this was all part of a carefully crafted plan, he might have believed the two of you were genuinely in love. But the knot in his chest isn’t just frustration—it’s jealousy. Why?

The question eats at him as he waits for Flint’s car to drive away. When it finally disappears down the street, Hyunjin pushes himself off the wall and heads up to your apartment. He knocks sharply, his impatience barely contained.

You open the door almost immediately, as though you were expecting him. Your expression is calm, maybe even a little amused.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asks, his eyes scanning your face for any sign that something is wrong. “Did Flint… do anything to you?”

Your lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “I’m fine,” you say coyly, stepping aside to let him in. “You don’t need to worry so much.”

Hyunjin follows you into the living room, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “We should speed this up,” he says, his voice sharp with urgency. “Let’s execute the plan quickly so you don’t have to keep being around him.”

You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t enjoy his company, either,” you say with a shrug. “But the best time for the ritual is Friday. Until then, I have to keep the act going.”

Hyunjin stares at the floor, jaw tight. “I just don’t like seeing you with him,” he admits, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “He’s… he’s dangerous. I’m afraid he’s going to do something to you.”

You step closer, your expression softening. “Hyunjin, I can handle Flint,” you say gently, your voice steady.

But your reassurance doesn’t ease the tightness in his chest. Hyunjin looks up to meet your gaze, his thoughts a chaotic swirl. Is it really Flint’s cruelty that bothers him, or is it something else entirely?

-

In the office, you step into Flint’s room, proposal folder in hand. He looks up from his desk as you enter, offering a faint smile as you approach. You present your proposal with a professional demeanor, walking him through every point with precision. Once you’re done, you pause, your hands resting lightly on the edge of his desk.

“Mr. Hargrave,” you say, your tone shifting slightly, “may I be unprofessional for just a moment?”

Flint raises an eyebrow but leans back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Go ahead,” he says with a small smile.

You smile back, your gaze steady. “You once promised me dinner,” you begin, tilting your head slightly. “I was wondering… when you plan on making good on that promise.”

Flint chuckles, his amusement deepening. “If you’d like,” he says smoothly, “we can have that dinner tonight.”

Feigning a thoughtful expression, you shake your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I have a better idea,” you say, leaning in just slightly. “How about I cook you dinner? At my place.”

Flint’s eyebrows lift, curiosity sparking in his expression. “Your place?” he repeats, clearly intrigued.

You nod, adding with a sly smile, “A dinner at my place is far more intimate. Besides…” You glance over your shoulder, as if expecting to see his ever-present assistant lurking nearby. “I hate seeing your assistant hovering around all the time.”

Flint lets out a low laugh, nodding his agreement. “Fair enough,” he says. “Dinner at your place it is.”

Satisfied, you excuse yourself, turning to leave. But before you can take more than a step, Flint stands and closes the distance between you.

“Since we’re still being ‘unprofessional,’” he says, his voice low, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you closer. His lips meet yours in a firm, calculated kiss, one that you have no choice but to return.

As you kiss him, your eyes flick to the mirror on the wall. Your reflection stares back at you, your lips curved in a small, knowing smile. Mischief glints in your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the game you’re playing and the plan that’s slowly coming together.

-

Hyunjin knocks on your door, shifting uncomfortably as he waits. When you open it, his breath hitches slightly. You’re dressed in a stunning silk dress, its fabric clinging perfectly to your frame, and your hair is styled in a neat bun that leaves your neck and shoulders elegantly bare.

For a moment, he forgets why he’s here, caught off guard by how effortlessly beautiful you look.

“Come in,” you say with a faint smile, stepping aside to let him in.

He follows you inside, watching as you glide toward the kitchen, your heels clicking softly on the floor. The table is already set, and Hyunjin can see the attention to detail you’ve put into everything.

“Did you get it?” you ask, your tone calm but firm as you begin arranging utensils.

Hyunjin quickly retrieves a small bottle from his pocket—the sleeping pills you asked for—and hands it to you. You take it without hesitation and tuck it away in one of the kitchen drawers.

“Anything else you need?” Hyunjin offers, his voice tinged with concern.

You glance at him over your shoulder and shake your head. “I’ve got it under control. You should go now, before Flint gets here.”

Hyunjin hesitates, standing awkwardly by the counter. “Are you sure? I can stay a little longer—”

You cut him off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Just be ready for my call when it’s time.”

He nods, but his feet remain rooted to the floor. He can’t shake the unease bubbling in his chest. Part of him worries about what Flint might try tonight, and another part—one he doesn’t want to acknowledge—resents the entire situation.

Finally, he sighs and heads for the door, turning back one last time. “Be careful,” he murmurs, his voice quieter than he intended.

You meet his gaze, your expression steady. “I will.”

Reluctantly, Hyunjin leaves, the knot in his stomach tightening with every step away from your apartment.

-

After dinner, Flint takes a leisurely stroll around your small apartment, his curious eyes wandering over the space. You remain in the kitchen, slicing fruit and arranging cheese to go with the wine. Thankfully, you had the foresight to stow away your witchcraft tools earlier, hiding them in the closet where they’re safely out of sight.

“It's a small apartment so there's not much to see,” you tell him with a small smile.

“I like it. It's cozy.” Flint responds from across the room.

As you glance over your shoulder, making sure Flint’s attention is elsewhere, you slip two sleeping pills into his glass of wine. Your heart races slightly as the pills dissolve into the deep red liquid, but you maintain your composure. With everything ready, you carry the tray to the living room and place it on the table.

Flint returns to the sofa, smiling as he settles beside you. “You’ve really gone all out,” he says, raising his glass in a toast.

You raise your glass as well, playfully saying. “Anything to impress you.”

You clink glasses with him, forcing a smile, and take a small sip of your own wine while keeping a careful eye on him. As he drinks, you ensure his glass never stays full for long, subtly encouraging him to refill it.

After a while, Flint pulls you closer, draping an arm around you as he begins kissing your neck. You suppress the instinct to recoil and instead lean into his embrace, pretending to enjoy the intimacy. You kiss him back, but your mind is elsewhere, silently urging the sleeping pills to take effect.

When his hands begin to wander, you gently push away, offering an apologetic smile. “I need to use the bathroom,” you say softly, slipping out of his grasp.

He nods, clearly disappointed so you place a quick peck on his lips as consolation. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you take a deep breath, counting the seconds as you hope the pills are working.

After a few minutes, you return to find Flint still sitting on the sofa, though his eyelids are heavy, and his movements sluggish. He looks up at you with a faint smile, oblivious to what’s happening.

“You look tired,” you say, sitting beside him and offering your arms. “Here, rest for a bit.”

Flint leans into you, his head resting against your chest as his breathing grows slow and steady. A moment later, he’s fully asleep.

Once you’re certain he’s out cold, you carefully ease him off you and grab your phone. Dialing Hyunjin’s number, you speak in a hushed tone. “It’s time.”

-

Hyunjin doesn’t bother knocking; you’re already there, opening the door as if you’ve been waiting for him. The moment he steps inside, his eyes land on Flint, sprawled out on the sofa and deeply asleep thanks to the potent sleeping pills Hyunjin sourced from his pharmacist friend. He notices you tidying up the remnants of your staged evening, clearing the glasses and dishes from the coffee table.

“What do you need me to do?” Hyunjin asks without preamble, his voice low.

You motion toward the furniture. “Help me move everything.”

Together, the two of you shift the furniture to the edges of the room. Once the space is cleared, you roll up the carpet, revealing a carefully drawn rune beneath it, etched onto the floor in a pattern that Hyunjin can only describe as intricate and otherworldly.

“Lift him,” you say, gesturing to Flint.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate, though he grits his teeth as he hauls Flint’s limp body off the couch and carries him to the center of the rune. Once Flint is positioned as instructed, you disappear into the bedroom to retrieve more items.

Hyunjin’s gaze lingers on the rune as he waits, a sense of unease creeping into his chest. When you return, you’re carrying an array of tools and objects he can’t even begin to identify. Candles, vials, a small chalice, and—most unsettling—a dagger.

“Set the candles around the circle and light them,” you instruct, kneeling on the floor as you arrange your witchcraft materials.

Hyunjin obeys, carefully placing the candles at specific points around the rune and lighting them one by one. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the room, the atmosphere growing heavier with each passing second. He finishes and steps back, watching as you lay your tools in front of you and take a deep, steadying breath.

“Anything else?” he asks, though the tension in his voice is clear.

You glance up at him briefly. “Step back. I need to start.”

Hyunjin retreats to the edge of the room, leaning against the wall as he watches you. He’s never been one to believe in witchcraft or rituals, but something about the way you move, the focus in your eyes, makes him hesitate.

You begin chanting, your voice low and rhythmic, as you add ingredients one by one to the chalice. Hyunjin watches as you pour liquids, crush herbs, and sprinkle powders, each action deliberate and precise. Then, you take the dagger, holding it with a calm determination that makes his stomach churn.

Without hesitation, you press the blade against your palm, cutting deep enough for blood to bead and then flow freely. You ball your hand into a fist, letting the blood drip steadily into the chalice. Hyunjin stiffens, torn between stepping in and letting you continue.

As the blood mingles with the other ingredients, you set the chalice on the floor and light a small flame beneath it. The mixture begins to burn, smoke curling upward as you chant louder, your voice rising with each repetition.

Hyunjin’s unease deepens as the room seems to shift around him. The air grows thick, pressing against his skin, and the flickering candlelight feels almost alive. He tries to convince himself it’s just his imagination, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is happening.

Hyunjin watches in tense silence as you place the chalice at the heart of the rune, the contents still smoldering. You close your eyes, steadying your breathing as you stretch your arms outward, the dagger still held tightly in one hand. Then, in a language that sounds ancient and otherworldly, you begin the incantation:

"To the peace of death, I call you forth. Let your life fuel my flame. Through natural fate, this path unfolds. From blood and soul, my magic returns to me."

Your voice resonates, starting low but growing with intensity. Each word seems to ripple through the room, vibrating in Hyunjin’s chest like an unearthly hum. The candles, though extinguished, seem to glow faintly, the runes on the floor pulsing with a strange energy.

You move to the chalice, gripping it tightly, and continue the spell, your voice now echoing as if the words are being spoken in tandem by someone—or something—else:

"From the shadows of this world, I draw the light. Flint Hargrave, I take your life. Nature shall not see this as betrayal. For your soul becomes my tool."

Hyunjin can’t look away as you pour the remaining contents of the chalice over the center of the rune, the liquid sizzling against the air as if it were molten. A deep rumble vibrates beneath his feet, subtle at first but growing stronger.

Then, gripping the dagger tightly, you press it against your palm once more, fresh blood dripping onto the circle as you chant the final, most powerful lines:

"My blood, your blood. I give life to reclaim my magic. Let my soul be eternal. And let your death appear as nature’s will."

The air explodes with energy as the rune flares to life, a bright, unnatural light illuminating the room. Flint’s body jerks as if an invisible force is gripping him. His chest rises once in a shallow breath before his entire body relaxes, utterly still.

Hyunjin shivers as the room goes deathly quiet again, save for the soft crackle of dying embers from the chalice. The energy in the air feels different now—charged and alive, yet cold and foreboding.

You rise slowly, wiping the blood from your hand onto a cloth as you look over your shoulder at Hyunjin. For a moment, he sees something in your eyes—a glint of power, or perhaps something darker.

“It’s done,” you announce.

Hyunjin stares at you, uncertain of what he just witnessed but knowing, without a doubt, that something far more significant than a simple ritual has taken place.

-

You and Hyunjin are moving the furniture back into place, the room slowly returning to normal. Hyunjin keeps glancing at your hand, his brows furrowed as his eyes linger on the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around it.

“Just a small cut,” you assure him, catching his concern. “I’ll handle it later.”

Hyunjin doesn’t look convinced but says nothing as you direct him to help move Flint to your bed. He pauses, clearly uncomfortable. “Why not just leave him on the sofa? He’s out cold. He won’t even notice.”

“It’s better if it looks like we slept together,” you reply, your tone even and practical. “It makes the story more believable.”

Hyunjin mutters something under his breath but follows your instructions, carefully lifting Flint’s limp form and carrying him to your bed. As he starts undoing Flint’s tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he glances up—and freezes.

Across the room, you're changing out of your dress, slipping into a silk nightgown that clings to your form. The dim light casts shadows that highlight every curve, and for a moment, Hyunjin finds himself staring at the bare expanse of your back. His throat tightens as unease washes over him.

He quickly looks away, focusing on pulling the blankets over Flint’s body.

“You okay over there?” you ask, your tone light but teasing as you tie the straps of your gown.

Hyunjin clears his throat, his voice coming out a bit strained. “Yeah, just... making sure everything looks convincing.”

Once Flint is settled, Hyunjin hesitates by the doorway, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

“Nothing left but to wait,” you say, brushing a hand over your hair as you settle into the chair by your vanity.

Hyunjin nods slowly, his jaw tightening. His eyes flicker to the cloth on your hand again, and his uneasiness spills into his words. “Just uh... take care of that cut, okay?”

“I will,” you reply softly, offering him a faint smile.

Reluctantly, Hyunjin turns to leave, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way out of your apartment. As the door closes behind him, a strange silence settles over the room, leaving you alone with Flint—and the heavy weight of what you’ve just done.

-

The sleeping pills must be far stronger than you anticipated because Flint sleeps through the entire morning. His phone vibrates on the nightstand for what feels like the hundredth time, the name "Assistant" flashing on the screen. You sigh, brushing your hair out of your face as you glance at the time.

Climbing onto the bed, you carefully settle yourself next to him, your movements deliberate and gentle. Leaning over, you softly shake his shoulder. "Flint," you say, your voice light and melodic. "Time to wake up."

He stirs, letting out a small groan before squinting up at you. His eyes struggle to focus, confusion flickering across his face.

You smile warmly, tilting your head. "Good morning, sleepyhead," you sweetly greet, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. "Your phone’s been ringing non-stop. I think your assistant’s starting to worry you’ve dropped off the face of the earth. If you don’t pick up, they’ll probably assume you’re dead."

That earns a groggy chuckle from him as he sits up, rubbing his face. He grabs his phone and answers it briefly, mumbling reassurances before hanging up.

When his gaze finally returns to you, his brows knit together slightly. “What... happened?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep.

You let out a light laugh, reaching out to straighten the rumpled sheets around him. “Oh, come on!” you tease, feigning a hint of hurt. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. We had such a good time last night.”

He blinks, his confusion shifting to realization as he looks down, noticing for the first time that he’s naked under the blanket. His eyes widen slightly, and a slow smirk creeps onto his lips.

You giggle, playfully running a hand through your hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you take your time piecing it together,” you say, slipping off the bed with a practiced grace.

“For now, how about breakfast?”

As you walk toward the kitchen, a quiet, satisfied smile graces your lips. Inside, you’re celebrating your triumph. Everything is moving perfectly according to plan.

-

Three days have passed, and Hyunjin finds himself pacing his apartment, his mind restless. The uncertainty gnaws at him, a constant hum of tension in the back of his thoughts. He’s not sure how long the spell takes to work—or if it’s even working at all.

His mind circles back to you, as it often does these days. He worries about you being stuck in this fabricated relationship with Flint if things don’t go as planned. Worse, he can’t shake the thought that you might have to keep playing along indefinitely, enduring Flint’s company far longer than you should.

Hyunjin sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s not just his own career hanging by a thread—it’s yours too. The weight of it all feels suffocating.

The sudden ringing of his phone snaps him out of his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, he sees the office number flashing and hesitates for a moment before answering.

“Yes?” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“We need you to come in tomorrow for further examination,” the voice on the other end informs him. “Please be on time.”

Hyunjin’s grip tightens around his phone. “I’ll be there,” he says, keeping his response curt before hanging up.

He stares at the phone in his hand, unsure of how to feel. Does this mean things are moving forward, or is it just another step in prolonging his uncertainty? He can’t tell if this is a good sign or a bad one. What he does know is that his future remains unclear—and yours feels equally bleak.

On the way to your apartment, as he waits for the traffic light to turn, Hyunjin catches sight of Flint’s car pulling up in front of your building. He sees you step out, Flint following to open the door for you. Flint leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips before returning to his car.

From where Hyunjin stands, he can’t see your expression. He can’t tell how much effort it’s taking you to keep up the charade. Hyunjin clenches his fists and forces himself to calm down as he crosses the street.

When you open the door for him, you’re as composed as ever. You step aside, letting him in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But as he looks at you, something feels off. There’s no spark of confidence in your eyes, none of the determination you’d had when you first presented this plan.

“Do you think it’s working?” he asks cautiously.

You hesitate. Your gaze flickers to the floor, then back to him, and he feels the weight of your silence before you even speak.

“There’s a chance it’s not working,” you admit quietly. “I’ve… lost my magic.”

Hyunjin blinks, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What do you mean you’ve lost it?”

You press your lips together, avoiding his gaze. “I did something. Something that cost me my power.”

Hyunjin’s brows knit together, his unease mounting. “And you’re only telling me this now?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it.

You look at him, guilt etched into your features. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I—” You pause, then force the words out. “I cast a spell on you, Hyunjin.”

The room feels colder all of a sudden, and Hyunjin steps back, staring at you. “What?”

“I used my magic on you,” you say, voice trembling. “And I gave up my powers in exchange for being able to revoke it.”

Hyunjin stands there, frozen, trying to process what you’ve just told him. His mind flashes through your time together, questioning every moment, every interaction. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. The betrayal, the shock, the confusion—it’s all too much.

Finally, he looks at you again, his expression unreadable. “You… cast a spell on me?” His voice is quiet, strained.

You nod, guilt heavy in your eyes. "I didn’t know it would lead to this."

Hyunjin turns away, running a hand through his hair. He doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t speak either, his mind spinning as he tries to come to terms with what you’ve just confessed.

-

When Hyunjin shows up at your door, his expression says everything before he even speaks. He steps inside, and you prepare yourself. After the initial pleasantries, he asks the question you knew was coming.

“You… cast a spell on me?”

The moment hangs heavy between you, and you realize there’s no way out of this. You have to tell him everything. So you do. You confess to casting a love spell on him, to manipulating his feelings. You explain how you sacrificed your magic to undo the damage, thinking it was the only way to make things right.

As you speak, you watch the light in his eyes dim, the distance between you growing with each word. You can feel him slipping away from you all over again, and it makes your heart ache in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

When you finish, silence fills the space between you. Hyunjin doesn’t say a word, his expression unreadable. You don’t know if he’s upset, angry, or simply in shock.

You force yourself to look at him, your voice trembling as you speak. “I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me. I promise I’ll stay away from you.”

He doesn’t respond, his silence louder than any words he could have said. Finally, he turns toward the door, and you realize this might be the end. The final goodbye.

“Wait,” you say, your voice cracking.

Hyunjin pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You rush to your bedroom, grabbing something from a small box tucked away in the corner. When you return, you hold out a talisman.

“I know you’re being called to the office tomorrow,” you say, your voice soft. “Please, take this.”

He takes it from you without a word, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment before he steps out of your apartment.

As the door clicks shut, you stare at the empty space where he stood, the sound of your whispered “Goodbye” barely audible even to yourself.

-

Hyunjin’s head feels like a chaotic storm, each thought crashing into the next, leaving him unable to focus. The talisman you gave him is tucked into his pocket, but he hasn’t thought much about it since leaving your apartment. Right now, none of it seems to matter. Not the examination, not his job, not even the mess he’s left behind with you.

As he sits in the cold, sterile interrogation room, he stares blankly at the table, his mind drifting. He’s been waiting here for nearly an hour now, and the oppressive silence only amplifies the noise in his head.

Maybe I should just resign, he thinks bitterly. Spare them the trouble. What’s the point of dragging this out?

He starts tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, muttering under his breath. “What’s taking so long? Are they trying to torture me or what?”

The door finally creaks open, and a staff member steps in. Hyunjin straightens up, expecting the examination to finally begin.

“Sorry for the delay,” the man says, his tone formal. “I'm afraid we need to reschedule the examination.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Reschedule? What? Why?”

The man hesitates, looking uncomfortable. “News just broke out... CEO Flint has passed away.”

Hyunjin’s fingers abruptly stops tapping the table and he freezes on his seat. “What?”

“It’s all over the office,” the man continues. “Apparently, it was a sudden heart attack.”

Hyunjin’s mind blanks for a moment. Flint is dead. The words echo in his head, feeling surreal.

“A sudden heart attack,” he repeats slowly, almost as if testing how it sounds.

“Yes. I’m sure more information will come out soon, but for now, the office is in chaos.”

The man leaves the room, but Hyunjin barely notices. His hands rest on the table, fingers tightening into fists as the weight of the situation sinks in.

The spell worked.

His heart feels heavy, a mixture of relief, shock, and guilt flooding his system. Hyunjin isn’t sure what to feel. Flint is gone, and the dark cloud looming over his and your lives has lifted, but at what cost?

-

It’s been a week since the news about Flint’s sudden death, and Hyunjin’s been reinstated with a clean slate, or at least that’s how it seems. No conclusive evidence, no real suspicion, and here he is, back in his seat, his career still intact.

He should be relieved, he knows that. He should be celebrating that the spell worked, that Flint is gone, and he’s free from the twisted situation that had him tangled up in it all. But instead, there’s this hollow feeling gnawing at him, and it's impossible to ignore.

With a sigh, Hyunjin pulls the talisman from his pocket. The small object feels heavier in his hand now, its meaning no longer as simple as a mere piece of luck. This was supposed to be his victory—his triumph. The key to his freedom. And yet, all he feels is sadness.

His fingers trace over the edges of the charm, memories of the nights spent with you flooding back. The time he spent with you felt like an illusion now, a dream that’s shattered. He’s angry, of course, at the deceit. You cast a spell on him, used magic to manipulate him without his knowledge. He didn’t even have a chance to choose. Betrayed, he feels the sting of that truth, raw and cutting.

But underneath that anger is something else, something he can’t shake. A deep sense of loss. He can’t understand it. Why does he feel this way?

"I got what I wanted," he murmurs to himself, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So why does it feel like I’ve lost everything?"

The bustling noise of the office around him fades into the background as his thoughts consume him. He wants to hate you for what you did. He wants to walk away and leave everything behind. But he can’t.

Because no matter how hard he tries, a part of him still cares for you. And that part of him can’t stop wondering if he made a mistake when he walked out of your apartment that night.

-

You take a deep breath as you gather the remnants of Flint's presence in your apartment—the items he touched, the things tainted by his energy. One by one, you place them in a bag, careful not to let your emotions creep back in. It’s not just about removing his physical traces; it’s about banishing the negativity that still lingers, suffocating your space.

With the bag clutched tightly, you step outside to a safe spot and set it ablaze. The flames crackle and hiss, consuming every last fragment. You whisper under your breath, a spell to release the darkness.

"By light of stars and flame of sun. Cleanse this space; let harm be none. All shadows fade, all ill be gone. This is my will; let peace be won. So mote it be."

The fire dies down, leaving behind nothing but ash. You exhale deeply, feeling a small weight lift from your chest.

Back in your apartment, the air still feels heavy, clinging to your skin like a second layer. You draw yourself a bath, infusing the water with a few drops of essential oils—lavender for peace, eucalyptus for clarity. As the warm water embraces you, you feel a subtle shift in your energy.

Once submerged, you whisper another spell, letting your voice carry into the water:

"From root to crown, from heart to soul. Let purity and light take hold. All dark removed, all wounds made whole. By power divine, restore control. So mote it be."

The words resonate through you, calming your mind. You close your eyes and let the spell do its work, envisioning the negativity dissolving into the water. You imagine it swirling away, leaving you lighter, clearer.

When the bath is done, you step out feeling renewed, wrapping yourself in a soft towel. The final step is to cleanse the air around you. You light a white candle and carry it through each room, whispering the same purification spell for the space. As the soft glow illuminates the corners, you feel the lingering shadows retreat.

Finally, you sit in the center of your living room, lighting a bundle of sage. The smoke curls into the air, spiraling upwards, carrying away the last traces of darkness. You speak firmly:

"This space is mine; it is sacred and free. No harm may enter; no ill may be. Only light and love dwell here with me. So mote it be."

The silence that follows feels comforting, like an embrace. You smile faintly, knowing you’ve taken the first step to reclaim your life and your peace. But before you can fully settle, there’s a knock at the door.

Hyunjin.

You debate ignoring it, letting the past stay behind that door, but the longing within you wins. Wrapping yourself in your robe, you pad to the door and open it.

There he is, standing on your doorstep, a faint, hesitant smile playing on his lips. It’s not the expression you expected—no anger, no bitterness, just something softer, something unsure.

“Can I come in?” he asks, his voice quiet but steady.

You nod, stepping aside to let him in. You don’t trust yourself to speak, afraid of what might spill out if you try.

The air feels heavy as you stand in the doorway, watching Hyunjin step inside. His presence stirs up emotions you’ve been trying to suppress for days. His smile is soft, but there’s a nervous energy about him, as though he’s unsure of what he’s doing here.

“I didn’t see you at work,” he starts, his voice light, as if trying to mask the tension. “Thought I’d check in. You know, make sure you weren’t... taking days off as a grieving girlfriend for Flint.”

His attempt at humor makes your chest tighten, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. You cross your arms, standing stiffly as he slowly moves around your space, his eyes scanning the room like he’s committing every detail to memory.

When he finally stops, his gaze locks onto yours. His expression shifts, the teasing gone, replaced by something deeper. “Why did you revoke the love spell?”

The question hits you like a wave. You hesitate, the words caught in your throat. Part of you wants to avoid it, to bury the truth even deeper, but you know he deserves to hear it.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. “Because I love you,” you admit, your voice trembling. “Too much to keep you like that.”

The confession spills out, leaving you vulnerable in a way you haven’t been before. Tears threaten to blur your vision, but you fight to hold them back, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.

Hyunjin steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “You remember everything, don’t you? From when I was under the spell?”

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he presses, his voice tinged with both frustration and hurt.

“I tried,” you choke out, tears now freely falling. “I tried so many times but you... you hate me too much.”

Your voice cracks, and you look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. Every word feels like a dagger to your heart, reopening wounds you thought had begun to heal.

Suddenly, Hyunjin closes the distance between you. His hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. The tenderness in his touch makes you crumble, and you can’t stop the sobs from escaping.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispers, his voice soft now, almost pained.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours. The kiss is gentle yet urgent, a mix of longing and regret. You melt into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he might vanish if you let go.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the ache in your chest subsides, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

-

Tracing every curve of your body feels like a trip back to his favorite place. Hyunjin may not remember it but he knows, he's been here before and it brings out that sense of belonging. He uses his hands, his lips to retrace the steps and as he puts his body on top of you, his body fits yours like two pieces of puzzle.

“How can I forget such beautiful body?” He mutters with a gentle kiss on your navel.

He continues the kisses upward until his lips reunite with yours again and each kiss he plants is harder and longer than the previous one. One hand glides down your front and not stopping until his fingers meet your wet sex.

Intrigued by the delicate flesh, Hyunjin looks down as he pushes his slender fingers inside you, he watches as you take them and his eyes widen at how you clench around them. He gulps air before saying, “You know how to get me impatient.”

Slowly, he pulls his two fingers and not wasting time to shove them into his mouth, his luscious lips wrapped around his fingers as he sucks, hard.

“How can I forgot this sweet, sweet taste.” His voice is so low it's almost like a whisper.

His patience runs thin. He parts your legs wider and positions himself in between. While stroking his cock in his hand, Hyunjin’s intense eyes fixated on yours and the way he can see the want in your eyes... he's stroking his cock faster than before.

Hyunjin can’t waste another second just looking at your gushing cunt and let it tantalizing him the longer he looks at it. He holds the side of your thighs after placing his cock in your wetness, he begins rocking his hips back and forth, rubbing his length in between your slit and at the same time, smearing your essence all over it.

“Fucking goodness!” He breathlessly says with his deep, heavy voice, tinted with hurries.

Hyunjin glides his hands down to your hips and holds you still as he pushes his cock, his eyes fixated on watching his length disappearing into you little by little. He unconsciously holds his breathe watching you take it, the size, the girth, and the veins coiling around it.

The moment he's fully sheathed inside you, Hyunjin drops his head into the crook of your neck. With his mouth resting so close to your ear, you can hear his raw, low groans. After a moment of composing himself, Hyunjin hovers above you, a hand cupping your jaw.

“Tell me, mmh?” He hastily kisses your lips in between sentences. “Tell me how can I forgot this tightness, this... fucking good pussy?”

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you as he begins moving his hips, slowly and deliberately, his eyes fluttering shut as if he can't comprehend the sensation of each his movement caused.

“Oh, fucking...” He can't even finish his sentence but pulls out of you immediately. He knows that if he's inside you for a second longer, he'll lost it.

He frowns at the detachment and makes up for it by kissing you, placing his lips on every inch of skin available to him that breathing becomes unnecessary to him. Hungry for more skin to kiss, he flips you over, one hand holding you down by the nape of the neck as his plush lips peppering your back with soft yet searing kisses.

“How are you so soft all over?” His voice filled with disbelief but he doesn’t necessarily needs an answer from you as he plants his mouth on the base of your spine.

He makes use of his other hand to fondle your ass cheeks and from there, it's making its way back to your cunt, fingers teasing around your entrance, making it wet as he's ready to penetrate again.

On his second attempt, Hyunjin has better self control, he takes a deep breathe once he's fully buried inside you and then slowly, he lays on top of you, his chest meeting your back, skin to skin.

Lying face down with your head on the pillow, he puts all of your hair to the side and then presses a gentle kiss on the column of your throat. With utmost carefulness, Hyunjin begins thrusting from behind you and the skin slapping sounds filling the room.

Putting his hand around your neck, he tilts your head to the back until your eyes meet his. “You feel so fucking good, do you know that?” A smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he says it.

You only nod as you innocently gaze into his eyes and lowly moaning to his thrusts, arousing him more than he expected. You drop your head to the side, leaning against his forearm as he intently watches your facial expressions ever changing as the pleasure mounting inside you.

“You're close, mmh, beautiful?” He's picking up the pace but he asks you so sweetly.

Your wide-eyed gaze lingers on him as you lick your lips and nod.

Hyunjin can’t help himself but kisses your open mouth as he feels you tightening around his cock and plants a lingering peck on your lips. “I'm not going to stop until you come around my cock.”

He takes your hand and laces it together as he closes the gap between your bodies, his hips not slowing down even for a moment, determined to give you your release.

“Hyunjin...” you softly whine.

It's hard to ignore how you tighten around him, how you're sucking him deeper into yours as you hit your climax. He holds on to his last shred of self control to not lose it there. He wants to make this lasts for as long as possible.

As you're dealing with the waves of pleasure lapping over you, Hyunjin places kisses on your neck and shoulders, eventually your lips as satisfed moans spilling out of your parted lips. He holds you close and as he maneuvers himself to lay back on the mattress.

Giving you a moment of rest, Hyunjin uses the time to cuddle you, wrapped his muscular arms around you and stays like that as you're relishing your orgasm.

You turn your head to the back to face him, demanding a kiss from him and he gives it without a doubt, pressing a kiss on your lips.

The sheet is a crumpled mess as you bodies slithering together, limbs all over each other, touching, squeezing, pressing... it doesn’t take long to get you hot all over again.

Hyunjin reluctantly lets go one of his hands busy fondling your breasts and lowering it to your core, rubbing your clit that engorges the more he stimulates it. If only his mouth was resting close to it, he'd suck on it. He uses his fingers instead, pinching it in between, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Hyunjin,” you softly call his name. “Put it back in.”

In response, Hyunjin hastily kisses your lips. “With pleasure.”

In the midst of him thrusting you from behind, you lift your leg and put it over his thigh, providing him more depth and allowing him to continue circling your clit to give you extra  stimulation.

His lips keep lathering yours and he likes how your moans spilling into his mouth, hot and sultry, and at times, he doesn’t stop himself from playfully sucks on your tongue.

“Keep clenching around me like that and I'm going to... oh, cum a lot inside you,” he finishes his sentence with a haste kiss on your lips. “Is what where you want it, mmh? Inside?”

You curve your arm around his neck and bring his head close for a kiss. “Inside. Yes.”

“Thank fuck!” He playfully curses against your lips. “Cause I don't think I'd be able to pull out right in time.”

With that being said, Hyunjin moves at such ease, trying to delay his high as long as possible and savoring every second of it, his arms tightening around you as he thrusts into you slowly yet with such intensity that makes your body squirms in reaction.

His head is buried deep in your neck as he incessantly moving to chase his high and when he finally comes undone, he holds you tightly.

With his head still clouded with overwhelming pleasure, you bring his hand that is resting between your legs to your mouth and he watches as you take each one of his fingers into your mouth, sucking it with your eyes closed. Once you're done with all the five fingers, you bring his hand down to your breast to fondle it together with him.

You turn your head to the side to capture his lips in yours and Hyunjin likes every bit of this moment. The intimacy, the tenderness of it all, you.

He slightly pulls away from the kiss to say. “I don't want to forget this.”

Lying beside you in the quiet stillness of your bedroom, Hyunjin feels a rare sense of peace. He pulls you closer, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. His gaze softens as it meets yours, and he notices how the faint glow of moonlight highlights the lingering sadness in your expression.

Without thinking, his hand reaches for yours, his thumb brushing over the tender scar on your palm. It’s a reminder of the ritual you performed, the night everything began to shift.

His voice is soft as he asks, “Does it still hurt?”

You shake your head, your lips curving into the smallest of smiles. But Hyunjin’s heart aches all the same. Slowly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the scarred skin. The simple act feels more intimate than anything he’s done before, as though he’s sealing his own unspoken promise.

There’s something stirring in him—an ache, a yearning, a strange sense of déjà vu. It’s like his heart remembers moments his mind refuses to recall, fragments of the love spell that linger despite everything. As he holds you, Hyunjin begins to wonder if the spell merely amplified something that was already there.

His voice breaks the silence as he sees the tenderness in the way you gaze at him. “What are you thinking?”

You hesitate for a moment, your eyes searching his face, before answering quietly. “Do you still hate me?”

Hyunjin laughs softly, shaking his head and then presses a kiss on your lips.

“No,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “Not even close.”

-

Your mornings have become a ritual of their own. The day always begins earlier now, with Hyunjin beside you. The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, illuminating his peaceful expression as he lies next to you. It’s a moment you savor before the world demands the façade of professionalism you’ve both agreed to maintain.

Hyunjin stirs, pulling you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbles, his voice husky with sleep.

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Only five,” you tease, knowing full well it’ll stretch longer.

Soon, what started as lazy cuddles turns into a heating moment of your bodies pressed so close together and a little later, he has you around him.

You're straddling him on the bed with both feet planted against the mattress as a leverage, allowing you to bounce on his cock. His hands resting on each side of your waist, angling your body and at the same time, guiding your movements.

Hyunjin’s mouth is full of your flesh, his tongue circling around your nipple before sucking it as hard as he could. His eyes are wide and dark with lust, looking up at you with his mouth gaping open.

“Keep going, baby.” He sweetly mutters with a haste kiss on your neck and jaw. “Fuck me good. Drain me.”

Instead of adding speed, you choose to keep the steady pace but you switch to roll your hips while intentionally clenching around him. You like watching him overwhelmed by pleasure, his mouth gaping open with raw groans spilling out of it.

When he finally cum around you, you hold his gaze and watch as pleasure filled his eyes. Hyunjin tightens his hold around you and draws you close as he releases his seed inside you. His lips begin to plant kisses on your skin, shoulder, chest, neck and then he traces down your jaw with his plush lips before capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

“It's been more than five minutes, ” you playfully say and he looks so beautiful as you cradle his face in your hands that you can't help but kiss his red, full lips.

He shakes his head and wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Stay. Don't pull away yet.”

His hand glides up to the nape of your neck, allowing him to angle your head as he pleases as he leans in for a long, lingering kiss that takes your breath away. He smiles when he breaks the kiss and keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he jokingly says, “You didn’t put me under a spell again, right?”

You loop your arms around his neck and play with the tendrils of hair on the back of his head. “Even if I did, it's a spell to make you less clingy around me.”

Hyunjin lets out a low chuckle but it's enough to make his eyes form two crescent moons. “Are you sure it's not the other way around?”

“A hundred percent sure.” You place a long peck on his lips as he reciprocates with a longer one.

“We should do it.” Hyunjin says out of the blue.

You blink at him, confused. “Do what?”

“I saw it on your spellbook,” Hyunjin says, his gaze steady and unwavering. “The one that binds our souls together.”

Your reaction is immediate—your eyes widen in shock, and you shake your head. “No,” you say firmly. “You don’t have to do something like that. You don't have to prove anything.”

“It’s not about proving anything,” Hyunjin says, sitting up slightly so he can look at you more directly.

“It’s about not forgetting. I don’t want to lose this—or you—again. If there’s even a chance it could happen…” He trails off, his voice softening. “I want to remember. All of it.”

You sit up as well, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and concern. “Hyunjin, this isn’t something to take lightly. Our souls would be connected forever. You don’t want to do this.”

But Hyunjin has already made up his mind. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. “I know what I want,” he says gently. “And it’s you. So if this is the way to keep you, then let’s do it.”

His resolve is unwavering, and though doubt flickers in your eyes, Hyunjin knows you’ll agree. You love him, and you’ve already sacrificed so much to be with him. Now, it’s his turn to choose you.

-

Reluctantly, you flip through your spellbook, finding the ritual you hadn’t dared to consider before. The process is simple, yet the weight of its meaning is anything but. You scan the instructions one last time and gather what you need: a spool of red thread and the candles from your altar.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of flickering candlelight dancing against the walls. You’ve drawn the rune onto the floor with meticulous care, the ancient symbol connecting you both to the magic you’re about to invoke. Sitting across from each other inside the rune, you watch Hyunjin’s face, searching for any sign of hesitation.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm.

“I’m sure,” he says, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“This is permanent,” you remind him one last time as you hold the spellbook in your hands. “Once our souls are bound, there’s no undoing it.”

Hyunjin meets your gaze, his expression calm but resolute. “I know,” he says.

You nod, swallowing the knot of nerves in your throat, and reach for his hands. They’re warm and steady as they clasp yours, his touch grounding you as you prepare for what’s to come.

With slow, deliberate movements, you begin to wrap the red thread around your joined hands, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you secure the bond. The thread feels heavier than it should, its weight symbolic of the promise you’re making to each other.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the words of the spell flow from your lips like a soft melody:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

The candles around you flicker, their flames growing taller as the magic begins to take hold. The air feels charged, alive with energy, and you open your eyes to see Hyunjin watching you intently.

“Repeat after me,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Hyunjin nods, his voice strong and clear as he echoes your words, completing the incantation:

“Thread of fate, bond of soul. Tie us together, make us whole. Heart to heart, spirit to spirit. Forever bound, no end or limit.”

As the final words of the spell fall from his lips, you both feel it—the shift, the connection, the unexplainable pull that tells you the ritual has worked.

You look up at Hyunjin, your hands still bound by the red thread. His gaze is soft, almost reverent, and without thinking, the two of you lean toward each other. Your lips meet in a kiss that feels different from any you’ve shared before. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a vow, a seal, a promise etched into the very fabric of your beings.

When you finally pull back, the red thread glows faintly for a moment before fading into nothing, leaving only the warmth of Hyunjin’s touch and the knowledge that your souls are now—and forever—bound.

For better or for worse, you are his, and he is yours.

-

When the day finally begins, it’s with a shared rhythm. A warm shower where water cascades over tangled limbs, soft laughter echoing off the tiles. Breakfast at the table, the mundane act of eating transformed into something tender in the quiet intimacy you share.

Hyunjin always leaves first, heading home to change before work. You watch him go, knowing you’ll see him soon. True to habit, the two of you arrive at the office at almost the same time.

In the elevator, it’s a delicate dance. The veneer of professionalism must remain intact, yet the shared glances and sly smiles betray the connection between you. There’s a thrill in the secrecy, a spark that makes each stolen moment feel more precious.

As the elevator chimes at Hyunjin’s floor, he steps out, turning to flash you a smile just before the doors close. It’s small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but to you, it’s everything.

When the elevator resumes its ascent, you find yourself smiling too. But it’s not just the thought of Hyunjin that occupies your mind. As you glance at your hands, you feel it—the power surging beneath your skin, stronger than ever.

The binding ritual didn’t just intertwine your soul with Hyunjin’s. It did something more. It restored what you thought you had lost, your magic power returning with a force you hadn’t expected. The price? Flint’s soul.

You tell yourself it wasn’t intentional, that his death appearing so natural was merely an unforeseen consequence. Yet deep down, you know the truth.

The sacrifice wasn’t accidental. It was necessary.

Now, you’re more powerful than ever. Hyunjin doesn’t know, and perhaps he doesn’t need to. What matters is that your soul is bound to his, and with your magic restored, you can ensure it stays that way.

You clench your hands into fists, feeling the hum of energy within. For the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid. Not of Flint, not of losing Hyunjin, not of anything.

This is your world now. And you’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.

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

-

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[mysticdarling]

Calling them by their real name - part 2 (spicy)

Characters: venti, xiao, scaramoche (genshin impact!)

Warnings: established relationship, NSFW, breeding., biting, n!pple stimulation, primal, exhibitionism, penetration, smut, no pronouns used for the reader, NO MINORS.

(A/n): hello again, miss me? I apologize for my absence and im happy to announce this long awaited part i turly hope you enjoy your time with my naughty boys~ hope it was worth the long wait! Ps. (I suggest you read the first part first)

_

Venti

The evening grew darker you didn't know if you should hide or just give up and hope he has Mercy. "Maybe he can only find me where the wind can reach…hmm where could I go without wind?" You talked your thoughts aloud as you walked around, enjoying the scenery of Monstadt. You came across a nice wooded area still feeling the soft Breeze, only getting more anxious by the moment. 

You wander a while on the brink of giving up hope before coming across a cave, which seemed to be empty, only harboring a put out campfire. It was a perfect place to hide out for a while so you did. You walked in no breeze to be felt not even a draft. 

The night began to brew and since you figured you would be there a while, you lit the fire and sat next to the controlled flames. So what if a Hilichurl was to wonder by, you escaped Barbados!…….so you thought at least. 

In a flash of a second a cool gust of wind found its way inside extinguishing the flames.

" oh Windling~ you truly didn't think you could hide from me in my own Nation right? I had fun acting as if I couldn't find you ehe!" You jump just from the sound of his voice, it making your skin crawl.

Venti got into the cave with you without hesitation or invitation taking a bite from an apple he  must have picked from a passing tree. "Me hiding?! Psshh noo i was just…Exploring! Yes that"

Venti busted out in laughter "I'm a god remember you cant lie to me windblume, more importantly I'm your boyfriend I would see before it left your tongue, speaking of your tongue I could think of a lot of places I want it to be right now" He flirted his eyes gazing you up and down.

"Venti!? Geez must you be such a pervert" You grumbled pulling his hat down over his face, soon feeling his slender hand grip your wrist. Venti pushed you down cradling the back of your head as he lays you back getting on top of you. " I've been looking forward to this my disciple, I almost immediately wanted to come running after you even before the rich wine reached to my lips" He pulled at the bow around his neck untying it  letting his cape fall to the ground. He started at your face cupping it softly before his hands wandered, taking in the beauty of every inch of you.  It wasn't long before he had you in nearly nothing at all, the way he looked, touched, made all your insecurities melt away. " Tell me Traveler do you think all of Monstadt could hear you if i make you loud enough?" he slipped off his shorts leaving the stockings, rubbing his rosy tip against your entrance.

You stared up at your bard, it was very clear you weren't speaking to him anymore no, you were talking to a god. "Venti maybe not here what if Adventures walk by or-" Your words were cut short, venti sinking himself inside with no remorse, an unexpected gasp escaping your lips. Your walls swallowed him whole, taking every inch of him as if your body was made for it. "Venti!" You moaned out only to be cut off once again by the bards chuckle.

" Oh windblume I don't want to hear that now call me by my name it sounds so beautiful coming from your lips" He leaned down whispering in your ear, the ends of his braids starting to glow against you. "Say it for me please my beloved" Venti begged, his breath against your neck sending chills down your spine. It was strange it was still your venti but his voice was different, serious, ethereal, too perfect for this world and the whole of tayvat. You felt your face burn with a blush as you turned your face away from the God of freedom "Barbados….my lord… BarbADOS!" It was as if something snapped inside Venti he wanted to defile his disciple. So he did, his hips struck you like lightning noises and moans filling the cave. Even as he was fucking into you Venti Whined in the orgasmic pleasure of your warmth. you couldn't tell which of you were louder.

"That's right, sing for me!" Venti relished in making such a mess out of you

"Mghh! W-Windblume… windblume.. ah! Y/N!!" With every word Venti's voice strained higher. He gripped the back of your thighs folding you to hit the most unholy spots inside you, it nearly made you melt into nothing. Your abdomen tenses reaching the highest point of climax before completely relishing in the finishing feeling. Venti wasn't close behind. He filled your every office before collapsing onto you panting with a huge grin on his face. He laid Apon your chest keeping his seed trapped inside you not daring to pull quite yet. " Now that is how you worship a God ehe"

Xiao

You ran to Liyue as you near the border from the neighboring nation, clearly excited to see your darling yaksha. Once you finally step foot you notice a dark figure, Xiao breathing heavily staring at the ground. This only causes you to hurry to worry filling your face. " Xiao? Is that you are you feeling oka-" Your words stop, in a blur Xiao tackling you in the grass. He stared down at you his fingers digging into the ground next to you. "xiao i-its okay now its me im here" you slowly removed his mask it disapping in your hands. " I'm ok...i didnt harm you did i?" Xiao put a hand against his head, making him shutter. "Y/n is it really you…. I'm not seeing things right…" He places the hand on your cheek feeling the warmth, his thumb pressing your lips, letting out a breath of full relief " i…i missed your visits and company" Before the golden eyed boy could continue you tugged him down by his necklace, pressing your lips against his, the kiss desperate, rough, feeling the shared breaths.

Xiao pulled back only when you both were breathless. " say my name" your lips parted "no my real name" His pleading eyes was enough to make you melt where you laid "Alatus" xiao couldn't hold back his blush, he trailed down your sides gripping the fabric before ripping it open finding you so beautiful exsposed under the moon. Xiao stared at you for reassurance with each touch before grabbing a hold of your wrist dragging your hand against his own chest his heart racing .

With a smile, your hands wandered down hooking a finger on his pants tugging them down  honestly surprised at his mere girth, but Xiao didn't leave you much time to think before he folded you. He Threw your leg over his shoulder, dragging his tip against your awaiting hole. "Y/n Please stop me.  If you don't stop me now I don't think I'll be able to"

Self-control was leaving his body as he spoke his golden eyes dilated and targeted on you. " I trust you Alatus-" As those words escaped your lips xiao rammed his cock inside. All at once you felt his teeth sinking into the of your shoulder trying to muffling himself. He was a rough lover not that he always meant to be but he couldn't control it, all he does for his life is fight for control so with you tends to accidentally let loose a little too much. His blows were merciless as he pounded into you under the night sky, grunting and panting with every move it all dissolving into pleasure.

"Alatus A..Alatus don't stop p-please don't stop" Xiao rutted inside you gritting his teeth as he came filling your needy hole. 

His cock twitched from the over stimulation but not daring to stop. Whining and shuddering with every movement "wouldnt…Gh! Dream of it." He hunched over you not daring to stop his hips for a second, even with his seed pouring out of you from around him.

Xiao was so worked up he was even overstimulating himself refusing to let it end as he jerked and whined his length twitching like crazy inside of you. Beads of sweat dripped down his neck, fucking you so hard his hips slapped against your ass making the most obscene sounds even after you did finish, Xiao still couldn't persuade himself to stop. He needed it, he desperately wanted to fill every orifice of you and by the time he did stop he did fill up every bit of your sore little hole. That night he was especially attentive, carrying you to his room in the inn, wiping you down with a warm rag. He served you for the rest of the night, whatever you may ask he will provide. Xiao made sure to remind you, all you need do is say his name. Even the one that was Heaven to his ears as it escaped your lips.

Scaramoche

Scaramouche grabbed your hand leading you to an old abandoned inazuma house. The house was pretty well preserved, apart from the few leaks in the roof and the smell of dust. "we should rest here. I'll get a fire going" Scara removed his hat a little doll falling out, you stared at it then looked up him "what a cute doll! it looks like you, did you make it?" You ask curious, him clearly trying to brush it off as he picks it up. "It's just a stupid doll. Don't think much of it." He shoved it in his sleeve huffing turning away. "...hey kuni i would love to look after him for you, so he doesn't fall into the fire" He froze for a moment before grabbing the plush doll out of his sleeve placing it in your hands. "You wouldn't have liked me.." He said quietly looking at the doll in your palms.

What?"

"You wouldn't have liked kunikazushi, he was gentle, he dressed in silks and was naive to the world. Me and you both know you like when I'm rough with you" Scara looked up at you from his eyebrows, his head still tilted down.

" I think I would enjoy seeing your soft side, I would love if you showed me"you cupped his face his eyes softening.

"In your dreams."  he said in a snarky tone, but with his height you picked him up with ease, setting him on the creaky but stable table. "ah! Hey what the hell do you think you're doing!?" Scaramouche struggled, clearly not used to being lifted off his feet.... by someone else "I want to see you every part of you kunikazushi please show me" you plead really making it hard for the puppet to refuse.

All at once he gripped your hair staring at you with a threatening glare. "y/n if you tell a single soul i swear no one ALIVE will believe you" He glared, you nodding in response.

Scaramouche relaxed becoming completely tender as he brought your hand to his cheek nuzzling against the palm " I love you  and I never want you to abandon me even if you grow to hate me please stay by my side" Scaramouche looked away almost embarrassed of himself, all while you melt like putty in his hands. "Could i touch you more y/n? I want to ingrain every inch of you into my mind so I'll know that I met someone as perfect as you" Scara eyes trailed over every inch of you, slowly dragging his hands down to your neck and then shoulders soon replacing his soft cold hands with kisses. He admired your whole body as if it was complex art, all the way down to your toes leaving a soft kiss as a pure act of humble adoration.

He stood a hand clasping your top. " I want to explore more will you let me?" once you gave him the okay he lifted your shirt dragging his soft tongue against the bud of your nipple. He captured it in-between his lips, suckling on as he stared up at you innocently, you so focused on the stimulation you didn't notice the Wanderer seemed to have switched places with you, he sat you displayed on the table. It was clear Scaramouche was starting to get more worked up then he originally meant to. He layed you back his hips so desperate whines escaping his parted lips as he grinded himself against you, not even able to wait until he gets you fully unclothed.

Not like you were complaining, his tent causing enough friction to your sex to make you enjoy it, Hooking a leg around scara waist. Especially with the adorable noises he made causing you to unshamefully move your hips against it only getting more shutters and whines from him.

He gazed down inbeween, a blush filling his face watching you pleasure yourself on his hard on a wet spot  soon growing on to his shorts.

"Aww kuni you got yourself dirty its a good thing you don't wear those silks any more" you pull his shorts down with one swift movement his length springing out still painfully hard leaking pathetic amounts of precum.

Scara's embarrassed face only worked you up by the second, you didn't know if he was suppressing it or if he's really good at acting, but his innocence unleashed something deep inside of you.

You guided his cock unable to wait a minute more, his hands covering his face peeking through his fingers as he watches his cock sink inside whining from the tightness that surrounds him making him hunch over the pleasure overwhelming the poor little puppet. "Mm oh kuni  does it feel good?" You bit your lip clearly knowing the answer, watching his ears even start to turn red as he nods fast. Scara placed his hands on either side of you moving his hips at a comfortable pace. "i-is this okay y/n im not hurting you am i?" You shake your head in  response to wrapped up in the feeling struggling to even keep your eyes from rolling back. Scaramouche continued both of your noises nearly drowning out by each other. He hid himself into your neck, causing him to bury himself into the silky walls with no remorse  making sure you feel every inch of his member inside of your needy hole. a gasp escaped your lips unable to even scold him finding his embrace so soft and sweet, even if he's playing it off as a innocent moment with no Sinister ulterior motive.

Scaramouche's breasts were heavy against your neck he couldn't help but rut himself into you barely even letting himself pull out before pushing back, not wanting to leave your warmth for a second.

You were starting to get unbelievably close and you could tell by the way scara shuttered in your arms he wasn't too far behind. You couldn't help it you reached your Edge your abdomen tensing. " s-something's happening i don't think i can stop.. I can't hold on… please take all of it" with one loud yelp he released painting your insides with his cum so sensitive he's teary-eyed. Once you come down from the high you slowly wipe a tear that happened to make it to his cheek smiling like an idiot " you're so cute kunikazushi" As if on cue Scaramouche rolled his eyes burying his face in your chest "oh shut it." He grumbled as you tangle your hand into his hair. " welcome back scara"

[deadlynavigation]

Pretty & Pink

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: request from @cecebabs !! school has been kicking my ass lately so just bear with me yall 🥲

Navigation

**gif is not meant to be a representation of what reader looks like**

Opposites attract—or at least, that’s what they said. Wednesday had never put any stock into the saying until he met you.

You were a bright little thing, full of happiness and hope and all the other disgusting emotions. But Wednesday endured, because at the end of the day, you held his heart in your manicured hand.

Every once in a while, though, he’ll question what he’s doing. Like tonight, for instance. It had been a long day. The errands that had been piling up over the week were finally accomplished a few hours ago, and it was exhausting. So exhausting that all he wanted to do was collapse in the nearest bed, no matter the owner or location. And since you didn’t want your partner to end up in some alleyway mattress, you dragged him over to your apartment, where he was currently camped out on your bed.

“You doing okay in there, sweetie?” You call to him from your bathroom, hands dripping with water as you rinse your cleanser off.

“Yes, my love. Are you done yet?” Wednesday calls back. He knows his question is in vain, though. Your skincare routine is a long ordeal, and you’ve only just started.

He hears your soft laughter float through the air. “I’ll be right out.” You respond, picking up a serum.

Wednesday decides he can’t wait, heading into the bathroom and settling behind where you stand. You greet him with a smile, picking up the next step of your routine to show to him.

“It’s a new moisturizer I got today,” You explain. “It’s supposed to be good for dry skin, and with all the nasty weather lately…”

Wednesday doesn’t hear the rest of your rant, focusing instead on those pretty eyes of yours. Oh, how he longs to drown in them. To sink into their depths, seeing the world from your hopeful view. Unpacking all your thoughts, understanding and empathizing.

Listen to him. He’s practically a puddle of mush. What have you done to him?

“...Wednesday, baby?” You tilt your head as Wednesday snaps back into reality. “Were you even listening?”

He takes one more second to stare at you before sheepishly shaking his head. “Deepest apologies, cara mia. There are simply too many pretty parts to you, I cannot focus on every one of them at once.”

You giggle, a blush tinting your cheeks. “Maybe I should turn away, then. Stop distracting you with my wiles.”

Wednesday smirks. “Turning away from me would entice me even more, Y/n. You really want to play that game?”

“Oh my god. Ok, I’m not facing you anymore. You’ve lost that privilege.” Your cheeks are on fire now, and if you maintain eye contact any longer, you’re worried you might burst into flames. True to your word, you pivot to face the mirror. Then, using your arms, you hop up onto the counter, climbing into the sink for an optimal view.

Wednesday nearly has a heart attack as you jump. His hands fall into place, ready to catch you or save your head from a nasty bang should your acrobatics go wrong, but once you’re in place, he sighs loudly.

“Must you do that, my love?” His seriousness is ruined by a smile creeping onto his face.

“Sorry, can’t hear you. This moisturizer requires my full attention.” It’s hard tamping down your own smile, but the teasing seems to be worth it as Wednesday’s stare darkens.

“The moisturizer gets your attention, hm? That’s a dangerous game, cara mia.”

You don’t respond, instead dipping your finger into the container and dotting it on your cheeks.

“Come down from that sink so we can see who really has your attention right now.” Wednesday taunts you. After a couple seconds, you give in, closing up the product and carefully setting it down before jumping back down onto the floor. Within seconds, Wednesday takes a step and sits on the edge of the bathtub, grabbing your hands and gently tugging you along at the same time. Before you know it, you’re sat on his lap, a smirk on his face and a shocked look on yours.

“Attention still on skincare, love?” Wednesday teases.

You give up on the facade. “No,” You breathe, leaning in. “But what if I share my attention with it?”

Wednesday’s eyebrows furrow as you get up, reaching into the bottom drawer of the counter and coming back to him with a small package. You sit back down, ripping it open and tossing the top in the trash.

“Want a face mask?” You ask.

“Is that one of those grotesque concoctions that spreads all over your face? The one that looks like a death mask?” Wednesday questions, but you’re already reaching into the package.

“Exactly, baby. Want one?”

“...Sure.” What’s the worst that could happen?

Twenty minutes later, and Wednesday is set up on your bed with no intention of moving. A green substance covers the majority of his face, making him question why he doesn’t let you do this more often. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks, settled in amongst your many pink throw pillows and cherry blossom sheets. You’re settled in too, resting your head on his chest while trying to sync your breaths with the steady thumps of his heart. Your manicured fingers etch random shapes into his skin, tracing the hard lines of muscle and adding a heart or two every so often.

Eventually, though, the both of you become restless.

‘Wanna start a movie?” Wednesday asks, looking down at your comfy self with adoration.

You look up, meeting his eyes with the same love. “Can I choose?”

“Of course, Y/n. Anything for you.”

An hour later, and Wednesday is ready to commit homicide. Of all the movies you could have picked, you went with Mean Girls. Your defense? “It’s the feminist movement at its finest, Wednesday.”

“It’s… very pink.”

“Yeah, that’s the best part! All the decorations and outfits are amazing. They were actually part of what inspired this room’s decor.”

Wednesday looks around at the brightly colored walls, the pastel curtains, the cute pillows, and even the pink pens scattered across your desk. “I never would’ve guessed, my love.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous.”

Wednesday chuckles. “Yes, very.” He agrees sarcastically. You don’t dignify him with a response, instead choosing to lay back down on his chest and go back to watching the movie. You don’t get to stay there for very long, though, because a minute later, the timer on your phone goes off.

“Mkay. Time to take this off, babe.” You poke his face mask. Wednesday rises without complaint, heading to the bathroom while you grab some water and a cloth. Internally, though, he’s begging you not to. It feels so nice, and having you apply it was one of the best feelings in the world.

As you start working through the layers of the mask with water and a gentle hand, though, Wednesday revises his thoughts—never mind the application. This was the best feeling in the world.

As you work, Wednesday leans into your hands. He would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for your whispered promises of comfy beds and pillows and cuddles.

*****

The next morning, Wednesday gets up much earlier than usual. The sun is just barely up, peeking through your pastel curtains and coating the bed in a buttery yellow. You’re burrowed into his arms, tucked safely into his chest with the messy blankets surrounding you. He takes a minute to absorb your cuteness, smiling down at you as he slowly wakes up.

“Good morning, Y/n.” He whispers, not yet wanting to wake you. You’ve reminded him time and time again that the blinking digits on the clock right now are not digits you ever want to be awake to see, and he’s taken that to heart. But he still has to kill time until you wake–maybe a run? He could drop by the gym just down the street that he really likes. Or maybe a chore? The dishwasher still needs to be unloaded.

But those all sound like too much work for this early in the day, so Wednesday settles on just getting you a coffee. A nice five-minute walk and your drowsy smile to greet him when he gets back. Perfect.

Within minutes, Wednesday is up and out. He strolls down the street, taking his time to enjoy the soft sunlight. That’s new, he suddenly realizes–and probably your doing, as well. You’re a fan of tilting your face to the sun, soaking in the warmth, and claiming the rays cheer you up. Maybe you’ve passed that onto him.

A couple more minutes tick by, and Wednesday reaches your regular coffee shop. He enters the place with a little jingle as the door opens, and is immediately greeted with the scent of dark coffee and light chatter.

“What can I get for you this morning, sir?” A too-happy employee asks him as he walks up to the counter.

Damn, what was that drink you really liked? Something with pink in it, he’s sure of it.

“Just two medium coffees, one black and one with that pink flavor, please.” Manners with normies–that’s another thing you’ve unknowingly reinforced with him.

“Our pink velvet flavoring?” That sounds right.

“Yes, that’s it. Thanks.” Wednesday pulls out his card, handing it to the guy.

“Awesome. Name?”

“Addams.”

“We’ll have those coffees right out for you, sir.”

“Brilliant.” With that, Wednesday finds an isolated corner to haunt until his name is called, quickly grabbing the coffees and exiting the building. It’s an even quicker walk back with the warm drinks providing some heat on this chilly morning.

It’s a bit of a struggle, but Wednesday manages to buzz into the building, climb the stairs to your apartment, and work the keys until your door clicks open, all with his hands full. He’s greeted with the sight of you half-asleep on the couch, the news playing softly in the background.

“What are you doing up, love?” He questions, setting the coffees down on the coffee table and kneeling on the floor.

“Wanted to see you,” you mumble, grabbing for his hand and interlocking it with yours. “Was cold in the bed without you.”

Wednesday practically melts. How can one girl be so sweet and caring? So happy?

“I’m sorry, my love. But look, I got you that coffee you like to make up for it.” He gestures to the beverages with his free hand before resting it on your head. He goes about stroking your hair, lulling you back into a dreamlike state.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall back asleep,” you bat at his hand, trying to get it out of your hair. You were up to see him, not to fall asleep on him.

“And I will still be here when you wake up, cara mia. Go back to sleep. You’re safe here. I love you.”

[celestialprincesse]

🎀🍼

What time is it?! More single mom!reader time!

Someone dropped into my inbox asking for Single mom! getting upset at her daughter and yelling at her and then crying about it. I needed a minute to cook but I'm here now.

"Come on, Lottie." You huff desperately, covered to your elbows in suds and applesauce as you try and fail to get your daughter into the bubble filled tub. "If you take a bath, I'll let you watch Bluey before bed." Has the three year old perking up, albeit barely, still stroppy about some trivial thing or another. She's probably still sour about you saying no to having cake for dinner, despite the fact that you'd relented this morning and allowed cake for breakfast, on the condition that she also had some strawberries to 'cancel the sugar out'.

"I wan' see Riley!" She pouts, stomping a tiny, chubby foot against the tiled bathroom floor. Ever since you'd dog sat for Simon on his latest deployment, Charlotte had decided that Riley was more her dog than his, and despite the fact that you too, absolutely adore Riley, the thought of bothering Simon any more makes you physically wince. "We can see Riley tomorrow." You attempt to bargain, growing more frustrated the longer you sit on the edge of the bath with your daughter looking at you like you're unreasonable. You never thought you'd see the day where you could get genuinely upset at a three year old covered in apple sauce and glitter glue. You've already had to fish a clip on earring from her mess of hair, and now you're at the end of your very, very long, single mother special edition, extra strength rope. "Wan' see him now!" Has you practically on the verge of tears. Today has been one of those impossible days where all you can think of as you're working out how much you have to spend for the month and whether you need to call a plumber out for the kitchen sink, is whether it's all worth it. Sure, going back and grovelling would be shameful, gut wrenchingly so, but at least then you wouldn't be alone.

"Charlotte, get in the bath or I'll put you to bed with no TV time." The unrelenting growl of your own voice feels foreign as it echoes around the tiny bathroom. You hate playing the bad cop, that was never your role, you'd always been the one to pick Lottie up after her dad laid down the law, take her for ice cream in the park or to feed the ducks. Now you're forced to do both. Charlotte, being three and having no care for the fact that she's making your life more difficult than it needs to be, simply sticks out her bottom lip and quivers her chin a little. Which, under normal circumstances, would make you give in and try to chase her down with a wet wipe, or coax her with the mermaid barbie doll that 'lives' in the bath. "Charlotte. Bath. Now." Of course, she'd had to have your spirited nature and unwillingness to give in passed on to her like a flaming torch, like you were Prometheus, being punished for giving fire to man. "No!" She shrieks, and that's enough to tip you over the edge. "Fine, bed then! Go on! Go and get in bed all dirty and see if I care." You snap, fingers pinching frustratedly at the bridge of your nose, trying to hold back the angry tears threatening to spill.

You're too consumed by hurt and endlessly roiling frustration to see where she storms off to, allowing yourself just a moment to sit on the edge of your shitty bathtub and let it all out. It was hardly ever that you got angry at Lottie. It was practically impossible given your situation. She doesn't understand where her daddy is or why you needed to go without him, nor why she can't always go and play with Simon and Riley whenever she wants.

"Charlotte?" Simon is confused and more than a little concerned at the snotty three year old currently stood at his door, cheeks ruddy with tears and little fists balled as she walks past him into his flat. "Wan' play wif Riley." She babbles, toddling through his entrance hall to the living rim, where the K9 gladly greets her with licks to her cheeks, making her giggle. "Where's mummy, Lottie?" Riley is called to heel, told to calm down so that Simon can understand why he's currently got your three year old crying in his lounge. "Baffroom." The toddler mumbles, seemingly perfectly content to get comfortable on his couch with Riley, burying her little face in the fluffy golden scruff of his neck. "What do you mean, bathroom, poppet? Is mummy alright?" "Mummy cryin'." "Did something happen?" In her usual way, Charlotte completely zones out from his line of questioning, too engaged with snuggling his dog.

The toddler wails and kicks when she's hoisted up onto his hip and carried back through the concerningly open door of your apartment, still swinging slightly on its hinges from where Lottie had thrown it open. "Love?" Simon calls into the seemingly empty house, your daughter on his hip and Riley waiting at his feet, wet nose twitching for any smell of the familiar woman who feeds him treats and scratches behind his ears. In seconds, Riley is tearing into the dimly lit bathroom, jolting you from your meltdown, followed rapidly by Simon and a tired looking toddler. "Love? Darling, what happened?" He's crouching at your bare feet as you sit defeatedly on the rim of the tub, your chin in his hands, tilted this way and that as though to make sure you're not hurt.

"Charlotte wouldn't get in the bath and - and" You can barely get your words out before you're wailing into your hands again, hiccuping pathetically at your situation and the fact that such a simple thing has the strength to derail you entirely. "Ah. Wondered why she came round mine all huffy and puffy." "Oh my God, I'm so sorry - You must think I'm awful." "I don' think you're awful. I think you're fuc-fudging amazing. Look at you, are you jokin'? Raisin a kid all alone, startin' a new life just the two of you. You're a trooper, yeah? I've seen soldiers weaker than you." "You don't really think that." You sniffle, inadvertently leaning your cheek into his palm when he reaches up to wipe your tears. "Course I do. You're brave and kind and beautiful. You've done a hell of a job with the little spitfire over there. Don't think I've ever come across a woman I admire the way I do you."

The way his words, aloof, distant Simon Riley's words make butterflies flutter in your stomach should be illegal. The way his eyes are so warm and dark like the comfort of a warm bed after a long day makes your heart pound and your breath catch. You know you shouldn't feel like this, for Charlotte's sake, and his, and yours, and yet you can't stop yourself. For the first time, you're falling, hard. Not for danger or the lure of the unknown. No. You're falling for the safe, gentle domesticity that Simon offers you in the waiting palm of his hand, like feeding a frightened animal in the hopes of coaxing them into the safe warmth of a home.

｡ ﾟ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

I didn't mean for this to be 1.2k oops I got totally carried away 😚

[tojipie]

Toji’s first time at the club with you after he gets out of prison?

prison bf series linked here !

content: smoking, alc

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toji had missed a lot of things besides you during his time in the slammer.

car rides, casinos, weed, movie theaters, the whole 9 yards really. but if you held a gun to your boyfriends head and asked him what he missed the most? he might just slip and say it was booze.

toji sits on one of the leather couches in your private section, rolling his glass in salt before filling it with a drink you can’t pronounce. beside him stand 2 bar carts packed to the brim with everything he’d need to get shitfaced, courtesy of the club’s owner who seemed to owe him more than a few favors.

you see his eyes physically flutter back into his skull when he takes his first sip, savoring the tart liquid as it flowed over the salted rim and down his throat.

long behind were the days of sneaking sketchy prison hooch and stale cigarettes. the late nights you sit quietly across from him, watching him enjoy himself with a soft smile.

“feel good?” you ask with a giggle, taking a chaste sip of your own drink.

the older man nods, running a shaky hand through his hair like he almost can’t believe he’s got all this alcohol to himself.

“c’mere.” he says, motioning towards himself with two fingers. you set your drink down and sink down next to him, intertwining your legs. the older man traces circles into the skin of your thigh while he savors his liquor.

“you wanna go dance, pretty?” he asks, reaching down to lightly massage the skin of your calf.

you think it over a little before grabbing his hand to lead him to the dance floor, you pause when he doesn’t budge.

toji chuckles quietly, throwing back a shot before explaining himself.

“without me i meant.” he laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “i’ve got a few bottles to finish off, right? go make friends.”

you debate over leaving your boyfriend to his own devices, could a 30 year old man fresh out of prison really be left alone with a week’s worth of booze? no, probably not. your suspicions are confirmed as soon as you see him flick a lighter in your peripherals.

“hey!” you chastise, waving the flame out with your hand. “no smoking inside.”

the cigarette in his mouth droops as he looks up at you, clearly unamused.

“since when was that a rule.” he mumbles, throwing the cig on the table in front of him.

“i can handle you drunk, but i honestly can’t handle you drunk and smelling like tobacco.” you chastise, pressing a kiss to his forehead to soften the blow.

“you’re on babysitting duty then.” he muses, voice already starting to slur. “y’r gonna watch me polish these bottles off n’ as soon as i’m done we’re gonna go dance, ok?”

────────────────────────

taglist ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin @tempest1art @sakuraryomen01 @kariito-art @vkeyy @mxtokko

[redvexillum]

SUMMARY: You royally pissed someone off because you were receiving anonymous hate emails for the past fifteen years. How incredibly petty and...entertaining. At first, you decided to ignore them but as their hate comments got increasingly creative, the more you couldn't help but add oil to the burning, passionate flame of their hatred towards you.

Until one day, the mysterious anonymous hater (probably) accidentally revealed themselves to be the one and only TV demon, an Overlord and CEO of everything technological and modern.

WARNING/TAGS: f!reader, dual POV, enemies to f*ck buddies to something indescribable, Vox is a bratty sub, dom!reader, Vox takes a lot of L's but he secretly enjoys it, reader is sexually liberal and confident, Vox is bad with feelings, Vox has a humiliation kink, slow burn, masturb*tion (Vox)

<- PREV

Pride.  

It had been Vox’s anchor through every storm, the bedrock upon which he rebuilt his empire time and time again. When everything else failed – fame, wealth, power – his pride would always remain. It was his impenetrable shield against defeat; it was his sharpened sword in the face of adversity.  

Pride goes before a fall?  

To that, Vox would laugh in mockery.  

In life, in damnation, where everything else – his mind, his body, even his treacherous heart – crumbled to dust, his pride would endure, unwavering and indomitable. He would sooner die than surrender it.  

Despite Vox’s resolve, he had once again succumbed to his damn weakness, his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. Memories flooded back, warning him of the same path he was about to tread once again. 

Moments of shameful releases played in a loop.  

Moments where he had sobbed and vowed to never repeat.  

Moments where that fucking old-timey radio prick’s name rested on his tongue while his hand was coated in his sticky release.  

He had promised, sworn, that he would never sacrifice his pride for a fleeting moment of hollow pleasure.  

But today, surrounded by the evidence of his obsession with her, he found himself once more in the mercy of his desire, his resolve crumbling like the ashes of his once glorious empire.  

Vox knelt there in supplication, head bowed, clutching his cock like a goddamn lifeline. He realized with a sinking heart that his pride had been the first casualty in this war. The war he waged against her, against himself, against the very fucking essence of who he thought he was.  

He should just find Val and fuck him senseless, let out all the pent-up frustration in a mindless, carnal release. But as he made up his mind, his eyes drifted back to the picture she had sent him. Her playful little smirk pulled him back as a prisoner of his obsession.  

His hand moved almost to its accord, slowly, gently stroking up and down his strained cock. He hissed in relief, the tension easing slightly with each stroke, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to maintain control.  

Closing his eyes, he felt like a drug-addled addict, convincing himself that just one more hit would be enough. 

“Just one more,” he whispered. “One more stroke, and I’ll fucking stop.” 

With each repetition of the motion, his supposed impenetrable fortress that housed his resolve chipped away. One, two, three breaths – his hand moved once, twice, thrice, and he moaned, the sound torn from his throat as he succumbed to the pleasure. The sensation was overwhelming, consuming him whole.  

“Fuck,” he groaned. “This…feels real fucking good.” 

Vox had a terabyte worth of images and videos of her stored in his internal hard drive. A digital shrine he had created to self-flagellate himself as he reminded himself that he shouldn’t and didn’t want her. 

Every day, he fought the temptation to give in, to fuck himself with his hand while he pulled up images and videos of her — let the very image of her sear into his mind.

But he had resisted.

Always.  

Instead, he channelled his frustration into writing her emails filled with hate and vitriol. Some days, when the want, the desire reached to unbearable heights, he would write to her about how much he despised her, how much he didn’t want her, how much he didn’t think of her.  

It never helped. It never fucking did. But it became a ritual, a futile attempt to reclaim what little dignity remained within him.  

A pathetic whimper escaped him as he forced his hand off his weeping cock, denying himself the release he so desperately craved. The photo slipped from his claws, fluttering to the floor as he pressed both hands against the ground, panting heavily.  

Pride.  

That was all he had left.  

Everything else could be rebuilt from the ashes, but without his pride, he was nothing. He’d be damned if he let another fucking soul strip that away from him.  

Vox glared at the photo; its edges crumpled from his desperate grip. It taunted him with her sweet yet mocking smile. “Fuck you,” he said in vain, knowing she didn’t give two shits of what she was doing to an Overlord – to him.  

It was then that he noticed another small scrap of paper, or rather a business card, among the shredded pieces of the package he must’ve missed. Despite doing nothing today, his body felt like it had just run a marathon. His hand trembled as he grunted, forcing himself to stretch his arm to grab the card.  

Whatever restraint he had completely shattered once he read the words on it. “Fucking, fuck, fuck,” he cursed out loud, his voice a mix of rage and despair. “Damn you, damn you to fucking hell,” his whine blended with a shameful moan as his hand went back to clutching his throbbing cock.  

The business card read: 

Vox couldn’t believe this fucking bitch had made a custom order of her own fucking cunt and sent it to him. God, that fucking whore. He cursed her and praised her depravity in a single breath as his eyes fell back to the fleshlight – her gift to him.  

It was the same colour as her skin.  

God fucking dammit.  

He hated her. He wanted her. His emotions swirled in a chaotic storm, tearing at his sanity. His hand moved on its own, gripping the fleshlight with a desperate intensity. It was soft, warm, and he could almost imagine it was her.  

The tip of his claw traced the lips of the synthetic pussy, and he inserted one finger in. He shuddered as he felt his finger enveloped by the soft, wet, plush walls. He had never used a fleshlight before, believing his hand or Val’s ass was good enough.  

His teeth gnashed together, trying to force the words back, but before he could swallow them down, he blurted out his thoughts. “Fuck you,” he hissed as he inserted a second finger. “You’re thinking quite highly of yourself, huh?” He started to fuck his fingers in and out of the fleshlight, relishing the way the walls seemed to tighten, as if not wanting to let go. 

“You think your cunt is this tight?” Vox let out a dark chuckle, recalling how three years ago, there was a huge scandal where sex tapes of her fucking some no-name guys were released on the net. His fingers withdrew from the fleshlight, dripping with its artificial juices, and he traced the lips of her pussy with the head of his cock.  

The very thought of her, the memory of those tapes, the sight of her in that bikini – all of it drove him to the brink of madness. His breath was ragged, a mix of anger and arousal shrouding his mind.  

He hated her.  

He wanted her.  

She tore him apart.  

When that sex scandal broke out and plastered her face all over every platform on social media, Vox felt a rush of vindictive joy. This bitch, who had been a thorn in his side for so long, was finally going down. Instead of gloating in another email to her, he offered her a deal.  

He wrote to her that day as Anonymous666, every word dripping with cocksure smugness, suggesting that if she begged him and admitted on her next video that VoxTek was the greatest, he would help her make the whole scandal go away. 

That bitch never fucking responded.  

She never responded to any of his emails.  

Instead of trying to take down the sex video and paying a company to manage her reputation, she hired a small independent programming firm to create a fucking app called “OnlySinners.” On that app, users could create accounts to post exclusive photos and videos of themselves. It quickly became popular among influencers, promising exclusive content for their fans. This so-called exclusive content was all sexual in nature.

Honestly, it was much worse than porn in terms of quality and content.

Furthermore, fans had to pay a monthly subscription to view the posts. There were also different tier systems, allowing fans to get different benefits such as a chance to converse with their idol depending on how much they were willing to pay.  

Because of her, the porn sector of his company took a huge hit that year. He managed to convince the shareholders of OnlySinners to sell their stocks to VoxTek, so she and he became co-owners. But before their first OnlySinners company meeting, she offered to sell the rest of her stocks to VoxTek and his assistant purchased it.  

Vox inserted the tip of his cock inside the fleshlight and moaned obscenely. Fuck, this was amazing. 

She was amazing.  

Why couldn’t she have contacted him to create the OnlySinners app? He had the resources, the power, the connections. They could’ve been filthy rich together. He pulled the fleshlight off, teasing himself as he panted loudly.  

Why did she sell the rest of her stocks instead of co-owning the company together? He inserted the tip of his cock again before pulling out, repeating it again and again.  

She was such a fucking tease.  

Vox had hacked her OnlySinners account out of curiosity and nearly choked when he saw she earned a whopping thirteen figures in the first year of launching that app on the income from subscription alone. She only uploaded five fucking thirty-second clips of her getting railed by other VoxTubers, and yet she was able to earn so much.  

What’s worse was that the quality of the videos was shit, and he couldn’t see her tits or ass. All he could hear was her sinful moans and the sound of skin slapping together. 

Yet, Vox paid to be her one and only loyal, “supreme” fan. She made an absurd tier costing $250,000 a month, and he still hasn’t cancelled despite her account clearly being inactive. In fact, the rest of her so-called fans stopped paying a monthly premium due to the lack of content.   

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Vox whispered, his voice breaking from another moan ripping through him as he sank halfway into her tight, dripping cunt. “We could’ve been unstoppable together.” 

Inserting himself deeper into the fleshlight, he imagined her smirking at him, taunting him with those dark, smoky eyes. “Don’t fucking kid yourself,” he thrust harder, his breath hitching with each movement.  

As he fully sheathed the fleshlight on his cock, taking it all the way to the base, Vox groaned, “Oh, fuuuuck.” His voice glitched, and his head tweaked from the overwhelming sensation of her tight, simulated pussy gripping his hardened, dripping cock. If he pulled out, he might come.  

Holy fuck, was he seriously going to come after one fucking full stroke? 

“I always knew you were a one-pump chump,” a voice, a familiar, and taunting voice, echoed in his head. “You should be thanking me for giving you this.” She giggled, and Vox’s vision momentarily blacked out as images of that damn woman flashed before his eyes. 

“How dare you drop my photo on your filthy floor? Don’t you know you hold the only copy of that photo in existence?” She whispered, her voice caressing and electrifying every nerve, every circuit that made him who he was.  

As his vision returned to the small, dimly lit room, surrounded by her sex toys, filled with the scent of his arousal, he quickly reached for the photo she had sent. He could still hear her voice in the back of his mind. “You should feel special,” she whispered, a seductive undertone drenching her words.  

Vox’s hand gripped the fleshlight tighter, his claws digging into the sides, and he felt his cock hardening even more under his touch and the sensation of her simulated cunt. He dragged his cock out of the plush, wet pocket, his breath heavy as he fought to control himself, trying not to spill his seed inside it. He wanted this to last. He wanted this moment to last, to drown in this euphoria, to lose himself in this sensation of pleasure.  

He wanted to muffle the scream of shame that threatened to short-circuit him.  

Holding the fleshlight just above the tip of his cock, he thrust his hips upward, entering her once more. He held the photo up, forcing his head to look up – to look up at her. He slowly fucked the toy, pretending she was on top of him, imagining taking her slowly, letting her feel every inch of him.  

“D-does it feel good?” Vox asked her. Of course, the photo of her remained still, her lips – her smirk – unmoving. A familiar feeling of his chest being flayed open coursed through him.  

In the quiet space, where it was only him, away from the paparazzi, away from the need to maintain a perfect image for society, he was back in the body of an upstart entrepreneur – a body of a scrappy nobody.  

Vox was back to being the man who had groveled and begged the investors to take a chance on him. To believe in him. He had withstood the mockery and the laughter as he swallowed his pride again and again.  

“Can I…” he gasped, as his hips started to pump in and out quicker and quicker, the lewd sound of his cock thrusting into the lubricated toy squelched and filled the air. “Can I…come?” he groaned, his head falling forward, his ass up in the air before he thrust mindlessly into the toy with reckless abandon.  

The pleasure built with each thrust, a fevered pitch that ate away his mind. He clung to the photo; it kept him tethered to the fantasy of an alternate reality where he had her – where she wanted him.  

“Please,” he whimpered, his voice breaking, a plea to the silent room. “Please let me come.” 

Vox’s pace became frantic, his strokes wild and uncontrolled. The tight, wet embrace of the fleshlight, the image of her teasing smile, the imagined feel of her beneath him – “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fuckin’…” his words were lost to the sound of his filthy moans and the wet slaps of his hips against the toy.  

His vision blanked with a final, desperate thrust as he released everything he had within him. “Ah, fuuuuck,” he groaned as he slowed his pace, rocking his hips against the toy, wringing his cock dry.  

Once Vox controlled his heavy breath, he slowly collapsed to the floor and rolled onto his back. He stared down at his limp cock, wearing the fleshlight like a sleeve. As the high faded, and the evidence of his broken restraint leaked out from the toy and drenched the front placket of his pants, the all-too familiar sensation of shame settled on his chest.  

His chest rose and fell with the aftermath of his exertion, his breath still heavy and laboured. As if he had woken up from a fever dream, he looked around the room. The shelves were lined with her toys, each one a reminder of his obsession and the depth of his humiliation. The business card, the photo, her message, the custom fleshlight – all of it ridiculed him.  

Vox pressed his palms against his eyes. The cold floor seeped into his sweat-soaked back; he felt the weight of his insignificance. For all his power and wealth, he still saw himself as his scrappy, pathetic self, groveling to other men that were born into a higher status.  

He enjoyed sex for what it was. It brought him a moment of pleasure. But the price was always too fucking high to pay, for at this moment when his mind retained clarity, his heart was out in the open once more.  

Once again, he was back in the void, a cavernous cold space where a sense of emptiness gnawed his very soul.  

Once again, he felt a pain in his chest that he could never seem to fucking name.  

Once again, he had sacrificed his pride for a fleeting moment of hollow pleasure. 

NEXT ->

💠 MASTERLIST 💠

[anantaru]

umm hi i love the safe word ask for haitham ayato and wondering if it's ok to ask for a kaeya and diluc one? 🥺👉👈 only if your ok with it ofc 🫣

cw. saying the safeword, fem! reader

— kaeya

a bone rattling blow crocheted itself into kaeya‘s limbs and muscles faster than in any other occurrences prior.

yet, surrounded by the split second of your breaking utterance, the grueling moment compressed inside his brain the very moment he perceived your cries, kaeya never thought he would ever have to hear it from you— and a freezing coldness washed over him, strong enough to risk him breaking down in front of you.

beyond everything, he works swift to press himself off you and gather a blanket to cover your quivering body, but right now, kaeya doesn't say a single word to you, not before he's certain you're comfortable in your current location.

then, he forces himself to say something, even though his throat was pulling against it, tugging at the twitching limbs, "a-are you okay?"

sticking to the facts, he would love to smack himself in the face right now for a question this idiotic, at least he himself thought it was— you on the other hand nodded frantically while leaving your eyes shut, a mirage of crystallines sticking around your soused lashes but, step by step, fading away.

you sniffle while messily rubbing your eyes, "can you hug me?" and you're hesitant when you speak your sudden needs, although you do not have to. kaeya, your sweet kaeya, was quick to react, quicker then before as he silently plunged himself next to you— lifting his arm before helping you lean into him.

you do not remember the last time you sensed his heart in that manner, as it beat violently in his chest, it shattered your mind, for the first time full on recognizing his own fragility.

"i'm okay." you say, "i'm okay kaeya, i promise." but, you're his love, in his eyes, you are worth his life and all that he had left was you.

nonetheless, you do not see how he was beating himself up internally, all you witnessed was a trembling "I'm so sorry."

an utterance, while quick to spell out, it held a significant meaning to it, over and over he whispered it, sometimes accompanied by tears and cries, until you fell asleep surrounded by his strong arms.

— diluc

a mind numbing silence— one, which had followed the second you proclaimed the hurting safe word, when it emitted beyond the limits of your own voicing.

diluc‘s hips haltered immediately and his eyes blew open wide, dead and buried. you were his fire, producing the scorching hot flames that breathe all the more deeply for being closer together.

sincerely, diluc was ashamed of himself, he begins to doubt himself and if he was even worth it, at all, primarily that he ever let it go that far.

"love.." he whispers, breathing deep through his nose as you felt the weight of his large palms pulling you off him, "take your time, p-please, take your time, okay?"

diluc moves himself away but sinks down next to you, he sees it too, when you flinch at the slight spasm of pain and hurting, a clear suffering he was the sole reason of.

tears befell his eyes, sticking to his flesh, but diluc doesn't show them to you— not because he was embarrassed of it, it's more that he did not want to waver any attention towards him, this was about you and he needed to be here, to console and kiss away all your pain, if you let him of course.

you see, the man does not touch you, not anymore, at least not before you tell him it's alright. boundaries and the ability to listen were a huge cornerstone he never would've even dreamed of crossing, what he does was being content and aiding you to be comfortable within the warm closeness of fresh silken sheets.

"i think I'm fine now." you breathe a transparency out of your mouth, sloping an inch into his chest to signalize that, yes, it was okay again, that he was allowed to place his hands on you now— but your lovers heaves twitch at the mere sensing of your cheek against his chest as diluc feels how a cold sweat runs down the entirety of his spine.

"i apologize, i'm— I'm so sorry." he takes you gently in his arms, "and i will never let it get this far again."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[whereireid]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

series masterlist | avatar masterlist

pairing: tonowari x omatikaya!fem reader

Summary: After mating with Tonowari, you experience a glimpse of domesticated bliss. Grateful that you’ve chosen a doting mate, you bask in your relationship, despite the insecurities that plague you regarding his old mate, Ronal. After you confess this to him, he decides to show you just how over her he truly is.

— warnings: age gap (21/yo reader) mutual pining, plot, family drama time oops, mentions of insecurity, reader doesn't feel worthy of being tonowari's mate, fluff, smut, dead ronal, bathing ! nsfw content (bc this wouldn't be a sex pollen fic if it was sfw 🙄) nipple sucking, brief mention of tonowari having lactation kink, fingering, orgasm denial, oral sex [f recieving] p in v, mating, breeding kink.

There is no longer a fire which blazes within you.

You wonder how there ever even was to begin with. Surrounded by water, your flame should have been snuffed out the minute that it was sparked. The cool breeze of the reef should have blown out the flicker before it began to burn wildly.

The irayo flower — a token of your homeland, beautiful with its lavender purple and tulip pink hues — had a side effect so dangerous that it caused a sickly fever to pulsate through the Metkayina leader. A fever that no medicine could cure. A fever, cooled by only your touch and your touch alone.

Inside of you, there is silence. Despite the fact your face no longer burns with heat whenever you gaze at the Metkayina leader, you still drown in desire and want. Tonowari is sleeping, cocooned by his hammock, a peaceful expression clouding his face as his chest rises and falls slowly, soft breaths leaving his mouth.

You wonder if the sea had claimed you before you had claimed it. You knew your sisters and brothers had no trouble adapting — Lo'ak felt more at home here than he had in the tribunal forests of your homeland, and Kiri felt comfortable and in touch with Ewya wherever she went. Neteyam, the mighty warrior, had adapted quickly to the new hunting rituals, bringing home many pounds of fish, and Tuk had impressively learnt in days how to weave items of clothing by using Metkayina flora.

They'd adapted properly, using their labour to find a way to fit in, and though your family would always be outcasts — with your five fingers a contrast to their four, a constant reminder that you are alien — their labour proved their worth. They were accepted.

Though you're smiling at the thought of your brothers and sisters, your heart tugs — how would they react to the news? When your father had hounded you to find a mate, he surely meant someone more... age-appropriate. Your father certainly did not mean that he wanted you to mate with someone whom he often drank Pongu Lumpia with.

Shaking your head, your fingers close around your robe. It's a maroon red, woven by Tuk with flora she'd found in a cave on the reef. It cocoons you into a shield of warmth, hiding you from the cool ocean breeze which rustles throughout Tonowari's marui. The cold air causes him to stir in his sleep, the coolness a sharp contrast to his heated body.

You watch as he grumbles in discontent, his ears twitching in annoyance, your own flittering upwards in anticipation. "Tonowari," you whisper, edging towards the Metkayina leader, your fingers darting over his thighs when you reach his hammock. "The sun is rising. You must wake soon."

"It has not risen, yet. Come to bed, little one. I miss your warmth."

Tonowari's voice is groggy, ridden with sleep, and you hesitate, your fingers lingering on his strong thighs. "We must tell my parents—"

"—We will tell them later. Join me, for now. We will do whatever you wish when the sun has risen."

You pout in disproval, though you listen. The hammock is comfortable, adapting to your weight as you sink inside of it, and you squeak slightly as Tonowari's strong arms wrap around your frame. "You're so warm, little one," he grunts, his voice rumbling in his chest as he speaks, his nose nuzzling against your own. "It must be because of that robe."

Goosebumps flicker up your skin as Tonowari's hand begin to sneak underneath your garment. His fingers make lewd movements, darting from your abdomen up towards your chest, a shiver ghosting up your spine as his thumb flicks over your nipples, which harden as the cool breeze begins to wash over your frame.

"Would you like for me to take it off?" You moan, and it sounds so sweet that Tonowari's cock throbs with need. Your heart hammers in your chest as his deep blue eyes bore into your own, his finger gently begging to roll your nipple between his fingers.

"I do not want you to get cold, little one," Tonowari mumbles, his breath flittering against your chest as he dips his head, his lips peppering gentle kisses against your skin. "Keep it on."

There's a foreign sensation that crackles through you once Tonowari's lips wrap around one of your nipples. As he gently begins to suck, you gasp, your body jolting towards his as an overbearing feeling of electricity pulses through you. It bites at every nerve, making your body throb with electricity.

"Oh." You mewl, your face growing insatiably hot as Tonowari hums against your nipple, your eyes shutting tightly as he purrs against your skin. "This feels—"

"—Good," he finishes your sentence, pulling away from your breasts, a lewd trail of spit following him. Your gaze flickers down towards him, and you wishes you hadn't even bothered looking, because a moan catches in your throat when you see his swollen lips and lust-filled eyes trailing over your body.

Tonowari's tongue wets his lips, before he dips his head to latch his mouth around your nipple again. It's a strange sensation, to say the least. You've never really explored yourself there before — but now you're really wishing you had.

You squirm under Tonowari's touch, and a moan catches in your throat, but you're unsure of whether or not it actually escapes your lips or dies before it gets to do so. His lips wrap around your sensitive nub, careful as his sharp teeth begin to graze softly against the bundle of nerves, and your hands instinctively fall down to his head, your fingers running over his braids as he laps at your nipple.

Tonowari's tongue skilfully swirls around your nipple, and warmth pools in your lower belly as he begins to grow eager, his hands darting down towards your loincloth. "Please," you beg, though you're not exactly sure what you're begging for. Warmth curls at every nerve inside of you as his fingers disappear under your loincloth, your breath still in your chest as you try to anticipate his next move.

“Breathe, little one,” Tonowari utters, his fingers gently brushing over your slits, the sensation making you melt with warmth.

You nod and try to steady your breathing. Tonowari is still and it's driving you crazy — your hips instinctively buck against his fingers, and a breathy whine escapes your mouth. He shoots you an unimpressed look, and you blush. Once your breathing is even, Tonowari continues. Though the soft flickers of his brows are knitted together and his eyes are somewhat narrowed from your eager bucking, his touch is gentle, his wet, warm mouth wrapped around your nipples, his tongue beginning to flicker again.

Every nerve inside of you is lit, blazing and burning wildly. His fingers gently part your sticky folds, electricity crackling up your spine as he sucks at your sensitive nipples, his eyes lulling shut soothingly.”

"You are going to be even more needy for this once you're carrying our child," Tonowari says, his fingers gliding up and down your slits, satisfied with how wet and needy your cunt is. "Is this your first time being pleasured in such a way?"

"I've never touched myself there before," you admit hoarsely, shivering as Tonowari nibbles at your bud in response, the sensation sending butterflies fluttering through your stomach. "Just my — my, uh—"

"—Just your cunt. I know, little one. I saw everything when we committed Tsaheylu."

Your face blazes with embarrassment, but Tonowari does not falter. You swallow thickly, a whine catching in your throat as Tonowari's fingers press into your cunt, the curling of his digits making you jolt. The unexpected intrusion makes you mewl in appreciation, your hands pressing eagerly against the back of his head, encouraging him to keep sucking.

It's all you want. The sensation feels electric, and it makes you drown in heat. The air in the marui is scorching, making it difficult to breathe, but you focus on the rising and falling of your chest, not wanting him to stop again.

"I forget how new you are to all of this," he chuckles lowly, the sensation vibrating against you, making you mewl. Insecurity tugs at your heart, because you are new to this — but your mate seems so delighted. "You're so reactive. Tell me, little one, do you like this?"

Tonowari bites at your nipple, and you gasp, rutting into his hand like you're in heat. The sensation makes tears bubble in your eyes, because it stings to have your sensitive bud pressed between his two, sharp canines, but you're so wet that it doesn't matter, a sultry twinge shooting through you at the lewd action.

"Yes, I like it," you mumble drunkenly, your eyes blown and dark, your body craving him. His fingers curl inside of you appreciatively, a soft squelch echoing around the mauri, and he grins against your chest.

"Mmm. You're going to love it once you're with child," he states lowly, his fingers slowly working at your cunt, scissoring you open. "If you're this sensitive now..."

He trails off, unable to finish his sentence, and you let out a breathy moan. Between the lewd curling of Tonowari's fingers and the feeling of his hot mouth suckling at your chest, you feel yourself growing blind. Heat flashes through your body, an insatiable warmth pooling in your stomach as your thighs begin to tense, locking his hand in place as he fingers your cunt.

It feels so good. Tonowari devours you; his entire presence sending shocks shooting through your body. It's so deliciously wrong to have the Metkayina leader sending you into oblivion with his sharp teeth and gentle mouth, and you gasp as you squelch and squirm and clench down around his fingers, your moans mortifyingly loud.

"I need to — Tonowari, please, I need to —" you plead, your eyes beginning to grow heavy and your body edging towards numbness as his teeth catch your nipple again, rolling his rough tongue against the bud gently.

"Breathe." He says, tone so sharp that it feels like a knife, your body prickling with heat as your orgasm approaches; hard and fast and heavy, weighing your body down as you begin to tremble and shake against him.

Your eyes are closed so tight that you see stars. Tonowari's fingers curl inside of you as you attempt to take a deep breath, and you wail, the feeling so overwhelming and good that you begin to cry. Your chest is heaving — really heaving, and your lungs burn with the urge to breathe but you just can't, and despite Tonowari's reminder earlier, you’ve forgot.

Your body writhes beneath him. You wriggle, pleading for air because each stroke of his fingers and flicker of his tongue makes it impossible to breathe. You can't even think anymore, so dumb from the hot sparks which shroud your body into what you thought to be unattainable bliss that your nerves grow numb.

"Little one, you need to breathe," Tonowari repeats, but your ears are ringing and you can't hear him because his teeth are rolling over your nipples and he's sucking so good and his fingers are curling inside of your cunt so tortuously. You can't hear anything except for your own blood pumping inside of you and the shameful squelching of your cunt, and you hump against his fingers eagerly.

Just when you're on the brink of cumming, just as you suck in air and begin to shake and convulse, he stops.

You begin to gasp for air, writhing against his chest, your eyes tired and heavy as all of his movements stop. Tonowari pulls away from your chest, his look of disapproval burning through you.

"You forgot to breathe," he says accusatory. Your eyes peek over him, and your breath stills in your chest again. Tonowari's eyes are so blown that his irises are being swallowed, leaving just a thin ring of the aqua-blue around the edge.

"I'm sorry. Felt too good," you mumble breathy, your fingers splayed over Tonowari's head, pushing him eagerly towards your chest. "Please?"

He frowns, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I cannot please you if you do not breathe."

"I will breathe, yawne," you utter desperately, beginning to hump at his fingers. "I promise you I will breathe. Please, Tonowari, I need to feel good."

His lips press against your neck. His mouth is warm and wet, and he suckles slightly, a shiver spreading throughout you as he laps at the skin. Tonowari begins to pepper his kisses down towards your chest, leaving gentle bruises in the wake of his lips, and your body instinctively presses against him as his mouth brushes against your nipples.

"You're so good, yawne," you praise, your eyelids growing heavy as his lips reattach to your nipples, hot sparks exploding throughout your body. "So good to me."

You focus on your breathing this time — in, out, in out, in out. Tonowari's fingers curl inside of you again, and it's back to square one. Except, not really. You're so hypersensitive that as his teeth graze against your nipple, teasing and deliberate, you cunt clenches, and Tonowari grunts.

He's so hard that it physically hurts him. The lavender tip of his cock is leaking with pre-cum, but he doesn't even bother to move in an attempt to fist himself free of the shackles of his own desire for an orgasm. Tonowari is so focused on you and what makes you feel good, which just so happens to be anything he does.

You're appreciative of the fact that he's focusing on your pleasure rather than his own. Tonowari explores you, his tongue darting across your skin, goosebumps rising in it's wake, before returning back to your sensitive, swollen nipples.

Your chest feels so tight. Your heart hammers, pounding, and you focus on your breathing, making sure to satisfy Tonowari. You feel his cock, hard and rigid, pressed up against your thighs, as you try to brush against him but it's impossible. You can't move, pinned under his weight, under the feeling of his delicious tongue which swirls skilfully around your nipples and the curling of his fingers.

"I'm going to —"

"Do it."

You whimper, nodding eagerly at his words, dragging your lips between your teeth. It all feels too good, too much, and you begin to convulse. Warmth spreads throughout your abdomen, your cunt growing even slicker as he fingers you, rolling into the spongy spot inside of you with ease.

It feels like a knot is violently unraveling inside of you. Your breathing becomes unsteady, uneven; manic and quick. The knot feels like it's being ripped apart. Snapped and torn and frayed.

You let go of everything. You feel nothing but him. His touch is ecstasy, and you feel divine, holy as you cum.

The rays of the sun blind you as you come undone around him. Twitching, jolting, shaking. You're blazed with pleasure, dumb with need, and Tonowari's ears twitch eagerly, listening to every moan and cry that spews past your lips.

You blink, hazily, your breathing uneven as his fingers pull out of you, his mouth still suckling on your breasts. Tonowari groans, his hands grabbing at your skin, squeezing your hips tightly.

Confusion clouds you as Tonowari’s hips judder against your thighs, a gasp of realisation slipping past your lips as his hard cock pulls away from your plump flesh. He’s came — his own breathing is uneven and steady, and he’s left a painting of sticky cum against your skin. His ears pin tightly against his head, but he doesn’t seem embarassed at all. It’s like this is a totally normal thing for him.

And maybe it is. But it’s not for you. Your eyes are wide in shock, your fingers still as they press against Tonowari’s chest. His face is now inches away from yours, and he has a satisfied, smug grin plastered across his lips.

“Was that good, little one? Did that satisfy you?”

“You came.” You say, bewildered, your hands shaking as they press against his chest, your brows knitted together in confusion. “How — Why did you —“

“Your pleasure is my pleasure, yawne.” Tonowari mumbles, and the term of endearment makes your heart soar. “This is not unusual for me.”

As always, you frown. Tonowari is referring to his previous encounters, with his previous mate. Jealousy pricks at your heart and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fill such big shoes. You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the feeling of his fingers pinching you cheek, and you scowl, your tail thrashing behind you.

“You like making me feel good?” You ask timidly, eyes crinkling as the sun blinds you, hiding yourself in Tonowari’s chest.

“It is what I enjoy doing the most. Pleasuring my mate is my greatest pleasure.” Tonowari affirms, shooting you a loving smile before his head turns to the entrance of the mauri, his eyes squinting from the sun. “I wish we could continue, little one, but the sun has risen.”

The sun has risen. You pout, somewhat disappointed that it can’t continue, because your body still feels electric from where he’d been pleasuring you. “It’s time to tell my family about us,” you say breathlessly, and Tonowari grins.

“Yes, it is.”

The walk back to Tonowari's marui is solemn. Whilst your father had disapproved, at least at first, he'd shrunk into himself once you'd told him that you and Tonowari had committed Tsaheylu, now bound together for life. It's somewhat ironic — Jake Sully cannot criticise you for who you'd chosen your mate to be. Your father had not only stolen your mother from Tsu'tey, a mighty warrior of the Omatikaya, he'd also been actively working against your community and your culture when doing so.

Eventually, your father accepted. Although he almost keeled over in the process, he'd accepted.

Tonowari didn't celebrate the way you thought he would. He just nodded his head and thanked your father for approving, and then turned heel and left.

And you'd followed him.

That's how you've ended up here.

The floor is almost scorching, and you shuffle forwards in discontent. Despite living in Awa'atlu for a few months, you still haven’t quite gotten used to the insatiable heat. You feel sweaty, uncomfortable, and your heart tugs as your mate pulls you towards his marui, your eyes flickering over towards him.

He hadn't even celebrated. Maybe it was because he knew your parents couldn't exactly deny you of him — Ewya had approved of your bond, and he is also Olo'eyktan. This is his clan, and you are his mate.

But... maybe that wasn't the case. And you don't want to think this way, you truly don't, but a little voice is in the back of your head is telling you that he didn't celebrate because he'd been through all of this before. Tonowari, perhaps, didn't celebrate because he had no need to — he'd been mated before, with Ronal, and he'd probably went with her to tell her parents, also. And he'd probably celebrated then, because she was the love of his life and she was supposed to be his mate forever.

You grimace, pushing your doubtful thinking away. You know of Ronal. She was a strict Tshaìk, yet a loving mother. A fierce leader. Her connection with Ewya was strong, and your heart pulls in your chest as Tonowari's fingers intertwine with yours.

There's an ounce of comfort in the small gesture. Safety. Your ears pin backwards and you look away, your eyes fleeting over every grain of sand as an excuse to not look at him.

The reef is booming with life. Children run, and parents chase them. Nobody even looks your way — Tonowari had promised you that they wouldn't. Until your bond is announced, nobody would think that you were both seeing each other, rather just assuming that he was just guiding you somewhere.

When you see the familiar, curvy triangular shape of the marui, your ears prick upwards. You try to stop at the entrance, needy for rest, but Tonowari's strides don't falter, until your hands slip from one another's grasp.

"Why have you stopped, little one?” Tonowari asks, his voice gentle as he eyes you suspiciously.

You hesitate under his pointed gaze, shuffling on your feet. "I thought we were going back home."

"I have something I want to show you," he utters, offering out his hand. "Come on, little one.”

"Where are we going?”

"I will show you. Come on."

You pause, eyes flickering from the marui to your mate, before you begrudgingly accepting his hand. Despite the two of you both being Na'vi, the size difference is overwhelming — Tonowari towers over you by a couple of feet, and his hand is so big that it sheathes the both of yours.

Minutes pass, and there is only silence. There is no conversation shared between the two of you. Tonowari holds your hand proudly, guiding you towards the rocky reefs. The slippery surface of the rocks makes your heart patter in your chest fearfully — you still hadn't quite gotten used to the feeling of slimy seaweed on your feet, and your hesitant steps are proof of that.

"You have not yet adapted," Tonowari chuckles, his grip on you strong as he guides you between two rocks, that stand tall and mighty.

"It's not that easy." You mumble, shivering as cold washes over you as the rocks begin to hide the sun.

He smiles. "You will learn soon, little one."

As your eyes adjust to the loss of sunlight, you can't help the awe that tugs at your heartstrings as you realise where Tonowari has taken you.

In your homeland, there was no such thing as a private, docile place to clean. All of the Omatikaya, including the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk, used a communal lake to bathe. Although the clan leaders were allowed to bathe alone, the others bathed together. There was just simply not enough water in the forest for the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk to have a personal, intimate area to clean and bathe together.

But here — in the reefs — there is nothing but water.

"What is this?" you whisper, your skin crawling with goosebumps as Tonowari presses his lips to your forehead gently.

"What do you think?" Tonowari quips back, watching as your nose crinkles as you breathe in the husky, earthy smell, your eyes scanning over the deep, pear-shaped entrance of the shelter.

There's something so intimate about how Tonowari guides you. His hands are resting on your shoulders, eagerly pushing you towards into the cave, your eyes falling on the downwards curve of the floor, which transcends into a pool of milky, steaming water.

"Is this yours?"

Your mate smiles, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his fingers slipping down towards your loincloth, gently beginning to untie its knot. "It is ours," he states, his face illuminated only by the blue and green bioluminescence moss which laps at the sides of the pool. "I heard from your father that in your homeland, the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk did not have their own private bathing quarters."

"When did you hear that?"

"JakeSully loves to complain when he's intoxicated. Pongu Lumpia makes him even more insufferable than usual," Tonowari grunts, smiling as your loincloth drops to the floor, leaving you bare in front of him. "He feels that as Toruk Makto he is worthy of privacy."

Tonowari's freckles are glowing in the dim light of the cave. “I say that he gave up the title of a mighty warrior when he fled his home.”

You try not to giggle, but it’s really, really hard. Tonowari has always been critical of your father, and his small joke actually allows you to bask in a sense of comfort.

Warmth cocoons you as he ushers you into the pool of milky water, watching as you submerge yourself. The silky hot water is perfect, and your face flushes with a light sheen of sweat and embarrassment as your mate begins to undress himself.

He stands so proud as he shows himself to you. You feel warm and gooey as he traipses into the water, and you try to focus on anything but him. There’s a slight lingering feeling of dread which pulses through you, ruining the slightly intimate moment, because you know deep down that Tonowari had shown Ronal this exact cave before.

The cool, fluorescent algae illuminates the cave, and there's a low, bioluminescence glow shining from beneath the milky substance in the water. It's beautiful in the cave, and pieces of moss glow like stars above you.

Your heart tugs in your chest as Tonowari's hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer towards him in the water. "What is on your mind, little one?" He asks, pressing a soft kiss to your wet temple, his lashes long and damp, soaked from the water. "You have been quiet ever since we left JakeSully’s marui."

The blissful solitude shrouds you, and you let your head hang on his chest, which has a shines turquoise from the water. "Nothing. I'm fine, Tonowari," you mumble, shooting him a gentle smile as he embraces you, his braids sticking to the wet skin of his back.

"You do not seem fine," he grumbles, careful as he picks up some circular moss which resided on the rocks. He squeezes the soft green plush, gentle as he begins to excrement soap from it, rolling it between his fingers. As soapy duds begin to form, he hums, rolling the moss against your skin, using gentle circular motions when he washes you. "Do you wish to tell me what is bothering you, little one?"

Tonowari's interaction with your father keeps replaying inside your head. Everytime it repeats, your heart pulls, cracks in half, and you can't tell if you're being dramatic or emotional or what. Tonowari hadn't reacted, he hadn't celebrated, he hadn't even smiled when he got your father's approval.

Because he'd been through it all before. With Ronal.

As he's washing you, soft in his motions as he rolls the soapy moss against your skin, all you can think about is how he's done this before with someone else. It plagues you. It's like a sickness.

"Yawne, I cannot help if you do not say anything," he says softly, beginning to cup the milky water in his hands, his ears twitching as the water trickles your skin.

“How are you over her?”

“Over who?”

“Ronal.”

Tonowari pauses for a brief second, before continuing to wash the duds off of your skin. Your voices echo around you, bouncing off of the cave walls, and your face flushes when his hands gently begin to massage your shoulders.

“She died a long time ago, little one. I cannot live in solitude and mourn any longer. She is with Ewya now.”

“But you’re supposed to mate for life. You’re — you’re still here. She’s still your mate.”

Tonowari frowns, his motions gentle and circular, his thumbs riding down to your back, focusing on a tight knot between your shoulder blades. “You are my mate.”

The silky hot water mixed with Tonowari’s fluid motions is an incredible soother. You feel like all of your tension is melting away, and despite the self-doubt and insecurity which flitters throughout you, you find yourself relaxing.

“But so is she.” You’re exasperated, confused.

You knew Tonowari had been mated before. You knew all of this before you chose him.

So why now, when you’re in too deep, are you having second thoughts?

“You are my mate.” Tonowari’s voice is soft, fleeting against your ear. “Do you need me to remind you of just how badly I want you, little one?” His breath fans against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine and your stomach flips at his words.

You shake your head, a gentle gasp slipping past your lips as Tonowari turns you, his grip on your shoulders harsh as he does so. His palm squeezes your skin uncomfortably, and your breath hitches in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, so black and blown that the ring of ocean blue is barely visible.

“No, Tonowari. I don’t need a reminder.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak, wavering slightly as Tonowari’s nose nuzzles against your shoulder. “I know I’m your mate.”

“I do not think that you’re aware of how badly I’ve wanted you, little one.” His fingers dance against your skin, and his arms become submerged by the hot, silky water. Tonowari's hands cup your thighs, his body ushering you to the edge of the pool, and you squeak as you feel mossy rocks press against your back. "Ever since you came to the reef, I have not been able to keep my eyes off of you, and the second you gave me that irayo flower... it was the greatest excuse to get close to you."

"Excuse?" you murmur, breathless as his strong arms sit you against the rocks, his nose rubbing against your inner thighs. "What do you mean, excuse?"

Tonowari's teeth graze against your skin and you whine, your heart pitter-patting in your chest as his rough tongue laps at your skin, leaving dark-coloured bruises in its wake. “It hurt, yawne, more than you’d ever know. And like I told you — I was rutting like a newly mated Na’vi, and the only relief I got was when I would see you, and that is when I knew you were sent to me. From Ewya.”

“Oh,” you breathe, your heart tightening in your chest as Tonowari’s lips press against your cunt. His tongue laps at you eagerly, the rough muscle parting your slits, and a gentle whine slips past your mouth as he does so. Hot, electric sparks shoot up your skin, and your legs jolt slightly as his tongue swirls gently around your clit. “Tonowari.”

“You wonder why I chose you,” he purrs against your cunt, the vibration sending shockwaves through your pussy. “I wonder how you could ever choose me.”

The intimacy of Tonowari between your legs makes your stomach clench. Despite being recently mated, he hasn’t had an incredibly high libido — you haven’t snuck off to rut at every possible chance, rather having an even and steady sex life. But this — the way he’s nuzzling against your cunt, licking and lapping and sucking at the heat sloppily shows something different a

A primal side to him you haven’t seen before.

He's grunting, and you look down for a second, confused as to why he’s making noses. Then you notice his hand, which strokes up and down his cock in a steady motion. Tonowari is pleasuring himself whilst pleasuring you, and you moan, so conflicted to how a man can make you feel so horny.

Tonowari's tongue draws patterns on your clit, and his breathing becomes heavy as he strokes his cock, his eyes lulling as he laps at your cunt. He's so eager to please, kissing your heat softly, listening to every mewl and whine, and your stomach begins to twist, growing insatiable with every roll of his tongue.

And then you feel it — the knot inside of you begins to break, twist apart, fray at the hem. It's so peaceful this time, so satisfactory, and your moans bounce off of the cave walls as you cum, your hands behind Tonowari's head, pushing his face into your cunt needily. You hump against him like you're in heat, the feeling of his rough tongue stroking you through your orgasm making you shake.

"I must show you how much you mean to me, yawne," he comments, his voice shaking slightly as he strokes his uncomfortably hard cock with need. "Can I breed you?"

"Breed me?" You ask, exasperation lacing your tone as Tonowari joins you on the rocks, his strong hands pinning you underneath his body.

"That is what I asked, is it not?" He utters, his body sheathing your view of the bioluminescent moss which litters the top of the cave, shrouding your vision with black. The only light you have comes from the light-blue specks on his face, and a breathy moan leaves your mouth as Tonowari's cock glides through your slits, an unexpected jolt of electricity shooting up your spine.

"I'm just confused as to why you asked. We've done this before."

"I want you to carry my child, little one," he grumbles, a low groan sliding past his plush, sapphire lips as his tip rolls against your clit. "This is not just making the bond. I will be doing this with the intention of you growing plump with life."

You literally can't imagine anything hotter than being swollen and filled with Tonowari's children. You can't speak, the feeling of his tip rolling against your clit sending electric sparks fluttering through your nervous system. "Please," you squeak out, your heart burning with desire as his girthy tip presses against your entrance, your tight cunt beginning to sheathe his lavender tip.

"You are going to look so beautiful when I'm finished with you," Tonowari hisses, his stomach tight as his hips begin to roll into you, even and steady. "So beautiful, carrying our children, whilst practicing to become Tshaìk. I chose well."

Everything feels raw and sensitive. Your cunt clenches down around him, your senses somehow heightened in the dampness of the cave. Steam from the hot pool of milky water begins to evaporate, your skin covered with an aqua blue sheen from the condensation. Pressure pools in your lower belly, your ears twitching with every roll of his hips, your cunt tight when the tip of his cock brushes deliciously against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt.

It feels so liberating, knowing that he wants you. Truly wants you. You're not just a replacement — each needy thrust of his hips tell you that. Tonowari's fingers desperately grab at your queue, and you whine at the uncomfortably tug, but hot white flashes spark through your nerves system when his tendrils connect with yours.

Holy shit. This feels so much better than when he first ever bonded with you, and your legs shake as he stretches you thin. It's so painful but so amazing. His cock is nestled deep inside of your cunt, and you're so slick, so wet, droplets forming on your skin from where the reside of the water is beginning to dry. Tonowari's movements are smooth, easy, and your white ring of arousal paints the bottom of his length, coating his balls, and he groans as he fucks into you, his lavender tip throbbing as you clench around him tighter.

"You're made for me," he breathes out, "I cannot believe you ever doubted my love for you."

Through your connection, you can feel his pain. You can feel everything — the pull of his heart as he thinks about how insecure you'd been, and you scold yourself for ever being so silly. Tonowari, your gorgeous, loving mate intertwines his fingers with yours, and you swear you've never felt so good in your life.

You're intertwined with Tonowari in every way possible. Your cunt pulses around him, throbbing with need, and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your shoulder. "Oel ngati kameie," he mumbles, his eyes boring into yours, the black of his pupils so wide and blown you can no longer see any part of his irises. "Yawne, please, talk to me."

"Feels good, Tonowari," you blink, chest heaving as he fucks into you, being careful to focus on your breaths as your body begins to tingle with lust. "Almost ready for you to fill me up."

"Pxasìk," Tonowari curses, his accent thick, drawling in your ear and sending goosebumps exploding on your skin. "I'm ready. You're so — so tight, I can't hold back."

"Earlier all you did was hold back," you tease, moaning as the lewd squelching sounds of your cunt echo around the mossy cave. "Not — not letting me finish because I didn't breathe."

Tonowari is gentle as he slaps your thigh, warningly, a dangerous look painting his face, but it crinkles into something different as you purposefully clench down around him. You're so tight that it's like you're milking him, and you're so wet and warm, it's driving him crazy. "You were being naughty, yawne," he comments, his voice wavering as your eyes begin to flicker shut, your moans hitching in your throat as his hips roll into your sensitive bundle of nerves.

It's the most perfect thing you've ever felt. Neither of you speak as it happens, your orgasm crashing over the both of you in a perfect, delicious wave. You shake, jolt against him, cry out as your vision blackens with white stars, heat exploding through your body, your cunt tightening around him as you feel his seed begin to spurt inside of you. his own cum in you, your walls so tight and wet, the sound of his balls slapping lewdly against your cunt echoing throughout the cave, your moans merging with them to create an orgasmic mixtape.

You're so warm, the steam from the pool mixing with your insatiable heat from being crowded by Tonowari for so long, and he embraces you proudly as you twitch beneath him, your cunt feeling raw and full. He holds you, and his strong presence makes you feel so safe, the feeling of his cum painting your walls making you shiver.

"You are everything to me," he utters, his teeth grazing your neck as his tongue laps at your skin, basking in the slight, salty taste of sea water and sweat. "Please do not doubt that again."

"How can I?" you whisper, grumbling as Tonowari rolls over, positioning you atop of his chest as he lays on the mossy rocks. The blue and green glow from the algae and moss reflect on his face, painting his features, and you smile as you lean down to brush your nose against his, your finger splaying over your belly. "I'm going to have a constant reminder."

taglist: taglist: @moonpie3000 @theycallmesia @lianawolf @love-chx @yataisha @misscaller06 @plzfeedmebread @totesnothere04 @alezarin @thesecretsoftheuniverse @ikranwings @clockmax @lianawolf

[izvmimi]

cw: angel!gojo. hopefully not too sacrilegious. first thing that came to mind after @k-atsukibakugou's post earlier today!! minors dni.

Your hands thread through feathers, soft as the finest silk, shrouding you in a warmth that can only be described as divine. In this very moment, you wonder if the heavens above are watching, taking in every disgusting, depraved sight, every nip, suck, swallow, squelch, and cry drawn out of you by its messenger, night after night. It’s clear that salvation is no longer in the cards for you, but as angel Satoru, eyes as brilliant as sapphires as he devours you in every single way possible, continues to hold you, you consider that being ground permanently to the very earth - or rather the eternal flames under it - is worth it. 

Satoru lets you play with his wings longer, pressing kisses to your forehead, to your cheeks, and as you lay together, places his hand right on your warm heat. 

“You’re damned,” he whispers, a fingertip circling your clit. He says it so matter of fact-ly that you’re not sure if he’s pleased, amused even, or regretful. His divinity makes the rules different for him, and you do not know what will become of him, who partakes of the same acts. Yet you don’t care once he slips a finger into your center, and curls it, making your toes curl as well as you cry out his name.

“Satoru!”

“You should be calling for the Almighty,” he whispers, as he leans in, filling your nostrils with his scent, your senses, as he bites at your earlobe.

“Do they compare to you?” you huff out. Satoru’s gaze runs over you, and a smile curls on his lips. 

“God is watching. Best to not repeat that.” His chuckle is angelic, hushed with the sweet sound of his voice like bells and songbirds.

And yet his tongue swirls around your nipples, cupping your breasts in his hand with every action. He dips even lower, sipping the nectar dripping from between your legs. Mortal and so ephemeral, your time on earth fleeting, and yet you are so delicious to him, so easy to sink his teeth into and tear to pieces.

Your hands twist into his hair, and you wonder why an angel would curse you so with their beauty. He wonders the same, loathes the separation of the heaven and earth, spitting on the barrier in between when he consorts with you, pressing himself deep into your body, seating himself in your much more divine cunt, and holding you close, arms and wings, and floating sash. His halo is shaky; he wishes it would simply fade away. He’d much rather sink into you, he’d much rather his religion were you.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XLI. “guilty as sin?”

parts: previous / next

plot: left reeling from an abrupt interruption, you and Bruce fight a losing battle against rising tides. Crane makes himself clearer than ever before.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, smut, brief mention of past suicide attempt, psychiatric hospital scene, brief seizure

words: 12k

a/n: hiii lovelies !! consider this a holiday gift <3 i thiiiiink it’ll be worth the wait :)

He’d come much too close. And not close enough. Your lips lingered on his like a searing knife. A flame that came too near and singed off the top layer of skin.

His head buzzed as he followed Alfred without thought down the steps. His fingers traced the ghost of you as they skimmed his lower lip. It had only been a second, but you’d sent such a jolt through him that he’d swore he’d been struck by lightning. Why did Gordon have to come now? 

The edges of his vision blurred knowing you were up there waiting; if he’d remembered to shut the door, maybe he could’ve ignored Alfred. Asked to kiss you. Maybe you would’ve reciprocated. Maybe. Then he could’ve tasted you. 

Nah. No way.

His left hand flexed at his waist, holding the tension of a quiver as it grieved the loss of your warm skin. He thudded hard down the last stair, thoughts wandering to how quickly he could get this over with; he hadn’t expected the tension to linger like this, consuming his entire body, even as he shook Gordon and Martinez’s hands and listened to them speak. His hips sitting in the chair didn’t feel right—too hard, too static, he needed to move. 

Something about paperwork regarding something about a court, something about a trial, something about testifying against Risou or signing away the rights. As much as he tried to blink back to the moment and engage with what was in front of him, he remained untethered. 

Focus. Seems straightforward. Jail time and some institutionalizing. That part of him burned again thinking about how animalistically they treated patients. Focus. My word has weight. 

It was a constant refrain as your fingers brushed your bottom lip: why did Alfred have to interrupt? 

You swore you felt a shift in the air—but maybe you wanted to think so. There couldn’t be a world where he had actually wanted to kiss you, right? Where his breath on your neck meant anything... You pulled your legs up to the couch and leaned against the back. Head pounding. Heart racing. 

The room was extraordinarily empty without him. The television’s screensaver ping-ponging within its frame, the gentle whir of the mini fridge to your left. Though the door was open, you couldn’t make anything out; with how unstable your body was, consumed with the shock it just endured, you couldn’t begin to snoop.

At the back of your mind were your worries: would Mar be okay? Would Bruce have to leave? Did someone escape? What happened? Soon after they materialized they were flushed away by the pounding in your mouth and the tingle in your hands and feet. His lips touched mine. Your thoughts were jumbled and incoherent besides. Our mouths touched. 

The caffeine wasn’t helping much, and any possible adrenaline from his abrupt departure had been drained by holding him close. Your heart’s thunderous pace was relentless, even as the seconds turned to minutes and your eyes began to close. 

An hour later Bruce sat with his head in his hands, supported by weak wrists from endless stacks of paperwork. Two untouched mugs of coffee sat where Gordon and Martinez had. Too busy slogging through formalities, they hadn’t bothered. Bruce was glad for it. Could have prolonged their loitering. 

Alfred wandered back with the click of his cane, setting it against his chair while he walked the two cups over to the sink. Bruce knew it was awful, but despite the images from the crime scenes and Martinez’s bright, happy-go-lucky tone while he incessantly spoke, his mind was stuck on the room upstairs and its possibilities. Yet now, when he could finally move back to you, his feet were welded to the floor. 

“Should I anticipate the young lady coming over more often?” The cups clinked together as the man rinsed them, and Bruce tried to play off his surprise.

Should he? “I don’t know.” Something ensnaring had sunk its teeth in and overtaken him; he was drawn to the room like a moth to flame. Had your mouth truly touched his? Not your chin, or some trick of the air?

“It’s good to have a friend.” 

It rang discordantly through him like a bent gong. Friend. When he was procrastinating climbing the stairs to see you because he worried he’d trip and fall onto your lips and lose his hands in your hair. When he was overflowing with unused, pent-up energy that wouldn’t lower to a simmer. 

The alternative of being questioned by Alfred about having a woman upstairs had unglued his feet, not able to bear where he might steer the dialogue next. Within a few seconds he was jogging up the stairs and counting each step.

He repeated a mantra to hype himself up as he stood in the hall. He needed to breathe. That’s all. Breathe. A deep breath, then walk inside… “Sorry for—” 

You were sound asleep on the couch, but he slunk in a few more steps to make sure. Your breaths were long and deep, your eyelids with a slight flutter, both signs that he shouldn’t wake you. Sensing the chill in the room, he padded to Alfred’s study and grabbed the blanket laid atop the chair by the fireplace. He fluffed it in the hall so he wouldn’t disturb, and held his breath as he tossed it over you. In a blip he was gone, sending a text to Alfred through sweaty palms about letting him know if you woke, then descended to the batcave before anything else could be said. 

You startled when you felt something on top of you. An emerald green quilt covered you to your chest, the occasional snags of white thread in its valleys lending a homemade quality. Waking up in unfamiliar rooms started to wear on your sanity, but thankfully Bruce had kept the decorations so slight it didn’t take long to orient. 

Pushing off the blanket Alfred had undoubtedly tossed on, you slapped around for your phone. Getting to your hands and knees revealed it tucked at the bottom of the couch, squarely between the cushion and the arm. 

HOURS. You’d been asleep hours. 

3:02 a.m. was the time blaring from your home screen. You had a single text from Mar updating you with a group picture from Mora’s, but she hadn’t responded to any of the messages you'd sent prior. She hadn’t invited you, though you probably wouldn’t have gone. You didn’t think you were allowed to feel bad in such a case, but it stung.

Impossible to decide if it was a blessing or curse that Bruce was nocturnal, you padded out to the hallway with the quilt wrapped around you like a cape. What had compelled him to make a cape on his suit? Were capes intimidating? Heroic? Distracting?

The stairs were cooler than you remembered, but you stalled after the first set. Standing in the hallway where you’d embraced, like this. The air, the night. Your melancholy was admittedly lower, but you knew a hug from him would fill you the same. You forced yourself down to the foyer, and jumped when you met Bruce sitting in your seat at the table. He startled too.

“I let you sleep, I thought you needed it.” He sounded apologetic, nervous. You shook your head and pursed your lips. 

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He got up and opened the fridge. You entered the room in full, careful to scoop the edges of the blanket dragging on the ground. “Want anything?”

The eye contact was fleeting; the second your gazes met, you both cut away like a dodged bullet. You snuck to your chair across the table, furthest from where he stood, and nodded. “What do you have?” 

“Bread, cheese, broccoli." He sifted through unknown items and withdrew some ciabatta and a cheddar loaf. 

“Grilled cheese is good.” What you wanted to say was that you didn’t deserve for him to be cooking, that you’d overstayed your welcome, and it was embarrassing you were here. Arguing with your host, however, seemed even more remiss—and you didn’t want him to turn around yet. His presence was stifling. 

While he prepared a pan on the stove, you rolled the quilt into a compact cylinder and placed it on Alfred’s seat. 

“Was that warm enough?”

“Yeah, perfect.” Had Bruce given it to you? “Thanks.” 

He didn’t respond, busy slicing cheese and toasting the bread. Had he noticed what had happened upstairs? You couldn’t have imagined it. You really, really couldn’t have…

“Want a drink?”

Each syllable was a firework popping. 

“Think there’s juice.”

You got up while he placed the bread in the pan. A container of orange juice glistened on the top shelf, and you followed Bruce’s opening of the cupboard to his left and grabbed two glasses. 

The drink was sweet, with a tang that was an ideal distraction from the elephant in the room. If he wouldn’t mention it, you weren’t opening that can of worms either. 

Seeing as he’d only made one sandwich, which he put on a single plate and walked over to you, you sought to test the waters after taking a bite. Maybe it would ease the pressure. “You call that a sandwich?”

Bruce straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Admittedly, it was delicious. “It’s fine, but…” you eyed the pan on the stove. Feigning a groan, you rolled up your sleeves and grabbed the spatula. He moved to stand but you waved him down. “I’ll show you how it’s done.”

As you began making the sandwich the exact same way he had, placing the toast down, the cheese on top, flipping it at the same time, he grew increasingly suspicious. “That’s how I made it.”

“It’s different.” You flipped the sandwich once more, then placed it on a small plate from the cup cabinet. You sat it at his table setting and gestured to him. “Try it.”

Bruce looked up at you with discernment. You bit your cheek to stave off a laugh. Slowly, almost methodically and with a great hesitance, he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It didn’t take a second for him to catch on, speaking with food in his mouth. “Tastes the same.”

“Probably won’t taste it on the first bite, detective.” You put the spatula away, wondering if you shouldn’t do the dishes to make the load easier on Alfred in the morning. Or their housekeeper. Or whoever did the cleaning in the kitchen. The gentle crunch of another bite was music to your ears, and turning back toward him revealed the most concentrated expression you’d ever seen him make. It was a brutal ordeal not to fall to the floor and laugh until you saw stars.

He opened his mouth with what you were certain would be another comment about how it was not different, so you interrupted. “Just take a few bites. Really think of the flavors.” Slowly, you wandered back to your seat opposite him. He was almost entirely finished with the sandwich, and had just swallowed an especially large bite. Perfect.

He was almost glaring. “Are you messing with me?” His brows were knit together, his jaw tight, his eyes roaming the tabletop as he struggled to uncover the difference. 

Once his gaze landed squarely on you, you folded. He lowered what remained of the sandwich as you barely held a laugh. “Why would I ever mess with you to get you to eat?”

Bruce’s eyes flashed, but yours were already shut with silent, full-bellied laughter. Something about how late at night it was. How dark the kitchen was. How seriously he took things. How awkward things felt after your embrace. When you managed to open your eyes a good twenty seconds later, you noticed the flicker of a smile on his lips. 

He’d totally fallen for it. While he wanted to join in on your contagious laughter, he felt supremely unnerved. He bought himself time by moving the plate to the sink, hoping your laughter wouldn’t be so easily contained as he waded through confusing thoughts. 

Only twice in recent memory had he forgone his own perception for the words of another, and both belonged to you. He recalled the creature vividly; in fact, at least once a week it would infiltrate his dreams. But you had a different story—so he bowed to you. He wanted to feel stupid for overthinking a grilled cheese at three in the morning, but it hung over him like nothing else. Not a raincloud, per se… that was too sinister, too foggy.

He peeked over his shoulder to watch you pour another glass of juice. A blanket, maybe? A weighted blanket? It was a heavy feeling, but one he wasn’t so nervous to give in to. Like something supposed to soothe. Why did he believe you so easily, and why did he want to believe you? It couldn’t be familiarity; if Alfred had tried the same antics, he would’ve outright refused. Possibly taken one bite, then made it clear the two sandwiches were precisely the same… God, it was ridiculous. 

A chuckle escaped him. It must’ve been at the precise time you’d taken a particularly big sip, because he heard the strangest, bubbliest garbling sound and turned to see you with chipmunk cheeks struggling not to blow your drink. Another laugh ripped out of him, and you slapped the table and shook your head, eyes crinkled with humor pleading for him to shut up. Bruce bit his lip and turned away, breathing tightly through his nose. 

He liked hearing you laugh. He liked seeing you playful and lively. He liked having you in his kitchen, even if he might have to mop after you went to bed if you couldn’t get it under control. He looked to check if you’d managed, and you had. Your bright eyes staring back at him from across the room. You were alone again, and he swallowed thickly. He could move the pitcher to the counter, the same with your glass. Shove the placemats to the floor…

“Not gonna finish it?”

He glanced at the quarter of sandwich left, his eyes blurring the edges of the toast as his pupils struggled to focus. He popped it into his mouth and centered on the taste of the cheese and roughness of the bread against his tongue. It was barely enough to keep himself tethered as he plunked into his seat. 

You grinned and asked about what went down with Gordon, and he responded with the most detail he could muster: it wasn’t much. All his effort channeled into what you were saying, because the other side of the seesaw was hyperfixated on your mouth. No, your eyes. Your lashes. Your fingers. The intangible location of your voice ringing in his head Whew.

And so you talked for the next hour. Trying to pretend like you hadn't clung to each other like koalas mere hours ago, hoping he was forgiving about you tricking him into eating, playing a cat and mouse game with eye contact that drew progressively more tense though the conversation remained logistical. 

The topics weren’t enthralling by any means; updates about the people you’d help house (all situated, some starting new jobs soon), opinions about the candidates for mayor (you and him agreed that Mr. March was what Gotham needed, but were unsure if he’d break in with such genuine focus on people over profit), and a bit about how the election was covered in other states (as you told him: ‘almost nonexistent’). Regardless of how exciting the discussion was or was not, the simple act of engaging with Bruce was addicting.

You truly didn’t talk about anything invigorating, or even anything about each other or your individual lives—the time just flew. By the time you both started talking about each other, the room was misty, and you couldn’t stop staring at his mouth when he spoke. 

“Speaking of,” Bruce piggybacked on the campaign talk to direct things more personally. Each time he went to City Hall, he risked being found out. Each time you went there, you risked being openly harassed—if you hadn’t been already and had the foresight not to tell him. 

“How do you deal with being treated that way at meetings?” He intensely focused, like you were about to say some ancient, secret code he couldn’t miss a second of. While it felt like being spotlit, it was so unusual for you to hold anyone’s attention that it was frightfully endearing. You didn’t have to ponder long for the answer to spill. 

“I just think about how pointless it is to value their opinions. I don’t respect them.” You took another sip of the juice as you shrugged. His eyeline followed the glass, perceptive as ever. “If they think I’m weird, or gross, or whatever else, it probably means I’m doing something right.” Even as you said the words, you struggled to internalize them. Though you technically believed it, your chronically unmet desire to be valued proved a shaky foundation to dismiss scrutiny. You wrapped your arms around your chest, noticing a subtle flick of Bruce’s eyes down and back again. “And I don’t like them anyway. Why do I care what they think of me?”

He wished he could walk into rooms and not care. Throw away their opinions without thought. As a Wayne, this was another way he was isolated from normalcy. His gaze cast down from yours, following a small crack in the wood midway through the table length. He had to play into the elite’s hand; he didn’t have a choice. He was more them than the other way around. “Easier said.”

“I guess it’s about caring more what I think.”

He looked again at those beautiful eyes. Why should he care if they thought he was an idiot? Did they define his family’s legacy, or did he? After all, did the public decide if Batman was good or evil? When he stopped people from getting mugged? Saved kids from trauma? He followed your fingers as they wrapped around the glass. When he stopped you from being assaulted?

Bruce’s eyes had trailed again to his own fingers and thumbs. You prompted him. “What?”

Lamenting on the public’s opinion had pulled the air from the room. Did he value a public that had stolen his family? A public which, until very recently, had all but smited Batman, and condemned the Wayne legacy to a drugged-up skeleton hiding in his tower? 

“My mom.” He sighed from the bottom of his lungs. You followed his rapid blinking, how his eyes scattered across the table. His voice was more timid than you knew it to be, his body fidgeting. “She, uh.” He bit his lip, and you flung away creeping thoughts. “I spent most of my time with her. She lived as if there was always an audience.” Memories of her toying with the hem of her pajamas during a movie night, checking the mirror she kept in her pocket to see if her lipstick had moved. Even when she was alone, she had to be camera-ready. What had she endured to make her behave that way? How little did he know her? Know them?

And he hated to say that. Lived. 

His brows fused together, his back straightening to meet the chair. You leaned forward, hoping he knew you were a willing, attentive audience to any part of his mind. That these moments were gifts, not burdens. He didn’t look up.

“You’re right.” You struggled to avoid the jump in your stomach at his acknowledgement. “Living for the public’s estimation is borrowing a legacy. Can be taken at any point.” He sat in silence after that, time which allowed a smile to spread to your eyes and your chin to rest in your hands. 

“Keep going.” His eyes stuttered up to yours, and the slightest tinge of pink speckled his cheekbones. 

“About what?”

“Anything.”

He flushed to red, and your thoughts became jumbled again. So sweet. His lack of arrogance was staggeringly apparent, and rapidly becoming the hottest thing about him. It was terrifically difficult not to think about how that humility might translate elsewhere.

An expanse of possibilities had his mind inching toward disaster. Surely ‘anything’ didn’t include making a speech about how nice you looked, or how much he enjoyed seeing you across his table. The neckline of a tee had never bothered him before, but now it chafed. He glommed onto the first question in an effort to distract from the tension building in his chest. The question spiraled out of his journals and into the open air between you. “The meetings. How do I throw people off?”

“Of Batman?” Taking advantage of the single space you could reveal his alter ego felt holy. It made him feel larger, a little more imposing. The tired frame of the man in front of you was the same armored creature slinking through shadows in the night. Too often you forgot that, and now it was scintillating. He nodded. The room heated a few degrees. You wrung your hands together beneath the table, suddenly clammy. Well, to start… his eyes were so Vengeance it was virtually comical. He noticed the flicker.

“Tell me.”

You might tell him anything. He could rifle through your thoughts like you’d handed him a stack of your journals back home. Reminiscing on that moment where you’d faltered an apology to the faceless man, and the click of your eyes on his that spurred instant recognition. If you could slow it down, piece it out any further, you would. But it was simple. Agonizingly simple. 

“You can’t really wear colored contacts, so.” 

His eyes narrowed. You knew he was suspicious. For all he knew, you could’ve been stalking him for months and tracking his every whereabout, and you didn’t have any way to convince him otherwise. “You actually recognized me from my eyes?”

Crossing your fingers he wouldn’t notice your increased consideration, you soaked in the possibility that you’d been enamored from the beginning. His absorbing eyes, just as expressive as they were right now. Oh, if he kept looking at you... “Guess so.” 

He shifted in his seat, something you read into far too deeply. His fingers tapped the table’s edge, occasionally clenching to grip it. Speaking of absorbing.

Your attention focused on his fingers, and he realized you’d been staring at them. He tucked his hand into his lap, fingers straining toward something he couldn’t get. He tracked your eyes to the jug, noting you swallow when your lashes fluttered. The air in his lungs compressed. “Nothing else?”

You had a twinge of doubt; a shred that dissipated when you and him walked arm in arm and you’d felt how stacked his muscles were. Something you never would’ve known hid beneath his oversized wool coat. You mustered enough energy to stop blush from creeping onto your cheeks. Unfortunately, it meant not leaving enough to refrain stumbling over words. “You’re uh, pretty dense. Walking me to the hallway, muscly. Felt them, it.” To make matters worse, you’d said it while making ceaseless eye contact, so you noticed every twitch in his face when you did. Don’t breathe, don’t blush, don’t let oxygen get to your head…

“Lose the muscle, then.” 

You couldn't make out if he was joking. “Yeah. Don’t need ‘em.” You wanted to demand he stop boring his eyes into you. You were parched and desperately needed relief, but your hands shook and rattled against your thighs. You’d cause a scene if he kept it up too long. 

“What would’ve thrown you off?”

You hummed, wondering if any combination of traits or behavior could’ve convinced you that a person of the precise build and brooding demeanor was not a vigilante. Separating him and Batman was impossible. You dug your palm against your chin to freeze the tremble as you mused his question in avoidance of your blooming desire. “I don’t know.” His eyes dropped to your mouth, and you reflexively bit your lip. “Clumsy. Talkative. Casual, maybe. Batman seems so… cold, and calculated. So serious, and uptight.”

“I have to be. My family.”

“They already assume the worst of you, what’s some superficiality?” You stuttered when you noted he continued to linger on your lips. “You need something that gives an alibi to your nights.”

“Like what?” He was looking at you again, and you went weak. 

Your face heated to a fever pitch. If there was one quality Batman didn’t possess, it was sex appeal. At least, not in how he, uh. You hollowed thinking of how brutal and merciless he could be if he handled you with those gloves, and that armor… “I mean, if you want to lean playboy,” your lips pressed into a hard line, not believing you’d introduced it to the airspace. 

His pause was unraveling. “I can’t bring people here.” 

“Go there?”

The tension pooling in your stomach bubbled into a laugh at the absurdity. His brow quirked. “What?”

“Talking about pimping you out, it’s, it’s ridiculous.” 

That laugh again. He reached for his glass. “Eventually word would get out that I’m not sleeping with them.” 

“Why not?” Too busy taking care of me? You pressed your thighs together.

“Can’t have anything take up my nights.” Why did he—feel jealous? At the thought of touching anyone but you? He released his grip on the cup before he broke it. You bit your cheek, brows cinching. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s weird. Already deleted it.”

He heard tight, shallow breaths escape his nose. Whatever it was, it was likely a good idea. You were full of good ideas. Full of, of… less weirdness than he was right now.

“I was thinking about if you did, but it was fast, but then—”

His eyes flashed. “Fast?”

“I don’t know!” Bruce’s face was bright red, his jaw slack. Get a shovel and bury me. “I told you. It wouldn’t make sense, it would be too short.”

“Too short?”

The room spun. With how goddamn perceptive he was it was a matter of seconds before he noticed the heat in your cheeks, the shake in your hand, and the barely-concealed panting. He laid his palm flat to the table. You felt it painted across your lower back. You squeaked. “I’m feeling tired, um,”

“You can sleep here, same room.” Why did he say that? “As last time.” 

“Okay.” You downed the last of your glass to cool your throat, and grabbed the jug to put back in the fridge. 

You sounded out of breath, he felt breathless, and you were leaving so hurriedly. “Y/N,”

You stood up so fast you slammed your legs into the table and knocked over the juice. It splattered across your shirt and pants, dousing the fabric, and you scrambled to place it upright. “I’m sorry,”

“It’s alright.” His elbow brushed yours as he soaked up the wreckage with a dishrag, and you banged the chair back in an attempt to distance. 

“I need to, um,” the frenetic energy had you about to pass out. 

“You can use the shower upstairs.”

“Thanks.” 

The instant you were out of his eyeline you sprinted up to the bathroom and pushed your back against the door, floundering for air. The nanosecond he heard you in the stairwell he bent over the table and took deep, labored breaths that did nothing to neutralize his headiness. He didn’t know what he meant by saying your name, but his next thought was how you might look splayed out on the table.

Fuck. You tossed your clothes on the counter and got the water running, jumping in despite its freezing temp. It met your blazing skin and melted in small streams down your legs, but it didn’t comfort. You turned the knob hotter. 

Steam tinted the shower glass, adorning the aged shampoo bottles with pearls of dew. Cold didn’t work. Heat didn’t work. So scorching it practically scalded your shoulderblades. It did quicken your heartbeat, but it was already racing. 

That meal was dangerous. Being alone together so late, staying over so often… a plume of hot breath fell out of you. It was a miracle you were showering and not straddling his lap. Was it?

Would it… be so bad? 

It was as though your body had already given in; the room’s lighting was hazy, your breathing increasingly deliberate. You thought back to what Mar had joked about many a night at Mora’s: “There’s no such thing as bad thoughts.” She’d said it while thinking about getting a third or fourth drink, but it settled into the thick of your chest differently now. 

You swallowed hard as you pressed your back to the glass. The coolness brought a gasp to your lips, and your mind shot to Bruce’s sigh against your ear. Your heart was a broken metronome; speeding up as your fingers flexed down your torso, catching when you hesitated.

No bad thoughts, huh?

Your trembling fingers slid across your stomach, then paused. Not in his shower. Not in his bathroom. Not in his home. Not when he’d been so… vulnerable with you. Your throat went dry, your pulse echoing between your thighs in rebellion. How he’d gripped your shirt. His pause. You could’ve sworn… What if he kissed me? Feeling his heartbeat knock against yours and the heat of his breath on your neck threatened the stability of your legs. 

Maybe he’d hate you for fantasizing about him; maybe it was creepy, and horrible, and nasty. Maybe it was inappropriate and weird; maybe you’d loathe yourself in the morning, but the morning wasn’t here, and neither was he. As much as you fucking hated it, you could keep a secret. 

You ached, so sensitive to touch you had to start gently, practicing godly restraint. It took a Herculean effort but you shoved your guilt to the side, telling yourself it could come back when you stepped out of the shower. Right now, as your fingers swirled circles over your clit, you needed to imagine his hands on you or you might die. The all-consuming desire slammed a fever to your cheeks and let your reason slip away with little fight. 

The outside of your thigh flushed beneath the grip of your free hand. You never touched yourself in the shower, the water destroying any lubrication, but it didn’t make any difference when you were this drenched. You kept repositioning, making the circle tighter and tighter with increasingly firm pressure for your fingers to stay in place. 

However he wanted, you were ready—against the wall, on the counter, his bed, his car, Jesus, even the bare ground. You bit your lip to the point of pain as your wrist began to ache, speeding up as you imagined his cock slipping in and out of you. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, muffled moans slipping past his lips. He could hardly breathe, his air so ragged, body impossibly tense. You’d feel so good, so fucking good, he couldn’t take it. He was so close already. His hips drove off the bed as he chased the image of you. Jesus fucking Christ, he couldn’t think, stroking himself faster and faster, imagining your, oh, your, your mouth, fuck,

Your tongue jammed against your teeth and your jaw trembled as your body tensed toward an orgasm. Lewd, sinful noises of your wet cunt absolutely begging for him to pound into it, slamming deep into you over and over—you could take it, fuck, you could take anything. If he heard you, if he came in right now, if he said he wanted you, you’d fuck him. All fucking night, until you memorized the taste of his fucking sweat and the exact angle that made his eyes roll, oh my GOD—

This was sacrilegious; you were here, and there was no way you felt the, he prayed you wouldn’t hear him—mmm. How would he explain this? Panting and trembling in his bed, envisioning the shapes you could make, how you might sound, how you’d look at him as he… goddamn.

You forced your fingers to slow down, your orgasm building too quickly. Unwillingly pulling your hand away brought a fantasy: he was so fucking frustrating, he would absolutely, positively, god, he would make it hell, wouldn’t he? 

He’d never whined while he stroked himself, never sweat through his sheets, never felt his heartbeat in his temples, but he didn’t want this feeling to end. It was hell moving his hand away, his chest caving into itself as he caught his breath, but he wouldn’t finish until he got enough of you. Enough of your lips on his neck, of your gasps in his ear, of making you feel so, so good… His praise fell out in wanton moans. “Yes baby, perfect, ah, ah,” 

Making you beg, right when you were the most strung out… His voice in your ear telling you no, not yet… lacing his fingers between yours and guiding your hand away. His lips warming your cheek as he kept teasing. Your face going red as you writhed beneath him, begging him to move your hand back, the water pounding the shower floor cloaking your pleads. “Let me just, fuck!” The dull ache in your hand was yours, but that was the beginning and end, all but levitating under his imagined touch.

“Yeah, right there?” His lashes fluttered, his tensing abs creaking the bed as he nearly lost it.

You were even more responsive after only a few second’s break. “OH,”

“Baby,”

You groaned, sighing out gasping pleads for him to fuck you, understanding this feeling had been growing for weeks, realizing how horrendously fuckable he was. Even when he made rude comments, when he was pissy, annoyed, “please,” you begged the air to bring him to you, “please, Bruce, please please,” you were so gone you couldn’t breathe. It was happening so quickly, the tsunami of how it felt to fantasize about him… 

He shut his eyes and imagined you saying his name, begging him to cum. Bruce, let go for me… His brows knit together and his jaw slacked, stroking himself faster when goosebumps tingled up his spine. Faster, his cock twitching, you’re doing so well, baby, so needy… you made him so desperate, so pathetic, nothing but a fucking toy for you… he stroked his cock like it was you gripping him, moaning and grinding on him like it was all yours. It was. He was all yours. All… fucking… 

The tension snapped when you visualized his shower-sodden form standing in the doorway, so real you could almost reach and pull his pants down his hips. Your vision whited out and your heart stalled, an involuntary groan pulling itself out of you as your abdomen tensed forward, folding in on yourself. The guilt sideswept you at your most vulnerable, transforming the pleasure into a sharp knife and the heat in your face to burning coal. 

He’d never wanted someone more, and nowhere was this more evident than the pure flight that was his climax. Maybe calling after you in the kitchen had been a vow, a premonition. Your name fell from his lips like poetry; like water flowing through a river. 

After a speedy wash through riptides of shame and yearning that threatened to drown, you stared at your clump of dirty clothes that had fallen behind the toilet. As much as you trusted Alfred and the maid to keep things pristine, and how you were fairly certain you’d been the only person to use this bathroom in decades, you couldn’t bring yourself to put them back on. You couldn’t bring yourself to move. Couldn’t bring yourself to remember you actually existed.

Standing in your towel, hoping clothes would magically appear, you shivered in front of the massive bathroom door. The steam from the shower was heavy against the mirror, manipulating shapes that looked a lot like sin. The towel was long and thick, arguably the biggest tell that he was a billionaire. You’d never seen a towel so long or so wide, it nearly hung to your ankles. You tightened it and took deep, regulating breaths. The notion of seeing him after he’d consumed your fantasies made you want to die. Your hair was still dripping, your knuckles shaking as they gripped the cotton at full strength. 

You narrowed your glare to the golden doorknob. I can do this. I’ll just walk up and ask for a shirt. It’ll be fine. Just fine. Painfully, you reached for the door, hoping for the metal’s coolness to soothe you, but you’d been in the shower too long. It was warm and slick, matching the temperature of your own skin. Your heartbeat quickened, and you swallowed hard, still acutely aware of the echoes between your legs and praying it wasn’t stamped to your forehead. 

You slammed the door wide and found yourself standing alone in the open hallway. It was dark, thankfully. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell you were only in a towel. Maybe he’d already have clothes right by the door and you’d only have to face him for a few seconds. Maybe you wouldn’t even have to look at him. Pretend you got some shampoo in your eye. 

The steps to his doorway were much too difficult. Your legs were lined with lead. You did another pep-talk as you situated in front of his door, making sure to knock with your opposite hand to try and feel less naughty. You released a shivering breath.

Shit. Bruce’s heart stopped when he heard your knock, and he tripped over himself as he stumbled out of bed toward his bathroom. Faster than he’d ever done anything in his life, he desperately bent himself over the sink to wash off his abdomen. The water was too cold, it was making things too sticky, it needed to warm up, warm UP!

Another knock. You would leave if he didn’t show up soon. Maybe you were having a reaction, oh, shit! He grabbed a towel and scraped at his skin and tossed it behind him, throwing on a folded tee atop his dresser as he fumbled his way to the door. He’d bought new Benadryl, but where was it? Had he brought it up with him to the movie room? Was it in the medicine cabinet downstairs? Was it in here somewhere—

“Hi, um.” His eyes landed on your bare shoulders before stuttering up to yours. Your lashes were clumped together from the shower, face flushed from the heat. Probably why he couldn’t get hot water. “Do you have a spare shirt?”

“Yeah.” He could barely hear himself talk over the ringing in his ears. Of course you’d show up like this, not even a few minutes after… he bit his tongue as he turned and ransacked his dresser drawers. His cheeks turned red as it dawned on him that you might have heard… fuck. 

He cleared his throat as he moved to the middle drawers. “Uh, how was your shower?” He hoped you’d say something to the tune of: Oh, long and uneventful. The shower is so loud in there, could hardly hear myself think. Definitely couldn’t hear you jacking off to me. His fingers shook as he pulled on the handles. There seemed to only be pants in the middle drawers, and your faint response reminded him you were stranded in the hallway. “You can come in.” His increasing anxiety nearly made him implode when he heard you step inside. The last drawer came up empty. 

“It um, it was, yeah, fine.” 

He didn’t know whether to look at you or not. He moved silently to his closet, hoping Dory might’ve hung some of his undershirts. Could you see how red his face was? Oh god, did the room smell weird? Could you tell something was off? Were you about to confront him about it? 

He was acting strange. Not so strange as to be concerned, but a bit off. Like you’d interrupted something. How did he spend his evenings when he wasn’t out as Batman? Was he prepping for Batman, but you’d gotten in the way? Did he hate that you were here and felt like he could finally stop the facade, but now he had to plaster on a kindly demeanor? Was this a kindly demeanor? He appeared… frazzled, though that could be a total projection given you’d just climaxed to… you gulped. Not now.

Relief flooded you as you realized his hair was wet, and his shirt clung to his torso. If he’d showered at the same time, he probably couldn’t hear! Your tone was too sunshiney for the apology, but you didn’t have the capacity to manage it. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your shower, I’m sorry, I can wait.”

He hesitated before continuing his thumbing through hangers. “I didn’t shower.” 

The room was silent a few beats. He kept searching through his closet, which was decidedly massive, while you stood clinging to your towel for dear life. You would rather Alfred saw you dripping in the hallway than stand shivering within a few feet of Bruce’s bed. 

His bed looked comfortable. All too inviting. Your attention was split between watching his body move, and trying to take a photograph of the room’s layout with your mind. The guilt that gnawed at you was quieted in his presence, overwhelmed by being with him again. Truly all-consuming; so tall, strong, capable, understanding, smart… he was everything.

In his effort not to make you uncomfortable, he hadn’t looked at you since you knocked. He tried to focus on finding a tee shirt, any non-collared shirt, but kept coming up short. Was this the last shirt he’d just put on? Jesus… 

His attention snagged on the corner of his bed, horror flooding him as he realized he may have left cum on his sheets, or his blanket, and oh god, you might see it— “Uh, you can grab whatever you want in here.” He stepped to the side, waiting for you to step up and start looking before he rushed to the bed and scoured his sheets. 

As you neared, his chest thundered. His body still caked in sweat, he probably smelled like shit, you could probably tell exactly what he’d been doing, you always read him like a book, fuck… he needed to check his bedsheets, make sure there was nothing on them, okay, you were starting to peruse the hangers,

He stepped to turn, eyes locked to his bed just a few feet away, cursing himself for creating a sweat pattern in the sheets, when he heard you gasp. Whipping his head around showed his foot had caught the edge of the towel and yanked it off of you. He squeezed his eyes shut and stepped back, apologies propelling from his chest. “I’m sorry, shit, sorry, sorry,” 

Some rustling and whooshing sounds, then you spoke. Bruce stood in the middle of his room in total darkness, mortified, refusing to open his eyes until you left. He’d accidentally caught a view of your lower back before he’d realized his fuck up, and failed to rid his mind of the image. Sure that his face was beet red, that his sheets were dark with sweat, that his body was beaded with it, his hands and torso still dirty and incriminated, tearing your only covering off of you, he prayed a bomb would explode under his feet and take him to an early grave. 

“Lock a woman in your tower just to get her naked?” He went utterly still until he heard you laugh. You aren’t mad? He felt his heartbeat in his fingertips and the tightness in his chest loosen. “I’m covered now.” 

Blinking back to the room to see you standing in his dress shirt, one button at your waist holding everything together, your eyes crinkled at the edges holding back a smile. His eyes narrowed as if to ask, and you obliged, like you were beginning to share a secret language. 

“I’ll be sure to spill juice on this in the morning.”

Playing it off. He wasn’t about to get in the way. He looked at the white shirt you’d chosen, and smirked. How was he still standing? “Just Dior.” 

“At least it’s not the Prada.” You winked at him and turned to leave, the spin fluffing the back hem enough to skirt his leg. Certainly you could see how enamored he was if you looked back, and right then he might not have cared—but you didn’t. When you shut the door he fell to the edge of the mattress, planting the heel of his palm to his forehead as he caught his breath. You were a goddamn force.

Impossible to stifle your heaving breaths, you moved from his doorway with utmost urgency. The cool air of the tower traveled underneath the linen to relieve your heated skin as you made your getaway up the stairs. You couldn’t believe you’d said that, or winked, or that he’d very likely seen you naked. Or that you were in his home again. Dressed in his clothes. Fresh from a shower where you begged him to be inside you.

Your body already knew which direction to walk; you already knew the height of the knob and weight of the door, and how many steps it took to fall into the bed. It was starting to be normal talking to Bruce. Normal to be in his tower. You both… knew each other. If he’d pulled that towel shtick a month ago you would’ve argued, stormed away, and avoided him at the next meeting like the plague. But you believed he didn’t mean it, and thought it adorable how he’d stammered an apology through a clenched, closed face. Though initially distracted by the accidental kiss (?!), it was endearing how he’d launched into your arms. How you launched into his. 

He felt familiar; he felt safe.

He scrubbed the shirt in the sink, showered, and managed to change his sheets before staring at the ceiling until the sun rose. Whirls of smoke crowded the room, permeated only by drive-by thoughts that attacked just when he thought he might be falling asleep. Of going to your room. Your room. In his home. Knocking on the door. Your door. Admitting that he wanted to listen to you talk. Or stare at you. Or both. Or more. All night.

The thrill was short-lived. Whenever his muscles tensed like he actually might, the ceiling turned to meteors. His reputation. Family. Batman. His heart bled. He would crush you. 

That was something Alfred failed to understand: his life was fundamentally incompatible with others. Either layer was too much on its own, but when they stacked? When he was a Wayne and when he was Batman? What would happen if the world found out? If they threw him in jail, then you too? If he kept up this public persona, which he figured he’d need to, he would only become a bigger and bigger target. What happened to Alfred could happen to you, or worse. 

Even if nothing tragic ended up happening, your life would be irrevocably shifted. You wouldn’t be able to get coffee. Go to bars with your friends. You’d need security outside your apartment, people following you at all times. Always looking over your shoulder, always doubting the motives of whoever wanted to get to know you. Whatever you chose to do for a career would be squashed. After that first headline, you’d live and die by his association. He loathed being under perpetual shadow, preceded in every. little. thing. by preconceived notions, cursed to contrived interactions for eternity. To put you in the blast radius… fuck. He fisted his sheets and grit his teeth until his jaw popped. It couldn’t even be a question. If he wouldn’t wish this on his worst enemy, how could he do it to you?

That was if you felt the same, and how could he ever know for sure? You never failed to speak your mind or put him in his place, absolutely, but the imbalance was too great. Even for you. He’d never trust anything other than the word ‘no’. 

By the time Alfred knocked on his door in the afternoon, he’d cemented his conclusion into a megalith. It was dangerous, cruel, and selfish of him to pursue you. Like Alfred had said: you were a friend. A secret, temporary friend, and he could enjoy his time with you as such. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he pushed it any further, no matter how much he yearned for it. When he considered cutting you off entirely his body locked up, his mind procuring a million alternatives; the most convincing of them being that you were lonely here, and it would be kinder to lend some companionship until you left for home. 

And wouldn’t that be the ultimate show of care? Seeing an incredible flower, wanting to cut it, but letting it grow? He was convinced you’d thank him for sparing you, anyway.

You awoke to gentle taps at your door and someone clearing their throat. “Breakfast is ready. Or—lunch.”

Bruce. The room wasn’t yours, the sheets too expensive for you to mistake them for your own. His shirt had slid off one shoulder and crumpled under your side. “I’ll be right out.” 

Sliding off the bed reminded you that you didn’t have any underwear. How would you sit—

“Dory left your clothes here. Want me to bring them in?”

You pulled the shirt straight and fastened a few buttons. “Sure.”

“Now?”

You grinned. “Now.”

Like a true gentleman, he opened the door slowly and kept his eyes to the ground, holding a shallow wicker basket in front of him where your clothes lay folded with a candy on top. “Dory washed them.”

“Tell her I said thanks.” You bridged the space between, taking the basket from underneath to nullify any possibility of your bodies touching. He nodded, making brief eye contact before sighing and grabbing the door. Your spine prickled with the ghost of his fingers on your back, his breath on your ear. You bit your lip. 

“Do you want to walk down?”

“Oh I uh, I need to change,”

“I’ll be outside.” He left with a nod and the click of the lock.

In the spirit of speed, you pulled on your pants and tucked in his dress shirt, finishing the buttons so Alfred didn’t get any ideas. You stretched your arms, shook out any residual sleepiness, and pulled your hair back. You grabbed your phone to check the time, and noticed three missed calls: Dr. Crane, Dr. Crane, Dr. Crane. The blood left your face. 

You shouted out to Bruce, starting to pit his shirt. “I’ll be a minute, I’ll meet you down there.” 

“Sounds good.”

You scurried to press your ear to the door, making out the faintest footsteps down the staircase. Shit. Shit, shit. The last call had been a few minutes ago, and you pressed the phone to your ear with a force that threatened to crack the screen in half. With each passing ring you grew more nauseous, kicking yourself for continuously forgetting to call. But Bruce had been fine, right? Bruce had been normal, and polite, and talkative, and open about his feelings. 

“Y/N.” 

“I’m so sorry for forgetting to call, I woke up—”

He launched into a scolding, in a voice somehow made sinister by how measured it was. “I haven’t been asking a lot of you, because I assumed you would take the initiative to tell me what I need to know.”

“Dr. Crane,”

“However, given your history of dodging my calls—”

“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to dodge anything,”

His sigh sounded like a curse, which sewed your mouth shut. “You’re not working, correct? No longer in school?”

You paused to ensure you didn’t interrupt him again. “Well,”

“Are you keeping his status from me?” 

“Not at all,” you looked to the doorway as if Bruce had his ear to it. 

“Perhaps you’ve formed an alliance with Mr. Wayne.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do.”

The room dropped ten degrees. 

“Come to my office today before five. I have some things to show you that should convince you to take the precariousness of life seriously.” He hung up before you could reply, leaving you stranded with a gutting blend of anxious guilt. 

If only Alfred hadn’t scheduled Wednesdays to be meeting days… then the pancakes wouldn’t be burnt, and the juice wouldn’t be insulting, Christ.

Bruce’s wrist ached from manually driving orange halves into the juicer for the past half hour, a task which had made the pan on the stove start to smoke, which contained the pancakes, and he hadn’t even began with any sausage or bacon, or eggs—why had he said things were ready? Because he had five blackened pancakes sitting on the table and a half jar of juice sitting uglily on the counter? 

He heard you descending the stairs. Despite his pep-talk the entire morning, and the one he gave before waking you, a lightness besieged him while in your presence. It decorated the walls of the kitchen when you stepped inside. “Where’s Alfred?”

“Meetings.” He tossed the last rind, embarrassed by the pitiful juice rations. “The juice from last night was for today, so I, it won’t be as good.” As he walked to place the glass by your seat, his ears turned pink and the silence in the room ricocheted. Every step pounded in his head, hyperaware of your placement in the room, his limbs tingling at the squick of your chair across the floor. He peeked over his shoulder to see you taste it. He grabbed some utensils and tucked into his seat, feeling a peculiar need to micromanage his table decorum. 

You grabbed some pancakes and he handed you a fork. “They’re burnt, I was juicing the oranges, and,”

“It’s fine.” Your smile was meek, but the twinkle in your irises made him forget. You took another small sip. 

“So it’s horrible?”

Your eyes crinkled once more; it was happening more often now, and he soared higher each time. “Telling on yourself there, Bruce.” 

Who knew his name could sound poetic? That he’d clutch each time you said it like a security blanket? If it hadn’t been made abundantly clear in the past twelve hours, he might’ve realized in this moment—as he roamed the slopes and valleys of your face with the spirit of a loving caress—that he adored you.

Your face slipped, and his matched. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t sleep very well.” You took another drink from the glass, your eyelids heavy. “Nightmares.”

“You could’ve woken me.” Did he sound too indignant? Possessive? Needy?

“They weren’t too bad, just tossing and turning a bit.”

Whatever it was, you didn’t want to discuss it further. He chewed on some pancake (that was somehow sour, dry, and too wet—either your tastebuds were nonexistent, or you were capable of more politeness than he knew), and thought through his next move. The creasing by your eyes had withered, your grin the same. “What do you like to do back home?” Remembering how you lit up talking about your town, and your cat. Wearing his earnest on his sleeve. 

Your lashes fluttered, chewing slowed. “Be in nature. Go on bike rides, drives, camping.”

“You said the trees were nice.” He tucked another bite into his cheek, hoping either the conversation or his insistence on eating the entire plate would lift your spirit. 

“Yeah, they are.”

“What else do you like about it?”

“I don’t know.” You rested the fork and moved the plate away. If he followed his ambling convictions, he might assume you were angry with him. If he followed them deeper, he might think you had a reason to be. 

“Sorry if bringing up your hometown isn’t—”

“It’s alright, not feeling very… energetic today.”

You played with the rest of your food while Bruce finished his. Each passing second you appeared more dejected, and by the time he rose to put his dish away, he was about ready to blurt how can I help?! so loudly it would’ve interrupted Alfred stories below. 

You bumped into his back when he turned to meet you, and he blushed. A quick swivel and he’d put your pancakes down the chute, rinsed the plate, and cleared his throat. “I know a place outside city limits, lot of empty roads. Used to test drive out there.” He cleared his throat again as he wrestled a stammer. “I could take you on a drive, might help.”

You could’ve cried. Domestic Bruce was a sight you were rarely privy to, but it kept your heart beating. The clock on the stove read 3:47, and Arkham was a twenty minute Uber from your apartment. When he turned and looked at you once more, god, you turned into a puddle. He was so pretty. He searched your face for a second, then went still on your eyes. The smallest upward tilt of his mouth made tears well. Sitting passenger while he gunned it down abandoned roads, taking a turn too hard and slamming your bodies together. Maybe your lips could skim again, or press, or… 

“Can you take me to my apartment?” You brought your hands to your chest and turned before he could notice a tear slip. Whatever waited for you in the shadowy offices at Arkham was menacing, and you couldn’t tell the one person who would actually listen.

“Sure.” A pause, which you held your breath in for, your stomach tight. “Now?”

“I’ll grab my stuff.” You longed to sprint the stairs all the way to the top and howl jagged, desperate truths from the rafters, but you walked calmly to the room above his, knelt to grab your folded shirt and shoes by the door, and followed him to the garage. You blurred your eyes to focus on the material of his shirt and not the outline of him underneath. A pipe set to burst. 

Hopefully he wouldn’t ask you on the drive about what your plans were. The cabin air was stifling, especially so lying on your back. Once Dr. Crane told you what you needed to know, you could regroup. Journal about it, even. In some shorthand. Codename. Pretend you went on some journalistic assignment and discuss it that way with Mar, if she would listen…

“Here.”

Your neck cricked with the rocket speed in which you scurried out of his car. You made it halfway down the alleyway, planning a low shout of ‘thanks!’ once you were out of his forcefield, but his door was opening. No, Bruce, please… if he initiated a hug, or even a fucking high five you would pour everything out.

“You left your bag.” 

Oh. You both walked toward each other, and his strides were so long it took a single move from you to be mere inches from him. The pleather wrinkled in your fist. You muttered your thanks, and took off without a second glance. 

Turned out there weren’t many rideshare drivers who would accept trips to Arkham. After being tossed around by a dozen drivers, the only acceptance was a gruff looking older man in a Chevy pickup. He made a joke about ‘the loony bin’ when you got in, and you grit your teeth for the duration of the drive. 

At 4:47 you pulled up to the steely gates. You’d planned a speech to hype yourself up, but faced with the memory of Bruce black and blue in vicious restraints, you instead pretended you were visiting a jail. A jail, or a school that was funded in a strange way. Anything to not sob at his supposedly very precarious existence.

The guard at the front desk didn’t look at you while you checked in. You stood with twiddling thumbs in the empty waiting area; an area with no seats or benches, the sole accompaniment being a fish tank and a cacophony of creaking metal. 

You checked your phone: five minutes passed. If he didn’t hurry, he’d blame you for showing up late. Even though you’d run up to your apartment to change, ordered Uber after Uber while on the toilet, forgone a snack…

“‘Ave a good one, chief.” A man with a forceful tone and heavy accent cut through the hallway and nodded at security. He was recognizable, you’d seen him before, but you couldn’t place it…Thick brows, black eyes. He paused and tucked a folded paper into his black leather jacket. His eyes flit to yours, and his cheeks coiled into a grin. A gold-capped tooth twinkled under the LEDs. “Ay sweetheart, how you doin?” 

The man from City Hall. Except Bruce wasn’t here to grab you by the elbow and escort you away. You nodded. “Doing okay.” Your voice lost its gusto. 

“Aren’t we all, eh?” He chuckled and it pierced your gut like a dull knife.  

“Ms. Y/L/N?” Your gaze moved a few feet to the right to the lady you’d checked in with. Goosebumps prickled your arms when you walked past the man. 

“Don’t worry. The people here, they run a tight ship.” He winked, then went on his way. The woman escorted you to Dr. Crane’s office, the first room on the right. You heard him before you saw him. “Ms. Y/L/N, finally. Follow me.”

He sped past you, his clipboard dipping in a ‘come here’ gesture behind him. You had to jog to keep up, though he wasn’t tall. The hallways were tinged green with stale lighting, the concrete floors crunching the arch of your shoes. He stopped halfway down the second turn and pointed to a small window situated at two-thirds the height of the door. 

The bolts smelled rusty when you walked closer, Dr. Crane’s narration starting immediately. The room was empty, except—no, it wasn’t. Someone sat facing the opposite wall in the far corner with their legs pulled to their chest. 

“This is Ms. Reál’s room.”

She turned as if she heard her name spoken, and you made out dozens of scratches across her face and neck. Some were old, some freshly scabbed over, some oozing and raw. The freshest ones trickled streams of bright red down the orange jumpsuit. Your voice shook. “She’s bleeding, can you—”

Bella locked eyes with yours through the window, and she shrieked. She clawed her way up and threw herself at the door, pounding and screaming against it. You gasped back, the force of her torment shaking the door. Your body spun to him, shock crossing your face. “Can someone go help?” 

“Keep looking.”

“It’s too—”

“Too what, Ms.?” He tucked his clipboard into his chest, his expression so neutral you couldn’t make sense of it. Bella’s screaming was dampened by the reinforced walls, but remained booming and apparent. 

“Personal.” You’d never met Bella Reál, and surely you weren’t cleared to see these things. As a prominent government figure, she had to have a similar process to Bruce. Paperwork, NDA, consent… 

“Look, Y/N.” His jaw clenched, the clipboard digging into his armpit. You couldn’t feel your body as you inched closer, keeping your eyes low and shutting them when the psychiatrist could no longer see. All you heard were her screams. Screams that began to roar and pierce through your chest. He clicked his pen impatiently, and you wondered if he could tell your eyes weren’t open. You snapped to attention when she sounded like she’d been struck. 

She was flat on her back, body convulsing. Her head and eyes moved wildly, and you reached to grab Dr. Crane’s coat. Your fingers were numb, and you scoured the room for things she could hit her head on. Her bed was about a foot away, the metal edges sending you into a tailspin. “She’s seizing, get a nurse to, her bed,”

“She’ll be alright.”

Your head whipped back, the slack expression transforming to a glare. “What are you talking about?” You turned to look again, and her convulsing had brought her about a half foot closer to the bed frame. You yanked the doorknob but it wouldn’t budge. Your mind went white. 

Dr. Crane was nonchalant, pulling out his clipboard to note something as you slammed your palm against the door in a futile effort to loosen it. You stopped when logic caught up to you, realizing that might scare Bella more. 

“Psychosis can involve many nights without sleep. High stress, low food intake, unwilling to take medication because they believe they’re unchallenged. It can all lead to Ms. Reál.” The clip snapped against the board, and it echoed along the hall. 

Bella’s seizing had begun to calm, just inches from the metal corner. You caught panting breaths as you gathered your wits. Using her name like she was a symptom. Like something on display. “She needs someone to help her.”

“I wanted you to see the best outcome.”

“Of what?” Anger was seeping into your voice. Dr. Crane’s brow raised, and his knuckles tightened against the board. 

“Ms. Reál didn’t have someone like you. By the time we got her inpatient, it was too late. Her seizures had already stolen her sanity.”

“How did she get those cuts? Why isn’t anyone monitoring her?”

“We have cameras in all patient rooms, Y/N.”

Your name in his mouth felt like a razor. “So, what? You think Bruce—Wayne will end up the same way? Caged and catatonic?”

“Catatonia is the opposite of what you just witnessed, ma’am. It would be in your and Mr. Wayne’s best interest to follow the advice of professionals rather than the whims of an impressionable amygdala.”

His smugness made Bruce sound like he was singing in a church choir. Fucking stuck-up… “Is this why you brought me here? He’s doing fine.”

He squinted. “Defensive.”

“He’s taking his meds, he hasn’t seen any owls, he hasn’t had an attack, he’s been completely normal. Which is why I haven’t been talking, there’s nothing to report on.”

“Nothing, hmm?”

You shrugged, completely out of sorts. Why were you talking about Bruce now anyway? “She needs someone to help her.” You turned to look through the window, but it slid closed. “What the fuck?”

“You’ve seen what I meant you to.”

“And what aren’t I meant to see?”

His lips pursed. “If Mr. Wayne is functioning as you say, then I have nothing more to discuss.”

“So he’s fine? Since he’s been taking his meds, he’s had no side effects,”

“You seem to have it all figured out.” He walked back toward his office, this time without motion to follow. “Call me if he’s catatonic or otherwise.”

After another pass at the window to get it to open, you ran after Crane. “When is he in the clear?”

It was like you weren’t there, and it was insulating. When he pushed open the door to his office, you jammed your foot inside to keep it from closing. “I want to help him. If there’s anything more I need to know, tell me.”

It was tough feeling thankful he’d responded with his voice dripped in disdain. “Dr. Vry recommended you on the basis that you were uniquely immune to the charms of the Wayne estate. I’m not sure she was correct.”

“I—”

“Your face flushes when you speak of him.” He stared you down like he physically had you in a chokehold. Your throat constricted. “You’ve become increasingly defensive the more time you’ve spent in his presence.” He stood from his chair. “And you now seem very assured in your estimation of his symptoms.” The clipboard slapped onto the wood and he strolled to his door, gripping the handle but not opening. “Almost like he’s spoken intimately with you to assuage any anxieties.” The light blue of his eyes was arctic, and you were so flabbergasted by his insinuation you couldn’t move. “Why would he do that with someone he isn’t colluding with?”

You breathed out a response. “Colluding—”

His voice rose: “I brought you here to remind you of what is at stake. If you keep anything from me, any behavior even slightly outside of the norm, there is little between him and a coffin.” He opened the door with a gust that blew your jacket askew. 

“When is he safe?”

“If Mr. Wayne makes it to his next prescription pickup with no side effects, and no deviation in mood, interest, or reality, you are relieved of your post.” 

“When is that?”

“Is he attached to you?”

These turns threatened to send you flying. Bruce, shaking, clinging to you. Answering every text, every call; stepping in line with you at meetings, driving you home, orchestrating hangouts. Opening up in ways you couldn’t imagine he’d spoken to anyone before. And how Dr. Crane had forced that level of vulnerability. The guilt grew fifty tons. “You made him have to rely on me, I don’t know what kind of answer you’re expecting.”

“I would advise you to begin untangling yourself from my patient now, to prevent an unfortunate situation.” 

An unfortunate situation? He talked of Bruce’s death like it was gum stuck to his shoe. Oh, Jesus, your head started to spin. 

“Look what he did the first time you left.”

The wind knocked out of you. He stared back with his dead eyes, his creaseless face glassy smooth. This was the most forthright he’d ever been in saying it was your fault. Stars popped into vision. “He has medication now,”

“Which is why you are even capable of leaving, and need to start the severing at your earliest convenience. Good day, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Luckily the hallways were clearly marked in bold, bright letters, or you wouldn’t have stumbled out. Since it’d been less than fifteen minutes, you requested your same driver. If he didn’t accept, you’d call Mar until she answered. Get wasted at a club. But the man accepted, and ten minutes later you found yourself bumping over Gotham’s potholes.

Bruce wasn’t fragile. He could handle someone leaving. He could handle you leaving, and certainly you from before the attempt. He’d said it wasn’t your fault. That your arguing hadn’t caused it. He’d told you to leave multiple occasions since. He could. He could. He could. 

The man dropped you at the parking garage entrance. Pedestrians sidestepped you, a man shoved into your shoulder to ensure he wasn’t inconvenienced. And you took it. 

You checked your phone to see if it was worth a trip to Rai’s. A text message from an unknown number had been sent three minutes ago. 

Meet me at the old deli under the Tricorner Bridge. 2am. Come alone. Tell no one.

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[morganas-pendragons]

wash away the blood | celebrimbor

gif by beaulesbian

this idea was WAY too good for my little brain to pass up. I'm gonna keep writing these regardless of what happens to him (I have 2 hurt/comfort fics for Celebrimbor in my drafts... let me know what else you want to see!) and this was born from my desire to hug Celebrimbor and never let go.

this still follows the elf reader for my past fic Ease and is a female reader + the prompt is ''river'' and ''blood'' (which I came up with myself LOL)

LIGHT SPOILERS FOR 2x07 READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

His entire being aches down to the very core of his soul. His hands are bloodied, and his cheeks are cut up and bruised, but Celebrimbor cannot help but allow himself this one moment of comfort as Galadriel stands in front of him and cradles his face like he is the most precious thing in this world.

The hearts of his kin were always far bigger than he could comprehend.

"I built this city. My place is here."

Galadriel shook her head. "No," She replied. "Your place is with her, far away from Sauron's influence. I will take The Nine for you. You dare not face him alone."

Like a being straight out of his dreams, Celebrimbor watches you emerge from the darkness of Eregion's ruins with all the desperation of a woman just trying to save the man she loves. The two of you had been separated in the explosion. Your own form mirrors that of the injuries he has obtained since coming out of the Forge.

That is the promise you made to him, after all. A promise of rescue.

It was the one thing he could count on amid the illusion.

"Celebrimbor, my love," You slip your staff over your shoulders and approach him with haste, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as he leans his weight into the warmth of your embrace. You have been an embodiment of safety and security since Annatar showed up. You had proven to him that despite his misgivings, his pride, and his arrogance, he was worth more than simply the skills he had to offer Middle Earth. "She's right. We have to go. We have time to flee the city if we go now."

"Go to Lindon. You will be safe there," Galadriel assures. "Tell them it was I who sent you. I will buy you time."

Your face crumples when you feel his hand come to cradle your jaw and find it slick with blood. His thumb is missing. You feel the weight of him sinking into you further and shifting to accommodate as you turn yourself and Celebrimbor toward Galadriel. She has no argument. The Commander of the Northern Armies simply nods her confirmation and disappears into the shadow and flame.

Celebrimbor's quiet, agonized confession echoes soundlessly in your ears as you lead the way toward the Dwarven tunnel.

"All that loss, all that death... And it all remains on my hands."

You don't have anything to say to him. Bracing your hand against his hip, you lead the Smith you love to the horse at the end of the tunnel and help him into the saddle first. He is barely conscious by the time you sit behind him and gently pull his body into your own so he will sit upright.

A quiet sigh breaks past your lips as you press your chin into his shoulder and allow silent tears to fall. Celebrimbor follows suit, swallowing the knot in his throat as tears fall down the blood on his cheeks.

He can only manage a strangled whisper of, "I love you." before your fingers are pressed against his stomach, murmuring in Quenya under your breath as he falls into unconsciousness.

***

The first thing Celebrimbor feels upon waking is warmth. His entire being is warm. The crackle of a fire echoes beside him as he slowly opens his eyes, greeted with a twilight sky and the gentle hum of a voice somewhere above him as fingers card through his hair.

He feigns sleep for another moment to bask in the moment. It is the first true moment of safety he has felt in weeks.

"Good morning, my love." You murmur. Celebrimbor forces his eyes open again to gaze upon your face and softens. You look the picture of beauty, even with your unkempt hair and ash and blood upon your cheeks. "You've been asleep for two days."

Well. That was mostly true. Sauron's influence had not fully lost its grip until you were well out of Eregion's reach, and in that time, he had attempted to attack you twice and had left bruises on you. You chalked it up to exhaustion and delirium. He would not. Celebrimbor would never forgive himself for it.

"I seem to be a mess," He said quietly. You pressed your hands against his shoulders and slowly helped him to sit up. The forest around you was quiet save for the chatter of creatures and bird song. There was no war to be seen for miles. "And here you are, taking care of me yet again."

"I love you. What happened in Eregion and what Sauron did does not change that." You said firmly. Reaching over him, you produce a bag of fruits and nuts you'd obtained earlier that morning while he slept. "I do however want you to try to eat."

He almost immediately complies, were it not for the shock of seeing his hand healed.

Celebrimbor's eyes snap to you in astonishment as he runs his other hand over where his injured thumb is. He remembered being in agonizing pain, remembered the gentle lull of your voice and the warmth of silver light engulfing him.

It was you.

"You..." His voice falters, leaving you an opportunity to interject if you so wish to. You did not dare. His voice had been taken from him for so long that you would never put him in a position where he could not speak his thoughts and feelings again. "It was mangled when we left Eregion. Bloodied. What did you do?"

You tap your circlet and wiggle your fingers. "I told you I have healing magic. It's just one thing I've remembered how to do." You said. "But I cannot heal weariness. That only comes with time."

Your eyes are fixated on his mouth as his tongue slides across one of the berries before disappearing behind his lips.

The air between you is thick with tension, electrified by your growing desire for him. He knows it. So do you, but you do not wish to overstep, especially when he is in this state. That is what prompts Celebrimbor to motion toward the river and then to his robes.

"I believe we are both in need of a cleansing. I am too weak to do it on my own." He states. Realization flickers behind your eyes as he sets the bag of food aside before gesturing for your hand. "Would you guide me to the river, My Lady?"

How are you supposed to say no when he's looking at you like you hung the stars and the moon in the sky, like you are an emissary sent straight from the Valar themselves, ever the image of true beauty?

Despite knowing you love him and he loves you, he still has such capacity to reduce you into a stuttering mess.

You nod wordlessly and stand to your feet. He's still hesitant to be in the open, as is expected, but there is something about your protection in Celebrimbor's most vulnerable moment that puts him at ease as you two trek the distance to the river.

It only occurs to you upon spotting its banks that this is the first time since you will see him fully unclothed. It's not like the massage when you met. It's more intimate. It's vulnerable.

"My love," Celebrimbor's voice breaks through your reverie as you step into the sand. "I believe I may need help removing these old things. I don't know what use they will be anymore. Can you assist me?"

You don't know why you're hesitating. You love him. He's made it clear he loves you too, and no one else in this world has ever made you feel so safe. He'd taken such good care of you when you arrived in Eregion. Alone and destitute, The Lord of the Elven Smiths had brought you under his wing as you sought out refuge from the world around you. From your lack of memories, from your lack of trust.

And then he'd shown you what pure love looked like. You had been his ever since.

"Lift your arms." You murmur low in his ear. Celebrimbor complies, wincing as the fabric grazes a wound on his side before he finds himself free of the confines of his robes. His underclothes do not fare much better. "I'm sorry, Celebrimbor."

"Whatever for? You are not to blame for this."

"I'm sorry that he inflicted such pain upon you. You have a kind and gracious heart that only wished to fulfill a legacy you feel is an expectation of being from the House of Feanör," You state as you slowly lead him into the water just enough to where it dips beneath your waist. You are still dressed in your own clothes. The armor you'd worn during the Siege has long been discarded. "And I'm sorry he used you as a means to his own end."

"I survived." He replies. You lean outward as his good hand catches your face, seeking out the warmth and comfort of a desired touch as his thumb traces your lips. "You were my only truth amid all the deceit."

You allow him to draw you to him as he bends his head to meet your mouth, sighing softly in response as you press your hands to his chest. It is a sweet and short kiss that conveys nothing short of Celebrimbor's gratitude that you have stood by his side throughout it all.

When you are the first to pull away, you bend down to cup your hands and fill them with water. "It'll be easier for me to wash your hair if you are kneeling. Would you?"

"Of course."

The next few minutes pass in silence as you wash the blood from his hair. The water of the river tinges red as you continue, working your fingers through his curls and deep against his scalp to ensure you have removed all of the dirt and grime that has settled there. He tips his head into your hands, at your total mercy, and allows his eyes to flicker across your aspect as you continue.

"Okay," You remark. "That is your hair. The rest-"

"I would very much like it to be your turn." He interjects. You raise a brow at his forwardness and laugh as his cheeks tinge pink. "If you'll allow it."

You turn your body toward him and lift your hair to allow him access to the fastenings of your clothing. You are just as bloodied as he is, skin smeared with orc and elf blood.

A shiver runs down your spine as Celebrimbors fingers graze the curve of your back, loosening each fastening before your shirt is loose and heavy with water. You nod your confirmation and watch it fly back in the direction of the shoreline where his robes sit.

You kneel and peer up at him through your hair. You're so glad he's here. You were so sure that Sauron was going to kill him.

''Hey, hey. What are these tears for?" He asks, urgency and concern lingering in his tone as he kneels to meet you in the water.

"I thought-" You swallow your fear and screw your eyes shut as your forehead seeks his own. Celebrimbor softens. He's always admired your ability to be vulnerable with him. To let him see your heart in a way no one else ever has. "I thought Sauron was going to kill you. Kill you, make me watch-"

He'd thought the same thing.

Celebrimbor runs his fingers over the bruises on your cheeks before shaking his head. "You and Galadriel made me see reason. You got me out. You took care of me and tended to my wounds. No one else would have been able to break through his influence like you did. And now that we are here?" You open your eyes and sigh as water descends through your hair and down your neck. "Let us be cleansed of Him."

So that's exactly what happens. Minutes feel like hours as you keep him afloat atop the water and help him wash his body of the war you have left behind. Even though Celebrimbor struggles, he does the same to you, cradling you with such a tenderness that it makes your heart ache.

When you are both cleansed, you stop him from returning to the shore with a kiss that takes his breath away. Celebrimbor is only just able to return the kiss with equal fervor when he manages to get your feet out from beneath you and topples you into the water.

Laughter echoes in the air as you sink below the water before you pull yourself back up, flabbergasted that he'd pulled such a move.

Then you see why.

Celebrimbor is smiling.

He may not be as whole as he once was, oh no, but he's still the most beautiful person you know. That soul is so gentle despite all he has endured.

Precious.

"You're staring."

You snap to attention at his remark and grin. You can't help it. "I love you." You reply. His response is immediate: That smile you love so much as he slowly chases you through the water with all the strength you both can muster before you both collapse on the boulder where your clothes are drying.

Sauron has no influence here. Not anymore.

[indigoflorals]

hi! can i request a smuit one jj with a reader that has a praise kink please

gravity (18+)

JJ Maybank x Reader

Sum: You and JJ get high and he reminds you what you’re worth.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, drug use, sex while under the influence of drugs, smoking, praise kink

𖥸

Your best friend handed you the makeshift gravity bong with a low laugh. “You’ve really never hit a gb before?”

Sticking your tongue out, you snatched the water bottle from his hand and inspected it. “Not everyone was a druggie in high school, JJ.”

“Okay, wow, hurtful,” He mocked you, “Anyway, let me help you,” he took the bottle from your hands, “I bet you don’t even know how to use it.”

You began to interject but silenced yourself. You didn’t know how to use it. He wasn’t wrong.

You watched carefully as his nimble fingers packed the small metal piece at the cap with what weed you had provided. After, he pulled a lighter from his back pocket and rolled it to a flame.

“Now,” He made eye contact with you, “I’m gonna light it, take a deep breath, hold it, then breathe out.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ve smoked before, J.” You grumbled, pulling the bottle from his hands after he lit it. Exhaling sharply, you placed the cap to your lips and sucked in a strong breath. The smoke burned your throat and lungs but you held back the cough out of embarrassment.

You breathed out, coughing a few times and your eyes watering.

“Not so bad, huh?” He smiled, taking the bottle to hit it himself.

You coughed. “Not so bad.”

The rest of your night together was spent making corny jokes and passing the bong back and forth between you in his truck. You had never been in a hor box before but this time was certainly relaxing.

“And that’s how I broke Pope’s arm,” The blond laughed, sinking back into the drivers seat, “What’s your best story?”

“Shit,” You breathed, scanning your memory. “Oh I have a fucking good one.”

“Oh yeah?”

You laughed to yourself as the memory came to you. “I was seventeen. Seventeen and super stupid.”

JJ took another hit of the bong before offering it to you. “Weren’t we all?” He coughed.

“Well,” You took a hit, “I was like lose my virginity to Rafe Cameron stupid.”

JJ spun to face you in an instant and you burst out laughing at the shocked expression on his face. “No shit? How long have we been friends and you didn’t tell me?”

“It was embarrassing!” You protested, placing the water bottle in a cup holder, “I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”

He was silent for a moment. “Different? I’d really only feel bad. I’m sure he treated you like shit.”

“Fucking tell me about it. What kind of guy does absolutely zero foreplay?” You huffed, reclining back to put your feet on the dash.

The blond didn’t respond, only stared at you for a moment before looking away.

“What, JJ?” You asked, sitting up to lean toward him. “Jealous of me fucking Rafe?”

Okay. You were certain you were way too high now. This was your best friend. Why would you say that?

“Not jealous,” He turned to face you, eyes locking with yours, “Just upset he couldn’t make you feel good like you deserve.”

You felt a flush of heat to your core at his words. Certain that your cheeks were dusted pink, you turned away. “Fuck why are we even talking about this. I’m too high.”

JJ turned to you with an expression that only made your panties wetter. His face scanned yours and his eyes ran up and down the expanse of your body. “You’re fine, baby.”

At this point you were definitely shaking from the nervousness of being this close to someone so attractive. You had hardly thought of JJ as more than a friend before today. Suddenly the feelings of attraction were clearly mutual.

“Do you wanna get in the back?”

You didn’t hesitate to nod, scooting up onto your shins to climb over the divider into the bench of the truck. JJ followed immediately after and wasted no time pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was like an attack. There was a hunger behind it. It was filled with lust and need and the feeling of doing something so foreign with someone so familiar was strange.

His tongue swiped your bottom lip and slid into your mouth. He tasted then of weed and mint, and you made a note that you liked it.

The blond pulled away, sliding his face into the crevice of your neck. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He moaned, kissing your neck.

His hands slid up your chest to palm at your breasts. You leaned back into the door to give him more room, and he slipped a hand under your shirt to feel you over your bra. You arched into his touch, his palms cold on your sensitive skin.

Pulling away from from your neck, he leaned back to reach for the hem of your shirt. He pulled it upwards, careful to go slow over your breasts to drop them and watch them jiggle. When you were completely shirtless, he only stared, watching the way your tits pooled over the cup line of your bra.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He groaned, leaning in to suck and plant love bites on the top of your chest. You reach behind yourself, thinking at the clasp of your bra. After a few distracted tries, you unclipped your bra, your tits falling outwards.

JJ places his face in between them and motorboated you. “Oh my fucking god they’re perfect.”

“Stop.” You giggled. “You’re so high.”

“Nah.” He kicked one nipple, sucking it and releasing it with a pop. “You just have the best fucking tits.”

He continued to suck on your tits while working to unbutton your shorts. He popped the button, and unzipped them full before releasing your nipple and pausing to breathe. “Can I take these off?”

“Please.” You moaned. “Need you to fuck me JJ.”

A feel groan erupted from his throat at your words. “Can’t say shit like that.”

You lifted your hips to allow him to pull your shorts and panties down, and he leaned back to undress himself. You watched as he exposed his muscular arms and chest, and pulled out his cock to slap back against his stomach.

“Bigger than Rafe?” He teased.

You slapped his face gently and he crinkled his nose. “Oh shut up.” You mumbled before scooting over fo straddle him.

“Look at you,” He reached a hand to fist at the fat of your ass, “So fucking gorgeous for me. My girl.”

You leaned down to kiss him, and felt his right hand slide to your pussy. Two fingers poked at your vagina while his thumb rolled circles on your clit. You moaned into his mouth as he pushed his fingers inside of you.

He pulled back and you hurried your face into his neck. “Does that feel good baby? You’re so good. Doing so good for me.”

You shuddered, whining quietly when he curled his fingers to rub your g-spot.

“That’s it baby. Just relax into me. Be my good girl.”

His pace against your clit quickened, and you felt a sensation begin to burn in your lower stomach. “J, I’m think I’m close.”

“Look at me.” He spoke softly, and a strong hand came to the back of your neck to pull you. Blue eyes locked with yours as you felt the coil begin to snap. “Cum for me baby. Be a good girl and cum all over my fingers.”

You sobbed as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and liquid rolled down his fingers and onto his thighs. “That’s it baby, so good for me.”

His hand contained rubbing circles into your back as you came down from your high.

The blond placed a soft kiss to your temple. “Think you’re ready for me?”

Your only nodded, too tired to respond.

He lifted your hips gently, lining himself up with your hole. Slowly, he dropped you down onto himself, and you came to life at the feeling.

You sunk your nails into his biceps. “J! Oh my god! Feels so good!”

He moaned your name at the feeling of you clenching around him. “Holy fuck. You’re so good baby. Feel so fucking good. Best pussy I ever had.”

You cried, leaning your face into his shoulder as he contained to fuck up into you. Before you knew it, your second orgasm washed over you in a warm flurry. As you squeezed him, you felt him throb inside you.

“Oh you feel too good I can’t last holy fuck. Holy fuck.” He moaned, whining a bit as you felt him pulse, starting to cum inside of you.

With a strong pull, he lifted you off of himself, cumming on your pussy and thighs. He lowered you down to relax into him, and you cuddled into his chest.

“You did so good baby. I hope I made you feel good.” He rubbed your head.

You hummed in response.

“As much as I don’t wanna move, we gotta go get you Plan B.”

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

After All Is Said And Done

Masterlist After the events of the winter holidays and Jamil’s manipulation, you and your friends are left to pick up the pieces.

Warning: I write the reader as female. Also the reader celebrates Christmas.

Includes: Angst, Female Prefect!Reader, Book 4 Spoilers, references to PTSD and depression, Jamil x Reader if you squint, platonic Ace x Reader x Deuce but can be read as pre-romantic

Honestly, after writing this, I’m thinking about writing a version with Riddle, Azul, Vil and Malleus...

You know I'm still standing better than I ever did

Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid

I'm still standing after all this time

Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

- Elton John, I’m Still Standing

“Hey Y/N, there’s another one,” Grim called out from the doorstep. You can feel your stomach sink, already knowing just what was left at your door.

“Ugh,” Ace groaned in disgust, “you’d think that he’d give up after all this time.”

You mentally agreed. Ever since the incident in Scarabia during the winter holidays, Kalim has been making an effort to invite you to his parties. Eagerly calling out your name whenever he spots you and enthusiastically telling you to come join him, listing all of the food and music he’d love to share with you. You have to admit, you did have a soft spot for the young heir, his genuine wholesomeness making it impossible for you to outright dislike him. It’s clear as day that his kindness is authentic, that he actually does want to spend time with you and wishes to bring you enjoyment. The kicked puppy look he gives you every time you politely turn him down with a new excuse each time does take a stab at your conscience but you can’t help it. Every time you think about the possibility of stepping into that dorm your mind reels with memories of darkened rooms, harsh reprimands, agonisingly scalding marches, banging on doors until your hands bruised and screaming for someone, anyone, to let you out until your throat ached.

“Just burn it, Grim, you know the drill,” Deuce told the feline, his face twisted into annoyance.

“Hell yeah,” Grim crows in triumph, about to summon one of his beloved fire blasts before Ace swiped the ornately detailed paper from his paws and unceremoniously threw it into your fireplace not even giving it a glance as the flames burned it to ash.

“Don’t even bother,” Ace said, “stuff like this isn’t worth anyone’s time and effort. At least it can be used to kindle the fire for s’mores now.”

You looked at Ace and Deuce and you thanked The Seven for having such amazing friends. Whilst the uncomfortable twisting in your stomach still remained, their obvious attempt at helping you definitely alleviated it. 

The previous winter holidays made it clear just how much they cared about you. The moment that they realised that something was wrong, they put aside their differences and used their own resources to personally check up on you. Granted, you would have appreciated it more if they arrived a few days earlier whilst you were still being kept prisoner but the warmth you felt inside at seeing such friendly faces after so long made up for everything.

When Ace and Deuce had entered Ramshackle with Grim one afternoon to prepare for another impromptu sleepover, with bags of groceries and overnight things in their arms, they were surprised to find it completely silent. Apart from the scuttling and twittering of woodland creatures, the moaning of old pipes and the nervous whispering of the apparitions that lived with you, it was disturbingly quiet.

They felt a collective chill go up their spines, though whether that was due to the lack of heat in this abandoned building, the growing fear that something is wrong with you or the presence of undead spirits huddled up in your living room was unknown.

The ghosts’ head shot up at the sounds of the door creaking closed behind them and the thuds of the boys dropping their bags onto the floor, frazzled worry lining their wispy white non-corporeal forms as they floated towards them. Their clear agitation did absolutely nothing to soothe the trio’s growing anxiety.

“You youngins’ are here for Y/N right?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, we are,” Ace replied, his voice coming out more harsh and aggressive to mask the growing dread.

“Is something wrong?” Deuce’s voice, on the other hand, clearly conveyed every inch of fear that he felt.

“We don’t know,” a taller ghost stated, “we haven’t seen Little Miss in ages.”

“All this time she’s been in her room, without a peep,” another butted in, “it’s been hours and she hasn’t even come down for dinner.”

“And you didn’t think to check on her?!” Ace said angrily, “she could be in trouble.”

“We can’t go in there!” the shortest of them explained defensively, “that’s a lady’s room.”

“And even if we could, what’s the point?” the first one elaborated, “it’s not like we have bodies that can help her.”

“Please go see her,” the second implored, “we’re worried.”

“You really care about her, huh?” Ace noted, seeing the panicked, begging looks that were being directed at them.

“Of course we do,” a ghost stated matter-of-factly, “Little Miss is family.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” Deuce said after a beat of silence, trying to calm himself and everyone else, “maybe she’s just sleeping?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Grim was quick to jump to that conclusion, any conclusion that wasn’t the fact that his beloved henchman is in trouble, “Henchman’s just conked out. She’s fine.”

Despite his cheery words, he couldn’t help the pit forming in his stomach, a deep hole that not even tuna could satisfy. The three of them looked at each other before running up the creaking stairs, with Deuce throwing the ghosts a quick thank you. As they reached the top and made their way down the corridor and towards your bedroom, they could faintly hear the sound of rushing water getting louder and louder. In spite of the darkness enshrouding the passageway, your room appeared to be fully lit, if the hazy golden glow peeking out from under your door was any indication. 

With a firm twist, Ace banged open the door, completely ignoring the sound of it ricocheting off of its adjacent wall in his hurry to see you, only to find your room completely bare of any life. Noticing that the door to the attached bathroom was wide open, the trio rushed towards it only to stand frozen at the doorway. 

The sight they were met with was you, sitting hunched up in your bathtub, still fully clothed sans your socks and shoes. Your shower was still on, sending streams of water down towards your crouched figure, completely drenching you.

“Y/N!” the three of them yelled, racing towards you. Grim jumped into your arms, getting on his hind legs so that he could paw at your shoulder and face, doing whatever his tiny hands could do to get you to notice him. Deuce did the same, stepping into the bathtub whilst Ace turned off the spray of water so that he could grip your shoulders and shake you whilst whisper-shouting your name. Still, you did not react, the only result of their attempts to stir you were your eyes laxly opening at their sudden manhandling, causing them to cease their jostling.

You looked less like a human and more like a marionette who had been cut from its strings. Your eyes, that were usually glowing with personality, all bright, fierce and lively, were currently dull, glassy and doll-like, all dim and staring without seeing. The only confirmation they had that their best friend was not a corpse were the small, dainty, robotic blinks of them and the way your chest would softly rise and fall. 

“The hell, Deuce,” Ace looked more worried than he did before - and considering the amount of near death experiences he’s been through with you, that’s saying a lot, “what are we supposed to do?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Grim exclaimed fiercely, not moving from where he was nestled against your cold, drenched chest, “Henchman needs you!”

“I know-I know,” Deuce was quick to appease him, “why don’t we start by getting her out of here and into something warm? Then we can figure out what to do.” 

And so he brought you up into a bridal carry. Usually being so close to you would’ve flustered him beyond belief, his shyness around girls amplified around you despite all that you’ve been through together, especially now that the shower water made your soaked clothes stick onto you like a second skin and making certain aspects of your femininity more obvious but his need to help you was far stronger than any bashfulness he had.

He was scared - they all were. To see someone strong enough to fight overblots, to stand by their side and boldly face down the monsters in the mines, to live in this world that they are both literally and figuratively at the bottom of the food chain, so broken was nothing but haunting, a horrific sight that they’ll never be able to unsee.

Ace opened up your closet, grabbing some towels and a pair of pyjamas that he tossed onto your bed, as Deuce carried you to your bedroom, your head resting against the curve of your shoulder before gently placing you down onto your duvet.

“Let’s get you dried up, okay,” Ace cooed at you, smiling softly and speaking with a gentleness that surprised even him. He began to swipe a towel over your sodden frame as Deuce got to work gently drying your hair from behind you and Grim nuzzled, whined and purred against your lap.

“The ghosts told us that you haven’t eaten dinner,” Deuce murmured, “you should change into some dry clothes whilst we go and get you something.”

He got up from your bed and made a move to leave but your hand shot out and grasped onto the hem of his shirt. You continued to look down, not meeting anyone’s eyes as your shaking voice whispered, “don’t go.”

“Y/N, you’re drenched,” Ace said, “and you haven’t had anything in a while. We’ll be just downstairs and we won’t be gone for long.”

“Stay. Please,” your voice was weak and your eyes downcast, “don’t wanna be alone.”

The card soldiers gave each other a look before nodding and climbing onto your bed so that they sat as close to you as possible. You immediately cuddled up to them, allowing yourself to get enveloped by their touch.

“What’s wrong with me?” you whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Y/N,” Deuce soothed you, gently stroking your head and back like you would a wounded animal.

“Yeah,” Ace agreed with his rival, “it’s everyone else here that’s messed up.”

“Then why,” you did nothing to stop the tears from falling, your words coming out choked from the way your throat was constricting, “then why does all of this keep on happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” the red head sighed in defeat, continuing his ministrations on you.

You said nothing, allowing them to embrace you as you buried your face into their bodies, letting their clothes and Grim’s fur soak up your tears and muffled sobs.

It didn’t go unnoticed how your companions became even more protective of you after that incident. Wherever you went, they would flank you like guard dogs, shielding you from the rest of NRC and directing a glare at anyone who so much as looked at you. After hearing about how uncomfortable you felt being around certain people, they were on the lookout, not-so-sublty steering your body away from anyone they deemed unworthy of being within your gaze (you could’ve sworn that you heard Grim hiss at some students a few times).

It wasn’t just them. Your family of ghosts also made an effort to check in on you. Even when you couldn’t see them, you could feel them hovering near you in another room, making sure that you looked after yourself, gently reminding you to eat, sleep and rest. They called you over more often to join them in games, sharing stories and jokes, making sure not to mention anything that they felt could upset you.

Your past self - the person you were before your entrance to NRC, a person that now seemed almost like a stranger to you - would’ve found it smothering, almost demeaning at how they’re affections seemed to infantilise you but now, all you can think of is how much their presence comforts you, how loved they make you feel. It made you feel seen and heard, that at least the small handful of allies in your tight inner circle care enough to consider your feelings instead of sweeping them under the rug like everyone else. Like how a few words here and there and a few taps on the wrist were enough to clean up the mess that was the last overblot.

When the dust settled and all was said and done, everyone else partied whilst you were left hurt and broken and once again left to pick up the pieces of your shattered self.

It’s like your body is in constant fight or flight mode, with someone’s fist persistently banging on the ‘flight’ switch. Despite the anxiety and fear buzzing in you whenever you take a step outside, you feel constantly tired, both physically and mentally, your head feels like it’s perpetually submerged underwater and every bite of food you take tastes like sandpaper. ‘Down’ is the only word you can think of to describe yourself. Just chronically down - buried deep, deep underground with no way of clawing back onto the surface. It didn’t matter where you were or who you’re with, all you can hear is your mind constantly screaming at you that you’re in danger. No matter how many times they tried, the combined efforts of your new found family still couldn’t drive away the intrusive thoughts that crept up on you, the dark cloud of foreboding that would hover over you, the cold stare of the Grim Reaper that would follow you. Waiting. 

You couldn’t fault Jamil for his overblot. Despite the pains of your heart, the logic of your mind knew that he wasn’t truly to blame for tossing you to the ends of Scarabia, for leaving you shivering in the freezing blizzard, your body numbing from its close brush with hypothermia, for sending projectile after projectile after you with the intent to maim, the intent to kill, for leaving the imprints of snake fangs in your body as companions to the myriad of other scars that were gifted to you from him and the overblots that came before. It didn’t take a genius to know that everything he did whilst covered in that disgustingly sticky black ink (the ink that will now and forever be a recurring character in your dreams) wasn’t under his complete control, no matter what your nightmares and the sinister voices that would whisper in your ear during the dead of night told you.

But you allowed yourself to blame him for everything that happened before his subsequent descent into madness; for kidnapping you, hypnotising you, locking you up in a dark room against your will, keeping you away from the only people (and ghosts) that actually cared about you and prevented you from contacting anyone. 

You didn’t blame him for wanting freedom, for holding bitterness because of the cards he was dealt with, you just wished that he didn’t sacrifice your wellbeing in his schemes.

Whilst you did hate him for hypnotising you - in this world you already lost so much control of your life, he had to go ahead and take away even more of it - you resent him even more for manipulating you, for feigning affection in a world that gave you anything but, for using you, exploiting your weaknesses and the fact that you had no one apart from Ace, Deuce and Grim to call a friend.

Whilst Christmas doesn’t exist in this world, you made sure to make plans with your family in Ramshackle - you actually had fun detailing all that you were going to do with the ghosts and Grim: coming up with a menu, making or buying hand puppets to create your own Punch and Judy style panto, asking Sam to stock up on this world’s version of Christmas crackers, and just doing what you can to forget the fact that your friends and family are in a whole other world with no way to even give them glad tidings - but instead you spent it marching in the hot desert, contracting heat exhaustion, fainting due to said heat exhaustion when Kalim (actually Jamil) deprives you of any treatment despite your pleads and complaints, slurring your words and vomiting as you tried to ignore the worst migraine of your life and then spending half an hour breaking down into sobbing fits as you were once again imprisoned in that horrid room.

He made you believe that he was a friend, someone you could rely on. When you lost consciousness in the scorching desert, he gave you medicine and treated you to relieve the pain; when you felt confused and hurt by Kalim’s Jekyll-and Hyde-like behaviour and in anguish over not being able to leave, he provided a sympathetic ear and comforting smile as he gave you words of solace. But it was all a lie; you were suffering in the desert because of him, Kalim was hostile to you because of him, you were chased, treated horribly by the Scarabians and locked up against your will because of him. 

All the torment you felt was because of him. 

When you asked the Dorm Leader of Octavinelle and his underlings for help, you felt sick to your stomach, like scorching acid was leaving your mouth instead of words, at the very idea of having to ask the ones who conspired to make you homeless for help. But you had no choice, and the fact that he put you in a position where you had to go to people that you would rather die than ever associate with again makes you hate him even more.

Although, if you had to be honest, in a strange, warped sort of way, you almost respected Ashengrotto for what he did to you. At least he was honest when he stripped you of your home and the only family you had in this world, at least his malicious intentions weren’t hidden when he slyly slid you that dreaded contract - you didn’t even know why you were even surprised when he sent the eels out to harass you in his attempt at sabotage, he might not have invented sleaziness but he sure as hell perfected it. As dodgy as the mermen are, it would be better to have someone that you know you can never trust than one who takes your trust and then crumbles it to sand with his own hands right in front of you.

And Kalim - God, if your feelings for Kalim weren’t the epitome of mixed then you don’t know what is. On the one hand, the genuine warmth he exuded upon meeting you was unprecedented. Unlike the other students in this school, who openly treated you with hostility and malice before you could even say a word, he was the only one good-natured enough to show you the kindness you had missed from your world. Despite the obvious power imbalance, he treated you as an equal, sweeping you away on a magic carpet ride, treating you to the finest delicacies he had to offer, chatting, laughing and playing with you as if you were a person and not some magicless human that didn’t belong. But on the other hand he disregarded everything you went through under his so-called ‘best friend’s’ schemes. All the pain you suffered, all the scars you gained - both physical and emotional - were swept under the rug as Kalim answered Jamil’s public (“and insincere,” your mind adds) apology with an “I forgive you.”

“I forgive you.”

‘I forgive you’ Kalim says brightly and merrily goes out of his way to include Jamil during dorm activities like the Vice Housewarden didn’t do the magical equivalent of drugging and kidnapping you. Like he didn’t play you like a fool, dangling the possibility of friendship, of the companionship that you craved in this strange and lonely new world, before ripping it away from you and stabbing you in the back. Like he didn’t use you as a pawn in his sick, twisted game, literally controlling you and isolating you from any kindness you could get. It didn’t matter that after this you’ll never be the same again. No, of course not. 

Because in this world, you didn’t matter.

It all comes to a head when the Viper himself is the one that approaches you. 

You’re eating lunch in the dining hall when you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders and you get pulled into Ace’s chest. On your other side you can see Deuce’s hackles raise, his jaw clenching and glaring at an unknown individual with barely concealed anger, looking very much like the ex-delinquent he used to be.

“Whaddya want?” Grim drawls boorishly at the source of your friends’ ire, “we’re eatin’ here.”

“I’m aware of that,” the smooth, velvety voice of the Vice Dorm Leader of Scarabia makes you tense, an action Ace must have felt because you feel his hand squeeze yours shortly after. You writhe in place, loosening his hold and giving you enough wiggle room to get out of his grip. With your hand still in his, you turn to look at the interloper, to see what he says next, “Kalim’s hosting a banquet this evening and he’s asked me to personally invite Y/N.”

“Well she’s not coming,” Grim snapped at him.

“She’s busy,” Deuce said.

“And she has nothing to say to you,” Ace interjected, “so you can go ahead and bog off.”

Viper sighs, “I see. If that’s all.”

He turns around to leave but you stop him, “w-wait.”

At this not only he turns to look at you with bewilderment but Ace, Deuce and Grim as well. You continue, “can I please speak with you outside, there’s something I have to say.”

“Wha-Y/N are you sure?” Deuce said, looking at you with worry.

“Yeah, you don’t have to do this,” Ace agreed.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Grim said imploringly. 

You smiled at him and pet the fur on his head before giving Ace and Deuce reassuring glances, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be just in the corridor outside so you’ll be nearby.”

“Alright then if you say so. But if he tries anything…” Deuce gives the Scarabian a glare, letting his threat linger.

With that you get up and wordlessly walk out of the dining hall and into the empty hallway adjacent to it, knowing that the other was following you without having to turn around and look. You stop at a corner and after taking a deep sigh to brace yourself you turn around and tell him with varying steadiness, “I just want to say that as much as I appreciate Kalim’s generosity and hospitality, I’m afraid that I have to decline.”

“Quite the journey just for one sentence,” he raises an eyebrow, the only expression his inscrutable face allows, “you couldn’t have said this back there?”

“It’s best if I told you this one-on-one just to get it out of the way. Make it clear that I’m the one who told you that I can’t attend and my friends have nothing to do with it. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

“But that’s not all you want to say, is it?” his question pierces you like a blade to your chest, releasing all of the air that was in your lungs.

“Whatever it is you want to say to me,” he intones, his voice as calm and collected and fake as it always is, “I can take it.”

Jamil Viper was many things but an idiot is not one of them. After Kalim’s first five consecutive rejections, he was well-aware that the so-called emergencies, errands and other assorted tasks were just excuses you made to prevent you from outright telling the Dorm Leader that you just didn’t want to attend. He can’t say he blamed you. He understood that you had a less than stellar time during your last visit to the dorm - after all, he was responsible for it. He tried explaining to Kalim that perhaps it would be best to leave you alone but his bleeding heart refused to understand that you were just being polite. He did consider you a friend after all, and truly wanted to pay you back for everything that you did to help him and his dorm during the holidays and to hear your refusals disheartened him, sending him whining about how he wished he could make you happy to thank you for all that you’ve done and make up for what happened. Jamil’s statements that maybe you just wanted to be left alone fell on deaf ears as the young heir decided to send another invite through him. Jamil bit back the remark that he would be the last person you wanted to see and begrudgingly left to do his duty.

“What if what I want to say to you is that the very sight of you makes me sick?”

You’ve got to hand it to yourself, despite having over a decade to fine tune his poker face and hide his inner thoughts, his eyes visibly widened, shock flashing over his features before immediately regaining their usual unreadable appearance.

You would’ve relished at his slip up, that for less than a second you were able to gain an upper hand over the man who toyed with your vulnerability and orchestrated your suffering, if you didn’t have a voice in your head warning you that it could all just be another ploy, another way for him to trap you in his coils and squeeze until you choke.

That’s what snakes do after all. They patiently lie in wait, completely unassuming and unthreatening, before they strike so fast and so viciously that its prey is completely helpless to the onslaught of venom that’s injected into its neck. 

He continues to stare at you, speechless so you continue, clenching your hands in a desperate attempt to stop them from shaking and willing your voice to stop wobbling despite every nerve in your body yelling at you to hightail out of there, to get away from the threat, the danger, that you’re not safe, just run, just flee to the refuge of Ramshackle before you inevitably get hurt again.

“I can’t look at you without wanting to throw up. Every time I see your face all I can remember is  what you did to me, how you used me, how my feelings were nothing but toys for you to play with to make you feel better. You hurt me. In one of the most unforgivable ways possible and I don’t think that I can go back to the person I was before the holidays.”

“You know what?” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head at yourself, “honestly, I can’t say that you’re completely to blame. It was my mistake for actually being stupid enough to fall for your act. If my time in this world taught me anything it’s that I should never let my guard down. I should’ve known that you never wanted to be my friend, that you, just like everyone else here, only care about yourself, without giving a damn about who you have to hurt to get it. It’s my fault for not learning from my experiences, for deluding myself into thinking that someone can actually like me in this damned place. God, I’m an idiot. At least now I know better than to believe your deception.”

“Y/N-”

“Was it fun, at least? Did you enjoy it? Taking a helpless, magicless girl and using her to satisfy your own twisted schemes? Taking my powerlessness and using that as a stepping stool to make you feel better? Manipulating me like your little lamb for slaughter? At least, I can say that the whole experience taught me something and it’s that no one here cares about me, that apart from Ace, Deuce and Grim, I have no one. So I think it would be best to tell your Dorm Leader that unfortunately, I will not be attending. Or not. You could just hypnotise him. Either way is the same to him.”

You turned around and was about to go back to the comfort of your friends, before tossing a few parting words over your shoulder: 

“Congratulations, Vice Dorm Leader Viper, you’ve achieved what you wanted. You said that you did all of that so you can finally have your actions acknowledged - well, here you have it. Now I can’t go a minute without acknowledging what you’ve done.”

And with that you walked away, meeting up with Ace, Deuce and Grim as they wrapped their arms around your shaking body and walked you back to the sanctuary of Ramshackle.

[happypolicecherry]

!A rewrite! Alhaitham x reader inspired by the podcast: Dangerously Yours (A radio drama series)

#Author note: have fun !! Rewrote this favorite piece of mine a year later because it needs its redemption. I hope you guys enjoy it

The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the sound of their shallow breathing.

Alhaitham stood still, his face an unreadable mask as you pressed the cold metal of the gun against his temple. His calm demeanor only served to stoke the flames of your anger, your fingers twitching around the trigger. You couldn't believe it had come to this.

"You mean you're actually going to kill me?" Alhaitham asked, his voice as steady as ever, as he look down into your eyes.

"I mean just that." Your jaw clenched, the weight of the situation crashing down on you as you gripped the gun harder. The barrel trembled against his head, betraying, your inner turmoil.

"Well, go ahead." His eyes, those sharp, aquamarine piercing eyes, bore into yours, amused. He wasn't scared. In fact, he looked almost... certain. Certain that you wouldn't do it.

Thousands of thoughts raced through your mind. Each question, each doubt gnawed at your resolve, pulling you in opposite directions. You had been trained for this moment, prepared to take down anyone who stood against the agency, no matter the cost. But no amount of training could have prepared you for him.

Alhaitham, the man you had fallen for.

The same man who now stood as your target.

"Pull the trigger." His words cut through the silence, calm and deliberate. He could see the hesitation growing in your eyes, the tremor in your hand as your heart warred with your duty.

“I’ll do this my own way,” your voice shook as you pushed the gun harder against him, trying to convince him—convince yourself, that this was something you could do.

But it wasn't. Your hand quivered as you choked back the wave of emotions threatening to break free. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. You never asked for this. How had it come to this? How had the man you loved become the enemy? He was wanted by your agency for crimes you still couldn't fully understand, but the orders were clear: he had to be eliminated. And it had to be by your hand.

"You won't do it." Alhaitham's voice was soft, almost pitying. He didn't move, didn't try to take the gun from you. He didn't need to.

"You can't pull the trigger," he said, his hand reaching up to gently caress your cheek. His touch was soft, his thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to well in your eyes. His lips curled into that familiar, infuriating smile—the one that used to make your heart flutter, that used to make you feel safe.

But now? Now, that smile only made you feel sick.

"You can't pull it because you love me," he said quietly, his words sinking deep into your heart. And he was right. You hated how right he was. You hated that even now, with the gun in your hand, you couldn't bring yourself to end it.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, your grip on the gun loosening as you pulled it away from his head. The shame hit you like a wave, drowning you in its cold embrace. You took a step back, your vision blurring as the tears you had been holding back finally fell.

Alhaitham sighed, the sound heavy with disappointment. He rubbed his face, looking away from you as though you were no longer worth his time. "That was pathetic, Y/n," he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. "I thought you had more pride than this."

He turned to face you, his sharp gaze cutting into you like a blade. "If you had kept that strong front from earlier, I might've actually considered this experience worthwhile," he said with a cold smirk.

You stood there, your heart shattering under the weight of his words. The man you loved was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating person standing before you now. And you couldn't take it anymore. The pain, the shame-it was all too much.

The sound of the gun clicking echoed through the room. Alhaitham turned to you, his eyes narrowing as he half-expected you to aim it at him, your tears fueled by fury.

But what he saw was something far more devastating.

You had turned the gun on yourself.

"But I can kill me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you pressed the barrel against your own temple.

His eyes widened in shock, the mask of indifference cracking for the first time.

"Y/n-"

But it was too late. The gunshot rang out before he could even reach for you, the bullet finding its mark. You collapsed instantly, the sound of your body hitting the floor echoing in the now-deadly quiet room.