#Steel Cost Guide

[kapilasteel]

How TMT Rod Price Affects Overall Project Budget

In construction, even the smallest cost fluctuations can snowball into major budget concerns. The TMT rod price is often one of the key variables that can significantly reshape the financial planning of a project. Along with it, components like dowel bars and the 8mm rod price per piece can play a huge role in defining where costs will either stay on track or spiral out of control.

The Foundation of Construction Costs

Every construction project begins with numbers. The budget determines everything — from timelines and material selection to labor and finishing quality. TMT rods, being a primary component in structural stability, hold a big share in this cost pie.

When planning a build, project managers usually forecast steel requirements early. That’s where understanding the volatility of TMT rod price becomes essential. It’s not just a line item — it’s the backbone of the build. Any price surge directly impacts both the micro and macro decisions in the entire workflow.

Why TMT Rod Price Deserves Attention

Fluctuations in TMT rod prices aren’t rare. These rods are tied to the market price of raw materials, energy costs, transportation, and manufacturing demands. So, when the price moves even slightly, it can cause shifts in the total material budget, requiring cuts in other areas or reworking the schedule to accommodate bulk purchases.

And it’s not just about quantity. Specific sizes — especially the widely used 8mm rod price per piece — can impact budget forecasts. Since 8mm rods are frequently used in slabs, lintels, and flooring, their unit pricing plays a recurring role in procurement decisions.

How Dowel Bars Add to the Equation

While TMT rods form the structural grid, dowel bars ensure smooth load transfer and joint stability — especially in pavements and slabs. Including them in the plan might seem like a small addition, but their cumulative cost across a large project can affect the bottom line.

What makes dowel bars tricky is that they often get accounted for late in the process. When material estimates fail to factor in their pricing early, sudden additions can disturb the carefully balanced project scope.

8mm Rod Price Per Piece — A Micro Detail That Impacts the Macro

Many project estimators initially overlook the cost impact of smaller-sized rods. But 8mm rod price per piece adds up fast. These rods, though lighter, are required in higher quantities. Over an entire build, the cost deviation from even a marginal price rise can lead to budgetary stress.

For example, if there’s a sudden increase in 8mm rod pricing by even ₹3–₹5 per piece, and a project uses thousands of them, the overall material cost could spike drastically. That’s money that could’ve gone into insulation, plumbing upgrades, or finishing touches.

The Chain Reaction of Poor Price Planning

When steel prices go unchecked, the ripple effect begins. Labor costs increase due to delays. Alternative material options may not offer the same quality, leading to structural compromises. Worst case? The project might halt altogether, waiting for a budget reapproval.

A Calculated Approach Makes the Difference

While there’s no perfect prediction model for market movements, builders can still stay prepared. Leveraging local supplier relationships, monitoring daily steel rates, and always factoring in variables like dowel bars and 8mm rod price per piece ensures a stronger hold on the budget.

Conclusion

Construction budgeting isn’t just about big numbers — it’s about controlling the details. When the TMT rod price moves, so does the entire financial plan. From dowel bars to 8mm rod price per piece, every component holds the potential to tip the balance. Keeping a tight eye on these material prices ensures better decisions, stable progress, and successful project delivery.

[srjsteel]

The Role of TMT Bars and HR Coils in Achieving Sustainable, Low-Maintenance Urban Infrastructure

Best TMT bar is no longer just a reinforcement material—it’s the starting point for building infrastructure that lasts decades with minimal intervention. In cities where repairs disrupt traffic, drain public budgets, and risk lives, durable materials are essential. Alongside the Best TMT bar, HR coils and Super Rings are proving to be quiet heroes in modern construction—bringing structural integrity, flexibility, and long-term performance to the forefront.

These types of connections can be very susceptible in earthquakes or high load conditions, so it is critical to connect them properly. A good set of rings that evenly distribute load makes a huge difference. When used properly, Super Rings reduce structural weakness and retrofitting needs and, ultimately, increase the life of a building.

At times we all have to be able to deliver high performance with little to no downtime, and this small part makes a big impact.

Infrastructure Fails When Material Choice Is Ignored

Chronic cracks, rusting beams, and joint failure aren't just results of poor workmanship—they often trace back to the choice of steel. Inferior reinforcement weakens load-bearing capacity, triggers early repair cycles, and increases costs over time.

Builders looking to reduce future disruptions begin by choosing the best TMT bar—engineered for strength and corrosion resistance. These bars form the spine of buildings, bridges, and flyovers expected to stand firm through climate shifts and seismic activity.

But strength needs support. That’s where HR coils and Super Rings become essential—not optional.

Why HR Coils Are a Smart Investment in Urban Development

HR coils offer a critical balance between strength and workability. In practical terms, this means fewer structural weaknesses and faster fabrication on-site. From pedestrian bridges to metro pillars, these coils are used where large components require consistent thickness, shock absorption, and weldability.

What really distinguishes top-notch HR coils is their remarkable ability to withstand stress without bending or warping. This means that over time, you’ll have fewer inspections, reduced repair costs, and a structure that maintains its integrity even under pressure—quite literally!

Super Rings: Reinforcement Where It’s Needed Most

Super Rings play a focused but vital role—particularly in beam-column joints. With the potential for either seismic or stress repositioning, it is important to properly secure junctions. Clearly, the use of rings whose stresses are distributed evenly is very beneficial for securing the connection.

Super Rings are able to do this effectively when applied properly by reducing weaknesses in structure, retrofitting, and even building longevity. In instances where high performance and low downtime specifications are provided, this small component represents significant possibilities.

A Stronger Framework for Sustainable Construction

Together, the Best TMT bar, HR coils, and Super Rings create more than just a support system—they form the foundation of sustainable construction practices.

How?

Fewer repairs mean less material waste and lower energy consumption.

Corrosion resistance extends lifecycle performance in coastal or humid zones.

Reduced need for additional reinforcement leads to streamlined designs and fewer raw materials.

When these materials are selected early in the planning phase, they contribute directly to the environmental goals of the project. Many smart city frameworks already factor in lifecycle emissions, recyclability, and material sourcing—and this trio meets those criteria with confidence.

Making Better Choices for the Cities of Tomorrow

Urban infrastructure isn’t just concrete and steel—it’s the foundation of public safety, economic movement, and community life. Choosing the best TMT bar ensures core strength. Selecting reliable HR coils provides flexibility. Integrating Super Rings strengthens the most critical joints.

Together, they are an integrated infrastructure system that not only meets the needs of today but continues to meet the needs of generations to come without intervention.

[themorningnewsinformer]

Metal Fabrication Perth: Average Costs & Pricing Guide

Introduction When planning a construction or engineering project in Perth metal fabrication Perth, understanding the costs associated with metal fabrication is crucial. Metal fabrication in Perth encompasses a range of services, from welding to custom metalwork, each with its own pricing structure. This guide provides an overview of average costs, factors influencing pricing, and tips for…

[legends-and-savages]

Tag Dump

[seospicybin]

I PUT A SPELL ON YOU.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

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

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

🎧 I PUT A SPELL ON YOU Playlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, the world will bend.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But neither are you.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

There was only one person in your way—Hyunjin.

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

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

Of course, Hyunjin is here. What a joy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

But you know better.

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

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

Typical.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Tonight, it’s time to change things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

The next day at the office feels like any other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Hyunjin is the center of attention, as always.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, one day, it happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight, the ritual begins.

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

Friday – The Initiation

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

Saturday – The Strengthening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

Sunday – The Final Binding

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Hyunjin.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stumbles. “Back down?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hyunjin?" You softly call.

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

But you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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[ru8yx]

Jeremy from A Stepmother’s Märchen fluff headcanons please 💕

JEREMY VON NEUSCHWANSTEIN X READER

Jeremy, bound by the unbreakable ties of unwavering loyalty, stood beside you like a steadfast sentinel, ready to come to your defense at a moment's notice.

Scandal, gossip, or accusations held no sway over him, as his devotion to you remained unshakeable.

No matter the situation or the challenges that arose, Jeremy would be your first line of defense, unyielding and resolute in his allegiance.

When Jeremy falls for someone, his heart is consumed by an eternal devotion.

He believes that you truly deserve the world, even if your desires may seem peculiar. Your words, no matter how outlandish, become a melody of beauty to his ears.

Even if your affections may be elsewhere, his love remains unwavering.

He fervently prays for your happiness, knowing that genuine love is about selflessness, and he finds contentment in serving as your guide and supporter, no matter who your heart may ultimately choose.

Jeremy, devoted to your safety and honor, will fiercely defend you against any noble, regardless of their status.

Should even the slightest suggestion of misconduct arise, he would not hesitate to unsheathe his sword in retaliation.

The noble offender would not only face a battle against steel but also a public humiliation, as Jeremy would ensure that the offender's transgressions are exposed for all to see.

Jeremy's protective nature and unwavering loyalty ensure that no harm shall come your way, and he will fiercely guard your safety at all costs.

Jeremy, upon glimpsing you, would instantly push aside any sense of exhaustion. He would rush to your side, his gaze filled with tender affection and curiosity.

Gently lifting your hand, he would bring your knucklesto his lips, all that while maintaining a warm and intimate gaze.

His eyes would speak volumes of admiration and devotion, their intensity mirrored in the slight tremble of his lips as he bestowed a gentle kiss upon your hand.

In that moment, time would stand still as he savored the connection and inquired about the details of your day.

Jeremy would pay meticulous attention to every facet of your being, taking notice of even the smallest details.

He would present you with exquisite jewelry that reflected his own features, adorned in the same shades of verdant green and golden hues.

With these gifts, he aimed to silently proclaim to both you and the other nobles that he held a special place in your heart.

He envisioned himself as your devoted partner, the one who would greet you with a smile each morning, offer solace in times of sorrow, and stand steadfastly by your side as your adoring husband.

Jeremy longed for the sight of you and his family bonding as one, sharing moments of genuine happiness and laughter.

The thought of you forming a relationship with his younger siblings and stepmother filled him with joy, for they held a special place in his heart. He envisioned you all coming together as a unified family, cherishing each other's company and support.

Though his presence may not always be guaranteed, he yearned to see you continue to lean on one another in his absence, creating a tight-knit and loving family bond.

|❝ im sorry if it wasnt what u wanted!!! I took me 20 mins to write it since i was in a hurry😭❞

[xechu]

Dark Requiem

pairing: deity!sukuna x fem!reader wc: 1.9k cw: 18+ mdni. please read my blog rules before interacting. dark themes, power imbalance, near-asphyxiation, implied violence, psychological tension, non-traditional intimacy, forced-kiss scenario tag: drabble-ish, short one-shot, dark fantasy, dark divinity au summary: with no other choice, you turn to a god that was only supposed to exist in bedtime stories. a/n: a tiny spur of inspiration. I've been having writer's block lately. Thank you for reading and enjoy! x

Ask and thou shall receive.

But only at the price of thy soul—willingly offered, never begged for.

He was no saint, no righteous wish granter. He only spoke in contracts and vows.

Time and time again, it had always been the same—humans were proven to be so greedy and fickle. Wanting everything. Sacrificing nothing.

Did they not know? Great things come at an even greater cost?

Sukuna was generous, unlike many other false gods. He had allowed the vowed to revel in their blessings, if only for a while—before coming to collect the price they had dared to forget.

Yet, it was always the same. When it was time to reap—they immediately wallow in regret. Some even try to outsmart their giver and defy the oath they had sworn.

But Sukuna was no fool. He had not endured the turning of millennia by being daft. In the end, he had always found a way to claim what was promised.

And for those who resisted or tried to shirk their obligations, Sukuna reserved a special place in the afterlife for them—condemned to a lifetime of glorious torture and suffering. A place where they wished they had surrendered their soul sooner. Their cries for mercy are a symphony to his ears.

At the sound of the dark cathedral doors creaking open, he watches as his next contract comes through.

A tiny and timid thing: you.

You had heard whispers of a disgraced and banished god—primordial and cruel. Supposedly, he had once dwelled in this abandoned cathedral. For his arrogance and trickery, he was sealed within these thick stones and cold shadows. They said he would pluck children from their homes and eat them, trick fair maidens into offering their purity and virtue, and prey on men for their vitality.

Ryomen Sukuna was described as disgraceful. Deceitful. Glutinous. Cruel. Sadistic.

But it mattered not.

You had not come for salvation, nor redemption.

Only condemnation.

Because it was better to be condemned than to bow beneath a crueler fate.

“I have come to offer myself to you, Ryomen Sukuna,” you said. Despite the grimness of your situation, your voice was soft—but assured.

Standing among these ruins of darkness, rubble, and dust—there was nothing. Only a deafening and oppressive silence. It was quiet, so much so that you could hear the static hum in your own ears.

You wryly scoff to yourself. What had you expected? This was nothing more than fiction. A tale spun to frighten misbehaving children into obedience. And yet, you clung to this bedtime story like scripture. Because what else did you have left?

Then, as hope was about to fade, the moonlight shifted—spilling through the shattered cathedral window like a divine message from the night goddess herself. And there, before you, it illuminated an obsidian statue. Large. Imposing. Watching.

It radiated dark allure, beckoning you to come forth.

To reach out.

Only if you dared.

It felt as though phantom tendrils had begun to snake around your body the moment you locked eyes with the statue—a towering figure, chiseled like a fallen god. Even seated upon a throne of thorns, he felt impossibly tall, impossibly vast. There was a pull. Heavy. Magnetic. Inevitable. Your feet moved toward him, slowly but surely, as if being summoned.

Above you, the long-extinguished black chandelier creaked in protest—its rusted arms swaying with a voice of their own. An eerie warning: Proceed with caution.

You were about to reach a point of no return.

But you steeled yourself, letting instinct guide you, submitting to the darkness before you—for that was what you had desired.

Nothingness. Absolution.

As you ascended, each step reforged your certainty—until at last, you stood before him.

Your mind tells you to not be afraid, but your body trembles, as if it knew you stood before a god. Every fiber instinctively knew to revere, to worship, to submit.

“Sukuna.” His name slipped from your lips, a soft whisper. “I have an offer.”

Once more, you were met with silence. Yet, if this was merely a myth—why did your nerves scream to run?

“Please.” Your voice cracked, laced with desperation. Your heart began to pound. The internal warning becoming louder by each passing moment. “I will give you all that I have to offer.”

Then, suddenly, a crack split the sky. Thunder—loud and rumbling—reverberated so close it felt as though it had struck directly above you. You flinched, instinct to flee immediately kicking in. But before you could run, a large, stony grip closed around your wrist, rooting you in place. Your breath caught in your throat.

Stone became flesh. 

And staring back into your wide, terrified eyes were his—crimson, burning with the intensity and heat of hellfire.

His touch seared into your skin, a brand scorching into you. Around you, the long-dead candles of the cathedral simultaneously blazed to life. But they did not burn with their usual amber hues.

Crimson like blood.

It was the embers of hell.

“Have you suddenly lost the tongue to speak?” His voice boomed.

“I—” The words elude you. Fear gripped at your throat, as you come face to face with Sukuna himself.

“I implore you to find your words promptly,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “Before I silence you for good.”

“I-I have an offer to make with you, Sukuna.”

“Yes, and I have heard that one too many times from you. Are you broken?”

You shook your head. But it only seemed to enrage him further.

“So then speak,” he growled. Impatience lacing his voice. “What is it that you have to offer me?”

You met his burning gaze.

“I shall give you my soul—in exchange for nothing.”

For a moment, he fell silent.

Then he released your wrist. To your surprise, he left no marks behind—no burns, no bruises, not even a trace. Around you, the flames in the cathedral calmed, flickering softly back to their usual amber glow.

A low sigh rumbled from his chest, as if completely underwhelmed and disappointed by your proposal.

“Leave,” Sukuna said coldly.

It was part of the divine restriction. A strict decree written into the very laws of his existence. He could not ask for a soul outside the bounds of a contract. He could not take without giving something in return. Death was not an acceptable clause. And above all, he was forbidden from ever mentioning the restrictions. To do so would be seen as influencing choice and corrupting the offering.

You blinked a few times, eyes wide in disbelief.

He rejected your offer.

Was that possible?

You had thought your offer would be rather appealing. But more importantly, your life had depended on him taking you. Walking away was not an option.

“N-no!” You collapsed to your knees. “Please, take me…if not my soul.”

He stared down at you, expressionless.

“You are a rather dense and insolent little thing,” he snarled.

In a flash, his hand wrapped around your throat, harshly pulling you upward until your gaze was locked with his. Dark violence surged through him—to crush, to silence, to smother the defiance trembling in your voice.

You gasped for air as his hand constricted your airway unable to speak, unable to voice your defense. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as your comparatively small hands clawed feebly at his—a silent, instinctive plea for mercy.

A chill of excitement ran down Sukuna’s spine, at the sight of your struggle. The way you callously sign away your life…only to claw at it now.

Desperate. Pathetic. Human.

That selfish desire to live. To survive. It was the very trait he had come to despise. But in you…it intrigued him.

“Do not play me a fool. No one gives up their soul for nothing,” he said lowly.

You couldn’t answer. Your throat burned, your mind slipping into static. The world around you spun, and the corners of your vision began to darken, collapsing inwards.

Just as you thought he had granted you death—his grip released. Air. He drops you onto the stone cold floor by his feet. You crumple up, as your lungs violently convulse in broken gasps for air. But no matter how you fought to breathe, it seemed your lungs had forgotten how. Your breaths shallow and irregular. Failing.

“Weak,” Sukuna muttered, irritation lacing his voice.

Without warning, he scooped you up like a ragdoll, your limbs limp in his grasp. He sat down with you sprawled across his lap, one hand tilting your chin up.

And then, he crushed his lips to yours. Not in hunger. Not in lust.

But to breathe air into you.

Life flickered back into your eyes. As your gaze met his, Sukuna felt something coil dark and low in his gut. A sick pleasure. A thrill. A hunger.

But his hubris would never allow him to beg—divine restriction or not.

So instead, he would plant the seed. Water the thought. Nurture the desire. Until you were the one to offer it. Willingly.

“You should have let me go,” you whispered. Those were the first words you managed to speak.

Sukuna tilted his head, eyes glinting.

“But that is not what your body says.”

His sharp black nails scrape across your pulse—strong, alive.

“So tell me,” he purred. “What is it you truly desire?”

You did not hesitate. “I desire the freedom of death.”

Sukuna scoffed.

“Not good enough.”

Again, for the small and insignificant thing you were, you were irritatingly persistent. Had he not been bound by the laws of the universe, he would have claimed your soul long ago and savored the ruin of it.

He would have made you scream. 

Beg. 

Break.

And just as death reached for you—when that final stillness settled in your gaze, and you thought you had earned peace—he would have taken it all away. Simply because he could.

He wanted your pain. Your desperation. Your submission to your own hypocrisy.

He wanted to see you unravel. To witness the exact moment you realized you had betrayed your morals, your body, your heart, your dignity.

Even now—barely breathing—you wore that pathetic mask of defiance.

“If you cannot take my soul…then allow me to stay here. That is all I ask,” you said softly.

“That is all you ask?” he repeated, voice curling into a mockery.

“Please,” you breathed. “I have nowhere else to go.”

Sukuna regarded you in silence for a moment, his expression apathetic.

“I am no charitable god,” he said. “What will you offer me?”

Your eyes narrowed. If he did not want your soul, what else did you have to offer?

You felt pathetic. Your dignity shattered. You had walked through the doors thinking your offer would be enticing. That Sukuna, of all beings, would accept it without question.

Alas, your wretched soul was not even worthy of condemnation.

“Then tell me—what is it that you want?”

“What will you offer?” He asked again, voice low, quiet, and insistent. Yet, you still could not understand why.

“Please,” you whispered. “Reconsider it, Sukuna.”

You swallowed hard. Your body screamed to run—a final warning that you were treading dangerous waters. But you did not listen.

“My soul…for your shelter and protection.” Your trembling hands rose to his chest, fingers barely brushing the stone-cold flesh. “Please.”

His eyes darkened.

“Then let this vow be binding,” he said.

And then—he crushed his lips onto yours once more. Not to save. Not to silence. 

But to bind.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Graphic divider source: here via @/troublesomesnitch

[tashtush]

We Ask for Your Discretion (Chapter 1)

18+ Homelander/queer female reader, Madelyn/reader, Homelander/Madelyn. Pre-s1. Stalking, noncon, dubcon, mommy kink, praise kink, rough sex, voyeurism, threesome, corporate nonsense, manipulation, homophobia, trauma, sexual coercion, cunnilungus, vaginal sex (smut in future chapters)

AO3 | gif

Homelander has a new fixation. Madelyn does damage control.

Chapter 2

“I don’t think ‘The Deep’s Liquid Dreams’ is going to fly as a concept.”

You had been helping develop Vought’s new meditation and sleep app, VoughtMind, its conception a prompt response to the Flight 37 tragedy. After facilitating several distraught focus groups, it was determined that the answer to the nation’s unrest would be guided meditations performed by a roster of lesser-known supes. From calming tracks such as Moonshadow’s Nervous System Reset to Being Seen with Invisi-Lass, there would be a soothing balm for your existential dread.

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked with faux exasperation, barely containing her grin. “It would be a guided track, narrated by his truly. It’d be relaxing. We could even play marimba sounds in the background.”

Lisa was your long-time friend and coworker, and you were both on the same team: The “Shut-eye Squad” (a mandated nickname you chose to never utter outside of the office). You were responsible for the development of VoughtMind’s sleep feature.

“I don’t know, I think it’d be better suited for V-Rotic,” you laughed wearily, scribbling down the idea in your notebook. On some exceptionally dull, meeting-heavy days, you wished you could work for that team. While some might shy away from the task of developing super sex toys and erotic audio stories, you weren’t one of them.

You had been working as a UX designer for Vought for a year, honored by the opportunity to be a small cog in the massive, omnipresent, and culturally influential institution. You storyboarded features, sketched countless wireframes, and did your best to ensure seamless user interaction.

And to optimize all the ways a user could upgrade to VoughtLife Plus, of course.

While you had experience working in tech, nothing about your old offices compared to the grandeur that was Vought Tower. It was a force of nature, casting its shadow over the city like an unyielding, steel sentinel. Every day, you felt a small swell of pride and trepidation when you approached its entrance, gripping your laptop bag in an attempt to ground yourself.

What excited you most, however, was the fact that it was home to the Seven. Just knowing that they all slept on the 99th floor gave you a little thrill every time it crossed your mind. But despite your technical proximity, they might as well have been living on a different planet.

You knew that there were plenty of private corridors that separated them from the Vought commonfolk. While they dodged being pestered for selfies, you simply contented yourself with the knowledge that you were employed by the company that helped them save lives—or, if you were being honest with yourself, the company that released those stupid movies you loved to hate.

It was seven in the evening when you and Lisa finally finished preparing for a particularly stressful presentation. You tried to avoid working late at all costs, but you underestimated how challenging it would be to market a Deep-themed mental health experience. Lisa stood and stretched, her daily signal that she was done for the day, until her gaze landed on her desk.

“Shit,” she muttered, lifting her mug to grab the coffee-stained folder beneath it.

“What’s that? Someone’s birthday card you forgot to sign?” you asked, craning your neck curiously.

“No, I was supposed to deliver these documents to floor 79 today,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. She stayed in that position for a moment too long, then turned her attention back towards you.

“Could you do me a huge favor?” she asked, pressing the folder between her hands in a plea. “Could you run up and drop this off at the front desk? I’m already late for a dinner reservation and I won’t be here to do it tomorrow morning.”

“79? I’d be happy to, but I don’t have access,” you said. Lower-level employees were generally barred from visiting higher floors, but some, like Lisa, had special privileges when needing to relay confidential information.

“Here, take my key card,” she said, pulling it from her pocket. “You’ll have access now.”

“Oh, sure then,” you replied, plucking the card from her hand. You examined it, noticing that it looked nearly identical to yours, save for the smooth finish and gold-embossed “V”. Crisp. Corporate.

“Thanks, you’re the best,” she said with a winning smile, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders.

She made her exit, and you were left alone in the dark office, folder and key card in hand. You started toward the elevators in the lobby, listening to the low, steady hum of idle printers. It was kind of eerie, but in an oddly soothing way. Like standing on a beach at night, when it was usually so bright and bustling with activity.

When you arrived at the elevator doors, curiosity bubbled up inside you. How different would the higher floors be? You heard a myriad of rumors floating around the water cooler, and you realized that this could be your chance to corroborate them. Were there spa facilities amidst the large conference rooms, offering around-the-clock massages and steam room sessions? Would you be able to find one of the alleged corporate cocktail bars and make yourself a company-funded cosmo? You once even heard that they got John Legend to perform in a break room for some VP’s birthday, while the biggest surprise you ever got was a box of assorted bagels. But again, you weren’t complaining. You loved bagels.

The elevator doors opened and you stepped in, surveying the sleek grid of blue, glowing buttons. You’d never been this high up before. You’d never had a reason to be, and it almost felt like you were committing a crime when you held the card against the adjacent scanner. It only just occurred to you that there was definitely a camera pointed at you—that you could get into real trouble, and anxiety twanged in your chest when you heard the telltale beep of confirmation. You pressed “7” and “9”, doing your best to assuage your fears. It was late. No one would notice you–and if they did, they’d be too exhausted after a long day of meetings and trying to care about anyone but themselves. Security would probably be too preoccupied with trying to keep people out of the tower, rather than deal with one errant employee.

You weren’t about to miss the opportunity to find that spa.

The elevator began to ascend, and it wasn’t long before it came to a smooth halt. The doors opened, and an employee you’d never seen before quietly shuffled in to stand in front of you. She was dressed sharply, had a clearly intentional hairstyle, and was generally just more put-together than you. You stood uneasily, feeling self-conscious in your jeans and what now felt like a much-too-whimsical sweater. Before you could stew in discomfort for too long, however, the elevator stopped just moments later, and she filed out as quickly as she entered. You breathed a small sigh of relief. After a few more seconds of imperceptible ascension, you idly wondered at what floor the slacks ended and the three-piece-suits began. With a bright ding, the doors slid open once again.

You froze. He was wearing a different kind of suit.

“Hiya,” you heard him say, his voice clear, masculine, and practiced. The voice you had heard on-repeat for years, that lived in every household, movie theater, and classroom across the country. It could command a stadium, stop any criminal dead in their tracks, and apparently cause your heart to drum violently against your chest.

It was Homelander.

With his strong jaw, coiffed blonde hair, and startling blue eyes, he was even more handsome in person. That, in combination with his impeccably clean suit and perfect posture, made him emanate an aura of otherworldliness.  

He strode into the elevator, entering “99” into the console with a gloved finger. He then stood casually beside you, behaving as if this wasn’t one of the most surreal moments of your life. He wasn’t especially tall, but he might as well have been 6’5” with the sheer weight of his presence.

Should you say something? You shifted awkwardly in place, fingers gripping the folder like a lifeline. You had to say something, right? You shot him a sidelong glance, daring yourself to break the silence and not squander this once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

“Um, I’ve never pictured you taking an elevator,” you said a little too quickly, a little too quietly. What? You immediately regretted opening your mouth. You figured that this is what people meant when they said they were starstruck.

You saw the corner of his lips quirk up slightly before he turned his head toward you, his strangely unnerving eyes making contact with yours. The elevator suddenly felt very small, and the sensation of his proximity to you amplified considerably. He paused for a moment, then leaned toward you, raising his dark eyebrows in a question.

“Well… how do you usually picture me?” he asked slowly, a tinge of unmistakable amusement in his voice. His eyes flickered downward for just a fraction of a second, so quickly that you might have imagined it. You felt your heart continue to pound as he awaited your answer, painfully aware that your ability to banter was compromised.

“Flying head-first through windows?” you said, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly. “Though, I-I guess that isn’t very economical.” Your voice trailed off into an awkward silence.

He let out a huff of a chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a charming smile. The elevator came to another halt.

A few more executives filed in, and you turned away from him, trying to salvage any of your humility by playing it cool. After the elevator continued, the console’s digital display finally settled on floor 79. Relief flooded you, and you shot him a smile before hastily stepping past the open doors. You only saw his face for about a second, but it was all the time you needed to notice that his grin had fallen, his eyes staring at you as the door slid shut.

You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had suddenly emerged from being underwater for minutes. You wandered to the front desk in a haze, realizing that it would probably benefit you to listen to Mister Marathon’s latest collaboration with VoughtMind: Outrunning Panic.

—

The next day, you couldn’t keep Homelander out of your mind. Was he teasing you? Could he have actually been flirting? You replayed the encounter over and over in your head for approximately… all day, so much so that the presentation you were dreading all week was demoted to an inconvenient afterthought. What felt monumental to you was likely just a mundane second of his (larger-than) life, so you tried your best not to dwell on that possibility.

He was charming. That was his thing. It was one of the qualities that made him so damn lovable whenever you watched him speak heroic to the public. He was often very flirtatious with the female talk show hosts who effortlessly coaxed answers out of him, even the most seasoned of professionals failing to suppress their girlish giggles. You were just another inconsequential pull of his magnetism.

When you arrived in the office that morning, you immediately had to tell someone about it. Anyone. You beelined toward Ami, a copywriter on your team, and quickly recounted the night’s events. She stopped in her tracks, swiveling her desk chair to slowly land in your direction. Her jaw literally dropped.

“That’s crazy that you say that,” she said, “I actually saw him this morning while I was grabbing coffee in the cafe.”

That was strange. A whole year working here, and you hadn’t even heard of him being anywhere near your floor.

“Really? Did you talk to him?” you asked in a hushed voice, not even trying to hide your excitement. Meeting Homelander was a big deal, even for a Vought employee.

“I didn’t. He was giving extreme ‘don’t even try to talk to me’ vibes. He ignored me. Honestly, it was kind of unsettling,” she said, grimacing slightly. “It didn’t surprise me, though. I’m sure people are usually begging for his attention. It looked like he was talking to a manager or something, but I have no idea why,” she shrugged.

“He looks older in person,” she added off-handedly. “Still hot, though.”

“Hmm,” you responded absent-mindedly, fingering the key card that was still nestled in your pocket. You wondered what the odds were that Homelander would meet you in an elevator and then immediately visit your office the next morning. It was almost certainly a coincidence. He was known to dip his boots in all kinds of products, from star-spangled defense weapons to top-brand cereal boxes. You remembered seeing a meditation concept scribbled onto a whiteboard called Sounds of America, complete with a single bullet point that read “eagle sounds”. Maybe getting Homelander to do voice work was the execs’ chosen hook for getting the app off the ground. Everyone was scrambling to release an MVP in response to Flight 37, so getting him to record guided patriotism was guaranteed to draw attention.

You weren’t able to get any more answers from your circle, not even from Lisa, who blew up your texts with a full-on interrogation. You both delved into every minute detail of the encounter, analyzing everything from his body language to the tone of his voice. It was thrillingly juvenile, but you quickly ran out of material to wring from your memory.

Lisa: What did he smell like?

Me: I don’t know. Nothing?

Lisa: boring

Lisa: you know, he could probably smell you

Me: Stop. ✋

It was then that you knew it was time to put the phone down.

You had no other choice but to simply continue your workday, the annoying need to earn money competing with your racing thoughts.

—

The following Friday, you were leaving a conference room after an exhausting, four-hour workshop. Ever since the allegations about the Deep had surfaced, it was mandated that the entire company go through extensive sexual harassment training.

You woefully chewed on a granola bar as you walked down the hall, fueling yourself for another two hours of fighting the urge to fall asleep. You turned a corner, and to your bewilderment, you caught another glimpse of that damn, iconic flag cape. You promptly turned back again, and you had never felt more like a cartoon.

It was him. Again. But this time, he wasn’t alone—he was talking to a woman, and the sounds of their hushed voices carried down the hall. You felt absurd hiding behind the corner, but with your current track record, you didn’t trust yourself to remain calm. You peeked over just slightly, trying to make out who she was; maybe it was the manager that Ami had seen him talking to in the cafe. You squinted, and her features finally came into focus.

Madelyn Stillwell?

Yet another celebrity you thought you’d never meet. Again, why was the Vice President of Supe Management anywhere near you? She was much shorter than you imagined, even with heels, but she still projected refined, intimidating professionalism. They were deep in discussion, and to your horror, you realized that you needed to pass them to get to your next meeting. You took a deep breath to ground yourself, reminding yourself that you were an adult, before emerging from behind the corner. As you walked toward them with as much nonchalance as you could muster, you started to pick up a snippet of their conversation.

“–Listen, just–just don’t worry about it,” he said impatiently, waving his hand.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said firmly.

“Okay, okay. Jesus.”

They were taking up most of the walkway, so you angled your body to quickly sidle past them. You saw him glance at you for the briefest of moments in your peripheral vision, but you made it to the door before you could catch anything else.

You had never heard him speak so crassly before, which was saying a lot, considering it wasn’t all that crass. You weren’t one for piety,  but it still surprised you to hear him take the “Lord’s name in vain”. He was involved with Capes for Christ, after all. You’d only ever seen his squeaky-clean media appearances, so you shouldn’t be surprised that he had his rough, unedited moments like everyone else.

During the following weekend, you became cognizant of just how inundated you were by his face. When you went on your customary shopping run, you saw it on billboards, posters, bus benches, and on at least ten percent of the products you found in the grocery store’s aisles. You were even haunted by a statue of him while enjoying a picnic in the park, his large, stone likeness looming just feet away from your blanket.

When Monday evening came, you were walking home to your apartment when you swore you saw something—someone—flying through the sky.

It had to be the Frequency Illusion. Because Homelander was all you could think about, your mind tricked you into believing that you were seeing him everywhere.

Sometimes, you even thought that you could feel him.

It was like you were experiencing a sense memory, your body reacting the exact same way it did when he stood next to you in that elevator. It was incredibly odd, but you easily brushed the phenomenon aside. You were having too many late nights worrying about the fate of your project, and you were prone to letting your imagination run wild when you were sleep deprived.

As the days turned to weeks, however, your obsession gradually died down. Homelander once again receded into the backdrop of your life, joining the ranks of other set dressing such as street signs or Taco Bell. Life finally resumed its typical, relatively boring thrum.

You salvaged your work, got drinks with your team, and routinely melted into a puddle on your couch. Work, fun, sleep, repeat. Your run-in with Homelander was reduced to a fond memory, an escape to the time he maybe flirted with you. It was a story to be told at many parties to come, a fantasy that would keep you warm on lonely nights.

—

You came into the office early one Monday morning, wanting some uninterrupted time to catch up on the work you blew off Friday. You had an unusual pep in your step, iced coffee in hand, as you approached your desk in the empty room. As you began to water your plants, you noticed a sleek, black envelope placed directly beside your keyboard. You looked around at the surrounding desks, realizing that no one else had received one.

You slid your finger to break the seal and pulled out a piece of paper, its texture expensive under your thumb. Vought’s logo was engraved in the upper right corner, signifying that this was an official correspondence. Curiosity consumed you, so you scanned the page’s contents as quickly as you could.

Please join us for our 5th annual

Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry

Saturday June 27, at seven in the evening

The Vought Palace Ballroom, 871 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY

Black tie attire

You stared at the elegant typeface, still not understanding why you were the only one invited. You flipped the paper over in the hopes of finding an answer.

As a member of the Super Spectrum Alliance, you are cordially invited to Vought’s fundraising Gala for Crimefighting Bigotry. We’ve selected you as part of an initiative to celebrate the richness of our company’s commitment to diversity.

We stand for truth, justice, and the importance of sexual identity to both our heroes and employees.

Join us for an evening of food, drinks, raffles, and a special performance by Melissa Etheridge. All proceeds will be donated to The Born This Super Foundation, which provides resources for at-risk LGBTQIA+ youth.

You looked up from the invitation and stared blankly ahead, trying to process what you had just read.

The Super Spectrum Alliance was essentially Vought’s pride club, founded by some well-meaning queer employees a few years back. You attended an SSA meeting once, but quickly abandoned it when you learned it was usurped by a suspiciously straight member of the People team. It was apparently an attempt to ensure all club activities and discussions fell in line with company values. Regardless, your name must have been included on the member roster.

The invitation read like code for “you’re one of our resident queers and we need you to look good for the cameras.” You weren’t upset, though—quite the opposite. In fact, you felt a jolt of excitement as the implications finally hit you. These things were exclusive. 

Incredibly wealthy people attended these. Supes attended these. You had seen footage of similar Vought events on the news and gossip forums alike, knowing full well that this was a deeply coveted position you were in.

As far as you knew, you were the only openly queer employee in your corner of the office, so you were certain you wouldn’t have a familiar face to cling to. That considered, you weren’t about to not go. This was an insane opportunity; if not for your career, then for the chance to enjoy an evening of the finer things (like winning something stupidly expensive in a raffle.)

What would it be like? Would you manage to mingle with the elite, camouflaging yourself with shop talk and unearned confidence? Or would you sit at the bar the entire time, scrolling through your phone to distract from your inevitable social breakdown? Probably the latter.

You spent the first half of your morning browsing photos from past galas, needing to emotionally prepare yourself by knowing what to expect. You scanned image after image of philanthropists in glamorous suits and dresses, clutching their champagne flutes with an ease that only came with money. You would also occasionally spot a supe socializing within the sea of bigwigs. You saw Queen Maeve smiling with politicians, Translucent wearing a bow tie (and nothing else), and many more heroes of varying levels of notoriety. You stopped scrolling when a photo of Homelander filled your screen. He was enchantingly mid-laugh while presenting an award to someone, and you were once again struck by how attractive he was.

You thought about him for the first time in over a week, his intense expression between the closing elevator doors flashing in your mind. Would he be there?

Also, more importantly, what the fuck were you going to wear?

[8-0mph]

Drawovers and future AU.

Some lore under the cut:

Five years have passed in Fair City, Word Girl and friends are now in high school. The villains are up to their usual shenanigans, some have even retired.

MAJOR AU SPOILERS - DO NOT READ IF YOU INTEND ON READING COMICS.

Dr. Two Brains, however, has slowly felt his mind slip from his control as the years pass, realizing that not only has he lost control of his mind but his body as well. He has undergone some unforeseen changes, slowly transforming into the body of a mouse. His claws poke through his gloves due to this, and he desperately tries to conceal his physical changes.

Professor Snakescrew, once known as Professor Seren Ramos, was once Steven Boxlietners colleague at the police station laboratory, working as a kind of assistant starting position. She graduated from the same university Steven had gone, and once teached in. Her goal has always been to surpass him in terms of her inventions and bettering the city, no matter the cost.

Dr. Two Brains (Steven Boxleitner) was a forensic scientist that also doubled as a hero researcher for Fair City. This often included studying Amazo-Guy, and publishing the famed Superhero Guide that Word Girl often refers to.

Backstory synopsis for Snakescrew: Jealous assistant striving for bigger and better things conducts an experiment that was almost guaranteed to fail. Saved by Steven, she blames him for her ailments, her failed career, and the destruction of her project.

-

Seren “Prof. Snakescrew” Ramos

Information:

31 years old, Female. Feisty, short. Hatred for Two Brains and Word Girl. Love for snakes and reptiles. Friendless loser.

Abilities: High-intelligence, Her snakes venom have hallucinogenic properties, causing the bite victim to experience pain and visual illusions. Often this can involve hallucinating an injury that isnt actually there or a nightmarish scenario.

She calls herself professor because she thinks its cooler than “doctor”. Refers herself as “We” subconsciously.

-

Steven “Dr. Two-Brains” Boxleitner

Information:

45 years old, Male. Scatterbrained, mad. Depressed alcoholic. Filling his time with drinking and eating stolen cheese. Also a friendless loser.

Abilities: High-intelligence, able to chew through steel, incredible hearing and sense of smell, sharp claws.

[kapilasteel]

Why Smart Builders Trust Certified TMT Saria Manufacturers Over Local Alternatives

TMT saria manufacturer—that’s where real construction confidence begins. Builders today face a critical choice: opt for cheap local dealers or trust certified TMT bar manufacturers whose every inch of steel is tested, traceable, and trustworthy. The difference isn’t just price. It’s the entire foundation of your structure’s integrity.

The Backbone of Every Build: Why TMT Steel Matters

Every skyscraper, bridge, or dream home stands tall because of what lies hidden—the steel that holds it together. A TMT Saria bar isn't just another product; it’s the lifeline of a building. But not all steel is made equal, and not all suppliers are built on the same principles.

Local Dealers vs. Certified TMT Saria Manufacturers—A Hidden Gap

The local vendor might offer a tempting price, but what about quality control? Certified TMT Saria manufacturers follow strict national standards, conduct regular lab tests, and use cutting-edge machinery. Local alternatives? Often none of the above.

Consistency in Strength and Quality

Certified TMT bar manufacturers don’t guess—they guarantee. Each TMT Saria bar is uniform in tensile strength and elongation. This isn’t just paperwork; it’s the reason why structures withstand decades of stress and strain.

Advanced Manufacturing for Earthquake Resistance

The process matters. Thermo-mechanically treated bars have a specific core structure that helps absorb shockwaves. Certified TMT saria manufacturers engineer their bars for this—local brands often skip the science.

Rust Protection and Longevity

High-grade TMT saria bars come with corrosion resistance—a critical feature in coastal or humid regions. Rust may start invisibly but eats away at the heart of your structure. A certified product offers zinc coating, controlled chemical composition, and quality checks.

National Standards and ISO Certification

A certified TMT Saria manufacturer adheres to IS 1786 standards and often holds ISO 9001 certification. This means each batch is inspected, verified, and documented—reducing room for error to zero.

Heat Resistance in High-Temperature Zones

India's diverse climate demands resilience. Certified TMT bar manufacturers test their bars for high thermal resistance—a silent lifesaver in case of fire.

Cracks, Bends, and Construction Failures

Using unverified steel is like installing a fake foundation. Structural failures often begin with microscopic flaws—flaws local, uncertified TMT Saria bars don’t detect, let alone fix.

No Traceability, No Accountability

Bought steel from a local shop? Good luck tracing it back when things go wrong. Certified manufacturers log every batch, every test—a paper trail that protects builders from blame.

Long-Term Costs vs. Upfront Savings

Cheap bars today could mean renovation tomorrow. Or worse, collapse. The smart builder doesn’t cut corners—they cut risk. Certified TMT saria may cost marginally more but save crores in structural failures and legal issues.

No Support in Case of Structural Audit

When clients demand safety documentation or government audit checks roll in, local bars can’t provide certifications. Certified manufacturers can. That peace of mind? Priceless.

Builders Aren’t Just Building Homes; They’re Building Trust

Clients don’t see the steel—but they feel the difference in safety, in lifespan, and in resale value. Builders who choose certified TMT Saria manufacturers send a message: This building is made to last.

Clients Ask Questions—Trusted TMT Bar Manufacturers Have Answers

How strong is the bar? Is it fire-resistant? Is it ISI certified? Smart builders love these questions—because their choice of certified TMT bar manufacturer comes with ready answers and documentation to prove it.

Build What’s Worthy of Lasting

Great construction doesn’t start with blueprints. It starts with decisions. The decision to choose certified TMT Saria bars over unverified, inconsistent local alternatives could be the one that defines a building’s legacy—or its collapse.

Trust is not a feature. It’s a material. And only certified TMT manufacturers offer it.

[srjsteel]

What Affects HR Coil Prices in India? A Practical Guide for Steel Buyers

Introduction

HR coils are essential raw materials used across various steel-consuming industries in India, from construction and shipbuilding to automotive manufacturing and fabrication units. The demand for hot rolled coil continues to remain high, but hr coil prices can be volatile, leaving many steel buyers searching for clarity.

This guide lays out the critical pricing dynamics, what to evaluate while sourcing, and how procurement teams can make informed decisions in a competitive market.

Key Factors That Influence HR Coil Prices

Several variables directly impact hr coil prices, and being aware of them gives buyers a strategic edge.

1. Raw Material Cost

The biggest contributor to hot rolled coil pricing is the price of iron ore and coking coal—both globally traded commodities. Any fluctuations in mining output, international freight costs, or export/import duties quickly reflect in coil pricing.

2. Manufacturing Grade and Thickness

Different applications require different grades. For instance, structural applications may demand IS 2062 E250 or higher, while automotive sectors lean toward IS 10748 or equivalent. The tighter the tolerance and better the surface finish, the higher the cost. Thin-gauge coils generally carry a premium due to processing precision.

3. Production Capacity and Plant Efficiency

Not all mills operate with the same efficiency. Plants using modern hot strip mills can maintain consistent coil width, better strength, and uniform rolling. These operational benefits add to the product’s value—and sometimes its cost.

4. Global Demand and Export Markets

India both exports and imports steel. When export orders surge, local availability shrinks, pushing hr coil prices up domestically. Conversely, a decline in global demand often results in price corrections.

Understanding the Hot Rolled Coil Market in India

India's hot rolled coil market is influenced not just by raw materials but also by government policies, logistics, and regional demand patterns.

BIS Certification Compliance: Indian buyers increasingly prefer coils that meet IS:2062 standards. Verified certifications ensure safety, consistency, and long-term value—especially for government and infrastructure projects.

Logistics and Regional Delivery Costs: Transportation can affect landed cost significantly. Buyers located far from steel hubs like Raipur, Durgapur, or Bhilai often bear higher distribution costs.

Inventory Positioning: Traders with bulk inventory from previous lower-price cycles might offer temporary price advantages, but buyers must evaluate the age, rust resistance, and test certifications before purchasing.

Things Buyers Should Evaluate Before Sourcing

1. Supplier Reputation and Consistency

A seller’s pricing should align with the technical quality being delivered. Consistency in coil width, flatness, and chemical composition (especially carbon and manganese levels) is critical. Repeat deviations mean higher fabrication losses.

2. Mill Test Certificates (MTC)

Always insist on an MTC with each delivery. It should include details like mechanical properties, chemical composition, heat number, and date of manufacture. This safeguards against rejections and audit failures in high-compliance industries.

3. Delivery Lead Times

Procurement heads should assess how quickly suppliers can fulfill orders without compromising on specs. Delay in supply chains can derail entire project schedules.

4. Coil Packaging and Handling

HR coils are heavy and sensitive to surface damage. Evaluate how well the coils are packaged and transported. Poor wrapping often leads to rusting—especially during the monsoon season—and unusable portions.

Final Thoughts on Choosing the Right Supplier

HR coil prices are dynamic, but decision-making should be anchored in product traceability, supplier transparency, and process validation. The right hot rolled coil partner isn’t the cheapest—it’s the one who delivers what’s promised, every time.

Shortlist vendors who provide BIS-compliant products, timely documentation, and technical support. In a market shaped by fluctuations, the most consistent advantage is a supplier who helps mitigate uncertainty, not amplify it.

[aventurineswife]

hi!! i hope this request isn't too odd but could i request boothill with a reader who has sleep apnea and sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night really sick and shaky? basically shock-like symptoms in the middle of the night 😵‍💫 stuff like rapid heartbeat, intense shaking, nausea, clamminess, yknow. It usually goes away after like 20 minutes for me but it sucks 😭😭 i'd like to be comforted by boothill during one of these episodes...

“A Heart Wrapped in Steel”

Summary: After a rough night, you experience a sleep apnea episode, waking up in the middle of the night feeling sick and shaky. Boothill finds you struggling and steps in to comfort you. As he holds you through the episode, his unwavering presence and love become the anchor you need to survive the terrifying ordeal. In a rare, soft moment, Boothill proves that his protective nature goes beyond his quest for revenge—he’s there to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Sleep Apnea, Fluff, Comforting Boothill, Emotional Support, Protective Boothill, Mild Angst, Medical Episode, Healing.

Warnings: Sleep Apnea Episodes (described as rapid heartbeat, shaking, nausea, clamminess), Panic and Anxiety, Mild Emotional Distress, Physical Discomfort.

A/N: Not odd at all—I'm so sorry to hear that, I hope this fic can comfort you.

The cold of the stars barely touched you here—tucked inside the belly of Boothill’s rust-slicked ship, where the engine hummed like a tired lullaby. You’d fallen asleep to it, curled against warm blankets that smelled faintly of metal, desert wind, and him.

But tonight, the dark wasn’t quiet.

Your chest heaved with effort—lungs grabbing at air that didn’t feel real. You shot awake, gasping. Heart racing, skin clammy, vision swimming. A tremble ran through your arms, so violent you couldn’t hold your own weight. The nausea hit second. You squeezed your eyes shut and gripped the sheets, trying to ride it out.

You hated this. The middle-of-the-night hell where your body rebelled and your mind scrambled to make sense of the panic, the disorientation. You hated waking up like this—sick, shaky, scared.

And then you heard it: the low, steady clank of heavy boots against the floor.

“Darlin’?”

His voice was rough from disuse—deeper in the dark. Boothill, still half-dressed in his pants and jacket, stood in the doorway with one of his pistols holstered but the other hand empty. The red gleam of his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of you, slumped and shaking.

You didn’t even need to say anything.

Boothill crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside you. “Fudge. You’re havin’ another one.” His cybernetic hand came to the back of your neck, cool and steady, guiding you to lean forward against him. “Breathe, sugar. I gotcha.”

You let yourself fall into him—against the cold metal of his chest and the soft fray of that red scarf. Your fingers clutched his sleeve.

“I can’t—my heart’s goin’ nuts—feels like—feels like—” you couldn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to.

“I know. I know.” Boothill’s voice was a low rumble, like a faraway thunderstorm. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath warm against your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’ takin’ you from me tonight, y’hear? Not this. Not anything.”

Your legs jerked with tremors, but he didn’t flinch. Just adjusted his hold, arms tightening around you, hand rubbing slow circles against your spine.

“Sometimes happens when you ain’t sleepin’ right, huh?” he murmured, almost to himself. “Knew I shoulda bolted that CPAP better. Hell, maybe I’ll build you a custom one. Make it prettier. With flames on the side.”

You laughed, a strangled little thing, but it helped. He always knew how to break the fear.

“I feel like I’m dying,” you whispered.

Boothill leaned back just enough to look you in the eye. His aim-marked pupils scanned every inch of your face like a targeting system on a warpath.

“You ain’t dyin’,” he said firmly. “Not while I’m here. Ain’t nobody better at pullin’ folks outta the dirt than me.”

He wrapped the scarf around your shoulders, then dragged you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

You stayed there, shaking less with each passing second. He rocked you gently, a motion that felt oddly natural for a man built for vengeance. The weight of him—iron, rage, and relentless love—was your anchor in this storm.

The worst of it passed after a while. Your breaths evened out. The nausea ebbed like a tide retreating. He didn’t move until you relaxed fully against his chest.

“Thanks,” you said hoarsely.

Boothill leaned down and kissed your temple—just once, soft as a whisper. “You don’t ever gotta thank me for takin’ care of you,” he said. “You’re my heart, [Name]. If it means sittin’ up through every damn episode like this ‘til the end of time, I’ll do it.”

His voice cracked a little at the end. You didn’t think Boothill cried. But something deep in you knew—if this ever took you away from him, he’d burn stars for revenge.

You tucked yourself tighter into his arms and whispered, “I’m okay now. Just... stay with me ‘til I fall asleep?”

“You couldn’t chase me off with a plasma cannon, darlin’.”

And with that, Boothill held you—long into the night, iron arms wrapped around flesh and bone, guarding your dreams like a cowboy angel forged in fire and loss.

[milkb0nny]

Ethereal Vulnerability

... Dean and Sam on their way to save you

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader

Summary: You grew up poor and alone, forcing you into the horrible red light district. However, your services were darker than the usual stuff, and lately your colleagues went missing. It only took a booking for two men to save you from being next.

Note: I was heavily inspired by the movie „Sleeping Beauty“. It has such an interesting plot and I loved the eerie vibe. This might not be everyone’s cup of tea. Still, I hope the few of you will enjoy this! If this gets a good reception, I’ll write a 2nd chapter.

Content: reader being sex worker, sleeping pills, getting drugged, spn violence, angst, disturbing content

Word count: 1,2k

Another day, another forced shift.

Another day where men exploited women’s bodies, wielding their money as a weapon of control. You despised the system, but there was no room to complain as you depended on that same system for survival. For money, which you needed so desperately.

This here was a cruel structure that demanded obedience from young souls, only to discard them when they were used up or gone entirely. And worst: no one cared about them.

No one cared about you.

You stepped into the motel, offering a polite nod to the secretary while avoiding the missing persons flyers plastered on the reception desk. Six women. Six lives snuffed out, their bodies never found. As if they had simply vanished into thin air. The media ignored it, and the authorities seemed indifferent.

Who cared, after all? They were only prostitutes in the eyes of the world.

And you were stuck in this helpless situation with no one to guide you into safety or a usual life.

Despite the fear that you could be next, you continued working. Rent was due. Food was scarce. Death seemed inevitable either way, so you clung to the fragile hope that you’d survive just one more day. Maybe a rich man would adopt you - or maybe you’d get a big tip for your extraordinary “work“.

“Here you go,” the secretary said, sliding something under the glass partition. “Two men booked you for the whole night.”

You nodded, pocketing the room keys and picking up the small cup containing two familiar pills. The bitterness of the sleeping tablets didn’t faze you anymore. You were used to the dreamless nights, to the numb void that came with them.

Still, it never stopped being unsettling.

You’d sleep through it all.

But maybe it was a blessing: not seeing their faces, not feeling their hands on your sorry body and not hearing the things they would say about you. This was the only business letting women sleep through, advertising to a certain masculine fetish.

“Thank you,” you replied with a small smile, taking the items.

The secretary hesitated, her expression tinged with guilt. “Be careful, love.”

“I will.” You forced another smile before heading to the changing room.

The other women were already there, each one stunning in their own way. No flaws, no imperfections. The only requirement to work here was to embody an impossible ideal: flawless beauty, free of scars, blemishes, or even a stray hair. You were all gems, polished to perfection in the dirtiest setting imaginable.

You changed into the white lingerie, adjusting it to hug your curves just right. After fixing your makeup and offering yourself a final look in the mirror, you sighed deeply. Fear clawed at the edges of your mind, but you steeled yourself with a faint hope… you just had to make it through the night.

The room was surprisingly luxurious, a contrast to the grim reality outside. Warm lights bathed the space in a soft glow, and the bed was adorned with blankets that felt like clouds. This level of comfort was a cruel irony, considering the cost that came with it.

You sat on the edge of the bed, swallowed the pills in one go, and slipped under the covers. It wasn’t long before the drugs pulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The door opened quietly sometime later, two figures slipping inside. They moved with practiced precision, shutting the door softly behind them.

“Man, this is one hell of a weird gig,” Dean muttered, glancing around the room with a mixture of unease and frustration.

„You’re not wrong,” Sam agreed, his gaze settling on your sleeping form. “She’s completely out of it. Has no idea what’s going on.”

A heavy silence hung between them, tinged with disgust - not at you, but at the circumstances.

“We’ll take this bastard down without her even knowing,” Dean said, circling the bed to get a better look at you. “After this, the girls around here should be safe… well, from monsters, anyway.”

He stared down at you, his jaw tightening. How could someone so beautiful, so full of life, end up in a situation like this? He hated the world that had left you with no other choice. It felt as if he was glancing at a doll, not a human.

An hour passed as they waited, watching the shadows lengthen across the room. They pitied your job and chatted a little about it, while Dean didn’t even to bother touching you in any way. Your soul had been tarnished enough.

After another five minutes, Dean sat tensely by the bed, while Sam stepped out to execute their plan. He told the secretary he was grabbing something from the car, leaving Dean to hold down the fort.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft rhythm of your breathing. Dean’s mind churned, his eyes flicking to the door every few seconds. They didn’t even know what they were hunting yet, only that it was dangerous and starving.

The door creaked open, breaking the silence. Dean’s hand went to his weapon instinctively, but what stepped inside wasn’t Sam. It was a woman or at least, it appeared to be.

But the way she moved was wrong, her presence too eerie to be human. The lights stayed off as she glided toward the bed, her gaze fixed on you.

Either it was a vampire, or one of the rather rarer creatures - Pishtaco. Creatures that were as gruesome and cruel as vampires but they feasted on fat, not blood.

Just as she reached for you, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. Sam stood behind her, his expression grim.

“No way you’re getting out of here,” Sam said, his voice low.

Dean rose from his seat, his silver knife in his hand. “You picked the wrong motel, sweetheart.”

The creature hissed, its facade slipping to reveal its true form; its grotesque hunger evident in its hollow eyes.

Meanwhile the haze of unconsciousness began to lift, pulling you back to reality. The pills were too weak, it seems your body got used to them. Your eyelids felt heavy. Slowly, you stirred, your body sluggish and weighed down, as if you were moving through quicksand.

"Hey, she's waking up," Dean’s voice reached you, rough and laced with concern. Shit, that’s couldn’t be happening. You woke up during the wrong time.

Your eyes opened, the dim moonlight shining through the room. Dean was leaning over you, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the room.

Sam stood nearby, his posture tense but his expression kind. "How is she feeling?"

Your voice came out as a rasp. "Tired… sore." You tried to push yourself up, but Dean’s firm hand on your shoulder kept you grounded.

What was going on? And why where they holding weapons?

"Easy," he murmured. "Just rest."

You nodded weakly, your head still pounding, but a creeping unease was beginning to gnaw at the back of your mind. Something felt... off.

Dean stiffened instantly, moving between you and the woman. "Stay there," he ordered.

The pishtaco stepped closer, her movements slow, and unnervingly graceful. Her gaze locked onto you, and a chill ran down your spine.

"You shouldn’t have interfered," the beast said, her voice smooth as silk but dripping with malice. Her eyes flicked to Dean and Sam. "You have no idea what you're up against."

Dean scoffed, his stance widening. "Lady, we’ve taken down worse than you. You’re not walking out of here."

The Pishtaco laughed softly, the sound unnervingly melodic. "You don’t understand. I was only taking what I needed. She’s just another meal. But you… you’re getting in the way of nature."

"Nature?" Sam said, stepping to the side to cut off her retreat. "You’re murdering innocent women to feed your appetite. That’s not nature… that’s a monster."

Her expression darkened, “No one cares about those prostitutes. So why not taking them?“

Before anyone could react, she lunged toward the bed. Her speed was unnatural, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing.

Dean grabbed her mid-lunge, shoving her back with a grunt of effort. "Get out of here now!" he screamed at you, but your body was frozen in fear, unable to move.

You weren’t just bodily restricted but also high from the pills, making it hard to grasp what’s happening.

The Pishtaco hissed, her face twisting into something grotesque. She clawed at Dean, her nails slashing dangerously close to his face.

Sam dove in, wielding a silver blade, slashing at her side. The Pishtaco roared, spinning around to swat him away like he weighed nothing. He crashed into the dresser, yelling but alive.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He tackled the monster, slamming her against the wall.

"You’re not touching her," he insisted, his green eyes blazing with fury.

But the Pishtaco was stronger than she looked. With a growl, she twisted out of Dean’s grip and darted toward you. Her claws dug into your arm as she yanked you towards her, dragging you toward the door.

You felt so vulnerable and weak. Like a play toy.

"You want her? Come and get her!" she spat, her voice venomous.

You cried out in pain as her grip tightened, her nails digging into your skin. Crimson blood run down your revealed body, soaking your lingerie into a rich red.

"Fuck," you mumbled, your head spinning terribly.

Dean‘s head snapped toward you, his expression a mixture of rage and terror. "Let her go!"

The Pishtaco laughed, the sound cruel and mocking. "Oh, I don’t think so. She’s mine now. And I will feast on her beautiful fat. You’ll just have to find another way to play hero."

But Dean was already moving. In one swift motion, he grabbed the silver blade Sam had dropped and hurled it with deadly precision.

The blade struck the Pishtaco in the shoulder, and she howled in pain, her grip on you faltering. Dean surged forward, grabbing you and pulling you out of her grasp just as Sam regained his footing.

Again, Pishtaco lunged at you, but Sam interrupted her, driving a second silver blade into her chest. She screamed, her body convulsing from her wounds.

Dean held you tightly against his chest, shielding you from the sight as the Pishtaco let out one final cry before collapsing into ash.

The room fell silent, the only sound your guys ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart.

"You okay?" Dean asked, his voice low and steady, his arms still wrapped protectively around you.

You nodded shakily, unable to find your voice. Your entire body was trembling, but Dean’s presence was grounding. His warmth, his strength… it was enough to keep you from falling apart. As if your life hadn’t been difficult enough.

But what the hell was that?!

"She’s gone," Sam said, his voice weary but certain. "It’s over."

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face as his eyes scanned for any injuries. "She didn’t hurt you, did she?"

You shook your head. "No, just my arms… what the hell. This shit was mental. Thank you for…saving me?"

Dean’s lips quirked into a faint, reassuring smile. "Right, we did."

His thumb brushed against your cheek. The intensity of his gaze made your breath hitch, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. A man rarely gazed your way without lust, but admiration.

"You’re safe now," he murmured, his voice softer.

"Well… whatever you define as safe," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dean’s smile vanished, his eyes remained serious. "Don’t mention it."

Sam cleared his throat, stepping back from the scene. "We should… probably get out of here before anyone notices what happened."

Dean nodded but didn’t let go of you right away. His hands lingered on your arms for a moment longer before he finally stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours.

„Alright, we‘ll patch you up…“

The three of you made your way out of the room. Dean gave you his leather jacket to cover your bare body, and you couldn’t help but glance at Dean. Perhaps there were men who didn’t abuse your vulnerable position.

The way both had protected you, the way Dean had looked at you… it stirred something deep inside you. He didn’t view you as a mere prostitute but as a woman worth saving.

For a moment, you didn’t feel dirty and used.

And judging by the way his hand brushed yours as you walked, it seemed like he wanted you out of that business.

[novaursa]

Heyyyy me again! Mybe some cute father reader! And mom whoever you want!

Fires of Rook's Rest

- Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest you return to Dragonstone; to your family.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is brother-husband to Rhaenyra and is bonded with Silverwing.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

The wind howls in your ears as you guide Silverwing through the thick clouds, the salty sting of the sea below mingling with the smoke that still clings to you. Your muscles ache with the strain of battle, and the burns and cuts that mar your body pulse with each movement, though you have grown accustomed to the pain. It is the price of victory, however fleeting. Behind you, the flames of Rook’s Rest still burn in your mind’s eye, the screams of men and the clash of steel echoing like ghosts as you think of your half-brother, Aegon, brought low by your hand. Aemond was there too, his one good eye burning with rage as you narrowly escaped his wrath. 

But now, Dragonstone looms ahead, a shadowed fortress nestled in the mist of the sea. It is home. A haven amidst the storm of war. The sight of it stirs something deep within you, though your body threatens to give way under the weight of exhaustion. You press on, guiding Silverwing with a firm hand as you descend toward the familiar cliffs, where the black stone walls rise like jagged teeth from the earth.

As you near the landing courtyard, you see movement below. Waiting. A small cluster of figures, their bright hair glinting like pale fire in the twilight. The children. Your children. Your heart clenches, a wave of warmth overtaking the cold, hollow feeling that has filled you since the battle. 

Baelon is the first you notice, standing tall despite his young age, his serious face a reflection of your own as he watches you approach. Beside him, Aenys fidgets, eyes wide and filled with awe as always, eager to see Silverwing up close. And there, clutching the hem of her nursemaid’s skirts, is Visenya, her silver-gold curls tumbling down her back. She is the smallest, yet her presence is as fierce as any dragon.

And then, there is her.

Rhaenyra. Your sister. Your wife. She stands apart from the children, her gown billowing in the wind as the light of the setting sun catches the red of your house's colors. Her eyes are fixed on you, sharp and searching, though her lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile—one reserved only for you.

Silverwing lands with a thud, shaking the stones beneath you, and you slide from her back, your legs barely steady beneath you as you land. The pain in your side flares, but you push it away. There is no room for weakness here. Not in front of them. You straighten, your eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s as she steps forward, her face a mask of composure though you see the worry in her eyes.

“You’ve returned,” she says softly, her voice low and intimate, meant only for you.

“Aye,” you rasp, your throat dry from the heat of battle, “though not unscathed.”

Her eyes flicker over the burns that mar your arm, the blood that stains your tunic where Aemond’s sword nearly found its mark. For a moment, you see the flicker of fear in her, but it is quickly replaced with something harder. She is a Targaryen, as are you. This is the cost of the crown you both seek to protect.

Before you can speak again, Baelon rushes forward, his youthful vigor uncontained as he reaches for you, his arms wrapping around your waist despite your wounds. “Father,” he breathes, his voice tight with the worry he tries to hide. “You won, didn’t you?”

You smile down at him, resting a hand on his silver hair. “We won a battle, yes, but the war is not done.” Your voice is firm, though you soften it for him. Baelon is old enough to understand, but still, you wish to shield him from the harsher truths of war.

Aenys, ever curious, steps forward, eyes wide as he peers up at you. “Did Silverwing burn them all, father? Did you see Uncle Aegon fall?” There is excitement in his tone, the thrill of the tales he has been told of dragons and war, but you see Rhaenyra’s sharp gaze land on him, warning him silently.

You crouch down, grimacing as pain shoots through your side, but you manage a weary smile. “Silverwing fought fiercely, and yes, your uncle Aegon was brought down. But war is not a story, Aenys. There is little glory in the bloodshed.”

Visenya, shy and quiet, takes a hesitant step forward, her wide violet eyes fixed on you. She says nothing, but you see the concern in her expression, the way she looks at the burns on your hands. She is only five, yet already wise enough to sense the weight of what you carry.

You reach out to her, and she steps into your arms, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of your tunic. “I’m here,” you murmur to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, her curls soft against your lips. “I’ll always come back.”

Rhaenyra moves forward then, her hand resting on your arm as she looks between you and the children. “Let’s us go inside,” she says softly, but her voice leaves no room for argument. “You need rest. The children have been waiting long enough.”

You nod, allowing her to lead you toward the doors of the keep, your steps heavy but your heart lighter for their presence. As you pass through the archway, you glance down at your children, each of them a reminder of what you fight for. 

For them. For her.

And as long as you have them, you will endure.

[jacestuckinhell]

Cinder and Storms

Indra Ōtsutsuki x Reader| Arranged Marriage AU | Word Count: 1,550 Genre: Slow Burn, Angst, Romantic Tension, Drama, Enemies to Reluctant Allies to lovers TW: Power imbalance (discussed), themes of dutywar, emotionally intense moments, arranged marriage

The first time you see him, he doesn't look at you. He stares past you, as if peering through the veil of this world into something far crueler. You’re standing in the Hall of Ancients, your formal robes heavier than the silence between you. They say he's a prodigy, the firstborn of the Sage himself—child of celestial power and terrifying purpose.

They say you're lucky. You don't feel lucky. You feel offered.

"A political marriage is a wise path," says the elder who brought you here. But wisdom doesn't keep your hands from trembling.

He doesn’t bow. Doesn’t smile. He just says,

“So this is what peace costs.”

And your spine snaps straight like a blade unsheathing. “I didn’t ask to be a cost,” you say.

His eyes finally meet yours. Sharp. Surprised. And for the first time, Indra Ōtsutsuki sees you—not a symbol, not an offering. A person.

They give you separate chambers in the palace. A courtesy. Or a warning.

He trains from dawn till dusk, and you wake each day to the sound of steel against steel, chakra like static in the air. You watch him from the shadows of the garden. You don’t speak.

He doesn’t either.

Until the night he finds you in the library, fingers tracing ancient seals.

“You read the old tongues?” he asks. His voice is low, curious, not cruel.

“I study what I’m forced to become part of,” you reply.

Something flickers in his gaze—humor? Respect? Regret? You can’t tell. He steps closer.

“Then you already know," he says, voice dark and hollow, "that peace is only bought in blood.”

Your heart twinges. “Then I hope you're rich.”

Days pass like leaves in the wind—quiet, beautiful, edged with decay.

Indra is distant. But not indifferent. He leaves tea for you in the mornings. Orders extra scrolls for your study. Once, you find a chrysanthemum on your windowsill. No note. Just the flower. Red. Blood-colored. Loyal. Stubborn.

Like him.

You don’t talk about it. But something shifts.

The space between you narrows.

One night, thunder snarls in the distance. You wake, drawn to the storm like it calls your name. And there he is—alone in the training courtyard, shirt clinging to him like a second skin, soaked in rain and grief.

"You're not made of lightning," you say softly. "You’ll catch cold."

He doesn’t turn. “Maybe I want to.”

You walk barefoot through the puddles to him. His chakra buzzes like a live wire.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” you whisper.

His jaw tightens. “Because it’s the only time I feel real.”

You’re quiet a moment. Then, “Let me try something.”

He watches you, wary but still.

You take his hand. It’s cold. Trembling. Slowly, you guide it to your chest, over your heart. “Can you feel it?”

His eyes widen. Your pulse thuds steady beneath his palm.

“You’re real,” you say. “You’re not a weapon.”

He doesn’t pull away.

After that, he lingers.

Not much—just enough to notice. To sit beside you at meals. To correct your stances during sparring, his hands burning against your wrists. To speak your name like a secret, not a sentence.

And once, just once, he laughs. A sharp sound, unused, like thunder cracking after a dry spell. You make a joke about his hair being longer than yours and he actually smiles—not the cold, calculated kind, but something unguarded.

He looks younger, then. Less myth. More man.

But peace is a house built on unstable earth.

Whispers of betrayal slither through the court. Your clan is accused of stirring rebellion. The elders want blood. And once again, you are a symbol.

Indra is silent through it all.

Until you storm into his chambers, hands shaking.

“They want me dead,” you snap. “They want us to break.”

He stands slowly, shadows curling behind him like a second skin.

“I won’t let them.”

You freeze. “Then say it, Indra. Say that I’m not just a placeholder in your war-script life.”

He stares at you, eyes burning with a thousand years of silence.

And then— “I didn’t want this,” he says. “Any of it. Not the power. Not the title. Not a bride I didn’t choose.”

Ouch.

“But,” he continues, stepping close, “if fate insists on writing me into this tragedy—then let me choose how I hold the pen.”

And then he does the unthinkable. He bows.

To you.

“For as long as I breathe,” he murmurs, “no one will hurt you. I swear it on my name.”

Your throat closes. Because this isn’t love. Not yet. But it is something.

And it’s more than you ever hoped to find in the eye of the storm.

Later that night, as the moonlight casts silver across his bedchamber floor, he sits beside you—not touching, not pushing, just there. You rest your head against his shoulder. His hand brushes yours.

“You still think you’re not real?” you whisper.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes. “Then I’ll remind you. Every day. Every time you forget.”

And in the quiet between thunder and dawn, Indra Ōtsutsuki—for the first time in his war-forged life—lets someone hold the broken pieces without fear they’ll shatter.

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I don't know guys; this is my first time actually posting a fic on here. hope it's up to par. this is one of my favourites I think. anyways.