#aim architecture

[searchsystem]

AIM Architecture / Harmay / Xintiandi / Store / 2020

[jellyfishfromthevoid]

The Angel on your shoulder and the Devil on the other

Your 20 and it's your first year at Universty (you took a gap year to vist france) and like everyone else on this plant you got your Fundmental Conscious Aid (or Judgy as everyone calls them) at 18. However instead of getting a darling little angel to balance out the devil your stuck with you got two...two devils On the left there is Shelly, a 70's housewife that definatly killed her husband...and her second...and how many others came after that. Other then that she's an complete darling. Tells you what to mix to get stains out of the carpet, how to clean the oven, even how to make small talk. She once told you the best way to kiss a girl and then get rid of the evidence...unprompted On the right there is Bradney. No he's not some frat bro from the early 2000's, instead he was a builder in medival normandy. Thanks to Bradney you actually learnt french, well Norman French swear words. Bradney's the one that tells you how to down a keg as quickly as possible, how to put down a wolf with your bare hands and how to make a castle as spacious and structurally sound as possible. He's also been around the block before, so you better get used to a mix of Norman 'slang', 80's popculture refrences and early 50's insults. He also knows how exactly to build a rocket because of the last guy he Judged for. (You'r pretty sure he's got HSAM) Whenever you face any personal problem, you better bet the advice you get is murder. Bradney often suggest you do it with bare hands and metal axe, you have to remind him that you have neither the muscle or medival weaponry for that. Shelly's always suggests calculated homiced using household appliences (she got pouty when she found out not a lot of people have gas stoves anymore). They've unanimous decide boiling sugerwater will be how you kill your first man. So yeah, your in univeristy with a Norman man who won't stop making starwars references and 70's house wife who is painfully neither in or out the closet...both of which would squel in joy if you break someone's hand. One teaches you how to cook, One helps you with your school work and none of you know how to do taxes.

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[virigorne]

4 pages finisbed but I'm only...at shot 6.....of 22...

[lionheartlr]

Exploring Bosnia and Herzegovina: A Comprehensive Travel Guide

A Brief History of Bosnia and Herzegovina Bosnia and Herzegovina, nestled in the heart of the Balkans, has a rich and tumultuous history. The region was part of the Roman Empire and later the Byzantine Empire before becoming the medieval Bosnian Kingdom in the 12th century. The Ottoman Empire took control in the 15th century, influencing the culture and religion of the region significantly. In…

[panaromicinoftechs]

Mastering Mobile App Localization: The Ultimate Guide

[solxamber]

Kidnapped(?) - Malleus x reader

You were sick of the taxes imposed by the aristocrats in your already poverty stricken village. Your idea of a solution? Kidnap their young master , and make them reduce taxes as the ransom, of course. Only problem is that you went into the wrong manor and kidnapped the wrong young master.

crossposted from my ao3!

It’s far too late for a sane person to be awake, let alone breaking into an aristocratic manor, but here you are, perched atop a wrought iron fence. You inhale deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the wild thudding of your heart. Sure, you’ve trespassed on fancy estates before—who hasn’t?—but this time, you’re aiming high. Really high.

Tonight, you’re going to kidnap the young master.

It sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the village’s plight had pushed you this far. Unfair taxes, people going hungry, all thanks to the greed of the lord’s family holed up in their luxurious estate. Someone needed to stand up for the people. That someone just happened to be you.

You’d never kidnapped anyone before, but how hard could it be? Grab the rich guy, ask for a ransom—specifically, less ridiculous taxes—and stroll away like a hero. Easy.

The manor looms in front of you, all dark windows and dramatic architecture. It's almost too easy to slip past the guards. You start to wonder if they’re just really bad at their jobs or if this is some elaborate setup. Still, you can’t help but smirk. You’re so good at this, it’s almost criminal.

Well, it is criminal. But you know, details.

Inside, the place is eerily quiet. Every shadow seems to be watching you as you slink through the halls, making your way toward the young master’s room. You’ve heard the rumors—aloof, cold, basically allergic to feelings. Intimidating him into compliance? Piece of cake.

After a few minutes of creeping around like a ninja, you find a room with the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickers inside. Jackpot. You steady your breath, grip your very intimidating (okay, slightly makeshift) weapon, and push the door open.

Sitting at a desk, seemingly unfazed by your dramatic entrance, is the young master.

“Ah,” he says, turning slowly to look at you. There’s a glimmer of... curiosity? in his eyes. “A visitor. How... unexpected.”

You blink. This is not going to plan. Where’s the panic? The yelling for help? The appropriate reaction to being ambushed at night?

Determined to salvage the situation, you wave your weapon and try your best "intimidating kidnapper" voice. “You’re coming with me! I’m here to kidnap you, and if you want to see your precious manor again, you’ll lower the village taxes!”

There’s a beat of silence.

The young master raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidnapping me? How... amusing.”

Amusing? You falter. “This isn’t a joke,” you insist, shaking your weapon for emphasis. “I’m serious! Ransom, taxes, starving villagers—ringing any bells?”

Instead of, say, panicking or fleeing, the young master stands up from his chair, all calm and composed, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night activity. “Very well. I suppose I should humor you.”

You blink again, utterly at a loss. “Wait... you’re just agreeing to this?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, giving you a strange, intrigued look. “I’ve never been kidnapped before. It sounds rather... interesting.”

And just like that, he strolls toward the door as if this is his idea. You scramble to follow, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

As you lead him through the estate, you’re still grappling with the bizarre reality of the situation. Here you are, attempting to kidnap someone, and the guy is practically rolling out a red carpet for you.

“You know,” you mutter, glancing over at him, “most people don’t just let themselves be kidnapped. It’s not really how this works.”

He turns to you with a serene smile that’s entirely too pleasant for a hostage. “Why should I resist? You don’t seem the type to harm me.”

You narrow your eyes. Is he flirting? Intentionally or not, this guy’s nerve is off the charts.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

“I’m not giving my name to my hostage,” you snap back. This is Kidnapping 101.

“Ah, of course.” He nods, clearly amused. “Then I’ll introduce myself instead. I am Malleus Draconia.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. Malleus Draconia. THE Malleus Draconia. The name practically vibrates with power and danger, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a colossal mistake. You haven’t kidnapped the young master of the manor—you’ve kidnapped the prince of the fae.

“Oh no,” you mutter, horror creeping into your voice. “Oh no, oh no, this is bad. This is really bad.”

Malleus watches you with mild amusement, an eyebrow raised. “Why the sudden distress?”

You whirl on him. “You’re Malleus Draconia! I— I wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! This is a mistake—like, a huge mistake. I’ll just let you go and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

But instead of looking concerned, Malleus just smiles wider, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Let me go? But I’m having so much fun.”

You gape at him. “You... want to stay kidnapped?”

“Indeed.” He seems completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had such an engaging evening.”

Well. This is officially the weirdest night of your life.

The night only gets stranger when you run into his retainers.

“Young Master!” a voice bellows, and you look up to see a tall, green-haired fae charging toward you, fury in his eyes. “What is going on here?!”

Before you can even explain, Malleus casually steps in. “Ah, Sebek. Allow me to introduce my kidnapper.”

Sebek freezes mid-charge, eyes wide. “Y-Your... kidnapper?!”

Malleus nods with an unnervingly calm smile. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Sebek’s brain seems to short-circuit, and he storms off, shouting something about telling Lilia and Silver. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

Malleus, of course, chuckles softly beside you. “On the contrary. I think it’s rather amusing.”

Of course he does.

By the time Lilia and Silver arrive, you’ve already resigned yourself to your fate. At least they’ll make your execution quick, right?

But Lilia just grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Well, well. This is certainly the most interesting kidnapping I’ve seen in centuries.”

Silver, on the other hand, just raises a brow. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

Malleus smiles at you, as though being abducted by a random stranger is the highlight of his week. “Quite.”

You’re about to protest when Malleus turns to his retainers with a firm nod. “I’d like to speak to my kidnapper alone.”

Sebek looks like he’s going to explode, but Malleus’s sharp glance shuts him up. Lilia throws you a wink as they all leave, and just like that, you’re alone with the fae prince. Again.

Malleus steps closer, his calm mask slipping just a little. “You know, I’ve grown quite fond of this little adventure.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head, lips quirking into a smile. “I propose a deal. I’ll help your village with the taxes. In return, you’ll... continue kidnapping me.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait... you want me to keep kidnapping you?”

“Yes. It’s been rather fun.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “What do you say?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is the weirdest deal I’ve ever made.”

Malleus grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Wonderful. Now, shall we shake on it?”

And so, your bizarre, extremely non-traditional kidnapping arrangement begins.

Every few days, it’s the same: you sneak into his manor (more like casually walk in, since he always leaves the window open for you now), and the two of you embark on whatever adventure catches your whimsy. Sometimes it’s sneaking into human markets where Malleus marvels at the mundane—like street food or ridiculous trinkets. Other times, you explore abandoned castles with winding, forgotten hallways that echo with untold stories.

It’s almost normal now, the way he expects you to “abduct” him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle as you half-heartedly demand his presence for another outing. The most feared prince of the fae is now, apparently, your willing partner in crime.

The first time you take him to a local fair, though, you realize just how out of his element he truly is. Malleus spends a good twenty minutes, completely entranced, watching a cotton candy machine.

“Is it... magic?” he asks, his (very pretty) eyes locked onto the swirling pink clouds as the vendor twirls the sugary fluff onto a stick.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out far more amused than you intended. “Nope. Just sugar spun into fluff. You’ve really never seen this before?”

Malleus watches the process with a reverence usually reserved for ancient relics, finally accepting the cotton candy as if it’s some kind of delicate treasure. He takes a cautious bite, his expression lighting up like a child’s.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “It dissolves on the tongue.”

You bite back another laugh at the sight of this powerful fae prince, someone who commands fear from almost everyone around him, completely taken by spun sugar. “Glad you like it.”

After that, it’s a night of him eagerly trying every strange, sticky fair food he can find, utterly fascinated by things as simple as corn dogs and funnel cake. You can't decide if it’s endearing or a little embarrassing, but either way, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in a long time.

As the weeks pass, the more you look forward to your little "kidnapping" escapades, and that in itself is a whole other problem. Malleus’s wide-eyed curiosity about the human world is... strangely adorable, and while he’s still every bit the regal fae prince, there’s something endearing about the way he asks you questions about everyday things with such genuine interest. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, his quiet intelligence making for great conversation—when he’s not completely sidetracked by things like human street food.

The more time you spend with him, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth creeping up on you. You’re starting to fall for him. It’s ridiculous, and yet... here you are.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

“Human!” Sebek shouts dramatically one afternoon as you and Malleus return from yet another outing. “How dare you abduct the Young Master again!”

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this by now. “Sebek, I’ve told you before. He wants me to kidnap him.”

Sebek bristles, sputtering indignantly, his green hair practically standing on end. “Lies! The Young Master would never allow—”

“Sebek,” Malleus interrupts, his tone calm, but with that unmistakable edge that immediately silences his retainer. “I went willingly. Again.”

Sebek’s jaw drops, looking like someone just told him the sky isn’t blue. “But... Young Master...”

Malleus gives him a slow, deliberate look, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You should try it sometime. You may find it... enlightening. Although,” he turns to you, his voice soft but with an unmistakable possessiveness, “you’ll have to find another human. This one is already mine.”

Your breath hitches as Malleus’s words hang in the air, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Sebek, meanwhile, looks utterly scandalized, his eyes wide as saucers. Lilia, who has been watching the whole thing with far too much amusement, claps Sebek on the back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Lilia chuckles. “Let them have their fun.”

Sebek looks like he's about to explode, but instead storms off, muttering something about propriety, while Silver smirks quietly from the sidelines.

One night, after another "kidnapping," you find yourself sitting beside Malleus on a hill overlooking the village, the faint glow of the fair still visible in the distance. The stars hang bright overhead, and there’s a soft stillness between you as the cool air nips at your skin.

Malleus’s voice breaks the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You’ve given me more than I expected.”

You glance at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

He turns to you, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t seen before. “Companionship. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for it until... until you.”

Your heart does something funny at his words, the raw sincerity of them tugging at something deep inside you. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, your fingertips grazing his skin. The air between you seems to still.

“I’ve grown... quite fond of you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken. “Malleus, I—”

But before you can find the words, Malleus leans in, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the warmth of his hand gently cup your cheek. The world seems to fade away as you both hover there, caught between anticipation and something more.

“I do believe,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as his eyes darken with something you can’t quite name, “that I’m falling for you, my little kidnapper.”

Your heart stutters, and before you know it, you’re closing the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, everything else ceases to matter—no fair, no adventures, no strange arrangements. Just the two of you, finally giving in to the pull that’s been drawing you together for weeks.

When you pull back, breathless, Malleus smiles, and it’s the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Does this mean,” he says, his voice still low and teasing, “you’ll continue kidnapping me?”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in your chest. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Malleus grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “No, I suppose not.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my first time posting here so i have no idea what i'm doing and the formatting is probably off because i'm on mobile but i'll slowly figure it out.

Masterlist

[dominiqueramseyart]

Some positivity in these turbulent AI times

*This does not minimize the crisis at hand, but is aimed at easing any anxieties.

With every social media selling our data to AI companies now, there is very little way to avoid being scraped. The sad thing is many of us still NEED social media to advertise ourselves and get seen by clients. I can't help but feeling that we as artists are not at risk of losing our livelihoods, here is why:

Just because your data is available does not mean that AI companies will/want to use it. Your work may never end up being scraped at all.

The possibility of someone who uses AI art prompts can replace you (if your work is scraped) is very unlikely. Art Directors and clients HAVE to work with people, the person using AI art cannot back up what a machine made. Their final product for a client will never be substantial since AI prompts cannot be consistent with use and edits requested will be impossible.

AI creators will NEVER be able to make a move unless us artists make a move first. They will always be behind in the industry.

AI creators lack the fundamental skills of art and therefore cannot detect when something looks off in a composition. Many professional artists like me get hired repeatedly for a reason! WE as artists know what we're doing.

The art community is close-knit and can fund itself. Look at furry commissions, Patreon, art conventions, Hollywood. Real art will always be able to make money and find an audience because it's how we communicate as a species.

AI creators lack the passion and ambition to make a career out of AI prompts. Not that they couldn't start drawing at any time, but these tend to be the people who don't enjoy creating art to begin with.

There is no story or personal experience that can be shared about AI prompts so paying customers will lose interest quickly.

Art is needed to help advance society along, history says so. To do that, companies will need to hire artists (music, architecture, photography, design, etc). The best way for us artists to keep fighting for our voice to be heard right now is staying visible. Do not hide or give in! That is what they want. Continue posting online and/or in person and sharing your art with the world. It takes a community and we need you!

[risunsky]

Imagine that somewhere in the ministry there is a large statue in honour of the very first Sister of Sin.

Inspired by a photograph of Gian Lorenzo Bernini's statue of Constantine, taken by Saiko (wikipedia).

I didn't keep the statue because my aim was to practise by completely creating a part of the work, but the photograph was very useful for everything else, the architecture and especially the light! Without Saiko's beautiful photo, this illustration wouldn't exist.

It was an interesting exercise!

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

John Williams - Star Wars - Main Title 1977

Star Wars (later retitled Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope) is a 1977 American epic space opera film written and directed by George Lucas. Set "a long time ago" in a fictional galaxy ruled by the tyrannical Galactic Empire, the story follows a group of freedom fighters known as the Rebel Alliance, who aim to destroy the Empire's newest weapon, the Death Star. When the Rebel leader Princess Leia is captured by the Empire, Luke Skywalker acquires stolen architectural plans of the Death Star and sets out to rescue her while learning the ways of a metaphysical power known as "the Force" from the Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Star Wars (Main Title)" is a musical theme composed and conducted by John Williams. The composition draws influence from Erich Wolfgang Korngold's score for the 1942 film Kings Row and Gustav Holst's Jupiter from his orchestral suite, The Planets. The 1977 London Symphony Orchestra recording peaked at number ten on Billboard Hot 100 and number thirteen in Canada RPM Top Singles. Meco's disco version of "Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band" from his album Star Wars and Other Galactic Funk was a global hit in the same year. The soundtrack album itself peaked at number 2 on the Billboard 200 in 1977, and became the best-selling symphonic album of all time; it was certified Gold and Platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America, and won numerous accolades including an Academy Award, a Golden Globe Award, a BAFTA Award, and Grammy Awards in the categories of Best Original Score Written for a Motion Picture or a Television Special and Best Instrumental Composition (for the "Main Title"). In 2004, it was preserved by the Library of Congress into the National Recording Registry, calling it "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant". In 2005, the American Film Institute named the original Star Wars soundtrack as the most memorable score of all time for an American film.

"Star Wars (Main Title)" received a total of 91,8% yes votes! Previous Star Wars-related polls: #209 "Seagulls! (Stop It Now)".

[glazecake]

Palestine فلسطين

x / x / x | x / x / x | x / x / x

My goal with making this post is to use my platform to raise awareness and encourage solidarity and action for the people of Palestine. Over the past few weeks, I have felt powerless to watch the destruction of Gaza before the world's eyes. However, I realized that I still have a large platform despite this blog's inactivity. With this, I would like to share information about Palestine and what you can do to help.

In the above post, I have sought out videos of Palestinian food, culture, art, architecture, and nature to share. Israeli propaganda is trying adamantly to dehumanize the population of Palestine in order to further justify their genocide. Regardless, no matter where you are in the world, humans recognize and understand what it is to be human. What it is to make art, to share food with your loved ones, to travel, and laugh, and sing. To experience heartbreak and hardship, and to experience joy. To dream about the future. To stand up for what we believe in, to fight in the face of injustice.

If you are an American citizen, use your voice to stand up for what's right. Contact your representatives. Demand a ceasefire in Gaza. Boycott companies and celebrities who voice their support of the Israeli settler state. Protest. Donate. Organize. Fight. We are strongest when in community with each other. Our US tax dollars directly fund the murder of Gazan civilians. Make it known that we will not stand idly by while news outlets and propagandists lie to our faces about the atrocities enacted by the IDF and the Knesset.

Here are some links for information on Palestine, as well as places to donate:

decolonizepalestine - A website aiming to educate and dispel myths about the Palestinian people, ran by two Ramallah residents.

US Campaign for Palestinian Rights - You can use this website to find groups organizing near you.

Palestine Action US - The US branch of a directive aiming to dismantle the Israeli military regime, directly funded by the US.

Hirbawi Kufiya - The last and only Kufiya factory in Palestine, as featured in the gif above. You can pre-order a kufiya which will be shipped once the blockade has been lifted.

Let Gaza Live: Ceasefire NOW - An easy way to send letters to your representatives to demand ceasefire in Gaza.

The Palestinians: From Peasants to Revolutionaries by Rosemary Sayigh - A good introduction to the ongoing Israeli occupation of Palestine.

Click to Help - One click a day can help raise donations for the UNRWA.

baitulmaal - Donate to fund relief.

anera - Donate to provide hygiene kits for displaced Gazans.

As of October 27th, 2023, Gazans are losing access to the internet. It is imperative for us to share their stories, to continue to remain active and aware of their martyrdom. The IDF will utilize this information blackout to their advantage. We must do all we can. Do not forget the plight of the Palestinian people. Do not allow their voices to go unheard.

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free. 🇵🇸

[helioooss]

i was never there

synopsis: yu jumin joins novis corp as it’s head corporate lawyer, but her boss, y/n, remembers her eyes from somewhere else.

w/c: 3k+

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! stripper by night, lawyer by day karina, swearing

a/n: a short one for the books, this is more a prompt

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the sun had barely crept over the horizon when your sleek aston martin pulled up to the curb of novis corp’s headquarters; the tech conglomerate you had built from scratch. the building, a masterpiece of modern architecture with its reflective glass and sharp geometric lines, it stood as a monument to your success.

as you stepped out of the car, the valet offered a polite bow before retreating and you adjusted your tom ford suit — a deep charcoal grey that sat perfectly on your shoulders, tailored to a level of precision; its silk lining was monogrammed with your initials, a subtle mark of exclusivity.

in your world, every single detail mattered.

as soon as the glass doors opened into the lobby, the atmosphere shifted immediately. the soft murmur of voices hushed to a whisper and employees straightened their postures instinctively as they caught sight of you.

your presence demanded attention, not because you sought it, but because you simply carried an aura of authority. heads bowed as you passed, a wave of respectful acknowledgment rippling through the space.

“good morning, y/n,” someone greeted softly, their voice tinged with awe.

you simply offered a slight nod, your expression unreadable as you stepped into the private lift. the moment the polished steel doors slid shut, the world outside felt momentarily silenced. you allowed yourself a brief glance at your reflection in the mirrored walls, backing a strand of misplaced hair and smoothing down the lapel of your jacket before the lift opened to the top floor.

here, the energy was palpable. this was where the very lifeblood of novis corp flowed, where your senior executives and teams orchestrated the daily operations of the tech giant. the open floor was a hive of activity: assistants juggling tablets and documents, executives murmuring into headsets and a faint hum of urgency in the air.

the moment you stepped out, it was chaos aimed at you.

“miss l/n, the european market data is ready for your review.”

“legal flagged the merger contracts; they need your approval before noon.”

“the board wants confirmation on next quarter’s strategic pivot —”

amidst the shitshow that you specifically called ‘the everyday’, your personal assistant, claire, darted towards you, her heels clicking against the polished wood floor as she clutched a stack of files to her chest whilst her usually composed demeanour was slightly frazzled as she struggled to keep pace with you.

“y/n,” claire began, her voice soft but persistent, “i apologise for the interruption, but felix has been trying to reach you all morning. he said it’s urgent, and i tried to hold him off, but he’s really insistent.”

you glanced at her, stride unbroken whilst offering a faint smile that was more a gesture of reassurance than warmth. “i’ll take care of it, claire. thank you.”

she gave a slight nod, relief evident in her expression, stepping back as you pushed open the heavy oak doors to your private office. the room was a reflection of your meticulous standards: minimalist yet luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unparalleled view of new york city. a sleek, dark wood desk sat in the centre, flanked by leather chairs and a low cabinet housing bottles of vintage scotch.

oh, and the air carried the faintest scent of bergamot, a signature detail you had to have.

as soon as you set your briefcase down, you loosened your tie slightly and sank into your chair. the intercom blinked with pending calls, but you ignored it for now, reaching instead for your personal phone. scrolling through the missed calls, you found felix’s name and with a small sigh, you hit dial.

he answered right after the first ring. “finally!” his voice was a mix of relief and mischief, as it always was when he called you.

“what’s so urgent, felix?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“okay, hear me out,” he began, a tell-tale sign that whatever followed would likely test your patience. “there’s this club. super exclusive. like, billionaires-only exclusive. i’m talking black cards, champagne fountains, and the kind of entertainment that makes even the rich blush —“

pinching the bridge of your nose impatiently, you groaned. “just get to the point.”

“well, if you must insist,” he continued, “i need someone to vouch for me. someone who ticks the billionaire box. someone, you know, like you.”

“felix, why on earth would you want to go to a place like that?” you sighed, shaking your head. “everyone will just be as obnoxious as mum.”

“research,” he said, a little too quickly. “and before you ask, yes, it’s legit. i just…need to see it for myself. one night, y/n.“

“research,” you repeated, unimpressed.

“please, my dearest sister,” he pressed. “i promise it’s harmless. just one night, and then i’ll owe you. big time.”

he had always been the rebel — tattoos peeking out from beneath his sleeves, a penchant for bending rules and a charm that got him out of most trouble. he was your stepbrother, younger by five years and despite his antics, you couldn’t help but feel a soft spot for him.

he’d been your constant companion through a tumultuous childhood and for all his recklessness, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

you exhaled deeply. “if this turns into a mess, i swear, felix —”

“it won’t, i swear,” he interrupted eagerly. “you’ll barely even have to do anything. just show up, look rich — which is easy for you and let me in.”

there was a long pause. you weren’t one for foolishness, specially not something as absurd as this, but he had a way of getting under your skin and despite your better judgment, you relented.

“fine,” you mumbled; annoyance evident in your tone. “but this better not blow back on me — the press are already on my ass for not being present enough.”

“you’re the best!” he exclaimed, his relief palpable. “i’ll text you the details.”

shaking your head, you hung up and pressed the intercom button on your desk. “claire,” you began. “i need you to do something for me.”

“that’s my job, y/n,” her voice came through immediately.

“clear my schedule for tonight,” you carefully instructed. “reschedule all appointments and let the rest of the world know i’ll be unavailable after six.”

there was a brief pause from her end. “understood.”

staring out at the sprawling skyline, you heaved out a sigh. this wasn’t your usual scene, but something about it intrigued you nonetheless. tonight promised to be unlike anything you’d done before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the hum of the limousine was almost soothing as it glided through the city streets, the blacked-out windows shielding you and felix from the world outside. the interior was nothing short of opulent: plush leather seats in a deep oxblood red, a bar stocked with rare whiskies and chilled champagne and soft ambient lighting that cast a warm glow over the polished surfaces.

felix was seated across from you, his legs stretched out casually as he swirled a glass of whiskey he’d poured himself. his usual rebellious flair was subdued tonight, though the faint smirk on his lips betrayed his excitement.

he was dressed sharply, his dark green blazer and crisp black shirt a rare effort on his part. the tattoos that normally peeked from his sleeves were hidden, though you knew they were still there, a reminder of his defiant streak.

you, on the other hand, wore a simple white shirt and blue jeans.

“so,” felix began, his tone light but probing, “how’s the empire going?”

you gave him a sideways glance, your fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. “the empire is fine, felix. novis is on track to secure the venatrix deal by next quarter and the sirocco expansion is finally moving forward.”

“of course it is,” he said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. “you’ve got the golden touch. everything you touch turns to money.”

“it’s not magic,” you replied, your voice steady. “it’s work. a lot of it.”

he shook his head, leaning forward slightly. “and that’s the problem, y/n. you work too much. when was the last time you actually did something for yourself? and don’t say this counts,” he added, gesturing around the limousine.

you gave him a small, wry smile. “this is for you, not me.”

“exactly my point,” he said, leaning back. “you need to live a little. have some fun. maybe get a girlfriend for once in your life.”

you raised an eyebrow at him. “a girlfriend?”

“yes, a girlfriend,” he said with a chuckle. “you know, someone to share your life with? someone to remind you that there’s more to life than spreadsheets and board meetings?”

you exhaled softly, turning your gaze to the city lights flickering outside the window. “it’s not that simple. i’ve got responsibilities. people rely on me. there’s no room for anything else right now.”

“that’s the excuse you always use,” he said, his tone softer now. “but you’re going to wake up one day and realise you’ve built an empire but never lived your life. is that really what you want?”

his words lingered in the air and for a moment, you simply let them. as the limousine turned down a quieter street, the glow of the city fading into the background, you thought about what he’d said.

was he right? was there something missing in your meticulously crafted life?

before you could dwell on it further, the car slowed to a stop in front of an unassuming black door, illuminated only by a discreet gold plaque that read elysium.

the driver opened your door and the moment you stepped out, you felt the shift in atmosphere. the door was opened from the inside by a tall, sharply dressed man who exuded an air of authority.

“miss l/n, mr. l/n,” he greeted warmly, his deep voice carrying just enough deference to make you feel like royalty. “welcome to elysium. my name is pierre and i’ll personally ensure your evening is nothing short of exceptional.”

“thank you,” you replied, your tone polite but guarded as pierre stepped aside, gesturing for you both to enter.

the interior of the club was breathtaking — sleek and sophisticated, with an undeniable air of exclusivity. red lighting bathed the room, casting a sultry glow over the rich leather furniture and dark wood accents. the faint hum of low music filled the space and the scent of expensive cigars and perfume lingered in the air.

pierre led the way, his posture immaculate. “we’ve limited the floor capacity tonight to ensure you have a comfortable experience. it’s not often we host guests of your calibre.”

your gaze flicked to your brother, whose smirk grew with every step deeper into the club.

“they’re really rolling out the red carpet,” he whispered to you, amusement lacing his tone.

there were silhouettes moving across the far end of the room. they were fluid, deliberate, their movements drawing attention like a magnetic pull.

it wasn’t until you caught the glint of polished metal — a pole, that the realisation struck.

this wasn’t just a private club. it was a strip club.

“i thought you said this was a fucking nightclub,” you muttered in that scolding tone of yours. “or whatever you said it was.”

he laughed at your comment and had deliberately chosen to ignore you, clearly revelling in the attention. as you passed, heads turned subtly, and even the staff seemed to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

“our girls,” pierre continued as he walked, “are among the finest in the world. each performance is curated to perfection. should you require anything — anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“a dance costs a million for each hour,” felix raised his eyebrows playfully. “i can afford it, you have nothing to worry about.”

i’m going to kill him, you thought.

the corridor opened into a sprawling room bathed in deep red light, the glow casting shadows that danced across the rich leather furniture and polished dark wood accents. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal facets scattering faint prisms of light though the overall effect was moody and intimate rather than pretentious.

pierre, ever the professional, either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the exchange. “elysium prides itself on discretion and sophistication,” he explained, leading you toward the bar. “our performers are not only the best in the industry but also highly selective about where they work. we cater to an exclusive clientele and tonight, they are all eager to perform for you.”

the words hung in the air and while his tone remained formal, there was no mistaking the double meaning.

this wasn’t just about entertainment — it was about status, yours specifically.

“you’ve truly outdone yourselves,” you said evenly, though your tone betrayed nothing of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

“only the best for our esteemed guests,” he replied, stopping at the bar. “would you care for a drink before you settle in? our bartenders specialise in rare and exclusive cocktails.”

“i’ll take a manhattan,” felix answered, leaning against the bar as if he owned the place.

pierre turned his attention to you. “and for you, miss l/n?”

“call me y/n, please,” you requested, keeping your composure. “i’ll have a glass of champagne for now.”

felix shook his head, whilst pierre only nodded. “don’t worry, pierre, this is a good sign — champagne is telltale of the kind of night she plans to have.”

you gave him a look, one that could silence an entire boardroom, but it only made his grin widen.

as the bartender prepared your drinks, your eyes scanned the room. the performers were elegant, their movements slow and deliberate as they worked the poles or engaged in subtle conversations with other guests. the lighting accentuated every curve, every flick of hair, every step in towering heels.

it was seductive, but there was a sophistication to it.

felix clinked his glass against yours when your drinks arrived, his grin mischievous. “welcome to the real world, y/n. you might even have fun tonight.”

before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with pierre, who gestured towards a hallway deeper into the establishment. “y/n, may i guide you to our private bar? we’ve reserved a section just for you.”

you nodded, offering a faint smile. “lead the way.”

he guided you through a discreet side door, the noise from the main hall fading into a low hum as you stepped into a quieter corridor. the lighting here was softer, the air perfumed with hints of amber and bergamot.

the sound of your shoes against the polished marble floor echoed faintly as you trailed behind him.

then, he stopped at a heavy door, its deep mahogany finish gleaming under the warm light. with a subtle bow, he pushed it open, revealing a private space that was both opulent and refined.

the room was bathed in a soft golden glow, with leather seating in a deep burgundy hue arranged around a bar made out of white marble. a crystal chandelier hung above, its light refracting into subtle rainbows across the room. the air was cooler here, yet tinged with the faintest trace of something warm and intoxicating.

“we’ve taken great care to ensure your comfort,” he gestured for you to step inside. “a selection of our finest performers has been prepared exclusively for this space tonight. as per tradition, all our vvip performers wear masks to preserve their mystique.”

your gaze shifted to the centre of the room, where a single pole stood illuminated by a spotlight. at its base, a woman danced, her movements fluid and hypnotic.

she was dressed in black, the fabric clinging to her graceful frame in ways that accentuated her every curve. a delicate mask adorned her face, its intricate lace design concealing her identity while leaving her eyes and lips visible.

and those eyes…

almond-shaped and lined with the faintest hint of shimmer, their depth was startling. they locked onto yours the moment you entered and for a second, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of you.

her lips were no less striking, painted a deep crimson that contrasted beautifully against her glowing skin. they moved subtly as she shifted her expression, curving into a faint smile that was neither coy nor brazen but perfectly balanced between the two.

you moved to one of the leather chairs directly in front of the pole, lowering yourself gracefully into the seat. a glass of something pale and sparkling had already been placed on the table before you — krug, if you had to guess.

she danced as though gravity held no dominion over her, movements slow and deliberate; her body bending and turning with an elegance that seemed almost otherworldly.

her eyes never left yours.

there was no touch, no exchange of words. only the silent conversation carried through her gaze.

you sipped your champagne, the crisp bubbles fizzing faintly on your tongue as you watched her.

“her name is karina,” pierre’s voice broke the silence, soft and almost reverent as he stood to the side. “one of our most gifted performers. she never agrees to private dances, but tonight, she insisted.”

you raised an eyebrow at his comment but said nothing, your eyes still locked with hers.

her lips curved slightly, a small but unmistakable reaction to his words. whether it was amusement or approval, you couldn’t tell.

there was a certain kind of power in her performance, an effortless command of the room that rivalled your own presence in the boardroom. it wasn’t just her beauty — it was the way she carried herself, the silent confidence in her every movement.

for the first time in a long while, you felt captivated.

as the music swelled, she climbed higher up the pole, her body arching and twisting with a grace that seemed to defy logic. the light caught her skin as she spun, casting shadows across her toned figure.

her gaze found yours again as if she had never looked away.

the song ended, the final note hanging in the air as karina stilled, her body poised and elegant as she held your gaze one last time. then, without a word, she stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as swiftly as she had appeared.

you leaned back in your seat, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“she’s…impressive,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“indeed,” he replied, his tone pleased. “shall i have her return for a performance, miss l/n? or would you like to see the next girl?”

you glanced at the glass in your hand, then back at the empty spotlight.

“perhaps,” you said, your tone deliberately nonchalant, though the way your thoughts lingered on those eyes and that smile betrayed you entirely. “i’d like to see karina again.”

he gave a slight bow, his hands clasped neatly in front of him. “i’ll leave you to enjoy the performance, y/n. if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me.”

you sent him a faint nod, watching as he quietly slipped out of the room — the air seemed heavier now, charged with something you couldn’t quite name.

the soft spotlight followed her, casting her in a halo of warm light as she emerged out of the shadows. her movements were deliberate, the sway of her hips measured, her body arching with the kind of elegance that felt effortless. the music swelled, a sultry melody that filled the private bar, wrapping itself around you.

the pole became an extension of her, her fingertips grazing it lightly as she spun effortlessly, hair cascading over one shoulder like silk.

pushing yourself up in the leather seat, you cradled the crystal glass in your hand, the crisp bubbles fizzing against your tongue were forgotten.

your attention was fixed solely on her.

her gaze was dark and unrelenting, as though she could see through every wall you’d ever built. it made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to, yet you couldn’t look away.

for years, your life had been a steady climb to the top. every decision and sacrifice you made — it had all led you to become one of the youngest billionaires in the world; a life of luxury and power, yet moments like this felt foreign to you.

you had never allowed yourself distractions. relationships had always been a distant thought, something you dismissed as incompatible with the weight of your responsibilities. and yet here you were, sitting in the middle of a dark room, utterly captivated by a woman you didn’t know.

as the music deepened, so did her movements. she slid down the pole with precision, her legs extending gracefully before she landed softly on the floor. then, she began to close the distance between you.

you stiffened slightly as she approached, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floor. her every step was a calculated mix of power and allure, head tilting slightly as her eyes burned into yours.

when she reached the edge of your seat, she leaned down, her hands bracing against the armrests on either side of you. the faintest scent of her perfume: something floral with a hint of musk wafted over you.

your breath hitched.

karina’s face was mere inches from yours, her lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile.

she tilted her head, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder and as she leaned closer, her lips brushed against yours — not quite a kiss, but enough to send a jolt through your body.

the touch was light, but it lingered. your hand tightened slightly around the glass, though you made no effort to pull away.

her eyes locked onto yours again, the corner of her lips quirking up ever so slightly. she didn’t move, staying close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of her breath against your skin.

“you’re full of surprises,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with amusement.

“you’re not what i expected,” you replied, your tone steady despite the way your pulse raced.

her smile widened just a fraction, her lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. “and what did you expect, miss l/n?”

you let the question hang in the air, unwilling — or perhaps unable to answer it.

she pulled back slightly, her eyes flickering over your face as if she were committing every detail to memory.

then, with a graceful turn, she returned to the pole, leaving you frozen in your seat, every nerve in your body alive.

but your focus wasn’t on the dance anymore.

it was on her.

the song reached its end, her final spin slow and graceful, her legs extended as she descended to the floor.

when the music ended, she stayed still for a moment, catching her breath, before calling out softly, “cut the music.”

the silence was deafening.

she stood up, reaching for a glass of water placed on the table near the pole. she sipped it slowly, her back turned to you, before setting it down and facing you again.

“you’re y/n l/n,” she said, her voice carrying an easy confidence, as though she were stating an undeniable fact.

you straightened in your seat, your composure returning. “i am indeed, and you’re karina.”

her lips curved into a small smile as she stepped closer, her mask framing her captivating eyes. “so, you’ve heard of me?”

“pierre mentioned your name,” you replied. “and according to him, you never agree to private performances.”

“ah, pierre,” karina chuckled softly, a low and melodic sound that sent another ripple through you. “that’s true, but you’re not exactly a regular guest.”

“why did you agree?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

she tilted her head, her smile deepening. “curiosity.”

“about what?”

her gaze didn’t waver. “about you.”

you raised an eyebrow. “me?”

“it’s not every day the most eligible bachelorette in the world walks into a place like this,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “how could i not be curious?”

her honesty was disarming, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“you don’t seem like the type to come here,” she continued, her voice softer now. “i wanted to see what kind of woman you are.”

“and?” you asked, meeting her gaze.

karina smiled again, enigmatic as ever. “i think you’re a woman who knows exactly what she wants, but you haven’t decided if you’re ready to take it.”

her words hung in the air, sharp yet tantalising. you swallowed hard, the weight of her observation pressing against you.

before you could respond, she glanced at the clock on the wall, her expression softening. “unfortunately, my time’s up — but i will see you again, hopefully.”

you watched as she stepped back, her movements as graceful as ever. “thank you.”

she turned back to you, her dark eyes glimmering. “the pleasure was mine, miss l/n.”

“please call me y/n.”

she nodded and then, just like that, she disappeared through the door, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her lips brushing against yours.

moments later, pierre entered the room, followed by an awestruck felix.

“holy shit,” felix yelled, his wide eyes taking in the space. “this room is insane. do you know how much this costs?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling the warmth of karina’s presence. “do i want to know?”

“five million dollars. per dance,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

you smiled faintly, your thoughts far from the number. “well, tonight was the most expensive night i’ve ever had then.”

he put an arm around you, ruffling your hair. “told you you’d enjoy it!”

-

the limousine hummed softly as it glided through the quiet streets. deeply in your thoughts, you sat stiffly in your seat, legs crossed, arms folded, the leather cool beneath you.

the night had been…complicated, to say the least.

felix, sitting across from you, looked far too pleased with himself, scrolling through his phone with a self-satisfied smirk that only irritated you further.

“never again,” you said sharply, breaking the silence.

he glanced up, the smirk widening as if he’d been waiting for this. “never again, what?”

“you know exactly what i mean,” you snapped, glaring at him. “you are never taking control of a night out again.”

he raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “elysium? come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

“felix,” you said through gritted teeth, “it was a strip club. a strip club. do you have any idea how bad that looks for me? if anyone had taken a photo of me, it could’ve been a PR disaster.”

he laughed, leaning back lazily against the plush seat. “oh please, that place is so exclusive. and anyway, it’s not like you were doing anything scandalous. you sat there, drank champagne and watched a performance. you didn’t even touch anyone. honestly, it was boring.”

you stared at him. “boring? you dragged me to a place where the floor alone costs millions to reserve and you think it’s fine because you had fun?”

“well yeah,” he said casually, shrugging. “and don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself. i saw your face during that dance.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you looked away sharply, your fingers tightening around your arm. “that’s not the point, felix.”

“oh, it absolutely is,” he countered, leaning forward. “look, you’ve spent your entire life building this empire. you’re brilliant at what you do but you don’t live, y/n. you don’t even let yourself breathe. all i did was give you one night to do something out of the ordinary and now you’re acting like the world’s going to end.”

“because it could,” you shot back. “my name, my reputation — it’s all tied to novis. if anything jeopardises that, the fallout would be catastrophic. you don’t understand what’s at stake.”

he tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “no, i don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter but still firm. “because unlike you, i actually let myself live every now and then. when was the last time you did something just for yourself, y/n? when was the last time you let yourself feel something that wasn’t tied to work?”

his words hit harder than you wanted to admit. you glanced out the window, the city lights blurring as the limousine sped through the streets. “this isn’t about me,” you muttered, though the defensiveness in your tone betrayed you.

“oh, it’s absolutely about you,” he said with a knowing grin. “come on, admit it. you didn’t hate last night as much as you’re pretending to. i mean, you could’ve walked out anytime, but you didn’t. you stayed.”

you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “felix, i can’t afford to have nights like that. my life isn’t like yours.”

“and that’s exactly the problem,” he said, his voice more serious now. “you’re so afraid of messing up, you don’t even let yourself enjoy anything. y/n, you’re one of the most powerful people in the world and you’re scared of living? what’s the point of all this success if you never let yourself have anything?”

you didn’t answer, his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. instead, you stared out the window, your reflection blurred against the city lights. he leaned back, clearly feeling like he’d won the argument, though he said nothing more.

as the limousine approached your building, you sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. no more clubs, felix. ever.”

he laughed softly, shaking his head. “we’ll see.”

as it rolled to a stop, you stepped out without another word, the weight of the conversation lingering as you made your way inside.

you couldn’t stop thinking about the way karina had looked at you — as if she saw right through the walls you had spent years building.

her eyes haunted you, dark and full of secrets you suddenly found yourself wanting to uncover. and for the first time in years, you wondered if there was something, or someone, outside your carefully constructed world worth stepping into the unknown for.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the morning was as chaotic as ever, the hum of novis corp’s top floor vibrating with urgency the moment you stepped out of the private elevator. polished shoes clicked against a mix of wooden and marble floors, assistants and executives alike moved from desk to desk, each with something that required your attention.

“y/n,” the updates for the venatrix deal are ready.”

“legal has flagged the elara contract for revisions.”

“the team needs your approval on the new AI interface by noon!”

normally, you thrived in the controlled storm of your office. today, however, your mind was elsewhere. your focus wasn’t on contracts or product launches — it was on her.

the memory of last night lingered in sharp detail: the intoxicating crimson glow of the club, her sharp gaze, the brush of her lips against yours.

karina had left an imprint you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried.

the design meeting was supposed to centre you. the team presented mock-ups for novis’s latest AI interface, a sleek design meant to revolutionise smart tech, but as the lead designer droned on about user functionality, your attention slipped.

their words barely registered. your eyes were on the screen, but your mind was still in elysium. the feel of her perfume in the air, the way her eyes had locked onto yours: daring you to react.

“y/n?” samuel, the lead designer’s voice, broke through your thoughts, ultimately bringing you back to the present.

you blinked, shifting slightly in your seat. “yes?”

“we were asking for your feedback on the gradient colour scheme versus the flat monochrome,” he said, his tone careful.

you glanced at the screen, the options displayed clearly, but for once, the answer didn’t come easily. “the gradient,” you pointed after what seemed like at eternity. “it’s fine.”

a few of the designers exchanged surprised glances. it wasn’t like you to give such a vague response.

when the meeting ended, you stepped into the hallway, only to find giselle waiting for you, leaning casually against the wall with a look of exaggerated curiosity.

“well, that was weird,” she said, falling into step beside you.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your tone clipped as you navigated through the bustling corridor.

“you,” she replied, waving a hand dramatically. “you’ve been off all morning. normally, you’re snapping necks and giving ted talks in these meetings. today, you were practically sleepwalking. so, spill. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you said curtly.

she narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it. “is this a felix thing? what did he do now? start a crypto farm in the middle of montana? buy a haunted house because ‘it looked cool’? or, wait — did he drag you to one of those ridiculous underground poker rings again?”

you gave her a sharp look. “felix has nothing to do with this.”

“so there is something,” she said, her smirk growing. “come on, boss, you can’t keep secrets from me. i’m like the human recourses version of sherlock holmes.”

“giselle,” you warned, stopping in your tracks and fixing her with a pointed glare, “drop it.”

she raised her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn’t waver. “fine, fine, i’ll drop it; but if you spontaneously combust during the next board meeting, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

as you started walking again, she called after you, “oh, by the way, your new head corporate lawyer is waiting in your office. yu jimin. punctual, sharp as a blade, and word on the street: dangerously hot. good luck!”

the name sent a jolt through you, stomach twisting as you reached your office doors, the memory of last night rushing back with startling clarity.

when you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the figure standing near the window.

she was dressed sharply in a black suit that fit her perfectly, the crisp white shirt beneath it undone just enough to convey confidence without stepping into arrogance. her posture was relaxed, one hand resting lightly on her hip, the other at her side.

her dark hair was pulled back neatly, accentuating the sharp lines of her face. when she turned at the sound of the door, your breath caught.

her eyes met yours, and for a split second, the world tilted.

it was her.

the woman who had unraveled you the night before, the one who had danced with the kind of precision and allure that left you spellbound.

karina.

no, yu jimin.

“miss l/n,” she greeted, her voice smooth, calm, and so painfully familiar. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

you forced yourself to nod, gesturing toward the chair across from your desk. “miss yu, please, have a seat. and call me y/n.”

you walked quickly to your desk, avoiding her gaze as you settled into your chair. when you finally looked up, the intensity in her eyes was undeniable.

she sat with perfect posture, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her expression polite but unreadable.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat, “tell me about your experience. what drew you to novis corp?”

her lips curved into a faint smile, one that sent a chill through you.

“my career has largely focused on high-stakes corporate law,” she said smoothly. “mergers, acquisitions, billion-dollar lawsuits — you name it. novis corp stood out to me because of its reputation for innovation and precision. it’s a company that demands excellence; i happen to provide that.”

her tone was professional, poised. but then her eyes glinted, and her smile widened just slightly.

“but if i’m being honest,” she added, “it wasn’t just the company that intrigued me. after last night, the person behind it all captured me.”

your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to maintain a neutral expression.

“i’m not sure what you’re referring to,” you said evenly, though your voice wavered just slightly.

“of course not,” she said, her smile deepening, though she didn’t press further.

the rest of the meeting passed in a blur of questions and answers, though the tension in the room never dissipated. every time her gaze lingered on you, you felt your resolve crack, memories of her dance, her eyes and her lips flashing vividly in your mind.

when it concluded, jimin stood gracefully, smoothing her blazer as she moved toward the door.

just as she reached for the knob, you hesitantly called out, “and miss yu?”

she paused, turning back to face you. “yes?”

you met her gaze, forcing your voice to remain steady. “i was never there.”

her smile returned, slow and knowing, her eyes glinting with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “don’t worry — the only person in that room was karina.”

for the second time in two days, yu jimin had left you completely undone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

the end.

[somegirlyoumetx]

Where the Game Ends

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Word Count: ~4.3k

Summary: You stayed up too late replaying Hogwarts Legacy. Just one more run. One more goodbye to the boy with too much to handle and no one left in his corner. You hit 100% completion.

Everything done. Everything perfect.

And then you fell asleep.

But you wake up in the Undercroft.

Sebastian Sallow-real, alive, and seconds from hexing you-is standing over you with his wand drawn. The story hasn't ended. It's still happening. But now, you're inside it. No wand. No plan. No way back. And nothing to explain your existence.

Content & Trigger Warnings (18+): Explicit sexual content (NSFW), raw intimacy, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, light pain kink, overstimulation, time-slip/self-insert themes, consent emphasized but emotionally charged.

A/N: This is a standalone one-shot. Emotional development would unfold more gradually in a full-length fic.

This is part of a fanfiction concept that may eventually become a full-length book-but for now, I just wanted to explore it as a single, self-contained scene.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

You set the controller down and sigh. The cutscene plays out—same as always. You’ve seen it five times now. OWLs complete. House Cup secured. This time, you even hit 100%. Every side quest, every hidden chest, every Merlin Trial. It’s all finished. Finally.

And still, something’s missing.

Sebastian Sallow.

He should be here. He deserves to be standing with everyone else, part of the celebration. But for whatever reason, he never is. You never sent him to Azkaban—you couldn’t. No matter how many times you replay the game, you always choose to let him go.

The credits begin to roll, and your eyes are already heavy. It’s late—past 3 a.m.—and you’ve been playing for hours. The soft music wraps around you, familiar and final. You sink back into your blankets, eyes slipping shut, heartbeat slowing.

And then… you drift off.

✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✦

You wake slowly.

Your head feels heavy, like you’ve been asleep for years. For a second, you assume you’re still in bed—maybe you passed out with the TV on again. But you smell something different, something heavy: dust. Musty air. A weird hum beneath it all.

You blink.

You’re not at home.

You’re lying on stone flooring, the surface cool beneath your bare thighs. Torch light flickers across the walls. Boxes are scattered around the room. You recognize the architecture immediately—the Undercroft. From the game.

What the hell kind of dream is this?

You slowly sit up and glance down at yourself. You’re still in the clothes you fell asleep in: your oversized frog-print T-shirt and a pair of black underwear. Your cow slippers—lopsided and slightly scuffed—are still somehow on your feet. The sight of them against the stone is so ridiculous it almost makes you laugh.

“On your feet. Now.”

Your stomach drops as you recognize the voice.

Sebastian.

He stands just ahead, half-obscured by the shadows curling around the Undercroft’s columns. His wand is raised—aimed directly at you—and there’s no trace of the familiar smirk you’ve seen a hundred times in cutscenes. He’s taller in person. Broader. Tousled brown hair falls just above his brow. His robes hang open, his vest wrinkled, tie loose, and collar undone like he dressed in a hurry.

His face is freckled—faint, scattered across his nose and cheekbones, especially vivid in the flickering light. And his brown eyes pin you in place with suspicion.

He looks real. He feels real.

And he is seconds away from hexing you.

His gaze drops.

“That’s… quite the outfit to wear sneaking into a place like this.”

You follow his stare and freeze.

He looks completely floored. Not just confused—stunned. Like he’s never seen so much bare leg in his life and can’t decide if you’re cursed or criminal.

This has to be a dream.

But the cold is real. The silence is too loud. The feeling of his gaze on your skin makes you hyper-aware of every breath you take. And the way he’s watching you feels far too precise to be imagined.

You scramble to your feet and throw your hands up in surrender.

“I—I don’t know how I got here,” you say quickly. “My name is Y/N. I woke up here!”

“How did you find this place?”

“I told you—I don’t know!”

“Liar,” his voice snaps. “Try again.”

“I was in my room!” you blurt. “It was late. I fell asleep and then—I woke up here. I was playing a game!”

“A game?” His eyes narrow. There’s a flicker of disbelief. The wand stays up. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Not really,” you say, lifting your hands higher. “But it was worth a shot.”

You shift your weight, and glance around the room—searching for something to anchor you. “I really can’t tell if I’m dreaming or not.”

Sebastian moves suddenly—just one quick step forward, wand lifting higher, and the movement is so real, so close, that you flinch.

“Sebastian!” The name leaves your mouth instinctively.

He freezes.

“You know my name?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I know you because of the game. I know this place is called the Undercroft. I know your best friend—Ominis Gaunt—was the one who found it first.”

He doesn’t move, but something shifts in his expression. Something unsettled.

“Impossible,” he says tightly. “Tell me who you are.”

“Look,” you say quietly. “I’m from the year 2025. This place—Hogwarts, this world—it’s not supposed to be real where I’m from. It’s fictional. It’s… a story.”

He stares at you like you’ve gone mad.

“It’s a game,” you continue. “You’re in it. I played it. I watched your story unfold through a character with ancient magic.”

“Explain,” he says, voice barely audible. But the wand stays up. The tension doesn’t leave the room.

So, you try.

You tell him about screens, about controllers, about pixels and code and decision-based dialogue trees. You try to explain what a video game is, what Hogwarts Legacy is, how you explored every part of this world—from the Highlands to Hogsmeade—and how he was always your favorite part of it.

The whole time, he says nothing.

But his grip on the wand loosens. Just a little.

“Ancient magic…” he hums after you finish explaining. His tone is thoughtful, but there’s something brittle under it. “You’re talking about Milton Shagworthy.”

You blink. “Sorry—what?”

“Milton Shagworthy,” he repeats, completely serious. “He’s the new fifth-year. Helped me with the Scriptorium. With Anne. All of it.”

You choke on a laugh. “Milton Shagworthy? Who—who named their character that?”

He shrugs, unfazed. “I don’t know. But that’s who you just described.”

You’re still laughing. “You’re telling me someone made a custom character, named him Milton Shagworthy, and played through your life like it’s a joke—and you’re just fine with that?”

He raises a brow. “I’m not fine with it, I’m just telling you what’s real. Apparently.”

“And I’m telling you… it was a game. You were in it. That story? It’s something we play. Make choices in. Milton Shagworthy is the result of someone’s really unfortunate imagination.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

“Then you know what I did.”

“I do,” you whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you see it—how his shoulders tighten, how his grip on the wand slackens just slightly. Like something cracked open inside him and hasn’t been sealed since.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean—”

“You already did.”

It’s not harsh. Just… hollow.

You hesitate, then take a cautious step forward.

“Let me help you.”

That gets a reaction. He lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Help me? How could you help me?”

You meet his gaze and hold it.

“Because I’ve seen what comes next. In the game, your story ends—or fades into the background—but here? It’s still happening. You’re still in it. And maybe that means I’m not just here by accident. Maybe I’m here to help you get through it.”

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you for a moment—long enough to make your heart stutter. His wand lowers an inch, then two, until it’s finally at his side.

That alone feels like a truce.

He sighs, like he’s weighing his options. Then, without a word, he steps back and gestures—barely—with a tilt of his head.

You settle onto one of the wooden boxes, the edge creaking softly beneath you. He doesn’t sit, but he doesn’t stop you either. You’re not close, but you’re not far anymore.

“So,” he says, finally breaking the silence. “You said you were playing the game before you ended up here?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone can play it?”

You nod. “Pretty much.”

“And it just… ends like that? My story never finishes?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Not really. You just kind of disappear. It’s vague. Unresolved.”

He frowns. “That’s absurd.”

“Yeah. A lot of people think so. Which is why they write about what they think happens after.”

“Write?” His brow furrows. “Stories?”

“They call it fan fiction.”

He repeats the words slowly, like he’s tasting them. “And what—these stories… are they good? Do they give me better endings?”

You smile faintly. “Most of them do. Some don’t. Some are completely unhinged.”

“What do you mean?”

You clear your throat. “Some people write… other things.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Other things?”

“…Intimate things.”

A beat.

“Intimate,” he echoes, cautious.

“They write about you. About you doing… things.”

He stares. “With who?”

You hesitate. “Usually themselves. Or their own characters.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He looks at you. Really looks. “And have you…?”

You raise a hand quickly. “I plead the fifth.”

“The fifth what?”

“Never mind.”

He watches you for a long moment after that—like he’s still trying to figure you out, still deciding whether you’re real or just a cruel trick played by magic and grief.

You don’t say anything else. Neither does he.

But the silence that follows isn’t as tense as before. It settles between you, strange but not unwelcome.

Eventually, he sits beside you.

Not close at first. But then his shoulder brushes yours as he shifts, and when your thighs touch—briefly—he doesn’t move away.

He glances at you sideways, guarded. Searching.

“You really don’t belong here.”

“I know,” you say with a small shrug. “But I’m here.”

“You’d really help me?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

You meet his eyes without flinching. “Without a doubt.”

He looks away fast, jaw tight. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you understand.”

“I do.”

“You couldn’t possibly—” His voice catches. “You couldn’t understand what it was like for me.”

“I do.”

You hold his gaze as the words spill from you.

“Sebastian, I watched you suffer. Alone. I saw the pain. The desperation. The way you love your sister so fiercely it tore pieces out of you. I know.”

He’s breathing hard now. Not from anger. From something else.

“You never deserved to be alone,” you say gently. “And you’re not a monster. Not the one you think you are. You’re not.”

Your voice softens.

“How could you be a monster for trying to save the people you love?”

He goes still.

Then he moves so fast you don’t even register that his lips are on yours until you’re already kissing him back.

The kiss starts like a detonation—hot, fast, fueled by everything neither of you have said.

But then… it shifts.

Less rushed. Slower. Less like a spark and more like collapse. Like he’s been holding back for so long that now, with your mouth on his, he’s finally unraveling. His hand curls behind your neck, anchoring you in place. The other slips to your thigh, then higher. His palm burns through the fabric of your shirt like it’s nothing.

You breathe against his lips, voice trembling. “Sebastian—”

He doesn’t pull back. Just leans his forehead to yours, panting, brows furrowed like he’s trying not to fall apart.

“You say my name like it means something.”

“It does,” you whisper.

His eyes search yours. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says, voice cracking. “You. Here. Wanting me like this.”

“None of it makes any sense,” you say. “But it’s happening.”

You’re still sitting on the wooden crate, knees touching, breath tangled. Your shirt’s falling off one shoulder. His tie is hanging even looser and useless around his neck.

His gaze drops to your lips. “Tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you say, breathless. “But… I’ve never done this before.”

He freezes.

You can almost hear the gears grinding behind his eyes. “Never?”

“Not with anyone.”

His eyes flash—not with lust, but with concern. “And you want this to be with me?”

“I already chose you,” you say. “Every time I played. Every time I watched the story—I chose you.”

He stares at you like you’ve cracked him wide open.

Then he kisses you again. Harder.

And that’s when you feel it—his restraint breaking. His tongue slides along yours, and his fingers tighten on your thigh. He groans into your mouth when you whimper, when you dig your nails into his shirt.

He yanks his vest down his arms, then shrugs out of the shirt underneath, breath shaking. You run your hands over his firm, freckled chest. His body is hot beneath your palms, and you want more.

He pulls your shirt up—pauses just beneath your chest. “Can I see you?”

You nod, and raise your arms.

The shirt comes off.

Your breasts rise and fall with your breath. He’s looking at you like you’re something special—like if he blinks, he’ll miss it.

“Bloody hell,” he breathes. “You’re unreal.”

Your mouth tilts. “You can touch.”

He does.

One hand, gentle but desperate, cups your breast. His thumb brushes your nipple until it stiffens under his touch. You moan, and that’s all it takes—his mouth is on your throat, then your collarbone, then down to your chest. His tongue flicks over your nipple. He sucks, just once, and you move into him.

“I want you on your back,” he growls.

“Then take me there.”

He stands, grabs you by the hips, and lifts you off the crate like you weigh nothing. The stone floor is cold against your back, but the heat from his body makes up for it. He kneels between your legs, eyes drinking you in.

You reach for his belt. “Take this off.”

He unbuckles it fast, shoving his trousers down to his thighs. His cock presses against the fabric of his boxers—thick, long, hard, and already leaking.

But he doesn’t touch himself. He’s focused entirely on you.

He crouches over you, fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “These too?”

“Yes.”

He pulls them down slowly. The air hits your soaked core and your thighs twitch.

“Y/N,” he breathes.

He spreads your legs and settles between them. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping and massaging like he can’t believe you’re real.

You prop yourself up on your elbows just in time to watch his head lower.

Then his mouth is on you.

You cry out.

His tongue licks a long, slow stripe through your folds. Then another. His mouth wraps around your clit and sucks, gentle at first, then firmer, and your hips buck.

He grabs them. “Stay still.”

“Can’t,” you gasp. “I—Sebastian—”

He looks up at you.

And the sight knocks the breath from your lungs.

His face is buried between your thighs, freckles flushed, mouth glistening, eyes locked on yours. Hungry. Possessive.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing your clit. “I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“You’re—you’re going to kill me,” you pant.

“I haven’t even started.”

He dives back in.

His tongue flicks, laps, then flattens and drags in slow circles. He switches rhythms—teasing one second, focused the next. You can’t keep your legs still. One of your hands fists in his hair and tugs, hard. He groans, and the vibration makes you see stars.

“Oh yes—please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t. He devours you like it’s the only way he’ll survive. He kisses your pussy like it’s holy. Like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. Like your pleasure is the only thing he’s ever wanted.

Your thighs start to shake. Your hands try to grip the floor.

“I’m going to—fuck—Sebastian—”

He moans, “Come on my tongue.”

And you do.

It crashes through you like wildfire. Your body locks, your back arches, and you scream his name.

But he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, softer now, slower, coaxing every wave of aftershock until your legs are trembling and your voice breaks.

You collapse. Boneless. Gasping.

He kisses up your thigh, your stomach, your chest, until he’s over you again.

“You alright?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “You ruined me.”

He grins. “Good.”

Then you reach for him.

“Now,” you whisper. “It’s your turn.”

You reach down into his boxes and wrap your hand around him. 

His cock twitches against your grip. His breath quickens, eyes slamming shut as your thumb swipes across the head. When he opens them again, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “you’re going to undo me.”

He kisses you hard, biting your bottom lip, hips stuttering forward like he can’t stop himself from grinding into your hand. You stroke him once, twice—just to feel him, the way he pulses against your skin.

Then your voice goes soft. “I want you inside me.”

His forehead presses to yours. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything.”

Sebastian pulls back just enough to strip the rest of his clothes off—tossing his boxers to the side—and kneels between your legs again, completely bare.

You look down at him. Really look.

He’s beautiful.

Not just his body—but the way he looks at you. He keeps looking at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense in his fucked up world.

He strokes himself once, spreading your pussy along his length, then presses the head of his cock to your entrance. He’s slow, like he’s bracing himself for the moment everything changes.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely breathing. “I want to feel all of it.”

And then he pushes in.

You gasp. The stretch is violent, unfamiliar, and so, so full.

“Y/N—” he growls, jaw clenched. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm—”

You whimper, your walls pulsing. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he breathes.

He inches in deeper, watching your face for any hint of discomfort. You feel every inch of him until he’s fully inside you. When his hips finally meet yours, you moan—long and low.

“Ah—Sebastian,” you gasp. “You feel so deep.”

“Because I’m not holding back,” he murmurs. “You’re going to remember this. Every time you close your eyes.”

He stays still for a moment. Breathing. Letting you adjust.

Then he pulls out—just enough to tease your entrance—and thrusts back in. Your breath catches again. The burn is already fading, replaced with unbearable pressure and dizzying heat.

He fucks you slowly at first, hips rolling, grinding his pelvis into your clit with every stroke.

“I—I can’t believe this,” you pant.

He lowers his forehead to yours. “Believe it.”

His pace quickens. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the chamber. His hands grip your hips. Your moans turn to gasps. Then to curses.

“Fuck—Sebastian—”

“You take me so well,” he pants. 

He leans back, grabs your thighs, and lifts your hips slightly—just enough to tilt your pelvis toward him. The change is subtle, but when he thrusts again—

Oh.

It’s like lightning.

The air punches out of your lungs.

His cock drags against something inside you that makes your entire body lock up.

Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out at first—just a strangled inhale as white heat rushes through your spine. Every nerve in your body lights up. That spot—that spot—he hits it again, and your legs jerk in response. Reflexive.

“Right there,” you moan. “Fuck—right there—don’t stop—”

You feel helpless under it. Like he’s got his hands wrapped around the base of your soul and he’s pulling pleasure out of you one grind at a time. Every deep stroke forces your body open wider. Every motion drags a desperate sound from your throat.

It’s not just penetration—it’s precision. Pressure. The perfect collision of want and anatomy and the kind of slow, focused rhythm that drives people mad.

Your thighs tremble. Your vision pulses. You can feel another orgasm building and you’re not even sure how long you’ll last.

He sees it in your face. Smirks like sin and does it again.

“Oh my God—”

He’s relentless now. Slamming into you. His brow furrows, his mouth hanging open. Sweat beads at his temples, rolls down his chest. You cling to his forearms while your nails dig into his skin.

Then he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You whimper.

“Oh, you like that,” he smirks.

“Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

He thrusts even harder. Merciless.

And then he lets go of one wrist to reach down and rub your clit in tight circles.

“You’re so close,” he grunts out. “I can feel you—tightening up—fuck—come for me. Want to feel you lose it on my cock.”

Your mouth falls open. A high, broken whine slips out.

You’re already right there—so close you’re throbbing. Your body’s coiled tight, burning, clenching around him like you’re trying to drag him deeper. He keeps hitting that spot, over and over, every thrust stealing more of your breath.

“I—I can’t—” you cry out, voice wrecked. “Please, Sebastian—don’t stop—please—fuck—I’m going to—”

“That’s it,” he groans. “Give it to me. Let me feel you fall apart.”

“Please—please—want you to feel it—want you to feel how much I need you—”

And then you come.

Your entire body tenses around him. You scramble to grip anything to keep your body from losing control. Your thighs shake violently around his waist. Your pussy clenches down hard—dragging a groan out of him.

“Fucking—hell—

You can barely speak, barely breathe. You cling to him, whimpering, still trembling through the aftershocks.

“Inside,” you gasp. “Sebastian—please—want it—want you to come in me—I need to feel it—need you.”

He loses it.

He slams into you one last time—deep, deep—like he’s trying to put something permanent inside you.

“Fuck—yes—I’m coming—”

You feel the first hot pulse of his cum, then another—thick, filling you completely. He moans your name into your neck, over and over, hips grinding through it, desperate to push every drop into you.

You’re still fluttering around him, soaked and full.

The Undercroft is finally quiet.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, echoing louder than the torches crackling along the walls. Sebastian lies half on top of you, still buried deep. His breath ghosts across your shoulder.

For a minute, neither of you speak.

“Are you… alright?” His voice is shaky. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head. “No. You ruined me, sure. But in the best way.”

He lets out a soft, relieved sound—half laugh, half exhale—and kisses the hollow of your throat. His lips linger there like he doesn’t want to leave.

You shift, and both of you hiss—his cock twitching inside you, your thighs sticky with sweat.

“We made a mess,” you mumble.

“We did,” he agrees, smirking against your skin. “I’m proud of it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, but your body trembles when you feel him slowly pull out. You whine at the sudden emptiness. His cum leaks out of you immediately.

Sebastian watches. Then mutters, “Fuck, that’s obscene.”

He runs two fingers along your core—just to spread it wider, watch it drip out of you. You squirm.

“Stop,” you whimper, hips twitching.

“Oh no,” he murmurs. “I’m not done looking at you.”

He leans down and kisses your hip, then trails his mouth to the inside of your thigh. His tongue flicks out, tasting what he left there.

You flinch. “Sebastian—”

“You taste like sex,” he groans. “Like mine.”

Your legs nearly close around his head, but he pins them open. “Hold still.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you let me fuck you on the floor of a cursed hideout,” he says. “What does that make you?”

“Very, very lucky,” you whisper.

He kisses your clit—just a soft brush of lips. You flinch again, oversensitive. He hums.

“You’re still so swollen.”

You glare. “That’s your fault.”

He grins. “You’re welcome.”

Sebastian crawls back up over your body, settling between your thighs again, his now-soft cock brushing against your sensitive core. You gasp—still sensitive.

“I can’t,” you say, voice shaking.

“I know.” He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You wrap your arms around him, tuck your face into his neck. You feel safe there—tucked under his weight, surrounded by his warmth.

“You were incredible,” he whispers. “The sounds you made—the way you looked at me—”

You lift your head and kiss him. A different kind of hunger is there now—slower, sweeter.

“I meant what I said,” you whisper. “You’re not a monster. You never were.”

His eyes shutter. He leans his forehead to yours again. “You’re the first person to ever say that and mean it.”

“I watched everything you went through. I know what you did. But I also know why.”

“I wanted to save her. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I know.” Your thumb strokes the line of his cheekbone. “And you deserved someone in your corner. Even if I had to fall out of the sky to do it.”

He gives a broken, hoarse laugh. “You really are mad.”

“Maybe” you whisper. “But you’re here—wrapped around me like you never want to let go.”

“Because I don’t.”

That silences you both.

He eventually rolls to the side, gathering you into his arms, pulling your body against his chest. Your leg hooks over his hip. His hand drifts up and down your spine, barely touching. Just enough to feel like you’re real.

You whisper, “What now?”

He thinks for a moment.

“Now…” he says, brushing hair from your face, “I memorize every inch of you. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case this isn’t real. Or in case it is, and I wake up without you.”

You pull him closer, leg tightening around him. “I’m not leaving.”

He holds you tighter. “You promise?”

You nod against his chest. “Promise.”

[cognitivejustice]

Solar chimneys are dark-painted shafts attached to the sides of buildings. The chimney absorbs heat, and when that hot air rises, the suction forces cooler air to ventilate through the house. Combined with other passive cooling strategies, solar chimneys can reduce indoor temperatures up to 14F.

Solar chimneys have been used for centuries in the Middle East, and started being used in the US around the 1960s, said Corey Saft, an architecture professor at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. In 2018, Harvard’s Center for Green Buildings and Cities installed a solar chimney on its headquarters as part of retrofit aimed at making the building require almost no energy for heating, cooling, ventilation or daytime electric lighting.

[13lunarstar]

Talents in Navamsha

The D-9 Divisional Chart, or Navamsha Chart, is the second most important chart after the Rasi or D-1 chart. It reveals our potential and certain patterns that characterise our inner world, which typically evolve over a lifetime. With the help of the Navamsha chart, we can also identify our innate talents - these are reflected in the Trikona houses (1, 5, 9) and the planets located there. Any planet placed in one of these houses indicates capabilities and talents carried over from past lives, as well as the areas of life that are naturally preferred for one's activities.

Besides planets located in Trikona houses, it is important to analyse their placement in the Rasi (D-1) Chart, too. And of course, we need to pay attention to the signs of the Trikona houses as well as their rulers.

HOUSES IN NAVAMSHA CHART DESCRIBE...

The first house - The planets in the 1st house of the Navamsha chart reveal the skills, talents, and preferences that are inherent to a person from early childhood, essentially from birth. These often manifest as unconscious abilities, yet people still identify with them on a deep level. Interestingly, individuals may not even recognise these traits as special, assuming them to be average or ordinary simply because they come so naturally.

The fifth house - The planets in the 5th house of the Namasha chart will tell about those talents, which require some personal efforts.

The ninth house -The 9th house planets in Navamsha chart reveal the true direction, skills, and talents that help a person live in harmony with the world and fulfill their life mission.

PLANETS IN NAVAMSHA TRIKONA HOUSES (1,5,9):

Sun: bestows a gift to make an impression, inspire, manage, protect, and unite. Areas where to implement these talents: business, politics, social work, medicine and healing, protection of public order

Moon: talents in pedagogy, psychology, caregiving, the arts and writing. Areas where to implement these talents: charity, social work, childcare, artistic fields, psychology (especially in roles involving or supporting women)

Mars: natural skill in management, sports, martial arts, cooking, mechanics, electrical work, and engineering. Areas where to implement these talents: business (particularly oriented toward men, such as automotive, shipping, or barbering), restaurants, maintenance services, engineering, industrial design, and architecture.

Mercury: gives sharp intellect, eloquence, and talents in public speaking, writing, acting, teaching, and commerce. Areas where to implement these talents: business, trade, accounting, education, journalism, medicine, creative and technical writing and scientific research

Jupiter: grants innate wisdom, reason, and talent for teaching, coaching, and guiding others. Areas for applying these talents: education, writing, life coaching, psychology, medicine, law, jurisprudence, and banking.

Venus: bestows a natural talent for charm, aesthetic expression, and the ability to bring beauty into the world through art, decoration, and refinement. This placement often indicates artistic gifts in painting, music, design, and performance (dance, singing, etc.) It supports success in fields related to the beauty and entertainment industries. Areas for applying these talents: arts, sewing, beauty industry, entertainment, acting, makeup, design, and businesses aimed at or involving women.

Saturn: gives wisdom beyond one's years, natural talents in self-discipline, resilience, and endurance. It grants a strong capacity for long-term planning and working within structured systems. People with Saturn in trikona (1,5,9) houses often possess a karmic affinity for supporting the elderly or those in need of stability and care. Areas for applying these talents: social work, management, work with the elderly, construction, architecture, working with metals, building materials, antiques, or anything aged and worn that requires repair, restoration, or preservation.

Rahu:grants a broad perspective, a unique and unconventional mindset, and strong abilities in learning foreign languages and adapting to new environments. It bestows talents in psychology, entertainment, and innovative thinking. Individuals with this placement often stand out for their originality and can serve as both innovators and provocateurs, challenging norms and opening new paths. Areas for applying these talents: IT, social media, advertising, psychology, esoteric studies (including astrology), innovation-driven fields.

Ketu: grants strong intuition, deep knowledge in psychology, religion, esoteric studies (including astrology). Talents in maths, programming, IT. Afflicted Ketu can give thievish tendencies. Areas for applying these talents: psychology, IT, research, esoteric studies, hairdressing (Ketu is known for cutting abilities).

[eddiesghxst]

CRUEL INTENTIONS - part one: genesis

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: steddie x innocent/shy!reader

summary: you're a new student at All Saints Catholic Academy and Steve and Eddie have every intention to sink their teeth into you.

contains: enemies to lovers between steddie, blasphemy/religious talk, drug and alcohol use, SMUT - 18+, fingering, mentions of smoking, corruption kink, blood kink, mentions of a knife kink, very mild violence, subtle bullying, NON-CON/DUB-CON, and steddie being pervs <3

word count: 7.1k

WARNING: this fic contains dark themes including - NON-CON/DUB-CON,  manipulation, coercion, and corruption. Again, THIS IS A DARK FIC, do not read it if you’re not comfortable with it!

| next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

PREFACE…

“Here at All Saints Academy, we aim to ensure staff will equip students with everything needed to succeed physically and spiritually.”

Your mother and father are beaming on each side of you as you nod to the lady’s words, smiling in agreement. Mom and Dad have been busy with business, and they were starting to get weary about how much time you spend home alone, so they enrolled you in the best catholic boarding school money could buy.

It’s a beautiful campus with big Romanesque architecture-styled buildings. The halls are vast and well-lit with high-hung candle chandeliers. You have yet to visit the dorms, but from the pictures, you were able to tell they’re nothing short of spectacular. You don’t have much to complain about other than the absence of your parents.

“Based on your records here, I can tell you’re a bright student,” She smiles at you, folding her hands atop her desk, “We’re so glad to have you here, young lady.”

You preen under her praise; cheeks warm when your mom proudly squeezes your knee as you thank her. There’s not much left that the lady goes over; she mostly just lets your parents know how and when it’s appropriate to call to check on you or visit— and before you know it, you’re hugging your parents goodbye and waving from the main buildings front steps as they drive off. You’re clutching the folder and pamphlet to your chest, nerves racing through your body now that you’re officially on your own.

A new chapter, and you couldn’t be more excited to start it.

Eddie’s late to his last class of the day.

He’s late, and he’s praying that he doesn’t reek of weed because he’s on his last strike with this teacher, and he really can’t afford to get another call back home. It’s Eddie’s luck that the classroom has a door in the back, so he’s able to slip in quietly.

And Eddie’s not exactly thinking when he slides into the nearest seat, but he thinks maybe the universe is rooting for him because next to him is the prettiest girl he thinks he’s ever seen.

You’re wide-eyed from shock, given Eddie’s just casually slid into the seat next to you, and Eddie cracks a pearly white grin. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says with a slight undertone of sarcasm, “Is this seat taken?” Eddie asks.

You don’t even attempt to open your mouth in response; you just shake your head no, and Eddie’s grin widens. He holds a hand out for you to shake and introduces himself, “Eddie Munson. And you are?”

You’re shy, and your voice is sweet, but Eddie can hear you clearly as day when you say your name, gently shaking his hand with a visible blush dancing in your eyes. Eddie’s chest stirs when your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you shy away from his gaze. He smiles, caressing your warm knuckles as he responds, “Pretty name for an even prettier girl.” 

You smile, glancing at him with burning cheeks, “Thank you… I, um, I like your hair.”

Eddie laughs at that. He tries not to be too loud to draw any attention, but you’re the cutest thing, and you’re looking at his hair like you want to sit down and spend hours practicing different plait patterns. “Thank you,” he grins. Eddie’s eyes fall to your chest, and he snickers to himself before reaching forward, gently picking up the shiny pendants hanging from the silver chain on your neck. A cross and a purity ring. Fucking ace.

Eddie hums, twirling the purity ring between his fingers, “This is nice. Would you like to trade?”

Your face twists in confusion, “Trade?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you my hair for this cute little chain.” He gently tugs on the pendant, and you giggle. It’s a saccharine sound. Fucking beautiful, absolutely the best thing Eddie’s ever heard since his first listen to his first Metallica record, and Eddie thinks he could dedicate his life to pulling that sound from you. Thinks he wants to pull other noises from you too, ones that’ll make you preen with embarrassment and beg him to stop teasing— because your knees are brushing against Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie doesn’t even bother being slick about the way his gaze drops to your thighs, praying for your school skirt to ride up higher.

Eddie’s limbs have a mind of their own apparently, because his knuckles brush against your nylon-covered knee as you open your mouth to respond, but fucking Mrs. Lockwood steps up to you both with a clear of her throat. You jump, your hands settling in your lap as you turn to the teacher, “Munson. I didn’t see you walk in today; when did you arrive?”

You distract yourself with writing notes like a fucking scolded puppy, and Eddie almost ignores Mrs. Lockwood so he can just watch you in awe, but she clears her throat again, and Eddie shrugs, “Been here since the start of the period, miss.” Eddie responds.

Mrs. Lockwood hums with a tilt of her head, “I took attendance already, and you didn’t answer.”

Eddie shrugs again, glancing at you as you practically cower from the class's attention that’s now on you both, “I didn’t hear you say my name.”

And even though Mrs. Lockwood knows Eddie’s nothing but a bullshit liar, she also knows that Eddie can argue like he’s getting fucking paid for it, so— “Get your work done, please.”

And Eddie shoots a wink your way when the teacher turns away, but you’re too focused on your notebook, and Eddie thinks— Jesus Christ, he can’t wait to break you.

Classes end sooner than you know, and you find yourself in the dormitories. So far, you seem to like it here— the teachers are friendly, the workload isn’t too bad, and the students seem to keep mind to their studies— there was even one kid, Eddie, who made you feel nice and welcomed and you appreciated that more than you could express.

Still, even though your day was lovely, you’re exhausted from new faces and sceneries, and your eyes are begging for a moment to relax with a quick nap. With your mind so caught up on taking a nap, you forget to knock on the door to your dorm before you enter, twisting the doorknob and pushing the door wide open. 

You regret your mistake immediately.

“Oh my god!”

“Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry!” You turn and cover your eyes, shoulders tense as you spew out a slew of apologies to your roommate and the man she’d been busy with. How great! Your first day, and you’re already being a rude roommate. “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked! I can just— I’ll just.” You move to blindly reach for the doorknob to make your exit, but your roommate speaks up before you can escape, “No! It’s fine, we— stop it— He was just leaving anyway.”

“I wasn’t actually—” “Steve.”

“Okay! Okay.”

You stay turned around with your back to the couple, embarrassment broiling in your veins as you try to ignore the rustling of clothes and sheets and their hushed whispers. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” The man— Steve, you gather— whispers. You hear a wet smooching noise and a grumble from the girl to, ‘stop being gross.’ and your cheeks burn. The man huffs out a laugh, and you only turn when you can feel his presence behind you since you’re blocking the doorway. He’s tall, broad shoulders with a handsome face, and brown eyes to match his fluffy brown hair. His lips spread into a smirk, eyes dancing across your face as he winks, reaching around you to grasp the door handle, “Keep an eye on this one for me, okay?”

You don’t mean to, but with the handsome man so close to you as he shuffles to move past you, warm body brushing against yours, you can’t help but blush as you nod. He huffs a small laugh before bidding his last farewell to your roommate and disappearing into the hallway. You’re unsure how he can easily slip in and out of the girl's dormitory, but you don’t ask when your roommate clears her throat, “Sorry about that.” She mumbles, “I’ll be sure to be more… mindful in the future.”

You nod with a welcoming smile, stepping further into the room as she rises to her feet and extends a hand for you to shake, “I’m Nancy, by the way.”

When Nancy asked you if you were busy tonight, you weren’t under the impression that the night's final destination would be a party. You surely weren’t under the impression that it would be as big as a party as this one— it’s something you’ve only seen in movies… well, only the few movies you’ve been allowed to watch.

It looked somewhat fun in the movies, but this? This was anything but fun. It was a mistake tagging along with Nancy tonight.

You’ve only just finished your first day at All Saints, and you’re already surrounding yourself with terrible things, things your parents have warned you time and time again to avoid— drugs, alcohol, sex, etc.

It’s everywhere: your classmates are drunk and cheering on as the rugby team chug beers, Tommy and Carol have been making out on the living room couch for nearly an hour, and Nancy— god, you don’t even know where she is, and you’re overwhelmed and scared, and you wish you had stayed in your dorm when Nancy asked what you were doing tonight.

You didn’t want to seem rude, and Nancy is so nice despite Carol evidently hating your guts, and you would hate to throw it back in her face. And sure, maybe she’s only being nice because you’re her roommate, but you still feel as if it’s a little obligatory to accept whatever plans she throws your way.

You’re still in your school uniform, making you feel out of place since everyone here seems to be straight out of a magazine, revealing dresses and neatly done hair. You’ve been glued to the living room wall since you arrived, too scared to do anything but blink and stare in shock. It’s when things start getting rowdy with the rugby team that you decide to peel yourself from the wall, desperate for some sense of reprieve from the absolute zoo you’ve been thrown into, but a body slides up beside you and catches your attention.

A handsome man, tall with dirty blond curly locks that dust across his broad shoulders. His eyes are dark with his gaze, but you can see the ice-cold blue peeking through when a light passes. “You’re too pretty to be hiding in the shadows, you know?”

It’s strong and direct and should make your nose scrunch up in distaste, but with the drawl of his voice and the way he’s leaning a solid hand onto the wall, it makes your cheeks warm. He drops the hand that had been on the wall and reaches out, offering a handshake, “Billy.” He introduces himself.

You only blink at him, glancing at his hand, and he chuckles, a dashing white smile flashing on his face. “Okay. Well, can I offer you a drink? Haven’t seen you with a cup all night.” He points out. You’re not sure why, but the comment makes your stomach twist. He raises a seemingly kind eyebrow, and you shake your head, shying away and pressing further against the wall, “I-I don’t really drink.” You respond.

Billy snickers, head tipping to the side with an unamused look, “Have you ever had a drink?” He questions. Your face warms at that, embarrassed by the truth when you shake your head, “No…” You mumble. The man laughs again, hearty and clean, before he shrugs. His other hand, the hand that’s been wrapped around a can, reaches out between you both, and his eyes glisten when he gazes at you, “Try some of mine?”

You quickly shake your head, curling your fingers into your palms, “No, thank you, I think I’m gonna—” “Come on. It’s not like I’m trying to poison you; just take a sip.”

And well… he’s right, right? He isn’t trying to poison you. He’s being kind, offering you his drink, and you’re being rude and acting like he just asked you to kill your childhood dog. Your shoulders drop, physically giving in as you reach forward, but Billy pulls the can away with a smirk. You’re confused as you gaze up at him, eyebrows furrowed when he steps closer.

He slinks his fingers beneath your chin, rough fingertips sending shivers up your spine as he roughly tells you to “Open up.”

You’re against the wall with nowhere to go, so you obey his orders, opening your mouth, eyes squeezed shut as you try to ignore his chuckles. Your nails are cutting into your skin at this point, stinging and sure to leave a mark as you await the drink on your tongue. You nearly choke when he pours the drink right onto your throat— no, you do choke. You fidget beneath him, wriggling and accidentally getting some of the drink on your chin, and Billy hums like he’s enjoying the sight. “Keep going, doll, you’re doing fuckin’ great.” He chuckles.

You whine, reaching up to press your hands against his chest as the drink threatens to overflow your mouth. But Billy doesn’t stop. He keeps going until the drink is spilling over the sides of your mouth, and you have no choice but to shove at him, choking on the bitter liquor as he chuckles— he’s so strong he doesn’t even budge. But then suddenly, someone is grabbing the boy and tearing him off of you with a loud curse. They’re arguing, that much you can tell, but your head is foggy as you try and catch your breath.

The front of your shirt is damp with the bitter-tasting drink, and you frown, angrily wiping at your mouth as you look at the two men arguing. “The fuck is your problem, man?” It’s Steve, Nancy’s boyfriend. You had all arrived together, but Steve and Nancy seemed to be in the middle of some quarrel, given the way they had immediately parted ways once they stepped into the party.

Your chest tightens, knowing he had come to practically save you, watching as he furiously shoves at the other boy. “Relax, Harrington, we’re just having fun,” Billy snickers before looking at you with a smirk, “Right, Cherry? We were having fun.” And it’s then that you catch the group of people across the room laughing and snickering from the scene you’d just caused. It was planned.

You catch Carol and Tommy giggling, and then you see Nancy locking eyes as she sends you an apologetic look. With a frown on your face and tears brewing in your eyes, you flee the scene, heart racing and embarrassment flooding your body and soul, ignoring Steve as he calls your name.

The kitchen is crowded but less than the living room, and you’re just glad to be in a well-lit room now with zero eyes on you and the promise of a glass of water somewhere.

You’re so caught up spiraling within yourself that you don’t even realize you’ve stopped right in front of your newest classmate friend— “I did not expect to see you here, lamb.”

You turn at the familiar voice, your body immediately relaxing when you meet the gaze of pretty brown eyes. You blink, tilting your head in confusion once you realize what Eddie called you, “Lamb?”

Eddie, perched up on the kitchen counter, taps the heel of his shoe against the wooden cabinet, “You’re cute like one. Lost, too.”

“I’m not lost,” you respond, shying away when Eddie raises an eyebrow, “M’just… overwhelmed. Never been to a party before, and that Billy guy is so… mean.” You frown.

Eddie hums, reaching out and gently tugging on your necklace. You’re not sure why, but Eddie seems to have a weird fascination with it. “Mm. What are you doing here? Little lamb like you should be at the dorms, studying or sleeping like a good girl, hm? Wouldn’t have run into Billy if you were being good.” He says. You frown at his words, guilt swirling in your chest from the reality that you definitely should not be here. Nothing good comes out of places like this; your parents had always warned you to avoid it, yet here you are. Your first night, and you’re already disobeying your parent's wishes.

“Uh, my roommate, Nancy, invited me.” You answer. Eddie’s eyes glimmer with something you can’t quite put your finger on, but before you can even ask, he’s sitting up straight and hopping down from the counter, “Notice you’ve got empty hands. Want a drink?”

You blink, subconsciously twirling your necklace between your fingers as you respond, “Um— a water, please?” Eddie’s lips twitch into a smile, and he nods, “One water coming right up.” He winks. You don’t know why, but the gesture makes your chest flutter. You're thankful that Eddie seems to have a kind heart.

Eddie disappears momentarily to get your water, but he’s quick about it and by your side in no time. Before you can thank him for grabbing you a drink, someone else is sliding into the frame with a gentle hand pressing to your lower back, a familiar soft yet deep voice filling your ears, “Hey, are you alright?”

Steve. You blink up at the boy, shying beneath his gaze in embarrassment from how he’d seen you not too long ago. “Uh, y-yeah. I’m okay.” You answer. Steve glares at Eddie, who’s silently watching as Steve reaches forward and takes the untouched cup of water from you. “Is he bothering you?” Steve doesn’t refer to Eddie by name, but you know he’s talking about the other boy. 

You immediately shake your head no, “No, I—” “Does it look like she’s having a bad time, Steve?”

The attention is now on Eddie as he calmly gazes at Steve, waiting for an answer. Steve’s eyes narrow, fingers subconsciously tightening around the red solo cup, “Fuck off, Munson. I know what you do to girls at these parties.” Steve says with a raise of the cup. You don’t know what Steve is talking about, but you don’t get a chance to ask because Eddie tilts his head with a grin and asks, “Yeah? What’s that?”

Steve grimaces, like Eddie’s the most repulsive thing he’s ever come across, and you frown, sad to see that your new friends seem to not be getting along. Steve places your cup of water on the kitchen island, “You’re fucking sick in the head. I won’t let you do your weird satanic bullshit on Nancy’s friend.”

Without a moment's pause, Eddie responds, crossing his arms over his chest with a tilt of his head, “Mm. Nancy’s friend or your eye candy?

And then Steve punches Eddie square in the jaw.

It happens quicker than you can comprehend, and you stand there like a deer in headlights when Tommy appears from nowhere to pull Steve off of Eddie. Eddie’s grinning, bloody, and tauntingly with a split lip, and Steve is glaring with clenched fists as Tommy backs him up to the other side of the room, mumbling stuff about Steve needing to keep his spot as captain on the rugby team— “He’s not worth it, man.”

Instinctively, as you see your new friend has gotten hurt, you step forward to assess the damage, frowning at the open wound as Steve calls out a harsh remark. You figure you should take Eddie somewhere that Steve isn’t, so you gently tug on him, but Eddie only chuckles at Steve’s words, stumbling in a daze as you drag him away from the scene.

You don’t know where you’re going, but Eddie seems to realize your intentions when you open the third door to an occupied bedroom, “Restrooms down there, lamb.” He gestures down the hallway. Surely enough, the last room in the hallway is the restroom, and when you step in with Eddie behind you, you’re too busy searching for a first aid kit to hear the undeniable click! of the lock to the door, sealing you to your fate.

Eddie, claiming he was tired of standing, made himself comfortable on the floor, ushering you down to join him with the dusty, old first aid kit you’d found. You don’t mind it, but having your knees scuffed up by the cold, hard ground of the restroom floor makes you squirm until Eddie hums, suppressing a wince when you dab an alcohol wipe at his split lip.

“What’s wrong, peach?” He asks.

You huff, shifting in your spot, “Floors hard.” You grumble, focused on your task. Eddie frowns then, and you shake your head quickly, “It’s okay th— oh!” To your surprise, Eddie’s hands are stern on your hips as they drag you forward onto his lap, making sure your thighs bracket his hips, alleviating the pressure from your knees.

It’s nerve-wracking being this close to Eddie; you’re practically inhaling him, and you can feel something hard forming against your thigh. You try your best to ignore the unfamiliar object as you dress Eddie’s wound. You clear your throat, “You and Steve know each other?” You ask.

Eddie hums, warm hands settling on your bare thighs, fingertips digging into your soft skin. “You could say that.” He responds. You frown, tossing the bloody wipes to the side once you finish cleaning his lip. “Eddie?”

“Hm?”

You fidget in your spot, and Eddie groans, but you’re unsure why. “What did… what was Steve talking about? About you with girls and parties?” You ask. Eddie’s eyes are sharp as he gazes at you, and you find yourself shying away from him, subconsciously reaching up to fiddle with your necklace. “He said you do weird… satanic things.” You whisper.

Eddie, ever the handsome man he is, cracks a grin that sends shivers down your spine. It’s alarming, and you find yourself squirming to create distance between you, but Eddie’s hands slink under your skirt, fingertips harshly digging into your skin to drag you back over his crotch. Your breath hitches, heart racing in your chest from the sudden proximity.

Eddie’s voice is a low drawl when he responds, “Does that scare you, lamb?”

You can barely look Eddie in the eye, your throat suddenly feeling tight as Eddie’s hands explore the skin of your thighs. You want to pull away; you can hardly stop yourself from glancing at the door, but Eddie’s gazing at you with this gaze— daring you to try.

You shake your head no, eyes burning with the threat of tears. “Sure about that?” Eddie asks. Eddie shifts below you, and your fingers curl into the palm of your hand, widely blinking at him as you nod. The rough pad of Eddie’s thumb drags across the waistband of your panties, and you whimper, dropping your hands to wrap around Eddie’s decorated wrists and weakly tugging.

“I think I should go, Eddie. N-Nancy’s probably looking for me.” It’s a poor excuse, and Eddie doesn’t even try to act like it isn’t when he quickly responds, “Nancy’s off sucking face with her boyfriend, lamb. I can guarantee you she’s not looking for you.”

Eddie’s sharp tone and mean words pull your lips into a frown, but Eddie doesn’t pay any mind as he leisurely teases his fingertips on the waistband of your panties, tilting his head with a menacing gaze, “It’s a sin to lie, sweet lamb.”

Your frown deepens, hips squirming when Eddie presses a thumb into the middle of your lower pelvis, “I didn’t—” Eddie cuts you off with a raise of his eyebrow, and you slump into yourself. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to lie, but…”

You gasp when Eddie hooks his thumb in the side of your panties, his other arm tightening around your waist when you shakily breathe and try to move away. “But you did. And now you owe me. Not only for saving you out there but also for lying to me.”

Your face twists in confusion, voice weak and small as you ask, “Saving me?”

Eddie doesn’t bother answering you, doesn’t bother saying anything really, because he takes the moment of your confusion to slip his thumb beneath the thin cotton between your thighs, swiftly seeking out the bundle of nerves between your lips. You jump with a squeal, pressing your palms into Eddie’s chest, “I, wait—” “Shh, shh, shh. I’m gonna make you feel good, baby.” Eddie hums.

You’re shaking in his hold, whimpering and fighting against him, but Eddie’s much stronger than you, so it’s useless trying to get out of his hold. “I wanna go home, Eddie.” You softly sob. Eddie hums, dragging you closer and nuzzling into your neck, his nose dusting across your chin and breathing in deep, “I’ll take you home, sweet lamb,” he lowly says, flicking your bud beneath his finger, “I’ll take you home right after this, yeah?”

You’re huffing in uneven breaths, on the precipice of sheer panic, but Eddie’s words hold a promise, and even if you’ve only known the man for less than a day, you somehow find yourself trusting his word. Brave through this, and Eddie will safely take you home. Right?

You sniffle, knuckles curling into Eddie’s shirt as he drags his thumb lower to your entrance. It’s slick there; it happens every now and then, this weird sensation that makes your insides curl. You’re not supposed to act on it; it’s just your body tempting you to sin, but the way Eddie dips into your hole and drags the sticky substance up to your tight nerves makes your toes curl, and your eyes roll.

“O-oh!” Your thighs quake, and Eddie grins against your skin, softly chuckling when your hips jolt into his touch. “That feel good? Has anyone ever touched you like this?” He asks, his voice seeping into your ear and down to your core. You whimper, knuckles prominent and aching from how hard you’re clenching a fist. You can’t even bring yourself to answer him, hardly shaking your head with a wet sob as he pinches the taut nerves.

Your head is spinning, lungs full with the smell of Eddie, mind whirling with his words, limbs weak with overwhelming sensation. “No?” Eddie muses, “No one’s ever touched this cute little pussy? Such a shame. You make the cutest noises when I fuck you like this.”

Eddie’s words are so lewd. So perverted and raunchy that it causes your entire body to burst into flames, subconsciously hiding your face in Eddie’s neck. Your fingers accidentally curl into the ends of Eddie’s hair, and he groans, chest vibrating against yours as he teases one finger in and out of your entrance. 

“I-I, Eddie, it feels…” “What? Feels good?”

You don’t want to say yes. Don’t want to admit that this sinful and greedy act is making your stomach twist and your body shake from pleasure you’ve never tasted before, but it does. You’re writhing in his arms, hips twitching into his palm while simultaneously trying to move away from him. “Come on, sweet lamb. You’re twitching around me, so I know you want it. Just give in.” He says. You shake your head, unwilling to admit it because, no, you didn’t want this… but it feels so good. It’s so wrong, and it feels good. Eddie grunts, humming at the slick sound coming from between your legs, and you keen forward in blissful white-hot pleasure, eyebrows furrowing when Eddie’s lips smear over the corner of your mouth.

The music and chatter of the party from outside drown out as Eddie mumbles into your skin, a gentle finger working in and out of you, teasing to sink all the way in. You’ve never felt this way before. You’ve never let the desire boil over a fleeting thought, always quick to turn to prayer, and you are, without a doubt, ashamed.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans, “You’re so fucking tight. Wonder how I’m gonna be able to fit my cock in this little pussy.” He speaks to himself as you loudly whimper, leaning into the immense build-up. His arm loosens from around you, and you take the opportunity to wriggle away from him, but he doesn’t let you go far. He’s making quick work to grasp onto your chin tightly, fingertips angrily digging into your cheek as he drags you forward, sharp gaze cutting across your face as he grits out, “I’ll just have to make it fit then, won’t I.”

It’s not a question, but you shake your head nonetheless, even if Eddie’s hold prevents you from doing so.

It’s when Eddie shoves the entire length of his finger into you that you topple over the edge, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your body tenses, face screwing up in pleasure. Eddie slants his lips over yours, tasting your cries and moaning into them, creating a harmony of nothing but sin. Your thighs shake, and Eddie’s finger is moving in tandem with the thumb he’s pressed to your clit, shoving you closer and closer to this immense sensation that has you sobbing out against his mouth.

You whine, squirming against his hold when his sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, harsh and claiming. The taste of metal fills your mouth, spilling onto Eddie’s tongue when he laves it over the new wound. He parts from your mouth with a wet smack; lips tinted red with your blood as he gives his second bloody smile of the night. Between the throbbing and sore sensation in your core and the aching wound Eddie has now left on your lip, your body has been pushed to the limit.

Eddie smiles, reaching up to thumb at your split lip, eyes twinkling as he admires his work. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your damp cheek, gently licking the salty tears away with a hum before settling back to gaze at you in a fond manner.

He pinches your lip, grinning when your breath catches.

“Now we match.”

Eddie doesn’t usually go to mass.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go (he doesn’t), but who the hell is waking up at six in the morning to sing a bunch of ancient hymnals and recite scriptures that he’s already read a million times before? Not Eddie. 

The thought of dragging himself out of bed, still half asleep and groggy, to sit through a seemingly endless series of hymns and recitations he’d heard countless times before was simply dreadful. It was a chore—a monotonous obligation that stifled his soul rather than nourishing it. You couldn’t pay Eddie enough to say one good thing about mass.

Well, that’s changed now that you’re here.

One good thing about mass? The pretty girl sitting three rows ahead of him.

Sunshine-dripping smiles and flouncy skirts. Strawberry and honey-scented winds when you walk by. Pretty, kind, and innocent bright-eyed you— the star of Eddie’s dreams— wet and tame. It’s been a day, and Eddie would crawl to the ends of the earth for a second between your thighs— except Eddie doesn’t need to do all that work because he’s practically got you in the palm of his hands.

You’re so fucking clueless, so easy to bend and mold into the shape of Eddie’s little fucktoy that Eddie honestly thinks this is the universe's gift to him for fucking him over all his life. And Eddie’s had his fair share of women. Back home, he fucked over half of Hawkins PTA moms, and he’s had a few of the prissy good-for-nothing girls here at All Saints doubled over his dorm bed and sobbing his name. He’s had a good run with a few of the rugby and soccer team members as well, sometimes takes a good fuck as payment for a bit of snow.

And Eddie’s into fucked up shit, okay. Likes the whole chains and whips scene, likes it when they cry, and aren’t sure whether to ask for more or less. He likes leaving his mark, whether it be with his teeth, his hands, or his pretty Darla— a pretty, wooden hunting knife that his old man gifted him before he got tossed in the pen. Eddie can’t hunt for shit, but he figures he’s still doing the blade justice, right? Carving his initials into his catches seems better, anyway.

And Eddie likes to break things just to fix them again. When he was younger, he would take apart the home phone down to the tiny nuts and bolts and put it back together, and he would do it over and over until he got bored and moved on to the toaster.

Technically, you aren’t any different from the home phone or the toaster.

Eddie wants to take you apart, piece by piece, and study your parts until he’s an expert in all things you. And then he wants to put you back together, leave out certain pieces, and replace them with his own until you’re nothing but a creation of his doing. He wants to make you believe in him like he’s a fucking god, like he’s everything, like you were nothing before him, and you’ll be nothing without him. He wants to ruin you for anybody else.

He wants you for him and only him.

You’re cute today. More timid and shy than you were yesterday, and you’re even cuter with your head bowed as you recite prayers and confessions of your own. You’ve got the school uniform on, just as everybody else, a pleated skirt with knee highs that Eddie can’t wait to feel brushing up against his ears as he fucks you into his shitty mattress. Eddie notices you have a habit of subconsciously tugging and twirling around the pendants on your necklace, and it somehow makes you cuter.

You’re battling something, Eddie can tell, with the way you’re practically choking yourself with the necklace and chewing on your lip, careful not to nick the scabbed over the wound that Eddie had left last night— so fucking cute. 

And then, Eddie realizes what had been worrying you when you stand up and make your way over to the short line where students line up to sit in a box and confess their lousy sins to some dipshit priest that could care less.

And Eddie thinks, oh, you’re just the sweetest thing he’s ever come across— confessing to sins that don’t exist. Asking for forgiveness that you won’t receive. You were made for Eddie to destroy, and he’s already fucking winning.

And as if it couldn’t get better— there’s Steve.

Steve Harrington— captain of the rugby team, grade-A asshole, and the one thing that Eddie could never get his hands on— is looking at Eddie like he wishes he would burst into flames on the fucking spot. Eddie’s seen an angry Steve— he’s a rugby player, for fucks sake— and Eddie can admit that this look, the angry glare he’s receiving from across the room, tops it all.

Steve has never liked Eddie, and he never will— he made that clear one too many times. He’s caught Eddie looking at him in class or watching him instead of the priest during sermons, but he made sure to let Eddie know he wants nothing to do with him because, ‘I’m not fucking gay, Munson.’ And that’s fine. Whatever. Eddie’s not wailing to the sky about how Steve Harrington doesn’t want to fuck him. But something about the look Steve’s giving Eddie— the absolute murderous glare that’s cutting stars into Eddie’s vision— makes Eddie think that maybe he’s got a chance.

Like, you ever hate someone so much you wanna fuck them? That’s how Steve’s looking at Eddie. Like Steve wants to make Eddie feel so good that Eddie loathes the fact that it’s Steve making him feel good. Like he wants to make Eddie see stars. Like he wants to make Eddie regret ever looking at you.

It’s cute. So fucking cute, you and Steve.

And Eddie realizes— yeah, I hit the fucking jackpot.

The day passes fairly quickly, and the athletic period arrives before Eddie can gauge it.

Eddie very rarely participates in afternoon sports. 

It’s not that Eddie doesn’t like sports— Wayne is a big baseball fan, so he knows quite a bit about the sport— but Eddie doesn’t have a single athletic bone in his body, so it’s more of a matter over mind thing, really.

Unfortunately, athletics is mandatory, and Eddie is on his righteous way to failing if he skips one more day, so he musters up the dignity he has left and forces himself to attend the class. The sun is annoyingly bright today, and there’s hardly a breeze, so Eddie’s sticky and sweaty by the end of warm-up— and Eddie was not planning on washing his hair tonight, but alas… eh, he probably won’t either way.

It’s halfway through the period when Eddie decides the coach doesn’t give a shit about him, and he can make an escape to the locker room. It’s been roughly a month since Eddie was last in this rancid-smelling room— two weeks if you count the drug deal he made with the soccer goalkeeper; he was short on cash, so Eddie settled for a blowie as payment, and although Baine swears to fuck all that he’s never sucked dick before, the hand to mouth coordination was a little bit too practiced for a rookie, so. 

Even if there’s a fresh, raunchy memory to associate with athletics, Eddie’s still got a scowl on his face when he walks into the locker room. His skin is searing to the touch, hotter than a fucking oven, and Eddie hates being hot— there is nothing extraordinary about being a metalhead when the weather is twelve degrees above hell. He’s making a beeline for the showers, not even bothering to remove his shirt when he flips on the cold water and sticks his neck beneath the cool stream. It’s orgasmic, really, and Eddie thinks he could spend an eternity here if it didn't smell like dick and balls.

Eddie’s so caught up in the cooling sensation of water on his skin that he doesn’t even hear the locker room door open or the heavy footsteps of Steve Harrington. He fucking feels him, though, especially when the rugby player reaches around and switches off the shower head, sweat-slick skin rubbing against Eddie’s wet frame.

Eddie turns around then to look at Steve, raising an eyebrow at the deep scowl on the other boy's face. “What’d you do to her, you fucking asshole?”

Despite Steve glaring at Eddie with a look that would send anyone in their right mind running for the hills, Eddie can’t help but think him akin to a chipmunk. Cute with more anger than his little body can hold. “Not sure who you’re talking about, Harrington,” Eddie responds. Steve snarls like he’s a literal wolf and Eddie almost coos, “You know who I’m talking about, Munson.”

Eddie feigns confusion before snapping his fingers as if he’s come to a conclusion, “Oh! You mean your eye candy from last night—” Eddie can’t say more then because Steve is grasping him by the collar of his shirt and pressing him into the shower wall, anger flashing across his eyes as he glares at Eddie. “Watch your fucking mouth, Eddie—”

“Why?” Eddie presses with a glare, “You’re mad I got to her before you could? I gotta say, I owe you big time, Harrington.” He teases.

“Thanks for punching me in the fucking mouth.” Eddie shoves the boy off of him with a glare. “Really fucking hurt, by the way. But I mean, it sped up the process for me. You practically dropped her cute little ass in my lap.”

Steve steps closer, sharing a breath with Eddie as he grits out, “If one punch wasn’t enough for you to back off, I’ll gladly give you another.” He threatens. Cute.

Eddie chuckles, pushing Steve away again with a roll of his eyes. “Jesus. Loosen up, man, I didn’t fuck her… Not yet, anyway—” “Well, you can keep wishing.”

Eddie bellows out a deep, hearty laugh at that, head tossing back as he leans against the shower wall, “It’s funny you think you have a say, Stevie.”

With a glare on his face, Steve scoffs and turns to leave, but Eddie thinks now is the perfect time to give his proposal, if ever, right? So, despite Eddie’s pride, he calls out the other boy's name, stepping away from the shower wall when Steve turns back around with an annoyed expression.

“I’ll tell you what, Harrington,” Eddie says as he approaches Steve. “I’ll teach her.”

Steve’s face twists in confusion at that, glaring at Eddie as he responds, “Teach her?” 

Eddie nods with a grin tugging at his lips, “I’ll teach her. Get her nice and ready, even have her wrapped in a cute little bow for you— and when she’s ready, you can have her. I’ll even grant you the privilege of fucking her first.”

And Steve doesn’t seem to believe it, which, Eddie doesn’t blame him— it’s a great fucking deal. Steve shifts in his spot, body turning more towards Eddie as his eyes slightly narrow, “What’s in it for you?”

Eddie scoffs out a laugh, flashing a pearly white grin that seems to make the other boy's face flush with a cute light tinge of pink, “Everything, man. I get to break her in,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s the best part.”

And whether or not Steve thinks Eddie is completely insane, whether he believes in those satanic ritual rumors or not, or if he believes Eddie’s some ridiculously demented man, it doesn’t stop Steve from wanting in. Eddie can read Steve from a mile away, and nothing about Steve’s demeanor right now says he’s not interested.

“...Fine— but if I find out you fucked her—” Before Steve can finish the threat, Eddie’s holding his hands up in surrender. “Cross my heart, hope to die, Harrington. She’ll be perfectly trained and fresh for you.” Eddie winks. Steve grimaces at that, shaking his head as he begins to turn around and walk away with a mumble of, “Fuckin’ perv.”

And Eddie can only grin to himself as he watches the boy leave, knowing that not only is Eddie gonna have the time of his life turning you into his personal fucktoy, but he will also 100% turn Steve Harrington into his bitch.

part two.

freaky lil cutie taglist: @gnrquinn @otterpop13 @sirensleepingsoundly @hugdealer @poppyseed018 @your-nightmaredoll @daysinthephoenix @chaiflvrd @daisy-munson @amira0303 @kellsck @eddiesguitarskills @peaches-roses-sins @ohmeg @tellmealovestory @munsonsbtch @freak-of-hawkins @darknesseddiem @urdadsnewgiirlfriend

a/n: HIIIII, oh god here we go, another series hehe. again, thank u so much to my bae @munsonlore for brainstorming this fic w me and helping me along the way. i hope u enjoy what we have planned for these three ;)

thank u for reading, ily always!!