Maerisa stood half-shadowed behind a towering prop shaped like a fallen starfighter, its weathered metal frame giving her the perfect vantage point near the Star Wars booth. Around her, the convention floor buzzed with movement and voices… flashing lights, echoing laughter, the constant murmur of fans lost in the swirl of their passions.
But Maerisa's attention was fixed on only one thing.
Him… Hank.
She watched him through the crowd like a predator in velvet, eyes locked on the man behind the camera. Every motion he made, every gesture, every flicker of his smile… it was a study in quiet purpose. That camera wasn't just a tool in his hands; it was a bridge between realities. His magic.
And he didn't even know it yet.
She saw the shift in his expression when his gaze landed on the stunning Asian cosplayer… Yuna Mei. Maerisa's eyes narrowed slightly, but not out of jealousy. No, it was something more primal. More... strategic. She watched as his breath subtly hitched, how his focus dipped for just a second too long, how his posture changed when Yuna stepped into his orbit.
Maerisa smiled.
"Hmmm… he likes her," she whispered softly, her voice like smoke curling between syllables. Her lips curled into a grin, slow and knowing. She could feel it… his pulse quickening, his desire stirring beneath the surface. He wanted the girl. Admired her. Craved her presence.
Good.
She closed her eyes, the scent of incense and cosplay perfume lingering in the air, and spoke a few words in a tongue no human had uttered in a thousand years. A whisper of an incantation, laced with shadow and starlight, spilling from her lips like a secret prayer.
A subtle charm. Just a nudge of energy… a push of luck, aimed directly at Hank.
"Let him have them," she willed. "Let the girls flock to him. Let them desire him. Let him taste sweetness, learn rhythms, find confidence in his touch and strength in his voice. Let him learn what it means to be desired… to please, to lead, to command."
He needed experience.
He needed to know women. Not just admire them from behind a lens. Not just stumble through shyness. He needed to live inside desire, feel its power move through him. And only then… when his hands were sure, when his body remembered the language of pleasure… would he be ready.
Ready for her.
Because Maerisa was not some fleeting fantasy.
She was a storm cloaked in silk. Ancient. Demanding. Insatiable.
And he… he was the first man in centuries whose soul made her ache.
"Oh yes… he is perfect," she whispered, violet eyes gleaming beneath the soft lighting of the con. "Unpolished. Untouched. But it's in him. The depth. The potential. The fire."
In her three hundred years of walking the Earth, in her countless dances through eras and masquerades and mortal lives, she had never found one like him. A man with an artist's eyes and a heart not yet corrupted by power. A man worthy.
But to handle her… truly handle her, he had to be more than worthy.
He had to be shaped.
She would give him the time. She would help him, in her quiet, hidden ways. She would grant him the charm that made women see him. Touch him. Want him. Let them teach him what it meant to hold and be held.
And when the time was right… when his touch could set fire to her skin, when his voice could command her knees to weaken, then she would take him.
Not just for a night.
For as long as stars burned and shadows walked the Earth.
He would be hers. Only hers.
Maerisa watched Hank smile at the redheaded cat-girl who giggled and leaned in to whisper something flirtatious in his ear. She saw the way his expression changed… amused, flattered, not yet overwhelmed.
Yes, she thought. Grow bolder. Grow hungrier.
She turned her gaze back to Yuna Mei, now only a few places away from Hank's lens.
Let him chase the beautiful ones. Let him fall into their beds, into their mouths, into their games.
It didn't matter.
In the end, none of them would compare.
Because only one woman in this building knew how to truly claim a soul.
And she was already watching him.
Waiting.
Smiling.
---
Hank looked up from his camera as the next person stepped into his booth… and for a moment, the world stilled.
Yuna Mei.
She moved with the kind of grace that couldn't be taught… fluid, poised, magnetic. The soft rustle of her costume brushed the green-screen floor like falling silk, and the subtle shimmer of her celestial priestess cosplay caught the overhead lights, throwing faint glints of gold across her skin. Her braid was wound with iridescent threads that glowed like starlight, and her eyes… those deep, violet lenses, locked onto his with a heat he didn't remember from yesterday.
She smiled. Slow. Knowing.
"Hank," she said, her voice like sugar and incense, warm and low. "Thank you for the pictures you sent this morning." She stepped closer, just inside his orbit. "They turned out beautifully."
Hank smiled back, managing to keep his cool even as her presence soaked through him like warm light. "I'm glad you liked them," he said.
He reached into the folder on the corner of his table and pulled out two neatly printed documents. "Before we shoot today, I just need your signature on a couple of release forms."
She didn't even blink… just took the pen from him with the same fluid grace she seemed to do everything with.
"This one," he explained, "is permission to post the images on my pages… Instagram, website, portfolio. And this one," he handed her the second sheet, "grants me permission to sell the images, under the agreement that any profits are split 50/50."
Yuna glanced at him with a raised brow, then scanned the second form with a flick of her eyes. "What kind of sales are we talking about?" she asked, voice soft but curious.
"Lifestyle blogs, local event mags, pop culture outlets," Hank said, his tone shifting into that quiet confidence he'd started to find in himself this weekend. "Even some indie authors sometimes license cosplay images for book covers… if it fits their worldbuilding."
She smiled again, wider this time, just a flash of teeth, coy and slightly dangerous. "That's… unexpectedly cool."
Without hesitation, she signed both forms, her signature flowing like a practiced stroke of ink. As she handed the pen back, her fingers brushed his… just enough to be felt, just enough to make him wonder if it was intentional.
It was.
"So…" she said, stepping back onto the green screen, tilting her head slightly as her hands smoothed over the curve of her costume. "How do you want me?"
Her voice dipped at the end, the question loaded, her lips curling into the faintest suggestion of a smirk.
Hank's throat tightened for half a second. There was definitely more flirtation in her tone than there had been yesterday… something had shifted, but he couldn't put his finger on why. The energy around her was different. Like it shimmered under her skin. Like a low hum he couldn't hear but could feel in his chest.
Maerisa's charm, he didn't realize… but it was already working.
He cleared his throat, maintaining the professional tone that kept him grounded. "However you feel comfortable."
Yuna stepped into her first pose, arching her back slightly, one arm lifted, the other curling forward with a phantom spell in her palm. She held it just long enough for the shutter to capture the magic… then flowed into another. Then another.
She was mesmerizing.
Each pose was precise but natural, creative but graceful. She twisted, turned, flirted with the lens. Between clicks, she glanced at him, lips parting slightly, eyes sharp beneath the lashes. There was no denying it… she wasn't just performing. She was playing with him.
Between shots, she crossed the space to peek at the small screen on the back of the camera. Her body brushed against his arm.
He showed her a few of the better frames. Yuna gasped softly, covering her mouth with two fingers, eyes wide. "Oh my god… those are amazing."
He smiled and nodded, jotting down the shot numbers in his notebook. He almost didn't notice when she leaned over the table and plucked the pen from his hand.
Before he could ask, she scribbled something at the bottom of the page.
Her phone number.
Next to it, in neat, bold script:
Call me tonight <3
She tapped the page gently, winked at him… then turned and walked away without another word, her hips swaying in that calm, elegant rhythm that somehow felt intentional.
Hank stared at the number for a moment. The heart glowed like a promise.
He wasn't the kind of guy who got numbers from girls like Yuna Mei. Not before this weekend. Not ever.
But now?
Now it was real.
He watched her melt back into the crowd, her white-and-gold costume catching the light one last time before she disappeared. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He was definitely going to call her tonight.
And deep in the crowd, unseen to all but shadows, Maerisa smiled.
Her spell was working perfectly.
---
The day had passed not in hours, but in flashes… hundreds, maybe thousands.
For Hank, it was a whirlwind of bright lights, bold colors, and beautiful people. His camera had barely cooled between sessions. Every minute brought a new face, a new character, a new story to capture. His booth had become a minor phenomenon by midday, with a line that barely shrank as word spread across the convention floor: "You've gotta get your picture done by HankShootsReal… he's the real deal."
He hadn't stopped to eat. Barely had time to sip from his water bottle. But he felt alive. Charged. Like this was exactly where he belonged.
Each cosplayer paid him $15 per session, sometimes more if they wanted a custom background or additional edits. The small cashbox next to his gear case was stuffed with bills, and his payment app had been dinging non-stop. By the time the sun began to dip outside the convention center, Hank had made what felt like a small fortune. The kind of money he used to dream of making in a month, now in a single day doing what he loved.
And the best part? It wasn't just the money. It was the people.
The laughter. The connection. The shared appreciation for beauty, fandom, and creativity.
As he adjusted the lighting rig for what had to be his four-hundredth subject of the day, the convention-wide speakers crackled to life.
"Good evening, con-goers," said a smooth, professional voice that instantly brought a grin to Hank's face. Lena. "Today has been a long and fun day for us all, but the floor is wrapping up. Please make your way toward the exits and join us again tomorrow… we're sure you still have plenty more to see. Five minutes until shut-down."
Hank chuckled quietly to himself and looked toward the girl next in line.
"You'll be my final shot of the day," he said, giving her a warm smile.
The girl's face lit up. She practically skipped forward with wide, excited eyes, the curls of her long red hair bouncing around her shoulders as she hurried onto the green screen mat. She was dressed head-to-toe as a young Black Widow… sleek, form-fitting black suit with red belt accents, black boots, and little foam "stingers" attached to her wrists. Her bright smile made her look younger than her age, but her posture was bold and confident.
"Wow," Hank said as he lifted his camera. "Scarlett Johansson… one of your heroes?"
She nodded vigorously, unable to hold back a big grin. "She's so awesome! I've watched every Marvel movie like ten times! My mom says I look like her all the time. Like, when I wear sunglasses and a leather jacket? Totally her!"
Hank chuckled, snapping the first few shots. "Well, your mom's not wrong. You're pulling this look off perfectly."
The girl beamed at the compliment. "Thank you!" she said, striking a confident pose, mimicking Natasha Romanoff's signature stance… knees bent, one hand reaching for an invisible holster, chin tilted slightly down. She was into it.
Hank took a dozen more shots, adjusting angles, playing with shadow, giving her a couple playful prompts.
"Alright," he said, lowering his camera. "That was amazing. Great energy."
She looked thrilled. "Can I see?!"
"Of course." He showed her a few of the previews on the camera screen.
Her hands shot up to her face. "OHMYGOSH. I love them. That's SO cool!"
Hank smiled and reached for his notebook. "Awesome. What tag should I use when I post these?"
She bounced slightly on her toes. "I'm @youngmel4! It's my cosplay account. I just started it last month. You're gonna be my first real pro shoot!"
He nodded, writing it down carefully. "Well, you definitely made the last shoot of the day a great one."
She gave him a quick thank-you, then turned and dashed toward the crowd where a woman… her mom, stood waving from a distance. The girl ran straight into her arms, talking excitedly.
Hank let out a breath and chuckled softly. Moments like that made it all worth it. That enthusiasm, that pure joy.
He stepped back into his booth and began the slow ritual of shutting things down. Unclipping the soft lights, coiling cords, checking memory card storage, and gently packing away his camera like it was a sacred artifact. His muscles ached. His feet throbbed. His shoulders were sore from holding his rig for so many hours straight.
But his mind?
Still racing.
The line may have ended, the lights may be dimming… but the night was far from over.
As he zipped his camera bag, his thoughts wandered to one thing.
Yuna.
The number she had written in his notebook still sat there, just a few pages back. He could see the heart she had drawn beside it in his mind as clearly as if it were glowing.
He hadn't stopped thinking about her since she walked away from his booth earlier.
It wasn't just that she was beautiful… though she was, achingly so. That soft voice, the glint in her eyes, the way she moved, owned space, as if the very air moved for her. No, it was more than looks. She had presence. Mystery. Like a character in a dream you woke up needing but not quite remembering.
And she had flirted with him. Clearly flirted. She'd whispered, winked, leaned just close enough for his skin to tingle. She wanted him to call.
But still, Hank couldn't help the small whisper of doubt in his chest.
Was it just play? Convention flirtation? Something that would vanish in the morning like glitter on a hotel pillow?
Or…
He didn't let himself finish the thought.
He'd dreamed of a girl like Yuna for years. In his dreams, she was always beside him, then beneath him, skin against skin, her breath caught in his ear, her voice moaning his name. The idea of having that… not just admiration, but possession, passion, felt like reaching for a star from the bottom of a canyon.
Girls like Yuna didn't want guys like him.
At least… that's what he used to believe.
But things were different now.
The confidence in him wasn't imagined… it was earned. He could feel it in the way people spoke to him, how they looked at him, touched him, waited in lines just for his attention. He was finally beginning to understand: he had something. Something worth wanting.
Still… Yuna?
That was another level.
He stared down at the closed notebook, his fingertips resting where her number was written. The heart she drew seemed to burn into the paper.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd… unseen but ever-watchful… Maerisa smiled.
The enchantment she had laced into the ether around Hank had done exactly what it was meant to do. His confidence, his attention, his slow uncoiling desire… it was all rising. And now, even Yuna Mei, proud and perfect and poised, was feeling it.
Maerisa didn't care how many women flirted with him. Didn't mind how many bedded him, or how many nights he spent tangled in mortal arms.
All of it… every moment, was leading to one thing.
When he was ready...
When he was hers...
There would be no turning back.
---
Hank closed the hotel room door behind him with a quiet click, then leaned his back against it and exhaled slowly.
The muffled thud of bass-heavy music echoed through the walls. Someone down the hall was shouting… probably in celebration, possibly in drunken chaos. A pair of running footsteps raced past his door, followed by the squeal of laughter and the sound of a keycard slapping against another room's handle.
It was going to be a long, loud night.
He didn't need to look out the peephole to know what the halls looked like right now… cosplayers still half in costume, their makeup smudged but their energy still high, groups clustering around ice machines or dragging each other into afterparties that would last until dawn. He'd seen the same thing in the lobby on his way up: couples too close, strangers too bold, people inviting him left and right with breathless grins and glossy eyes.
"Hey, Hank! Come to the Skybar party later!"
"We've got a penthouse suite, you should stop by!"
"Dude, I brought real absinthe from Europe, you in?"
"Haaaank, you have to meet my friend… she's a huge fan!"
He'd smiled politely, nodded, made vague excuses. But he never planned to go.
Part of him was flattered by the attention. A bigger part of him felt… tired.
He'd never been a party guy. He liked whiskey, sure, and the occasional drink with just him and his computer. But the idea of cramming into an overstuffed hotel room reeking of sweat, vape smoke, and cheap tequila, surrounded by people who'd forget each other's names by morning? No, thanks. He'd heard too many horror stories. Too many girls taken advantage of. Too many guys who saw cosplaying as an invitation. Too many mornings filled with regret.
Hank didn't want that. He wanted something real.
He sighed again, deeper this time, and pushed off the door. His boots thudded softly against the carpet as he crossed the dim room. The beds were neatly made… housekeeping must've come through.
He glanced toward the minibar.
Small, overpriced, and predictably stocked… but tonight? It had what he needed.
He opened the tiny fridge door and scanned the contents. Mini bottles of whiskey. A couple of those cheap but oddly strong ones. He grabbed two without hesitation and carried them to the small desk by the window. He opened a glass tumbler from the hotel bar set and twisted off the caps, pouring both bottles into one drink. It wasn't elegant, but it was warm and golden, and the burn would be real enough.