Witchcore Outfit Novels & Stories

My boss, Walton Frazier, loves tricking me into wearing tight shirts and having the top three buttons undone before forcing me to entertain the female clients. Then, he drops hints to said that I'm young and have a great physique, only to wait with bated breath for the clients to start touching me. His excuse is that he wants to test the clients' characters to see if they really are worthy to work with. As soon as the clients fall for the trap hook, line, and sinker, Walton will rush out toward them in a righteous manner and slam his wine glass onto the table. After that, he'll start lecturing me as though I've done something awfully wrong. "Is there not a prideful bone in your body? Do you want to hit your sales target that badly that you're willing to forsake your pride as a man?" Walton chooses to trample all over me just so he can build his manly and righteous persona. This time, he specifically prepares a suit with a deep V-line that's made of light material. Then, he forces me to toast to a client with an extremely rich and powerful background in that suit. He even threatens to dock off three months' worth of perfect attendance pay if I don't do this. When I notice the familiar cold-looking yet striking face at the main seat, I can't help but smile. If my older sister, Mable Cobb, were to see me toasting to her in this kind of outfit, I have a feeling she'll clean out the trash for me and make me the boss of this company by tomorrow.

Since I was a little girl, my mom had always taught me that I deserve all the good things in life. When I was still a student, my copycat roommate bought the same outfit that I had on purpose. She even asked me if she looked fat in it. I just shook my head. "I don't know. I, for one, have an amazing figure, so it definitely looks good on me." Once I start working, a male colleague decides to pursue me. So, I come up with an excuse on the spot and tell him that I already have a boyfriend. He looks at me with pain etched in his eyes. Then, he asks me if I'll take him into consideration after I break up with my boyfriend. I just sneer at him in return. "It seems that you don't love me enough. Otherwise, why aren't you offering to become my side piece?" Due to my principles, everyone keeps cursing me out and calling me an arrogant woman who has no sense of shame behind my back. But one day, when my blind date hears about my personality quirk, he decides to take me back to his home to visit his mother during the holidays. "My mom is the type who keeps demeaning herself for no reason. She keeps claiming that she's unworthy of anything in life. I swear, she's driving me mad! "If you can help my mom get rid of this habit, I'll give you whatever you want." This is definitely an interesting proposal. So, I accept it confidently with a pat on the chest. "Don't worry. Leave it to me."

!R18+ Contains matured content. Viewers Discretion is advised.! "Do you, perhaps, have a wife or a fiance at home?" I inquired. He blinked at me once before he shook his head negatively. "Oh great! This is great." I mumbled and my eyes looked to his navy blue Armani Suit and with a nod, I added, "Your outfit is perfect as well." "Perfect for what?" He asked. "A wedding. We're getting married. Let's get married." "What?" ••• What would you do when, on your wedding day, you find your so-called fiance in his dressing room with his manhood buried deep in between another woman's thigh? Call off the wedding and leave, right? That's when you're free to make your own decisions though. It's not the same for Avery Roosevelt, the hidden heiress of The Roosevelts. This, however, is the sticky situation she finds herself in. Livid with anger, she grabs the first man in front of the hotel reception and proposes marriage to him. But when she finally discovers the man she had proposed marriage to was the CEO of the company her Family has been in rivalry with for ages? And when the secret behind her birth is revealed to the world? Would her husband stand by her or let her go? And when another secret is unveiled to the couple? A secret that depended on their future together. Would they drift apart or would love prevail? "Hubby, I slapped Eleanor Roosevelt for badmouthing you. Did I do wrong?" "Of course not. Let me see your wrist... Does it hurt you?" "Hubby, I cursed at the wife of your business partner for calling me a b*tch." "It's fine. I don't plan on working with them anyway." "Hubby..." •••

I have been married to Andrew Connolly for four years, but whenever his gaze meets mine, there is no recognition at all. Even my voice doesn't register. He remembers everyone around him, yet the one person he never remembers is that I am his wife. If I put on a hat, he asks who I am. When I tie my hair up, he assumes I am a new hire at his company. To help him remember, I repeat the same outfit, the same makeup, the same hairstyle. Still, despite my daily presence, he treats me like a stranger. I tell myself Andrew is simply buried in work, that the neglect is accidental, right up until a concert night. I watch him cut through the crowd and embrace his first love, whom he has not seen in years. When the stage suddenly collapses, I seize his arm and beg, "Honey, please save me." Andrew shoves me away, his voice flat and cold. "You're not my wife. My wife is at home." I am crushed beneath the falling debris. Choking on blood, I can only watch as Andrew rescues his first love and walks away. That is when I realize it's not that he can't remember me, he just doesn't love me. The bodyguards drag me out of the wreckage. Later, I spend a month confined to bed with serious injuries. While I am in the hospital, I get a photo of Andrew kissing his first love. The blows land one after another and mercilessly jerk me awake. I am done with love, and I am done with him!

By a twist of fate, my husband, Morgan Lancaster, and I perish together in a sea of flames. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the very day we received our marriage certificate. In my previous life, we appeared to be a loving couple in the eyes of others, yet Morgan refused to share a bedroom with me the entire time we were married. It was only moments before our deaths that I discovered I was merely a substitute for his first love and that he had chosen to remain chaste for her for life. After getting another chance at life, neither of us mentions the past. Instead, by mutual understanding, we file for divorce that same day. From that point on, we go our separate ways. Eight years later, Morgan shows up arm in arm with his childhood sweetheart, Freya Springer, at a business summit. He is now a prominent and celebrated rising star in the business world. Seeing me dressed in a plain outfit, he approaches with a glass of champagne. His tone drips with mockery as he asks, "Ms. Smith, even if you still have feelings for me, there's no need to dress like a waitress just to get close to me. You aren't hoping for a reconciliation, are you?" I say nothing and simply smile as I wave at someone in the distance. My son, Theo Coltrane, toddles over and tugs at the hem of my shirt. "Mommy, Daddy says that he's tired from waiting so long. When are you coming home with us?" The smile on Morgan's face freezes instantly, and he nearly loses his grip on the glass in his hand.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

In the second year after dropping out of school, I decide to cosplay as a dancer and stage a chance encounter with my husband, Don Vincenzo Rossi, in order to give him a surprise. However, I happen to run into my old classmates in the club. When they see me pole dancing in a skimpy outfit, they burst into laughter immediately. Tatiana Lazzari, the one who's throwing the party and was my former bully at school, mocks me for being a lowly, slutty bitch. My ex-boyfriend, Cristian Paleno, who had cheated on me with Tatiana back then, has his brows drawn into a tight frown. He seems to feel sorry for me. "If you didn't insist on breaking up with me back then, Aria, you wouldn't have gotten reduced to having to work as a stripper." In order to spice up the party, they drag me into their private room and force me to strip in front of them. When I reject them, they dump all sorts of alcohol and beverages onto my exposed skin and my thin, skimpy clothes. Then, they force me to kneel between Cristian's legs in submission. As Cristian leans in close to my ear, I can see the lust brimming in his eyes. "Come back to me, Aria. Otherwise, you can only remain as a horny bitch for the rest of your life." Out of sheer jealousy and rage, Tatiana kicks me in the gut right away. That's when Vincenzo hurries to my side and scoops me into his arms. By then, I'm in so much pain that I'm all curled up. He then glares at everyone else, whose faces have gone white from terror. "How dare you harm my wife and our unborn child! You can forget about leaving this room today!"

Josephine Carter is drowning. Her mother’s medical bills are piling up, her bank account is a disaster, and the only professional outfit she owns is her mother’s ancient pantsuit. Becoming a surrogate is her last chance to save the one person she loves most. But on the morning of her evaluation, Jo crashes her tank‑of‑a‑sedan into a shiny red sports car owned by the rudest, most arrogant, most unfairly handsome man she’s ever met. She yells at him. He yells back. She runs away.Then she finds out she’s going to carry his child. Derek Blackwell—Alpha of the Blackwell Pack, billionaire, and the agency’s most sought‑after client—is looking for a surrogate. Not for just any child. For the child he was meant to have with his late mate. His wife died of a rare illness after a lifetime of fighting it. They never mated, never completed the bond, never had the chance to start the family they dreamed of. But she froze her eggs before she passed, leaving Derek with one final piece of her… and one impossible choice. He needs an heir. But he can’t bring himself to choose another mate. Not when his heart still belongs to the woman he lost. And fate, in all its twisted humour, has matched him with the chaotic woman who dented his car and insulted him in traffic. Now Jo has to convince the Alpha she accidentally assaulted that she’s responsible enough to carry his child. And Derek has to decide whether the woman who crashed into his life might be the only one strong enough to carry his future.The contract is simple. The emotions are not. And the line between enemies, partners, and something dangerously close to destiny is getting thinner every day.

I was his one weakness. Don Alex, the king of New York. And I was his queen. But days before our child was due, I was thrown into the Dockside Deathmatch—a cruel game broadcast for the underground world’s entertainment. The bullets flew, hidden traps lay in wait, and my every terrified, pathetic attempt to survive was broadcast live on giant screens. Then, I heard his second-in-command on the loudspeaker. "Boss, your wife's about to pop. You sure you wanna be here?" I froze. Alex was here? A moment later, a woman’s sugary voice dripped through the speakers. "Forget that bitch. Alex told me the only thing that mattered today was being here with me. Right, honey?" It was Scarlett. The Chicago Outfit's princess. Alex's childhood sweetheart from Chicago, a woman he had always pampered and shown a distinct bias towards. He had turned down her advances for years, but he never refused her whims. Today, she was in a bad mood and insisted on watching the deathmatch, so he was here to keep her company. I screamed for Alex, begged him for help, but he was convinced I was an assassin in disguise. Because Scarlett laughed and said the game needed to be more exciting. So he pressed the button. Vicious patrol dogs hunted me. My water broke, mixing with blood on the ground. I was in agony. The game hit its climax as more dogs and gunmen closed in from all sides. Everyone was betting on who would be the next to die. Alex smiled, his voice a low, careless drawl, "I’ll bet on that filthy pregnant woman to die." He didn't know the truth until I bled out on an operating table, our child dead with me. They say the ruthless Godfather shattered. Broke completely.

Every bonding anniversary, Shawn would bring home a new human girl from the outside—always under the lovely pretense of letting me mentor her on how to serve an Alpha. On our seventh anniversary, he brought back a nightclub girl dressed in a Princess Snow White outfit—cheap satin trembling under the chandelier's light. “She doesn’t have anything appropriate for an occasion like this,” he said casually. “Let her borrow your bonding dress. And the jewelry I gave you last time. As for shoes—what you're wearing now will do.” Then he added, with a trace of irony, “She’s just a young human girl, clueless. Teach her a few things about our world, will you? Especially the part about the bed.” Everyone was waiting for the spectacle—for me to break again, as I always had. And I didn’t disappoint them. I looked at Shawn, my voice steady, and said I wanted a bond-severance. He laughed—short and sharp—and leaned back like he was watching a comedy. “Clara, when are you going to stop with this bond-severance nonsense? I’ve heard it so many times. They’re just human girls, while you are my Luna. How could they ever compare to you?” Then, grinning as if doing me a favor, he added, “Fine. If you really want a bond-severance, I’ll gift you a territory in the south. Consider it a reward for doing your job as my Luna.” The room erupted in laughter. To them, I was ridiculous—greedy, jealous, hysterical. But what they didn’t know was that this was the 365th time I’d asked for a bond-severance. And the first time, I truly meant it. When he found out I wasn’t joking this time, he lost his composure. He searched for me across the world—only after he realized I was no longer where he thought I’d always be.