#because he wants her to be happy (more than maybe anything he wants her to be happy) and he couldn't make her as happy as pike

[luvyeni]

⚔️… ( drabble ) never let you leave ! ୨୧ 一 이희승 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ ヾ

yandere!heeseung・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・fingering , manipulation wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. y/n & heeseung are on a break from their relationship even though hee opposed SOOO to get her to come back he kindof stalks her & makes her feel unsafe so she asks him to come back & protect her .. . ??

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 im a little rusty with yandere i hope you like it !!!

he was too controlling, he never let you be; always calling when you were out with friends, or out at work — or just in general he was always calling. he did this under the premise of “there are bad people out there” or “im just trying to protect you.” you could take it anymore. so you broke up with him, told him you just needed space.

he didn’t take it well at first; and you expected that. he cried, begged you to stay; he said he couldn’t live without you — that probably would’ve worked in the beginning, but you were tired. “i don’t even feel safe with you anymore heeseung, being with you scares me more than anything now.” and with that you left him.

he left you alone after that; you didn’t even see him anymore, in fact you didn’t see him for almost a month after that. his friends said all he did was stay home and play games, which made you sad, but this was for your happiness, so you couldn’t just back down. “as long as he gets the help he needs i wish him nothing but the best.”

heeseung in fact wasn’t getting the help he desperately needed. in fact he was getting worse, he was dying without you; he felt like he couldn’t breathe because he wasn’t near you — well not as close as he wanted to be.

you began to feel it a month later; you let your guard down, and that’s when you began to feel like you were being watched. you tried to ignore it, but it was hard when it was all the time, even in your apartment. you began to close the blinds. but that didn’t work, you felt like you were exposed in your own house.

“it’s heeseung isn’t it?” you friend said, you shook your head, quick to defend the boy. “no jake said he’s getting help.” what you didn’t know is that heeseung was always one step ahead of you, watching you. waiting for you. he saw your every move; even in your home with the cameras he installed.

you couldn’t take it anymore; you felt like you were going insane and nobody believed you, they thought you were just exhausted from work or something. “you just need sleep.” how could you sleep if you felt like someone was watching you!

you began to think maybe heeseung was right, maybe he was the only one that could protect you. maybe the world was too dangerous for you. which is why you found yourself knocking on his door. “poor baby.” he saw your tired state. “you look so tired.” he smiled to himself as you let yourself in. “i can’t sleep, i can’t go out alone, im scared someone will hurt me.” you rushed to say. “didn’t i tell you that?” he said. “you didn’t listen, now look.”

you wrapped your arms around him, and he wanted to hug you back; but he had to teach you a lesson — don’t ever think about leaving him again. “hee im so tired.” you looked up at him with those eyes. “yeah?” he said. “let’s get you to bed then.”

he guided you back to his room, laying you down on his bed. “please don’t go.” he smiled, laying next to you. “im not.” his hand was resting on your stomach. “i won't go anywhere.” his hands now moving. “you can just stay here with me.” you moaned softly. “heeseung.” he kissed the side of your head. “you don’t even have to go out, i’ll make all the money and spend it on you.” he said cupping your heat. “fuck you’re so wet.”

you couldn’t believe you fell for again, allowing his fingers to explore your insides like before. “you missed me?” you nodded. “use your fucking words.” he growled. “missed the the way i held and protected you.” he said. “the way i fucked you?” his fingers curled, hitting the spot that made you moan. “fuck hee please keep going , i need you.” you cried out. “need you so bad.”

he sped up, your hips following his movements. “you’re mine, everything you do is because i give you permission to.” you’d complain if he wasn’t fucking your open with his fingers. “you understand, you’re mines, your body is mine, your mind is mine?” you were desperate, ready to cum. “fuck yes hee im yours.” you screamed. “i’ll never leave again i promise.”

that was all he needed, before he whispered into your ear. “cum.” and it was like your body was finally at peace, your mind too. “hee.” your breathing was heavy from your orgasm, eyes heavy from your long exhaustion. “shh, go to sleep.” he said. “when you wake up we can handle me okay.” he held you softly in his arms. “im fine holding you just like this.” you slowly drifted off to sleep in what you thought was the safest place at the moment — but you couldn’t be far from wrong.

because you in fact were sleeping right in the arms of the reason you were feeling so unsettled and by time you woke up you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it… you gave yourself to him.

you were his now, all his and was never gonna share you again…

©️LUVYENI

[doctorho]

dripping velvet, purring dark

Academy era Viktor x fem! curvy reader, 4.5k, no warnings only love in this house (ok there is a conversation about some people being idiots which can be interpreted as the reader getting unwanted attention at a party but it's nothing graphic or anything i promise and no-one is mean to her) also i made viktor horny and slightly subby because that's what the gremlins in my brain wanted. you're welcome. yeah! hi! not sure what this is, but here you go. the reader is described as she/her here (and curvy, and soft, and she is wearing an evening gown, because i wanted to think about pretty dresses). idk. have a thing. happy friday.

Viktor likes to think of himself as a person who's usually capable of focusing on things pretty well. On the task at hand. Give him a faulty circuit and he'll poke at it long enough to find the broken component, no problem. An error in the calculations? He'll find that missing minus sign or forgotten exponent, easy. He'll strip a wire in his sleep.

The task at hand now, though? The problem?

He had to sit through a whole evening of presentations at the academy end-of-year party, put on a polite face for the investors, and pretend not to care that one idiot after another was lining up to flirt with you while he was watching from the sidelines. You were wearing a dress that felt sinful to look at, and there was something primitive gnawing at the inside of his chest begging to be let out, and he had to just stand there and nod through the conversations, pretend he wasn't slowly boiling from the inside out.

And he was failing miserably. 

He’d known he was in trouble from the moment he saw you that night – all expensive fabric covering smooth curves and soft-looking skin, sparkling eyes and easy smiles, and he’d been done for. Before this, it’d been much easier to compartmentalize his feelings; before this, it'd been easier to ignore them. 

Before he’d kept his distance, emotionally and physically speaking, because, well, it’d been easier. He'd seen you around the Academy, all bubbling laughs and raw-honest radiant smiles and confident solutions, and he'd known that you looked…appealing, but he wasn't in the habit of holding up any illusions about what you might think of him in return. His place was in the dark dusty corner of the lab, turning over the ever-ticking problems, while you were out there shining like the sun. And sometimes you came by the lab, with new ideas or suggestions or just to borrow some equipment or ask about a shipment, and he had resigned to his role of staying at his desk pretending he wasn't burning to be closer to your orbit. 

But when he sees you in the low lighting of the party, leaning to the bar and laughing, something just breaks in him. And then he can’t pretend to ignore it any longer. And sure, maybe he’s a little bit drunk, it was easier to stand these events that way, but it still feels like a solid-honest truth in his bones that he wanted to get closer to you, and suddenly he couldn’t stand the conversation he was in the middle of. Because one of them – the sour idiots he’d catalogued in his head for the whole night, the stupid people trying to impress you with their embellished stories and inherited wealth who weren’t worth your time – one of them was circling you like a hyena again, smiling.

You were wearing a dark, floor-length gown that wasn’t, on a purely technical level, much different from what about 50% of the other guests were wearing. However, it seemed to create a significant caveat that even though there wasn’t anything indecent in the dress itself, seeing it on you made him feel like maybe he shouldn’t look at you for too long or he might spontaneously combust. There was a slit on the side that revealed a more than generous amount of leg when you walked, and his focus kept wandering from that to your silhouette, the soft curve of your hips, your chest, your face – no, that’s worse, don’t stare, she'll notice – and truly, he had to force himself to keep his eyes at least vaguely on the vicinity of the person who was currently talking to him. Something about statistics and return investment. Yes. 

He nods, pretending to look interested.

The dress drapes over your hips in soft little cascades, the fabric shimmering lightly as you moved, and something in his brain was itching, begging to run his fingers over it, to know what it feels like, to know what you feel like under it, all soft and warm and pliable under his fingers, and preferably sighing something into the crook of his neck, and–

“We'd like to get our investment back within a year,” the guy that's talking to him says – Viktor can't even remember his name, and he doesn’t really even care – and he just shifts his eyes back to the guy slowly. 

“A year?” he repeats, with the barest amount of feigned interest, and the guy goes off in a whole new tangent. Viktor shifts his posture, and lets his eyes glide over to where you were again. 

One of those idiots, one he thankfully doesn’t have the displeasure of knowing personally but who must be the son of some crooked diplomat, says something to you and you scoff through a smile, roll your eyes, and lean further into the counter at the bar. Viktor has to pretend to be present for his own conversation – yes, the new coating material for the wires was more heat-resistant, no, there was still the issue of mechanical stress, they were working on it – and you say something in answer to the current idiot (third of the night, he’d counted), and it is killing him that he doesn’t know what it is. 

You’d turned down the first two, from what he could tell. But this latest idiot was still talking to you, like he was in any way entitled to your company. And it's making something inside Viktor raise its hackles, and he doesn’t especially like feeling like that, because he couldn't justify feeling like that to himself in any tangible way, and then it all just boiled down to a resigned even if she deserves better than that i have no business dictating that for her. 

He's just about to focus on the conversation he was supposedly participating in again when something happens. He can't make out the details, but imbecile number three seems to lean way too close to you, says something, and smiles in a way that makes something cold creep down the back of Viktor's neck. And your expression coldens, too, and you say something to him, and turn away, more rigid than you'd been the whole evening. 

“Excuse me,” Viktor is saying to the Investment Guy before he can fully think it through, his own voice feeling distant in his ears, and then he's walking to the bar. 

You're alone – the idiot had had the sense to leave you alone quickly, at least. That's good. Viktor isn't sure what he's doing, but then he's leaning to the bar next to you and ordering another drink and trying to look like he isn't thinking too hard about what to do next. 

“Whatever he just proposed to you,” Viktor says slowly, looking over the bar instead of directly at you, ���I assure you you can do better.”

He can hear you take a deep breath, shift a little, and sigh it out with what sounded like almost a laugh. 

“Yeah,” you agree, “I don't know what it is about people like that that makes them think they can just…” You sigh again, and make a hand gesture towards the room. ”You know.”

“Unfortunately,” he answers, resigned, “yes. I do.” 

He gets his drink and thanks the bartender, and then leans to the counter too, mimicking your posture, holding the drink and letting it swirl around in his glass. “Have you talked with anyone actually worth your time tonight?” 

You hmm. Then, “there was a little girl earlier that told me some fascinating things about insect metamorphosis.” You say casually. 

And Viktor laughs. Without meaning to, he laughs, and you smile in response, visibly relaxing a little.

“I don't think she was on the guest list though.” You continue. 

He hums in response, and rearranges his grip on the handle of his cane. “Sounds much more interesting than the conversations I've been in tonight.”

“I know,” you answer, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “you think we could swap out one of the main speakers with her?” 

He hmms again, looking over the stage thoughtfully. “I think it would count as a public service,” he nods a little, considering the list of speakers yet to come, “what do you think, who'd be a good target?”

You shift in your place, looking over the same list of speakers, plastered over the walls on both sides of the stage. “The financial talk,” you answer, “Mr. Ross. I'd much rather listen to insect facts than another boring talk about investing.”

Viktor nods. “You distract him, I'll whack him unconscious?” he offers, and you laugh. You laugh, and it warms something in him. 

“And then what?” you continue, still smiling, and he has to look away to keep his composure. 

He shrugs. “Eh,” he answers, “we drag him to a bathtub somewhere and act like he just passed out there?" He shrugs, "I happen to know three ways to get out of this room that I'm pretty sure we could use unnoticed.”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, “and then we just find the girl and ask her if she wants to talk about bugs for half an hour. Easy.”

“Exactly,” he agrees, “and then we congratulate ourselves for making the evening better for everybody.”

"Except maybe Mr. Ross."

"No," he counters, looking over the crowd, "I think he would prefer a nice little nap. Surely not even he wants to hear himself talk all the time." He takes a sip of his drink, "and I think waking up in a bathtub would be a nice change of pace to the rumors of other places he seems to have a habit of waking up in after events such as these."

“Good point,” you shift in your place, settling to lean to the counter a bit closer to him. “Perfect plan. But why'd you get to whack him unconscious and not me?”

Viktor blinks. Lifts one eyebrow. “Because you are by far more distracting than I am,” he answers, “and I thought the plan could use the distraction.”

“I don't think that's true,” you answer, “I think you're plenty distracting on your own.”

Now, he lets himself look at you. Really, properly look at you, and not even half-trying to hide it. You're smiling now, shoulders relaxed, holding your drink with fingers wrapped loosely around it, and in the warm lights of the bar there's a golden glow on your skin, and something breathless at the bottom of his stomach is aching to get closer to you, to touch you, to see if his hand would fit on your waist as well as he thinks it would, to see how you would react to that, if he could make you smile in a different way, what sounds he could get you to make for him–

“Agree to disagree,” he says, averts his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. 

Tries to tell that wild-hungry purring thing in him to behave. 

Someone reasonable comes to talk to you – and it's about work, which is…something, probably, he has to stop himself from thinking it's better than those earlier idiots, because who's he to decide that for you? He gives you a casual wave and a nod as you depart with a smile and get swept up in the conversation about new ideas and solutions and this-new-thing you've been looking at. And he watches as you start talking excitedly, all golden and glittering, easy conversation and confident smiles, and quietly (not-so quietly) he concludes that maybe you hadn't had many worthwhile conversations with any of the guests that night because you were the most worthwhile person in there to talk to. 

He stays there sipping his drink and wondering what would be the closest appropriate time to slip out. He'd made an appearance, and technically nothing could be expected from him beyond that point. Sure, Jayce might tell him he could've stayed a bit longer, he could use the support, but nothing dramatic would happen. 

The party drones on, and he makes no effort to move – and really, he tries not to think about it too much, but that was at least in part because he wanted to keep looking at you. He promptly ignores this, even when you're laughing at something someone else said and that heavy-dark-purring something at the bottom of his stomach doesn't like it very much. 

Someone comes to ask for his opinion on something, and with a tiny sigh, he lets them pull him into the loop of conversations again. Yes, we are trying to simplify the design, no we can't cut back from the materials, they are what they are for a reason. 

Somewhere around his third ‘Why would you think that?’ of that particular conversation, he's had enough. People were stupid, and he's had enough. He's just trying to come up with ways to get out of the conversation preferably without starting a scandal of some sort, when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns around to look at who it belongs to, and then everything in his head is quiet for a moment. 

“Hey,” you say, smiling, “sorry to interrupt, but can I steal you away for a moment?” you ask, slipping your hand feather-light down his arm, and he has to suppress a shiver. 

Viktor furrows his brows and opens his mouth, and then, like an idiot, says nothing. But he turns to leave, thankful for the window of opportunity.  

“You remember that thing we talked about before?” you continue as you steer him away from the earlier group smoothly, “I found someone who's interested in those three escape routes you had up your sleeve.” 

“Who?” he asks, because that's the only thing he can think of. You've linked your arm with his, and you're leaning on him, and you're soft and warm and you smell good, and he doesn’t trust his ability to form a full sentence. 

“Me,” you answer, “and judging by how you just looked out there,” you continue, “you.”

Viktor swallows, and something in his brain purrs at the idea. 

“This way,” he says, nodding towards an old stage exit, and honestly, he doesn’t even care why you want to leave, he's just grateful for the distraction and the company and drinking in every warm square inch of skin contact that you're willing to give him, even if it is just walking with your shoulder pressed against his. 

If it turned out to be a plot where you actually wanted to whack someone unconscious, he'd worry about that later. For now he was just happy to leave, and happier that you were leaving with him. 

It's easy to slip away from the crowd, and into the space between the stage curtain and the wall, if you know where you're going. You effortlessly fall a bit further from his side but keep his hand on yours, letting him pull you along, and quietly he wonders how and why and holy shit. He decides not to question it though, and keeps walking through the dim space between the cold old wall and the cascades of warm heavy velvet curtains. 

“Do you want to leave the party,” he asks, voice quiet now that the background buzz of people was muffled by the curtain, “or just get away from it?” 

You hmm behind him, clearly through a smile, and he makes the mistake of looking back at you. Surrounded by the dark red velvet curtains and only slivers of light from each side, his head – and the rest of his body – get entirely the wrong idea of what you're doing in there, because you look like a goddess in the small dim space, and he might crumble into ashes if he keeps looking at you, or he might do something stupid like pull you closer and press you into the wall, to see if your eyes would widen, if you'd gasp from the cold wall, if he could find other ways to make you gasp–

so he turns his eyes away and keeps talking. 

He quickly finds he has to clear his throat before he can do that. “There is a staff entrance that goes past the kitchen a little ways further,” he says, and motions forwards, “or there is a disused indoor balcony surrounding the stage. You would be able to see the party, but it'd feel…removed.”

You lean closer, close enough that when your voice is muffled by the surrounding velvet, it feels like you're speaking right in his ear, and he has to swallow and remind himself that that's just situational coincidence, nothing more. 

“Why do you know so many ways to get out of here?” you ask, “You sneak out a lot?” 

“I am a fan of interesting architecture,” he answers, “and not as much a fan of pretentious social gatherings.” 

“Fair,” you answer, then lean your chin on his shoulder, and he feels like his spine might spontaneously melt. “In your expertise, what would you recommend?”

“Well,” he says, trying to make it sound casual and like he wasn't breathless at all, “I think the balcony has some fairly interesting architecture.” And the lights of the party would look pretty from there. And you'd both get a breather away from the crowd. And he'd get to keep talking to you a little bit longer. And, as selfish as the thought felt, he couldn't deny it; he'd get to keep having you to himself for a little bit longer. 

“Show me the balcony,” you smile, and he obliges. Happily, he obliges. So he pulls you into a narrow staircase, and then, up. 

At the end of it there is a room that could, only by technical definition alone, be called a balcony – it was more like a hole carved into the wall, having at some point been used for seating or equipment space at events and concerts, and now just served as half-forgotten extra storage. It had, he supposed, once upon a time looked like the banquet hall did, all smooth surfaces and warm lights and thematically switched-out decorations, but now it was mostly the standard red velvet and dark wood and light marble, forgotten by the party and some of the golden light from the hall spilling into it by pure coincidence. There were velvet curtains on each side of the room, and you drop his hand to go look over the railing, and down at the party. 

His hand instantly feels cold without yours in it, but he tries his best to ignore this, and follows you to look down at the party, too. 

It looks much smaller from up there. Less chaotic. 

“I didn't know there was a space like this here.” You say quietly, “can they see us?” 

“Part of the design,” he answers, “you're not supposed to notice these spaces unless people want you to. Good place to hide extra orchestra pieces and make it feel like the sound is coming from nowhere. And–” he looks over at the people, colorful and mingling, “no, they can't. Not unless you want them to.” Then, he smiles, just a little. “But they'll be able to hear us, if we direct our voices upwards and wait for things to quiet down there first.”

You turn to look at him. 

“Sloped ceilings,” he explains with a shrug, “again, good for a hidden orchestra accompaniment.�� 

“But they can't hear us talking?*

“Not over themselves,” he answers, “ironic, I know.”

You hum thoughtfully and turn around, with your back to the railing, and then you look at him and he needs to kick his brain back in line. You were gorgeous in the dim lighting, all relaxed and smiling, and–

He grips the handle of his cane a little tighter. 

“Good,” you say, and the way you say it – all quiet and warm and liquid – makes something in him purr again, entirely against his better judgement. 

“Why is it good?” he asks, because he has to hold on to some semblance of logic here, because otherwise he might just vaporize out into the atmosphere. 

“Why do you think?” you ask, slowly turning to face him, and oh that just isn't fair. You're just there, just a warm breath of space away, all soft and pretty and languid–

He doesn’t know what to say, so he goes with what feels like the safest course of action. 

“In case we want to plot any more ways to violently derail the evening's program?”

You exhale a small laugh and lean back. 

And then you lift a hand on his chest, and he's pretty sure his heart might be overheating soon. 

“Sure,” you answer, “that.” You inch closer, and Viktor is having a hard time remembering how to breathe. “Or anything else we might not want them overhearing.”

“Like?” He exhales, careful not to break the moment, and then you smile, warm and private and for him, and his insides liquify into warm, honey-thick goo, and oh, he’s not going to recover from this. 

“Like,” you repeat slowly, and then you push yourself away from the balcony railing, just slightly, into the side of the wall covered by the velvet curtain, and he lets you pull him with you, he's not stupid. His brain – along with the rest of his body – might be in the process of actively melting, but he's not stupid. If you wanted to pull him into a shadowed, velvet-covered corner, he would follow no questions asked, especially on a night like this when his insides were buzzing and you looked like that. When you looked at him like that. You smile again, and stop moving when your back hits a wall, and then you pull him just close enough to whisper into his ear. “...Anything else we might not want them overhearing.” you repeat, and, yeah, Viktor is close to becoming the best documented case of human combustion in recorded history. 

In the dim lighting, he searches your eyes into his, and you watch him, waiting, radiating heat between him and the velvet-covered wall. He's not sure why you were acting like this, but all signs were pointing towards you wanting the same thing he did, and he's not sure what he did to get this lucky, but with his every cell buzzing and vibrating and keening over to get closer, he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass. 

He wants to ask ‘why me’ or ‘are you sure’ but what comes out is a broken, desperate whisper of a “can I touch you?”, and you answer with a grin and with your fingers tangled to the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“Yes,” you breathe, “please.”

And really, he wouldn't have thought it would be so simple, but it's the please that does him in – just one whispered word and his brain short-circuits in an overflowing flash of white-hot need. Need to trigger that again, need to please, and need to finally give in to the pleasure waiting to boil. And then it all comes rushing out; the hunger. 

His hands are on your waist in an instant, and his cane clatters to the ground as he leans his weight on you and the wall and for a moment, he has the sense to hope the curtains don't come tumbling down, and they don't, which is good enough for him, because then he can let go of that particular worry and focus solely on finding your lips to his and making the most of every second of this that you're willing to give him. 

The sensations hit his brain like flashes of bright light; how soft you are under his fingers, like he'd hoped, the fabric smooth and silky, giving away easily under his touch. How warm you are, warm and breathing in a fluttered little gasp, the dusty old velvet mixing in with your sweet scent, and then when he gets his lips on you–

After that it's just golden-dark-velvet-honey-thick bliss. You breathe out a small sound that drips down his spinal cord and goes straight to the purring pit at the bottom of his stomach, and he swallows it with a hungry, greedy, desperate groan that comes from somewhere deep inside his chest, and his head is swimming with warm and real and soft and for me–

He is happily overloading his brain with this, and he doesn’t even care. He presses closer to you and you exhale another sweet little sound that makes him bare his teeth, and then his lips are on your neck and he doesn’t know anything except that he wants you to keep making those sounds and he likes the way your hands tangle in his hair and tug. 

“Tell me what you want,” he mutters to the skin of your neck, pulling you closer by the waist, and absolutely relishing in the way your chest rises and falls with short little pants he can hear you take in and out. In and out, and as he tugs at your waist again, just a bit closer, and drags his teeth against your pulse lightly, one of those exhales turns into a sweet little whine. 

He grins against your skin. 

He doesn’t waste the time or energy pretending he isn't an absolute mess over you, right now – his own breathing ragged and fast and his heart hammering in his ears, his whole body buzzing with want – but that didn't mean seeing you react that way didn't make him want to purr. 

Didn't make his insides heat up with I did that. I got her like this. She made that sound for me. For me. It's mine. 

You take a breath, slow and rugged, and then you tug him towards one of the velvet-covered seats. And he moves like he's floating, letting you guide him, because what else is he going to do? You tug him into the seat and he sits on it, gladly, and stays there looking up at you with his eyes wide and only half-lidded and his heart hammering, waiting for more. 

You give him another one of those small, private, knowing smiles, your eyes hazy, and then you step to stand right in front of him. 

And then you hover over him, just waiting for him to pull you into his lap. He does, because he is selfish and greedy and burning, and he's pretty sure he's going to implode if he doesn’t get that delicious pressure on him soon, and his hand fits your waist perfectly, and then when when you do straddle him, your hips pressing down on his, he whines. He lets out a breathless little whine, he can feel it in the base of his spine, and it makes that hunger in him want more. 

“Only the voices directed upwards travel down there, right?” you ask, voice quiet and dripping right into his ear and pooling at the bottom of his stomach. 

He swallows. “Yes.” 

You hum thoughtfully, and press your body closer to his, all soft and warm and perfect, sinking your lips down to his neck and he shivers, instinctually tilting back his head with a sigh, exposing more of his neck to you. 

“Better keep quiet, then.” 

[robo-writing]

Hi robo! I had an awful birthday yesterday and I was wondering if you could write some cute birthday fluff with reader x logan? 🥹 Like maybe she has a rly bad day where things don’t go as planned but Logan gives her a little cake or something and they spend the night together because he wants to make it better for her 🥹 ik it’s a big request so no pressure! 🫶

I’m sorry about your birthday anon, hopefully the rest of your week is better!

Thinking about how your day went almost makes you want to laugh, but not in a funny way; more like a “how the hell can it get worse” kind of way.

By the time you get home your feet are dragging across the floor. Trains acting up, bitchy manager—hell, even your local lunch spot ran out of your favorite order. So much for a happy birthday. The past 24 hours have been such a drain on you mentally that you don’t register Logan’s voice when you walk inside.

Your minds a mess, a metaphorical cloud hanging over your head as you side-step him, immediately walking to your bedroom. You hear him call your name from behind, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? More than anything, you want to lie down and just sleep.

You strip yourself haphazardly, not really caring that your clothes pile up on the floor, before falling face first onto your mattress. Maybe a nap will help you forget.

“Sweetheart?” Logan calls, and you’re guessing that he’s standing by the door because you don’t hear his footsteps come closer. The worry is evident in his voice, and as much as you hate to make him worry you really can’t find it in yourself to speak right now.

“You alright?” He says, and you groan in response.

“Okay, not alright then,” he hums, and finally sits himself beside you. “Talk to me.”

It takes you a while to muster up the words, but he’s patient with you, a luxury you can’t say he affords anyone else. “Had a bad day is all.”

“Sounds like more than just a bad day.”

“…had a bad birthday.”

“Ahh, there it is,” he sighs, putting a hand against your back. “Explains why you never noticed my present.”

You turn your head to him, looking up curiously. “Present?”

Logan nods his head in return. “Mhm. Decorated the whole living room for you. Looks like a clown threw up in there.”

The faintest smile graces your face, tinged with guilt at how callous you’ve been. You know how Logan struggles with emotion, and having you ignore his efforts probably felt like a slap to the face.

You reach your hand out, letting your fingers drum against his. “I’m sorry Lo’, didn’t mean it.”

“Got nothin’ to be sorry about,” he answers, kissing the top of your head. “When you feel better, we can go downstairs and give you a real birthday celebration, okay?”

[nikethestatue]

Not Another Hallmark Christmas Story

@sirenarts

My dear Siren, happy Solstice, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! I am your Secret Santa!

Please enjoy this dark Christmas story.

Summary:

Azriel Singer is my boss. My harsh, unpleasant, demanding boss. A boss that I want to avoid at all costs, but it's proving harder than I imagined. He's infiltrated almost all aspects of my life and there is no escaping him. Now, it's Christmas, and what I did not expect was having him in my house, uninvited and unwanted. But Azriel Singer doesn't care. He takes what he wants. And I fear that perhaps, he wants me?

A dark Christmas story where the hero is more of an anti-hero and consent is dubious.

*this fic is inspired by 'If I Can't Have You' by deathsdoll

-

Chapter One

There she was.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Exquisite.

Soft and full, and just the right height.

She was everything I was looking for and if I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anything else. 

My fingers itched to touch her. 

I wanted to bring her home with me immediately and adorn her in all the finery that I had prepared for her. 

I’ve been waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the opportunity to snatch her. Waiting to make her a part of my home, eager to have her greet me every time I stepped over the threshold and to be the first thing that I saw in the morning. She’d scent my apartment with her delicate aroma and would sparkle with a million lights.

I rubbed my hands excitedly.

This one was mine!

All About Last Christmas 

The blustery wind of Chicago winter was unforgiving today. It was only 4:53 pm but it was already pitch dark outside and soft snowflakes swirled lazily in the glare of streetlights. I had all but clawed my way out of the office this early–was it early? –requesting a 4:30 pm leave weeks in advance. 

My dreadful manager, Azriel Sebastian Singer, pursed his lips, like he was sucking on a lemon, when I encountered him in the hallway on my way out of the office. 

“Leaving early, Elain, is not how you get ahead,” he told me then.

“Sorry, Azriel,” was all I said. Why did I say that I was sorry? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t do anything improper or incorrect, but somehow, under his scrutiny, I always felt the need to apologise. For what? I didn’t know.

“Have a good day then,” he tossed dismissively.

Day. Not night. Because unless I left before 7 pm, it was ‘day’ to him. And therefore, I was ‘slacking’. 

“Thank you, Azriel,” was all I said. “You too.”

He strode off without further glance, his hand in his pocket, his perfect dark navy suit barely creased.

God, how I detested him. Avoidance has been my preferred and best option when it came to interacting with Mr. Singer, but as he was my direct supervisor, that often proved challenging. However, this time around, I did my due diligence. I’d emailed him weeks in advance–weeks, for god’s sake–only to request a reasonable leave on a Friday in early December. It was frustrating when he didn’t respond for four days and that forced me to ping him again, sending a gentle reminder. 

His response was predictably terse: If you must. 

That’s how he responded, if you must. Well, yes, I must. Problem was that it wasn’t exactly an answer. Was it a ‘yes, if you must’ or ‘I’d rather you didn’t, but if you must…’? He was impossible to read and I had no idea what his answer actually meant. The most logical assumption was that it was a ‘yes’, however, when it came to Azriel Singer, assumptions were a death trap. 

Hence, I was forced to face him, and ask the question directly. 

I really don't know why he filled me with so much anxiety. Perhaps, it was because of his superior bearing, and how he seemed to judge everything I did. Maybe it’s his look, intense and scrutinising, the eyes that seemed to be always watching. Maybe it was because he was always…excellent, at everything. No matter what, he just had It–as far as I knew, he jumped from promotion to promotion with remarkable ease, and nothing seemed impossible for him. He dressed well. He smelled delicious. He knew everything there was to know about sports, wine, whiskey, eating, cars, art, music, politics. He knew how to speak to anyone, about anything. He was never awkward, or unsure. And if he was��though I refused to believe it–he never showed it. 

But with all that excellence came arrogance, and unreasonable demands, and impossible standards. He didn’t tolerate imperfection at work. He didn’t accept sloppiness. I’d seen him send more than one associate home in the middle of the day because they weren’t wearing suits. ‘We are Night Capital Management, not Sizzler’ was his favourite expression when he berated someone for untidiness or incorrect data. And gosh, have I been on the receiving end of that critique! 

Redo, and pages marked up in red.

You are better than this

Sloppy work

Yep, that was pretty typical feedback from Azriel Singer. He never offered an explanation willingly. Never provided guidance. 

He just…waited.

He watched me and he waited.

And when my tongue wouldn’t move in my mouth, and tears pricked my eyes, and I couldn’t bear to ask him for help, he simply ordered ‘Fix this’ and left me to break my head trying to figure out what the issue was.

On Monday, I couldn’t wait any longer. ‘If you must’ wasn’t cutting it. I’d wracked my brain all weekend long trying to figure out how to avoid him, and still get the ‘early’ leave permission, but ultimately, I decided to man up and just ask directly. And still I stalled until almost 5 pm, before finally mustering enough courage to walk to his office.

He was seated behind his large desk–devoid of any personal items, of course–staring at his computer. Uncharacteristically, his suit jacket was off, and the sleeves of his pale blue shirt were rolled up almost to the elbows, exposing his thick, muscular forearms. And the scars. Of course everyone was aware of the scars, though not the story behind them, but when I glanced at his arms, I realised just how far the burn scars extended. It wasn’t just his hands. Streaks of glossy scar tissue reached almost to the elbow.

He glanced at me, and then followed my gaze and when he saw me looking at the scars he actually shifted in his chair. Didn’t say anything, but his expression hardened.

“Azriel, sorry to bother you,” I told him, because he hasn’t said a word just watching me stand there. “But, do I have your approval for Friday, the 5th. To leave a little earlier?”

“Didn’t I already give it to you?” he asked indifferently. 

“Ummm, I guess,” I responded stupidly.

“You guess?” he repeated. “Did you not get my email?”

“I did,” I stammered. “I just wanted to confirm.”

“Well, perhaps if you need verbal confirmation to emails, then you might as well not bother with them and just run back and forth asking me in person,” he suggested.

I flushed.

God, he was an asshole.

“Okay then,” what else was I supposed to say to him, other than call him names? “Thanks.”

Just as I turned to leave, he suddenly asked, “Where are you going?”

“What?” That was a weird question. “I am…back to my cube?”

“No, I mean on the 5th? Are you going somewhere?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms on his chest, effectively covering the scars, though I saw the gesture for what it was–he was uncomfortable.

“No, not really. I just have some things to do,”

“And the weekend isn’t enough time for you to do those things?” he pressed.

I didn’t know why he suddenly decided to interrogate me about this. 

“I just…” I sighed. “Just things, for Christmas,”

“You are taking time off work to do Christmas shopping?” he actually raised a brow in my direction.

“Is it so unusual?” I demanded at last, losing my patience with him. Why was this any of his business anyway?

“So you are going Christmas shopping? Alone?” he repeated. 

Alone? Why did he care if I was going alone? “Um, yes. I have things to take care of, alone.”

He hummed under his breath, sizing me up with his heavy gaze. 

“Is that so?”

His probing questions drove me crazy. What did he want?

“Are you going to tell me then that Graysen Nolan taking the same day off has nothing to do with this?”

Graysen?

This was about Graysen? I was bewildered by the mention of our co-worker. Graysen Nolan was an analyst on the team, and yes, he’d been flirtatious with me during meetings and lunches, and had even attempted to ask me out, but I wasn’t particularly interested.

There was nothing wrong with him–he was handsome, in a preppy boy sort of way. Tall, but not as tall as Azriel, fit, with a heap of brown hair on top of his head which made him look like a llama. Great teeth and blue eyes. I had nothing against Graysen, but I was too mentally exhausted and stressed out to really consider any kind of dating right now. Especially someone from my own team. 

And I guess that I was right to do so, considering the interrogation that Azriel was putting me through currently. 

“You know that interoffice romances aren’t encouraged,” Azriel reminded me sternly, watching for my reaction. 

“I know that,” I said quickly. “I am not…I am not with Gray. I am not with anyone. I am not dating,” it all came out in one sentence. IamnotwithGrayIamnotwithanyoneIamnotdating. I sounded deranged. But I wanted to make sure that Azriel didn’t think that there was any impropriety happening on his team and that I wasn’t involved with a coworker.

He sighed at last, seemingly relieved.

“Good to know. We wouldn’t want you dating. Anyone…”

“No, no,” I agreed quickly.

He sighed again and finally nodded, “Alright then, have fun.”

“Thank you, Azriel.”

He didn’t mention it for the rest of the week, but as I was leaving today, he just happened to appear in the hallway and offered his unhelpful rebuke about leaving early and my career. 

It’s not that Azriel Singer was an awful man. He wasn’t. It would be unfair to characterise him that way. In fact, to most, he was irresistible: at a towering 6”5, he was muscular and extremely fit, his expensive dark suits always bespoke and made to accentuate his excellent physique. He carried himself confidently and with natural ease, and despite being a quiet man, who never said more than necessary, I also watched just about everyone at the office gravitate towards him. He was magnetic in how he moved about, his head bobbing above the line of cubicles, his voice distinct and attractive because of its deep, gravelly quality and timbre. But it was the face that really was unforgettable. Listen, I might not like him, but I am realistic. The man is devastating. Cheekbones that could cut glass, and a jawline as sharp as a knife’s edge. Big hazel eyes, more green than brown and full lips which softened the cruel set of his mouth. 

He was the kind of man who succeeded in everything, it would seem. Men were desperate for his approval and women were desperate for his attention. 

I don’t really know when it started. I suppose a year ago, last December.

At the last Christmas party, held at the enchantingly lovely The North Pond, there was a trivia game that our Senior Managing Director Rhys Darling had organised, and insisted that everyone partake in. There were groans and moans of discontent and no one wanted to go against Azriel, until they pushed me forward and told me that ‘you are so smart, you can take him’. It’s not that I am exceptionally smart, though Azriel and our Director seem to think so, but the questions were relatively easy, and if you had a good memory, you could take Azriel on. I didn’t want to. I really didn’t. I didn’t want to be scrutinised by those hazel eyes and I didn’t want to see that tiny smirk on his lips. I would’ve rather disappeared completely. But I played along and both of us received the same scores. I think that he was surprised that we came head to head. I wasn’t surprised, but I didn't let him or anyone know that. Azriel only won because of ‘sudden death’ and he shouted the correct answer a fraction of a second before me. The question was tricky–what country that doesn’t directly border the US (aka Canada and Mexico) is closest to America? Everyone was shouting their incorrect answers, most assuming that it was Cuba. A good guess, but an incorrect one. Apparently, only Azriel and I knew the right answer–and he was just a hair faster than I. In case you were wondering, it’s Russia. Only about two miles separates Russia and the US. I know, it’s a fun fact–use it at your own holiday party next. 

My colleagues seemed surprised, but they yelled excitedly and High Fived me, like we were at a frat party and not at the North Pond. I supposed that considering the amount of money the company was plunking into this party, a little yelling was allowed. Besides, we rented out the whole restaurant.

It was then that he’d approached me, after a good fifteen minutes of humble bragging about how he is ‘just a dilettante’. I mean, who even uses ‘dilettante’? I noticed a few confused glances, and spotted a couple of people reaching for their phones to check on the meaning of the word.

In case anyone's wondering, a dilettante is a person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge. A dabbler.

“Elain, a word.”

I remember how I shuddered back then. It was involuntary. I couldn’t help it.

The dreaded expression. It haunted me. Haunts me to this day, really.

Let me explain a little about my background.

I am twenty-seven years old, born and bred in Chicago. I didn’t go away to school, but attended Northwestern, before being accepted to the Kellogg School of Business. I received my MBA and at 26 joined Night Capital Management–one of the top five investment firms in the world. The fancy description of what we do is that we provide investment, advisory and asset management solutions. The short of it is simple–we manage money. Everyone’s heard of BlackRock, Vanguard, State Street, Citadel…We are like that, only more exclusive. 

I was hired as a Senior Financial Analyst, in Asset Management specifically. Obviously investments have to do with how to invest the money, advisory is where to invest it and asset management is all about growing the existing funds. And that’s what I do–I run reports, analyse risks, look at projections and calculate the best possible financial option for my clients. Well, our clients. I am not a hedge fund manager. I am just an analyst. 

The actual manager is Azriel Singer.

When I was interviewing for the position–seven rounds, no less! –thankfully, he wasn’t in his role yet. He was still a senior manager, a step below what he currently is, which was the manager of an entire fund. For lack of a better term, Azriel Singer 'inherited’ me, and he’s been tormenting me ever since his promotion back 13 months ago.

“Elain, a word.”

And that’s how we met.

I didn’t know who he was. I was in my role only for two months, so I was still getting my bearings and learning who was who and what was what. We received an email regarding him being promoted and that it would be effective in 90 days. We then received another email, this time from him, stating that he was looking forward to meeting us and that we’d be part of his team. He’d schedule individual introductions with each one and discuss ‘deliverables’ and ‘performance expectations’. 

I raised my eyes from my screen and was faced with an enormous looming presence, which threw a shadow over my cubicle. He stood there, like some warrior of old–huge, broad-shouldered, pristine, but also wild somehow, his arms so big, they were like tree trunks. He was just so big. And I caught myself thinking that I’d never met a man more handsome than him ever in my life. It was almost obscene. 

I blinked at him. 

He just looked down, his gaze both disinterested and intense. His eyes, forest-green and brown like hazelnuts, considered me for a long time, as he assessed me wordlessly. I didn’t know what to say, or who he was, and why he was standing here. 

“Elain?” he asked at last.

“Yes?” my voice came out sounding thin and small. 

“A word,” he said impassively.

I swallowed. Suddenly, my throat felt impossibly dry. 

“Yes?”

“Better be done in my office,” he ordered curtly, and then turned around and headed down the hallway, expecting me to follow him.

I jumped up from my seat, still unsure of what he was and who he was, though I suspected that this was my new boss.

His wide, powerful back flexed with muscles beneath the dark charcoal suit that he was wearing. I could see that the suit was bespoke, and British. My younger sister Feyre is a fashion designer and I know all about various styles and cuts of suits, because menswear has very rigorous schools of design. You could never mistake a Caraceni for a Henry Poole. 

He didn’t look back to see if I was following. I suppose he just expected me to. 

The name plaque outside the door said Azriel S. Singer, Esq. 

So he was a lawyer too. Great.

By the time I reached the office, he was already inside, seated behind his bare desk, a wall of windows behind him, overlooking downtown Chicago. 

Quite the corner office he got.

“Sit,” he told me. I sat.

He folded his hands on his stomach, lacing the fingers together and I noticed the scars. Obviously I said nothing. He made me nervous. His presence was dark and overwhelming, like he swallowed the air around him.

“Elain Archeron, a Senior Analyst,” he stated the obvious. “You started in Investments, worked there for three months and then were recommended to Asset Management. That’s quite a quick promotion.”

“I wasn't promoted,” I argued quietly. 

He shot me an unamused glare, silencing me and making it known that he wasn’t pleased with my interruption.

“Nevertheless you are here now.”

I nodded just once. 

“I usually don't do this with my subordinates,” he said meaningfully, implying that I was the exception. “But I will do this for you. Ask me anything.”

“Pardon?”

“You have two minutes of my time. Ask me anything.”

I felt hot and was sweating beneath my black jumper. I had no idea what his game was and why he was bothering me, and I certainly didn't have any questions for him, but I knew that he was expecting something. Something smart. Something that he wouldn’t consider a waste of his time.

“What’s the secret to achieving success?” I asked at last. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my palms were sweaty.

A small smirk touched his mouth, as if he was pleased with my question.

“In this company?” he said and then rubbed his chin. “Come in first and leave last.”

That seemed deceptively simple. 

“That’s all?” I repeated.

He nodded.

“They basically want to see how much pain you can take. How dedicated you are. How bad do you want it.”

Then he peered at him with his penetrating eyes and asked, “And do you want it bad, Elain?”

I looked behind him, at the stunning view behind the windows–the blue waters of Lake Michigan, the greenish ribbon of the Chicago River, the gleaming skyscrapers all around us.

“I do,” I said at last.

His handsome face changed and turned cold and unreadable.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“I am,” I insisted.

“Well, we’ll see if you will tell me the same thing in a few months,” he stated menacingly.

I wasn’t sure what he meant, but then he spread a stack of reports on his desk and said, 

“Let’s start with this. Because you are not going anywhere with a report like this. This is pathetic. I expect better from a Senior Analyst.”

And that’s how it began.

Three months later, we were at the North Pond, champions of the trivia game. And just like I did every day prior, I heard the cursed expression ‘Elain, a word’. 

What did he want? Again?

He already won! I lost. There was nothing else to talk about.

I was hoping that I could sneak out soon-ish and disappear and go home and get into my sweats. 

Listen, I am an ambivert. I don’t mind socialising with others, it doesn’t bother me, but I was running on empty and the trivia game took a lot out of me because of the pressure. Not only did I have to lead my team (who were useless), I needed to do that against Azriel, my terrifying boss.

And now, he was yet again, looming over me, probably here to berate me or gloat. Again, in his defense, he has always been reasonably respectful to me, and didn’t put me down publicly. When we were in our 1:1 that was a different story. He never lost his temper, was never unprofessional, was never outright mean or improper. It’s just that he had this ability to destroy everyone’s self-esteem and pride with two-three well-placed words. And it usually began with the words ‘Elain, a word’. I knew that I was about to be annihilated. That my reports would be red marked all over the place. And that I was going to get a dispassionate ‘you can do better’ comment, with him expectantly waiting for me to ask him ‘how’. I never did. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I didn’t care that this job sucked the life out of me and that I spent most of my weekends working. I didn’t want his help. I didn’t want him near me. I didn’t want to see his stupid gorgeous face and hear this stupid gravelly voice. I didn’t want any of it. 

“Good job out there,” he said suddenly.

Y’all. I just about fell over. 

What was this?

Did I just transport to the Bizarro World? Azriel Singer giving an unsolicited compliment out of his own free will?

I forgot how to speak for a moment or two. I really had no idea what to say and he expected me to say.

“Thank you?” I managed at last, desperately looking around to see if anyone was available to save me. But of course no such luck.

“Please don’t say that you were surprised,” I begged him suddenly. I am not sure where it came from, but I desperately wanted him to acknowledge that I was…good. At something. I was good at trivia, at least.

He looked at me with genuine surprise and even took a step back.

“Why would I?” he asked.

I sighed.

“Because…because…I don’t know,” I truly didn’t. I didn’t know what he actually thought. 

“Contrary to whatever you are thinking right now, or in general about me, I respect you, Elain,” he told me and his expression was sincere and kind. Something in his face softened at that moment. 

“Do you?” I confirmed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he raised his dark brow at me. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think most of the time, if I am being honest,” I admitted.

He looked at me, and then, shockingly whispered, “You look beautiful today, Elain.”

I gasped.

Did he just actually say this to me right now or was I hallucinating?

He smirked and then offered, “let me buy you a drink! We fought valiantly and we came out on top. As expected.”

“As expected,” I whispered. 

Smiling conspiratorially, he moved closer to me and suddenly, I felt his large, warm palm on the small of my back. He never touched me before. Even when we first met, when he ambushed me at my desk, we didn’t shake hands because we were not properly introduced. I was used to him and his nearness because he often stood behind my desk or sat near me while showing me something, or when we prepared for meetings together. However, this was the very first time when he touched me and I remember feeling very warm and very secure at his side. He was so large and I knew that if anything, this is the man who’d protect me from anything. I mean, who’d even challenge him? But still, the feeling was pleasant and novel. He smelled good, his cologne clearly expensive–Armani? Tom Ford? –and I scented him like a loon, like I always did when he was near. I am not exactly sure why and what compelled me to smell him, but there was something alluring in the combination of his masculine musk and cedar.

He guided me towards the bar and out of the main dining room, his hand never leaving my back. It wasn’t just his fingertips that touched my burgundy dress–he had his whole palm planted just above the curve of my behind. It felt intimate. Possessive, in a way a boyfriend or a husband might touch his woman. But I wasn’t his. And he didn’t want me to be either.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked, leaning over the bar. With one hand, he pulled a bar stool closer and then handed his card to the bartender, opening a tab. “Whatever she wants,” he jerked his chin towards me.

“You don’t have to!” I exclaimed hurriedly. “I am not much of a drinker,”

“I am,” he winked at me. “What’s your poison, Elain? Whiskey? Tequila? Vodka? Gin?”

“An Aperol Spritz?” I blurted, even though I didn’t want one. But it seemed like a safe, cheap choice. It wasn’t a winter drink. 

“She’ll have a dirty martini,” Azriel said easily, ignoring my lame order. “Gin. Two measures of Gordon’s. One measure of Gray Goose. Half a measure of Kina Lillet. Olive brine. A spritz of lemon zest and three anchovy olives.

“And I’ll have a Macallan, neat.”

“You got it,” the bartender nodded, clearly impressed by Azriel’s order. I didn’t even know half of the things he said. Also, I didn’t like anchovies, I don’t think.

“Trust me on the anchovy olives,” he said, obviously reading my mind. 

“What if I wanted the Aperol Spritz?” I insisted, not liking him taking all the control away from me.

“No one wants a spritz in December in Chicago. But if you insist…should I get you one?”

I pouted.

“No.”

He smiled at me and while we were waiting for the drinks, he unexpectedly wrapped his arms around me and lifted me off the floor, placing me on the stool. 

“Wait, wha-,” he began saying, but he just smiled at me again.

The drinks were set in front of us, and I couldn’t finish my thought. Azriel picked up his tumbler and raised it, lightly clinking it with my martini glass. 

“To the victors go the spoils!” he announced and then watched me take a sip of my martini. 

Oh god. Even now, I think of it and I can’t forget how lovely it was. Crisp  and sharp and enticing. Kind of like the man who’d ordered it.

He didn’t sit down and remained standing, still towering over me, his hazel eyes keen and penetrating.

“I want to ask you a question, Elain. And I’d like an honest answer,” he requested, taking me aback.

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you like me?”

“No! What?” I scrambled for answers “I am…I don’t,”

“I asked for you to be honest,” he cut me off and then sipped his whiskey.

“It’s not true,” I argued, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable and overwhelmed. It wasn’t a fair question and he shouldn’t have asked me that. What was he expecting me to say exactly?

He didn’t wait for me to continue, but instead, said,

“Because the thing is that I like you.”

I swallowed my drink hard, stunned into silence by his admission. He didn’t seem fazed and continued,

“I think that you are brilliant. You are sharp, intelligent, highly accomplished. You are the best analyst on my team–by far. Look, I have a few reasonably good people on the team, and a few who aren't worth my time.”

“Then if you think so, why are you so harsh with me?” I asked boldly. 

His brow furrowed and he shook his head, “No. I am not.”

“I think that you are,” I insisted. “You criticize me viciously. You are mean. You berate me for every little infraction,”

“I am doing my job,” he said plainly. “Which means getting the best results and the best work out of my associates. I am not going to baby you, if that’s what you are asking. And I don’t ‘berate’ you. I correct you. There is a difference, you know. In fact, I will expect even more from you.”

“Why? How much more can I give?”

Coldly, he said, “you’ll give as much as I take, until I am satisfied.”

“And when is that going to be?”

He chuckled darkly.

“Not any time soon, Elain. Not anytime soon. In fact,”

My heart dropped.

I was vaguely aware that his palm was pressing to the small of my back again. I felt his thumb stoke the few lower knobs of my spine. 

“It’s not official yet,” he said at last. “But I wanted to tell you and give you a heads up.”

I swallowed the rest of my martini. I drank it too fast. It was going to my head. I was feeling hot and mellow. 

Azriel snapped his finger and said to the bartender ‘another one for her’. 

“Nooo,” I protested. “I am buzzed…”

“I know,” he said calmly.

“What do you want from me?” I whined, emboldened by the alcohol that I had consumed.

“You know that I am officially moving into my role on January 1st,” he stated.

I nodded. I hoped that he wouldn’t be my manager anymore.

I hated hearing ‘Elain, a word’. I hated the red Montblanc pen that he used on my reports and calculations. I hated his critiques. I didn’t want to hear him tell me how I messed up and where I went wrong. I wanted a nice boss, who’d be kind and supportive of me.

“And I have the opportunity to build my own team. And I want you, Elain.”

I got another drink handed to me. He was staring at me, his hand now on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. My shoulder was bare and his hand was hot and dry. The silvery scar tissue on his palm felt smooth and if he had calluses, I couldn’t feel them. His fingers were long and strong. His hand was very heavy. 

My heart dropped.

He wanted me.

“On my team,” he added. “Under me. My...tutelage.”

I looked up at him. There was something like triumph blazing in his eyes. 

His hand tightened on my shoulder. 

And I knew then that I wouldn’t be escaping any time soon.

All About This Christmas

I approached her, huddling into my scarf, wanting to do this quickly and get back in my car.

Typically, I took the Blue Line downtown where the office was located, but today, I drove, spent $56 on parking, which made me sick to my stomach, but it was worth it.

She was so fluffy.

I smiled to myself.

Perfect size.

I hurried over to the seller and pointed, 

“I want this,”

“One,” to my horror, utmost, undiluted horror, Azriel Singer’s voice sounded behind me.

I had to be hallucinating. This was PTSD, right? I was hearing his voice everywhere! Right? After a year of working with him, and him being the dominant man in my life, whom I saw more than I saw anyone, including my sisters, I was just hearing his voice in my head. 

I couldn’t…I couldn’t turn around. It was impossible. I was definitely hearing things.

Maybe, maybe it was Cassian?!?

A little glimmer of hope lit up in my chest. Yes, it had to be Cassian. Obviously. How didn’t I guess that? Azriel would never leave work early and wouldn’t be here, buying a Christmas tree.

Cassian Wilbur Singer, Esq. was Azriel’s younger brother. 

After Azriel casually handed me my indefinite sentence that promised that I would remain under his control and on his team for the foreseeable future, I had to grin and bear it. Short of quitting the company, which is something I was absolutely unwilling to do, I resigned myself to serve at Azriel’s feet for lack of a better term. 

I’d learned a few things about my new boss fairly quickly. He was incredibly patient–surprising, I know, but also ruthless. But mostly, he was just demanding. 

Elain, redo the projections for the 4th quarter

Elain, did you consider the new data? I sent it to you yesterday 

Elain, you are using too much finance jargon in this report

Elain, walk me through your analysis

Elain, send me the numbers before 10 am

Elain, let’s walk through this together before the meeting

Elain, what are you doing for lunch? Let me know if you have time to discuss?

And on and on and on.

My sister Feyre said that I was ‘the victim of my own success’ and that I’ve made myself ‘indispensable to him’ and that he grew to rely on me too much.

My other sister Nesta was harsher in her assessment and said that ‘he uses you like a crutch’ and ‘he knows you are a pushover, so he is taking advantage of your inability to say ‘no’ to him’. 

I didn’t really want to say ‘no’ to him. And maybe I was a pushover, but I just felt that it was easier to let him guide the team and be responsible for the decision-making. At work, Azriel Singer was a star, and I trusted him. As hard as he was, he was also fair. And maybe, just maybe, I liked hearing his praise, or when he hummed under his nose and smirked to himself. I knew then that he was pleased with my work. Receiving his approval was incredibly difficult, and when it came, I was going to take advantage of it and enjoy every morsel of his good will. 

What did not create any good will with him was when he caught me a couple of times asking my team members for assistance, or an explanation. Especially if it related to something that he sent back or corrected on my report. 

I wasn’t sure why, but for whatever reason that set him off. He wouldn’t say anything. He never confronted me, and if I hadn’t learned how to read him, I might have missed it entirely. But I did pick up on a few scoffs, the subtle changes in his expression, the annoyance that he tried to hide. What was an even better indicator of his displeasure, was how rough he became afterwards, and how harsh his critique and his demands were towards me. I knew that he wanted me to ask him for directions, and I knew that he liked to make decisions for me, but I couldn't bring myself to do it most of the time. Firstly, I liked figuring things out myself, and secondly, he was intimidating as hell.

I met Cassian Singer one morning, following an early call with a client, which was held in Azriel’s office. By the time the call ended, I was tired, hungry and cranky. While Azriel did most of the talking, I needed to speak to some of the numbers and explain two parts of the report. It wasn’t difficult, but the client was asking a lot of questions, and while Azriel was helpful and guided the conversation, I was expected to deliver my part flawlessly.

“Good job, Elain,” was all he said when I got up and unplugged my laptop.

I smiled. I pressed the laptop to my chest and left his office, heading to the break room with a pep in my step.

A very tall, very handsome, very muscular man was in the break room, laughing with the other men from my team. He was broad, his shoulders spanning nearly the width of the fridge. He had the same bronze skin tone as Azriel, the same hazel eyes and the same black hair, though his was longer. And the voice was the same. It was jarring to hear–watching another man speak in Azriel’s voice. 

He looked at me, while I went to pour myself a cup of coffee. By the time I was done with the cup and tossed the creamer in the bin, when I turned around, I saw Azriel standing in the doorway, arms crossed on his wide chest. He was watching me with his typically unreadable expression. I thought that I looked good that day–I wore a dusty pink dress, a little flowy, so it didn’t hug my body too closely, and my brown suede pumps. My hair was smooth and sleek, tied in a high ponytail.

“Az, care to introduce us?” the man swaggered towards me.

Azriel pursed his lips and then simply said, “Elain Archeron, this is my brother Cassian Singer.”

“And the pleasure is all mine,” Cassian murmured and extended his huge hand to me. I hesitated for a moment, and he urged me on, saying, “come on, Ellie, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

“Cass!” Azriel snapped at him, almost angrily. I wasn’t sure why. Cassian ignored him and pumped my fist in his. 

“So, this is the brilliant Elain that I’ve heard some much about,” he added. “Nice to meet you, Elain. Finally I am putting a face to the reputation.”

I had a reputation? Also, brilliant?

“Cassian, you are being weird,” Azriel sneered, while he went to grab a bagel off the tray. Cassian argued,

“Why? Poor Ellie is stuck here with you bunch, the drollest and the dullest finance bros of all finance bros,”

I snorted a laugh at that and Azriel didn’t look amused, while the others booed and shouted.

“Come work for my department, Ellie,” Cassian offered. “We are rich and successful and we are all lawyers!”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Azriel hissed through his teeth. “What are you doing here? Don’t attempt to poach my best analyst either,”

At that, Cassian snatched my cappuccino muffin from my plate and saluted me, before swallowing the muffin top all in one bite.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whistled. “My glum brother is not fond of many people, Ellie, but he is fond of you,” he winked at me and then sauntered away, devouring the rest of the muffin.

I sighed and went to get another muffin, before rushing back to my desk. As I was walking, I overheard Azriel and Cassian whispering to each other.

“I see it now,” Cassian said to him.

Azriel didn’t respond right away, but then warned him, “Back off and don’t piss on my territory.”

Cassian laughed, “Wouldn’t dream of it. Seems like you fully staked your claim.”

I didn’t know what they were talking about, but that’s how I met Cassian.

“I’ll take this one,” he said again.

I whipped around and shouted, “Cassian, that’s mine! I saw it first!!!”

And then I was frozen in place by a pair of hazel eyes.

Azriel Singer stood right in front of me, so close that I figured that he was able to put his chin on my head if he wanted to. 

His expression was bland, but I could see the vein bulging and ticking in his temple. Slowly, he crossed his arms on his chest and glared at me from his height.

“Expecting Cassian, are you?” he asked slowly.

My cheeks flamed and I took a steadying breath.

Why was Azriel here???

It made no sense for him to be here. We were in Wicker Park, and surely he didn’t live anywhere near here. Not with his money and status. Surely he lived in River North? Lincoln Park? He was too young for the Gold Coast, but Wicker Park? There was no logical explanation for his presence here. 

“Waiting for Cassian?” he repeated, his voice cold.

“Why are you here?!” I cried out instead. 

He stepped even closer, and suddenly got in my face, all but snarling,

“I swear to god, Elain, if you are fucking my brother behind my back, I will,”

He didn’t finish his threat, because the seller stepped forward and exclaimed, “whoa, whoa, buddy! Chill!”

Then he looked at me and asked, “Miss, is he bothering you? You want me to,”

“Am I bothering you, Elain?” Azriel asked sarcastically. “Do you need to be rescued? The gentleman here is ready to spring up and fight for your honour,”

The venomous expression on his face took me aback. His vein kept bulging, though he appeared normal outwardly.

“No,” I stammered, and looked at the seller, “he is…he is okay. He is my boss…”

“Your boss?!” the man scoffed. “Maybe you should look for another job.”

Azriel shrugged, and then said calmly,

“I’ll be on my way. Let me get the tree and I’ll leave you to meet Cass.”

“No!” she snapped. “NO!”

Azriel seemed confused for a moment and looked at me quizzically.

I clarified, “it’s my tree! I found it first. You aren’t getting it.”

He huffed an incredulous snicker.

“Excuse me? I am taking the tree,” he insisted. “You can get that one,” and he waved towards a bunch of ugly trees stuck in the corner. “I am not getting another tree. Go away, Azriel,” I dared to say, tears pricking my eyes. 

I know it was absurd. I know that I was acting petulant and ridiculous. But I wanted that tree. It wasn’t fair that he could just sweep in and take it. He already demanded and took too much from me. And I wanted the tree. I wasn’t going to let him have it. 

“Go away?” he repeated, eyes popping open wide.

I propped my hands on my hips and resorted to a fighting stance.

“Yes, go away. You are not my boss here.”

“I am always your boss,” he argued snappily.

“No, you aren’t! I am not working right now and I am going to buy this specific tree. You can step aside and leave me alone.”

“I am not leaving, Elain. And I am getting the tree,” he pressed. 

I was shaking my head. 

“No. You're not my boss out there and you can’t have it. I was here first!”

Before the seller could interfere again, Azriel wrapped his massive hand over my upper arm and carefully, but firmly pulled me aside. 

“Don’t sell that fucking tree to anyone,” he ordered the man, and the guy just stared, but didn’t say anything.

I’ve never heard Azriel curse before. He was always highly, scrupulously professional at work. Was it something that I unexpectedly liked? Perhaps.

Once we were out of the way, Azriel didn’t release my arm, but I felt his thumb making small circles over it through my jacket sleeve. He was very close and his crisp scent invaded my nostrils. His eyes assessed me, but they weren’t cold and disdainful right now. There was warmth in them. Amusement too. And I couldn’t think of why that was. 

“I think that we need to reevaluate your attitude, Miss Archeron,” he semi-whispered in my ear. His lips were so close, they were almost touching me.

“What?” I stuttered, not sure what he meant and feeling overwhelmed by his nearness. He was too close. Like last Christmas party. Which I preferred not to recall or think about. 

“What do you mean?” I finally managed to ask.

“It means that you will respect me always, at work and outside of work. At work, I am your boss and out here, that doesn’t change. Just like I will respect you always, regardless of your… imperfections.”

Imperfections? Screw him.

I tried to jerk my arm out of his grasp, but it was like an iron claw around my sleeve.

“Furthermore,” he continued, ignoring my movements, “please do remember that I am the one who makes all the decisions. You follow my guidance. Because I know what’s good for both of us.”

“No you don’t!” I argued instinctively.

“Oh no?” he challenged. “Who’s been helping you with everything at work? Guiding your career? Offering you advice? At times protecting you from mistakes and scrutiny? Yeah, me,” he snapped. “Not that you’d noticed!”

I blushed.

He wasn’t wrong.

He has been incredibly helpful and patient with me, even when he was harsh and demanding. 

“Not that you’d ask me for help,” he ground out under his breath.

Defensively, I argued, “I asked you many times! All the time!”

He scoffed, 

“Yeah, only when there is no one else left to ask!”

The back and forth was exhausting me.

I was tired and he still hadn’t explained what he was doing here. 

“I need to get the tree and go home,” I told him at once.

His grip on me finally eased up a bit and he said thoughtfully,

“Hmmm,”

“Not hmmm,” I taunted. “Let me go. I will see you on Monday.”

“No.”

“No?” I repeated. “What do you mean, no?”

“No means that I have something else in mind,” he offered. “And I suggest that you take me up on my generous offer to you.”

I was feeling a bit hysterical and laughed, my voice dry,

“Oh, how gracious of you. And what is this offer that I cannot refuse? Pray tell!”

“I’ll let you have that tree,” he pointed at my perfect tree. 

“Let me?”

“Stop interrupting me every sentence!” he didn’t look amused. “Yes, I will even help you hoist it up on the roof of your car. Then, we’ll go to your house, you will be a gracious hostess, we’ll have dinner and we’ll decorate the tree together.

“That’s the only offer you are getting. If you reject it, you aren’t getting the tree. Your choice.”

What the hell?

What. Is. The. Actual. Fuck??

He was inviting himself to my home? Or, more like, forcing himself, and ordering me to cook him dinner and decorate my tree, with him there?

“We can’t do that!” I cried out.

“Why?”

“Because…because…We can’t! You are my boss,”

“Glad to see you remembered, finally,” he snorted a chuckle.

“You can’t be at my home. People will talk!”

Not to mention that I didn’t want him there.

I didn’t want him inside my sanctuary. The only place that was actually free of him. My god. This was the worst idea in history!

“Take it or leave it,” he shrugged callously.

I attempted to dissuade him again, “Azriel, I cannot let you–it’s improper,”

“Is it? I was in your apartment last year,” he reminded me and my heart jumped in my chest. “And somehow, we managed.”

He tapped his feet on the pavement and said,

“Let’s go. I am freezing.”

“You said that I get to decide,” I tried feebly.

“I did. And you decided that I will be coming along and we’ll be decorating your tree together. Come on.”

He extended his hand to me.

I just stood there, trembling.

He flexed his long, powerful fingers in the space between us. His arm was a bridge. And somehow, I knew that if I took his hand, if I crossed the bridge, nothing would ever be the same. 

[spotsandsocks]

Hiii Spotty 💕💕💕

🎅+Aurora

-❤️🪐

Hi! I’m sorry this one’s jumped the queue a bit cos I got inspired… hopefully in a surprising and fun way? It’s 900 words and will turn up on ao3 at some point. 🩷💙🩷💙🩷💙 it’s been written quick and messy so apologies for any errors (would love to know when you worked out what was happening, it’s probably very obvious)

Three days and he hasn’t let it go. Eddie had been sure he would but the man’s stubborn. More stubborn than he anticipated. Too late he sees Buck coming towards him, there’s no subtle way to avoid him so he squares his shoulder and faces his fate. There’s always the option that Buck won’t ask again.

“Eddie.”

“Buck.”

He returns the greeting smoothly. Buck stares him straight in the eye and jumps right in.

“You gonna tell me yet?

“I’ve already told you I don’t have an opinion on the subject.”

The look on Buck’s face is skeptical at best.

“Don’t believe you.”

The stand off continues, blue staring down brown.

“I’ll find out eventually.”

Eddie doesn’t see how to be honest but the determined way Buck pokes his chest with his middle finger puts doubt in his heart.

“Everyone has a favourite and I need to know yours.”

Buck narrows his eyes before he spins on his heel and walks away.

“Not everyone has a favourite.” Buck holds up a dismissive hand as he disappears. “Bet Bobby doesn’t.” Eddie yells after him.

Buck spins, starts walking backwards. “He does and at least he wasn’t too embarrassed to tell me.

He’s taken three steps closer before he realises what he’s done and stops.

“I’m not embarrassed! I just don’t have a favourite.”

Buck shakes his head sadly.

“Sure Eddie. Gonna find out in the end. I have ways. Ways Eddie!”

Then he’s turning away again and marching off leaving Eddie standing alone and feeling oddly guilty.

*

He lasts another day. Well one shift with Buck being polite and slightly cool, sitting at the other end of the couch not next to him, staring at him but not asking the question anymore. One lunch with Chim, Hen and even Bobby asking him to just tell him.

He doesn’t get why Buck needs to know anyway. Hen says it doesn’t matter why, he wants to know so tell him, Chim says to tell him before Buck phones his abelua to find out (which is a possibility that hadn’t occurred to him)l and Bobby says tell him before I have to order you to.

Eddie keeps telling the lie that he can’t tell Buck anything because he doesn’t have a favourite. He does, but he’s not supposed to so saying it out loud makes him feel weird. The others all told him their answer to Buck’s seemingly random and to Eddie deeply personal question.

He lasts one shift and a final look into sad blue eyes that look his way once before Buck says a general goodbye to the room and leaves.

Shit. Eddie rests his head on the locker with a deep sigh.

“It doesn’t make you any less of a man Eddie. It’s ok.”

Chimney’s voice is kind but has an undercurrent of amusement. It’s ok for him he wasn’t brought up in a toxic comp het environment.

“I know that, it’s just…. silly, isn’t it? I don’t see the point.”

“Do you have a favourite?”

Eddie sighs again and confesses.

“Yes.”

“Then just tell him. Who knows why he wants to know, he just does so make him happy and tell him.”

*

He knocks and waits. He hasn’t texted to say he’s coming over. He’s just turned up, that’s ok, they do that sometimes.

The door opens and Buck’s smile slides off his face when he realises who’s at his door.

“Eddie.” It’s a flat disappointed tone, Eddie can’t take it anymore. He blurts out the answer.

“The pink one,”

Buck frowns. “What?”

“The pink one is my favourite.”

“The pink one?”

“Yes.”

“The pink ones your favourite and you don’t even know her name?” Buck’s eyebrow cross examines him.

“Fine… Aurora. Sleeping Beauty. Briar Rose. She’s my favourite Disney Princess.”

Now he’s confessed Buck’s face has split into a giant grin. Maybe telling Buck something he’s never told anyone before is worth the embarrassment for a smile like that. Buck opens the door wider, clearly inviting him in.

“Thank you Eddie, was that so hard?”

As he walks past Buck adds.

“Mine is Ariel.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, very rude of you, but I have no problem sharing important information with friends, unlike some people.”

And with that pointed comment, they’ve made it to the kitchen island which is apparently covered by various princess related decorations stickers, ribbons and sparkly things.

“Anyway, now you’re here you can help me. I’m making Jee’s birthday present.”

Eddie’s heart melts a little at how soft Buck is for his niece.

“Kinda got caught up in a Disney Princess research spiral, quizzes and stuff, what Disney Princess are you, what your favourite princess says about you…you know.”

Not really, but it sounds very Buck to him.

“So you wanted to know our favourites…” Eddie nods understanding now, and when he’d had refused to say, Buck had been upset and suddenly needed to know desperately. Also very Buck.

“Sorry I was being stubborn about it but when I was a kid boys didn’t like Disney Princess.”

“It’s ok, still love ya.”

The words make Eddie’s cheeks flush but he ignores that and joins his best friend; the kindest man he knows and starts to help with his mission to make and it’s a direct quote from the man himself, “the best, most princessy princess castle that ever princessed for a princess.”

Buck grins happily at him from the other side of the island and Eddie wonders if the day will come when he’s ready to tell Buck another secret about himself. He hopes so. He really does.

[moonspirit]

Jealous aruani are fun and all, but...what if it's their friend that's the reason for the jealousy??? No love triangles.

Annie suddenly feels a twinge of irritation when she sees Pieck say something to Armin and they laugh together. Or maybe Armin overhears gossip about how Annie Leonhart and Connie Springer look so cute together. The next time he sees Connie, his stomach twists. And it's terrible!

Considering how Armin and Annie both have self-esteem issues...well, I can see how that could happen. Irritation, doubt, jealousy, and self-loathing for feeling that way about a friend. it's just painful, stupid and awkward. I have no idea how they will solve this😗

Hello jealousy anon! As promised, and thank you for the ask, it made me laugh xD

Because of-fucking-course there's nobody more capable of causing problems for Aruani off more than their very own family xD If you ask me, outsiders don't have the type of talent the other four have in creating misunderstandings and unnecessary chaos xD Plot-required-3rd-party-love-interest who? Move over, here's Connie the Springer man!

At first it's all quite unintentional. Connie spends time with Annie because Circumstances and Coincidence and hardly notices Armin's watery puppy eyes gazing at him from a depressing corner. It's not like Armin ever says anything out loud either because of course, he's happy! He's happy Annie has a silly friend that makes her laugh and forget that she's awkward and possibly frightening around people. He's glad Connie comes prepackaged with a whole lot of shitty jokes that happen to tickle her. He's really fucking glad Connie treats Annie like he treats everyone else!

But. Connie can also... dance. Really well. Like the guy's got those moves and can easily take Annie for a nice spin. He also... makes her laugh, like... a lot? A lot lot? Hm.. has Annie ever laughed like that with me? Uh... yeah, nevermind that, um- oh god, Connie's been looking pretty nice lately in those suits and he's rather good with the whole easy-fashion thing and uh- well shit, it's Connie, he's my friend, he's not- no, I mean, that photo in the newspapers was just an accidental shot, of course Annie was just laughing at his bad joke but well... she did look really happy with him and, oh shit--

Man.

Pieck on the other hand, doesn't fuck with people more than necessary. I don't actually see her getting *too* close with Armin but they do become very good friends! They have a lot in common, (for example music) and vibrate on the same atomic level of "yeah this is wrong and backhanded and probably will get us arrested in 18 countries but lets do it hehe". Hc that they probably get off to a slightly rocky start as Pieck doesn't put much faith in Armin's "naivete" and harbours resentment for his blowing up of Liberio's port, but as time goes by, they grow closer!

Maybe... too much closer for someone's liking 💀

Because okay? Annie gets it, she finds politics too boring and her takes end up being too cynical and skeptical in the room. Technically, she's glad Armin has someone in Pieck who will humour his ideas with a generous (but nice) dash of realism. Also, they enjoy picking out records together and she often finds them nodding their heads to a new tune once home.

She's glad, okay?

She is, she really is-

*sound of a thigh being stabbed followed by sounds of Reiner screaming*

Pieck is a cheerful girl tho 🥲

On a serious note, both Aruani are going to feel like total crap about this jealousy tho. Because as you said, it's their friends, their literal family who they share a lot of time and space with, and if anything could be clear it's that none of them want to see Aruani unhappy. So its not real, it's not anything to worry about, it's all just in their heads-

And yet.

Tbh the extra funny bit about this is gonna be when Connie and Pieck realize what they're doing to their poor lemonheads xD

"What! We're making you jealous?! wHAaT?? ... Hell YEAH, LET'S TURN IT UP!"

🥲🥲🥲🥲

I mean what else did you expect lol, Pieck and Connie are that duo who are going to derive more entertainment from their very own organic, homegrown family-drama than the moving pictures being shown in the town-square.

Suddenly it's all: "HEHE Armin, I bought Annie CAKES, see? FIVE Cakes! FiVE delICIOUS cakes and *I* am going to give it to her! Me!"

and: "Annniieeeeeeee~~ Oh no, why the long face this morning? Btw did you know Armin wants kids? Like a lot of kids? He told me- oh, he didn't tell you? Hehe I thought you'd be the first to know hehehehehe"

Their approaches to fanning this dumpster fire are different 😌

Their solution when things get too Sad?? Lock Aruani up in a room. Always ends well.

[capquinn]

Does Quinn go overboard and spoil the kids with giant presents for Christmas? I know they probably will always have more than the average kid for everything but he seems very levelheaded and doesn’t want to raise his kids in a mindset of getting anything and everything they want just because their dad is Quinn.

Nah I don't think he would. Quinn strikes me as the kind of dad who’d be thoughtful and intentional about the way he approaches Christmas — and parenting in general, honestly.

He’d never want his kids to grow up with the mindset that they can have everything just because they're able to. He’d make sure they understand the value of what they have, the meaning behind the holidays, and the joy of giving as much as receiving.

Sure, there’d be the fun, flashy toys they’d been talking about for months — the Bluey playhouse Bug wouldn’t stop mentioning or the Paw Patrol set Cub kept pointing to in commercials — but there’d always be a layer of thoughtfulness underneath.

The bigger gifts would have purpose beyond just the joy of unwrapping. Things like a soccer net for the backyard, something that would get them outside as a family on sunny afternoons, or maybe new skates so they could practice gliding across the ice together. It wouldn’t just be about stuff but about creating moments. The kind that turn into memories.

Even the smaller gifts would have meaning. A new set of paints and brushes for Bug, who’d been fascinated by colours lately, or blocks for Cub to stack and tumble over as he giggles at his little triumphs. Every gift, big or small, would be tied to what makes his kids light up, encouraging their interests, creativity, and, most importantly, time spent together.

Because for Quinn, it’s not just about giving his kids everything they want. It’s about teaching them the joy of shared experiences, of giving thoughtfully, and of appreciating the moments that come with each gift — whether it’s their giggles during a backyard soccer game, Bug’s serious little face as she paints, or Cub’s excitement as he crawls around the inside of the soccer net after the ball. For him, those are the true gifts.

And when they’re old enough, he’d absolutely instill the act of giving back. Every December, he’d encourage the kids to go through their old toys, explaining how there are children who might not have as much as they do. It wouldn’t be a chore but more of a tradition, one that builds empathy and kindness.

He’d make it feel special, not like giving something up but like sharing something wonderful. Bug would sit cross-legged on her bedroom floor, surrounded by stacks of toys she’s outgrown, while Cub sits nearby, babbling curiously at the scene.

Quinn crouches beside them, his tone gentle and encouraging. “This one could make another kid really happy,” he’d say, holding up a well-loved doll, his warm smile reassuring Bug as she carefully considers.

Bug nods after a moment, placing the doll into the donation box with the careful determination of a little girl who’s taking her job very seriously. Cubby, always eager to mimic his big sister, babbles excitedly and reaches for a toy car to drop in, though it’s not quite one for the box yet.

“It’s like sharing Christmas magic,” Quinn adds, ruffling Cubby’s soft hair as Bug beams at his words.

When the box is full, he’d scoop Cub up and take Bug by the hand, letting them come along to drop it off at the second hand toy drive.

He's just the type of dad who always gives his kids a magical holiday while keeping their feet firmly planted on the ground, and honestly? It’s impossible not to love him even more for it.

[letternotekisses]

GAHHHHH THE LAST REAPER ONE HAD MY EYES PISSING FOR SOME REASON!? Love the nsfw slowburn and angst from that one. Can I kindly request for more?c:

Also cuz I don’t think I have seen that before on your blog could we get maybe a Bw!Gabe version with miss sunshine assistant this time?c: If u dont do the older timelines i would be also happy with grumpy reaps<3 love ur writing style btw u write all of the man so well wtf I’m addicted 😭

(18+mdni) anon u cutie<3 im hungover and gave my hand a try at bw reyes for the 1st time so im so sorry if its bad!

Reyes figured you were a plant, at first.

A little spy sent from Jack to gather up parts of intel that the golden boy of Overwatch could stick his nose into, to publicise the parts Reyes would rather stay hidden. And it was just like Morrison to send him someone so sweet and unassuming under the pretence of 'extra help', someone who'd bring him coffee with no complaints and organise his files with a smile. Someone to take some of that weight from his shoulders. It took a long time for Gabriel to even look in your direction at first, and even longer for him to start giving you any tasks.

(Although, that was partly your own doing. You'd stormed into his office one day when you were assured that he had no more meetings, jabbing a finger into the solid wall that was chest as you heatedly told him off over his flippant treatment towards you. Where Gabe then realised you were in fact not a honeypot, and rather just a very passionate young woman who wants to do her job. He let you chastise him until you were panting softly, where he then calmly asked you to make him a coffee, which had you thanking him in a tone almost too aggressive to be anything other than exasperatedly pleased. It was a slow start, but a start nonetheless.)

As much as he hated it, Gabriel soon came to rely on you for things. You knew every aspect of his schedule, knew how dark he took his coffee and even knew how to handle Genji and Cassidy when they started another stupid bet that had the vein in his forehead ready to burst. Gabe had become sickeningly attached to your presence at his side, clipboard in hand and an excited lilt in your voice for the day ahead. So bright eyed and bushy tailed it made him run hot with want and sick with guilt because he feared that Blackwatch would ruin you, and yet, he didn't want you to go.

And the threat of Jack plucking you back up and off to Overwatch still looms over him thickly like a storm cloud, has him drawn tight and stiff with uncharacteristic stress because he knows its something Jack can hold over his head, something he'd beg for like a dog, too.

You're too good for him and Reyes knows it. Too soft, sweet and kind compared to someone like him who runs with fire in his blood and stress hard wired in, and yet you're always there to pick up the pieces in a way that's well past professional. Letting him fuck your throat and use your mouth in in one of the many storage closets littering the hallways, in a slow stretch that makes pretty tears glitter in your eyes and has him whispering through grit teeth about how much of a good girl you are for helping him melt away some of that stress. Has him holding your hair back in a firm and tender grasp, thumbing your forehead like you were lovers.

In which, a part of him would like to be. He'd like to bring you back to his bed and tell you between breathy whispers that he loves you. To promise a ring around your finger between each slow thrust that has you gasping into his tan skin, scratching at his weathered back and whimpering his name. You're his in every way but that and it eats him from the inside out, tears his heart out his chest and eats it right in front of him because Gabriel knows he can't tether you to a man like him.

A man that isn't quite so human, something's hollow and missing and he plugs it with anger so white-hot that it fries him up inside. Time is running out and you know you're in danger by his side but you do it anyway. Gabriel knows that losing you means the world will have to burn and it makes something dark and smoky billow in his chest.

And after the Venice incident, he starts to feel that heat creep up behind him.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Ok so I feel kinda silly being so miffed by the client subplot in Sinmas, but broo why are we trying to justify cheating?? Like I was more so forgiving of that aspect with Stolas and Blitz's relationship up until now because yk, they're in hell, they're supposed to be messy, I'm not expecting everyone to make the best decision 100% of the time and I was holding out hope they'd flesh Stella out more. HOWEVER the client subplot feels like it's literally there to say oh, see cheating isn't THAT bad yk as long as the woman's a total bitch and totally, probably, deserved it. Like it honestly bummed me out more than anything because God forbid we look at it from the woman's perspective who may I remind, is spending her Christmas alone, in hell, while her cheating husband gets to have his Happy ending with the guy he cheated on her with. And we're supposed to hate this woman??? Man that just does not bode well for what they're gonna do with Stella I fear. And it just makes me sad honestly, for a show all about bad ppl having more to them than meets the eye, I hate how the way Stolas and Blitz's relationship feels like it's been ripped straight from a badly aged fanfic. Please, I BEG can we stop demonizing exes (majority women) so much? Thanks.

It's because she's homophobic and a Karen we can dismiss her even though they had worse client they had to make her specifically based on Stella so that they can hammer it home that nothing Stolas does is wrong and she probably deserved to get cheated on. Seriously, this is just so much creator pet coddling. And again maybe instead of the client being demonized she could have a change of heart if the family acknowledged her presence and maybe kept her memory due to the girls still wanting to keep a piece of her in mind and this allows the hit to be called off. They say this show is about grey matters when it's bs when it's clearly just to justify their asshole character's shitty behavior.

[aztarion]

If Sol is an anxiety-riddled cheetah, what sort of person or thing or addition to her (un)life would have the same effect on her that an emotional support puppy has on a cheetah?

ive been thinking about this and not getting anywhere j and im pretty sure it’s meant as no nuance but we’ve established im an overthinker v_v so i rambled for a while below, hopefully it’s entertaining LOL. i focused way too much on the relationships. tbh it could be her brother if she ever reunited with him

it’s so hard to pick out one particular thing or person or addition and keep it realistic!!! i’d otherwise say it was Julian during the fledgling years, but she didn’t have much in the way of anxiety then, not like it is now, and he was also partially responsible for what brought about triggering/exacerbating it in the first place. but initially what they had, if you could lift that younger slightly less bold Julian to replace present Julian, might have that effect on her

in some weird way i think Sol subconsciously likes being kept on the fringe or razors edge of her nerves in some twisted strain of excitement; ive been toying with this as a manifestation of her beast. so maybe she would vore a traditional therapy dog and sit there shaking and whimpering like she’s the victim 🧐

i’ve mentioned before she gets on really well with Elena and enjoys her dry presence and quiet competence and absolute loyalty, but the fact of what’s unnaturally behind that loyalty spikes anxiety if Sol dwells on it — Sol is also VERY protective and worries about everyone she has a connection with. she would develop feelings for the therapy dog. whatever it might be in this analogy, it would have to be some sort of stronger kindred/supernatural for her to have any peace of mind

so… Lettow comes closest in that regard, but i still don’t think Sol would be happy for other reasons. his demeanor, strength and reliability has the most inwardly calming effect on her — like a truly strange solid steadying comfort over a period of months that grow insanely chaotic. he offers comfort, forgiveness, acceptance, support — all the things she thinks she wants or needs. it’s interesting to me that in the base text a lot of his touches and embraces are described as being either ‘grounding’, ‘protective’ or ‘lingering’ because Sol often feels like she’s drowning — in guilt, in Aila’s memories, in loneliness, in purposelessness, in her own maddeningly unsatisfied hunger. like meeting earth after years at sea. he has big taurus energy to her underdeveloped scorpio. (contrastingly Julian’s are described as unexpected or split-second and leaving her off-balance… but again i think Sol actually likes that)

maybe Lettow could help her heal past Aila but i don’t think Sol would give herself that chance for forgiveness. and while she comes to really love and care for him despite the confusion Aila’s stirring brings, and her own impulsive feelings and actions, i don’t think she’s IN love with Lettow :( he doesn’t inspire or excite or wildly frustrate her like Julian does. so maybe that does make Lettow a good emotional support puppy… Sol needs a pet elder kindred just chilling in the background with a panama hat being extremely accepting of her stupidity to feel normal i guess. im thinking his willingness to forgive what she’s done would eat at her forever though, to a point that’s just utterly dissociative. and that’s not fair to Lettow; he doesn’t deserve another gf tapping out on him

present-and-post-night road Julian…sigh

Julian has this constant dichotomy of idealism and hypocrisy, patience and cool calculative manipulation. he would be that one therapy dog that wasn’t screened for occasionally barking unexpectedly and roughhousing. so like he’s very good for her in some ways and terribly triggering in others but now the cheetah is attached to him so everyone (me) is hesitant to take him out of the enclosure

more than anything Julian offers her assurance in his intelligence, adaptability, his purpose — and the purpose he gives her, which Sol can’t put to words. it’s less about providing a calming presence and more about inspiring and challenging her. he’s like enrichment LOL. more akin to a partner in adventure and crime rather than strictly emotional support, but i think Sol would end up heading in Aila’s direction without Julian stirring shit up for her

as for the emotional support… ok this is where i retreat to my fanfic but Marquis definitely threw a big bone at the end of Julian’s romance. they have a very deep connection; the sire-childe bond, were best friends/lovers/attached at the hip for a decade, he brings out the best (and worst) in her but he helps her discover herself… i think it’s special and could work as a foundation. of course ultimately the effectiveness depends on the progression of their relationship and the trust rebuilding between them post-night road, but i see that as a possibility. when Sol tentatively decides to help with Julian’s plan for the SI and 2100 long term instead of Lettow, something big is bridged there — in the ending scene with romanced Julian he in turn offers Sol half of the reigns on the program and lets her call the shots with whatever happens with the death cult in Monterrey, as well as joining her in the field. i love Kyle for doing that lmao… it’s a really nice moment that hints at Julian being willing to work to rebuild the relationship and trust between them instead of what you get in night road when neither of them wholly trust each other and are loathe to keep it 100. once Julian knows she’s in, he’s down, no holds barred. i think they'd both be for the long haul, in good and probably still some bad and very imperfect ways but that keeps it interesting

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK <3333 THANK YOU J <333

[galactichoneybee92]

So obviously there's a lot of things to talk about in this new episode, but there's one thing that's really standing out to me and it's this:

I really think that Blitz and Octavia would get along.

I know it's super easy to think that they wouldn't, especially considering the current situation and Octavia's feelings about everything, but hear me out. We don't have a lot of interaction between the two of them (Which is a crime and I want more) but the few bits we do have they really do seem to be on pretty similar pages. Think about it. The first time we ever see them "together" is when Stolas is talking to Blitz on the phone in Loo Loo Land. Even though they aren't physically in the same space they have that scene where Stolas is getting super out of pocket like only season 1 Stolas can and it's cutting back and forth to the both of them saying "What the fuck!" Same page.

Later on in the park we have the scene where Blitz is telling her to hold on so he can keep giving Stolas a run down of what NOT to do to him in this theme park and he calls her "sweetie" and maybe that doesn't mean anything but idk Blitz likes kids. I think it's cute. Additionally she also didn't want Stolas doing any of those things to Blitz in the park so once again they're on the same page there.

In the few Octavia episodes we've gotten, including Seeing Stars, Octavia has never really seemed to harbor any hatred toward Blitz. After all, he's not her father. He never made her any promises and so he's never lied to her, which is the part of all of this that she seems the most upset about.

And that brings us to Sinsmas. The first little detail is that in Blitz's fantasy of the perfect future, the little Christmas scene, it wasn't just him and Stolas but also Loona and Octavia. Blitz has accepted that he loves Stolas and that Stolas loves Octavia and so Octavia is welcome as part of the family. Though imperfect, Blitz loves being a dad and I think he would love being a step-dad just as much.

And lastly we get the scene that inspired this entire post: The fight with Andrealphus when Blitz is saying that him getting his ass handed to him is "a bad look" and Octavia just nods and says "A very bad look." They're in total agreement there and Idk I just feel like the two of them would really get along.

I think that she would find Blitz cringey, because she's 17 and finds everyone cringey, but I think she would love being sisters with Loona and I think she would find Blitz funny. I know the situation is contentious at the moment but I would love it if there was a convenient plot device in season 3 that throws the two of them together. I want them to get to know each other, and I want her to get to witness Blitz and Stolas being happy together, and how Blitz treats Stolas better than Stella ever did.

Maybe I'm crazy but I can't help but feel like once Octavia and Stolas work through their issues, Octavia would really like being part of the IMP extended family. I think her and Blitz would be really close if they got the opportunity.

[epickiya722]

I already made my predictions here on the epilogue, but I want to focus on the Yuko Ozawa part since I know some shippers are in panic about it.

Everything I'm about to say is from the POV of someone who did read MHA and been though 431 and someone who does ship ItaFushi. Do I think anyone should agree with me? No. But what I hope what I'm about to say at least ease your panic for the time being.

With that out the way!

Now, I'll reiterate from my other post.

If I were to guess what Yuko's part will be about, I think she may meet Yuji again. It makes sense. However, Gege being unpredictable, I feel like he may not go about making it something "romantic".

If anything, I think he may go the route as to what happened with Hana and Megumi. It's not going anywhere.

A piece of me feels like with this epilogue Yuji and Yuko will have a heart to heart, but Yuko comes out having a new revelation about herself which is to love herself.

If there's one thing about some of the female cast of JJK is that they're unapologetic themselves.

Nobara and Maki are the biggest examples of this. Other examples are Yuki and Uro. Yorozu even is an example as she didn't care what people thought of her.

Miwa may have a little ship tease with Muta, but even that doesn't stop her of being herself. When we do get a bit of her "hiding" herself, it wasn't for a boy. It was because her mother told her to dye her hair black (as it is naturally blue).

Maybe Yuko could get that treatment here and that's why she was chosen. To give closure to her character that allows her to move on.

Again, Gege is unpredictable. I have a feeling that the reveals of the epilogue was to give fans a heads-up and... what is the word I want to use... I can't exactly explain it, but maybe make fans feel like they're getting this possible romance as a "red herring" as to hide that "Actually, no, none of that here".

Think about what happened to Hana (who is no different than Yuko) and Megumi. Most of the story, she was spent crushing on Megumi but that went nowhere.

Thinking about it, when it comes to F/M relationships here, it really doesn't go anywhere romantically.

Miwa and Muta? Muta is dead.

Got a bit of ship tease with Yuki and Choso and guess what? They're both dead.

Nobara deadass states she would never date Yuji (and I'm sure this extends to Megumi, too).

Shoko says Hell would freeze over before she fell in love with either Gojo or Geto. And those two are dead and happy together in the afterlife. 👀

As I mentioned Hana's crush on Megumi? Girl, might as well move on.

Utahime straight up doesn't like Gojo and he's dead now.

Yuta had that childhood romance with Rika and she died and whatever he has with Maki isn't really canon. They're just friends.

Yorozu had a thing for Sukuna, but he was not feeling her at all. And they're both dead now, so...??

See the pattern here? Wouldn't it be odd for Gege to give Yuko and Yuji something explicitly romantic when they haven't done much before?

Out of the four characters, Yuko is one of the most background of background characters (I say that will love before someone comes for me). Nobara, Uraume and Panda all have some involvement with the more active parts of the story. Much like Fumi and Saori was to Nobara and Tsumiki is to Megumi, she was a character part of Yuji's story.

However, what did those other characters have that she didn't?

A close relationship. You know who else was like this to Yuji?

Rin Amai. "But Kiya, he didn't--" Ah! Rin was also someone from Yuji's past that also was affected by Yuji's presence in some way. And he managed to get some bit of closure to his character. He gets this in 270. Rin apologizes to the kid he didn't stand up for and allowed bullies to harass. Despite not getting forgiveness, he still was able to apologize, accept what is done and move on.

Yuko may get this. Last time, she didn't tell Yuji her feelings because she didn't want him to like her for her looks. That's a regret and one time about JJK characters is they don't want to live with regrets. With Yuko, she may need to tell Yuji her feelings so that she can move on from that regret and focus on being her most unapologetic self.

I don't know Gege personally, but I do feel that this could be the case and honestly, I do hope that it is. It would be good for her and yeah, I don't really feel threatened by her presence. I'm going to still ship ItaFushi so...

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 111 (Making Progress on the Case?)

Conrad gave Malcolm's video to a tech at work the next day, and while they worked he updated the police chief. "I'm sure it's him. When the video comes back, we'll know."

"The precinct still won't send you to George Brindleton's villa in Sulani until the video can be analyzed, Gordon. I know how badly you want to get there, but you can't take any more of this investigation off grid. You've got a lot of nerve getting Judge Morrison to rush a warrant on a Landgraab. I don't care how well you think you know him."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I've been getting a little desperate to solve this one, and because he's a Landgraab, I knew you'd tell me to hold off if I asked for permission first."

The chief rolled her eyes. "One of these days your instincts might fail you, Lieutenant, and all that risk you take won't have reward."

Two officers entered the room after a knock at the door. "Lieutenant Gordon, we brought in someone you're going to want to talk to. She says she's an ex-girlfriend of Rafael Bonilla."

Immediately, Conrad knew who he meant. Melissa Ramsay. He'd found old social media posts from a deleted account with their photos. He found her in the police database, subject to an outstanding warrant after a bust Rafa had also been involved in when they were sixteen, and had put out an APB on her almost a year ago.

He entered the interrogation room, and she looked at him nervously in her orange jumpsuit. "I wasn't trying to avoid arrest. I thought it was all over, I swear. I was only there that night because I loved him. I didn't do anything."

Conrad could relate to her predicament. "I'm not trying to reopen an old case against you, Miss Ramsay. Your record after the bust is clean. But it's rare for someone who becomes their high school valedictorian not to continue to university. You've been harder to track down than most who have nothing to hide."

"I don't know what you want from me. I work in a flower shop. I can give you the name and number for my boss."

Conrad nodded, letting her write down the information. "When's the last time you spoke to Rafa Bonilla?"

"I don't remember."

"A few months ago. That's the last time I spoke with his sister, Ximena. And you might not know this about me, but over a decade ago, I loved her like you say you loved Rafa. So you don't forget."

"Maybe I didn't love him enough."

"You loved him enough to be there that night."

Melissa frowned. "We finally broke up three years ago and I haven't seen him since."

"Do you have any idea where he might be, or who he might be with?"

"I don't know. After the bust we didn't talk about his work, but it was always the problem between us until I finally left."

Again, Melissa's story rang true to Conrad's experience. "Did you know he's wanted by San Myshuno PD?"

She nodded. "I had nothing to do with those busts, either."

"I know that, Miss Ramsay. Do you think Rafa's on the run?"

"Maybe he finally got away from his sister. He knew she was dragging him down, but he didn't know what else to do with his life so he did whatever she asked. They had this loyalty that he couldn't shake. I begged him and I tried to deal with it for years, but finally I had to accept that she won and I walked away from him."

"If he ran, where would he go?"

"I really don't know, Lieutenant. He didn't talk about what he wanted to do because he thought the cartel was his only viable option."

"Has Ximena tried to find you since Rafa went missing?"

She shook her head. "She hated me so much, I don't think she's spared a single thought for me since Rafa and I broke up. She never wanted me around to begin with."

Conrad gave her his card and let her go, asking her to call if either Bonilla happened to reach out after so long. He hadn't learned enough from Melissa to justify a work trip to Sulani to find Rafa, but if Melissa was telling the truth, he'd been given valuable insight into Rafa's mind.

Ximena thought Rafa was happy to work at her side, running drugs and weapons for the cartel. But maybe the reason Ximena had been no real help in the search for Rafa was that she truly had no idea where he was. Maybe he'd been in hiding for years - from his warrants as well as his vicious sister.

He was beginning to get excited - the end of this very long tunnel might finally be in sight, but his run of luck couldn't last forever.

Frowning, the young officer who worked on his video approached him toward the end of the day. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Gordon, but the facial recognition software couldn't pick up enough of the man's face in the video recording to confirm a match with Rafael Bonilla."

Conrad sighed. Though it felt he'd taken two steps forward and two steps back, forced to keep looking for evidence connecting Rafa to Sulani and the Brindletons, he still felt as though he was on the right track.

He returned home to his family that night, finding Ash and Lavender in the kitchen with a book.

"Give Twee, Dada! Pease?"

Lavender crossed her hands on her lap and smiled, melting any possible opposition. Not that he ever turned down a chance to read the kids a good story.

Heather gave Gord a bath while Conrad read, getting the kids ready for bed before a freshly-shampooed Gord bounded up the stairs to say good night.

"Nigh-nigh Go-dee," she said, patting his head gently as he leaned in for a nuzzle. "Go-dee wet!" She laughed wildly and wrapped her arms around him. "Lovey!"

Conrad's gorgeous family was a constant reminder why it was so important he find the Bonillas and move forward with his picture-perfect life. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[henke-penke]

gonna add to this

Walk Like An Egyptian

Eva goes under the pyramid and joins the Owen-Noah-Izzy group, as to be expected. When faced with the "real" mummy she'd naturally want to fight it ("What did you do to Izzy" type beat) to which Owen declares something like "I don't want you to die" and drags both her and Noah out of the pyramid.

(Cut to an Eva confessional where she specifies the only one who would've died in there would've been the mummy.)

Without Duncan, Courtney can't do her belay and has to climb freestyle. Gwen will make a comment on this, maybe intending for it to be a light and harmless jab, but Courtney won't take it that way which leads to them arguing.

Teams stay the same, only difference being the addition of Eva. Courtney and Gwen also cross the finish line arguing, and are beyond pissed to learn they're on the same team.

(Though, not really. It's more them already knowing it's going to be a disaster, especially given the rest of their teammates)

Rest of the episode plays out roughly the same. Izzy and Sierra swap teams, Team Victory loses and Ezekiel is eliminated. However, because they have Eva who is a powerhouse, I'm going to say Team Chris wins the first challenge.

Super Happy Crazy Fun Time Japan

Since Team Chris and Amazon have swapped traveling class, Heather takes a moment to talk one-on-one with Leshawna, likely out in the common area for some privacy, where she'll voice her suspicions of Alejandro ("I don't trust anyone here but I know your smart"). Leshawna might agree that Alejandro is a bit too friendly, but at the same time will make note that, in the game, she can't outright trust Heather.

It's like, I see what you're talking about, but I'm not gonna jump on anything just yet because your track record is kinda whack.

Heather will pretend not to care (she does, she's a lil hurt but I think deep down she understands) but say something like "but you'll keep an eye out, right?" to which Leshawna says she will. They go back to economy class, but the camera lingers to reveal a certain somebody who's been eavesdropping; Alejandro.

Rest of the episode plays out the same, and the win goes to Team Amazon.

Now, here's the thing, Team Chris and Victory being in economy together was important because it laid the foundation for Alejandro's manipulation of Harold, showing us the audience the information he gathered based on observation. Here it has to be different, so I'm leaving those moments sprinkled into the first part of the challenge.

Eva will go in the pinball so that Alejandro can do his spying, which he'll explain in a confessional. Because Eva won't have the same dynamic with the panda, Team Victory will win the first part of the challenge. Alejandro will congratulate them, focusing primarily on Harold to build-up his ego.

(This is what first puts him on Eva and Noah's radar.)

Anything Yukon Do, I Can Do Better

Effectively the same.

Team Amazon arguing in first class with Heather and Courtney butting heads on who should be team leader, Gwen insisting they don't need one. And then Sierra gets involved, pointing out how it was Cody who won them the previous challenge. Heather, in need of votes in her favor, will agree and suggest Sierra as team leader instead.

(Sierra confessional where she clarifies she knows Heather is using her, but that's something Heather doesn't need to know.)

In economy we get perspectives from both Eva and Leshawna. The latter is considering what Heather told her, while the latter is fixating on Alejandro's talk with Harold. (This is where we get Eva being all "but I can't go around making enemies left and right, that didn't do me any good last time. Maybe I should, I don't know, talk with Owen? He knows people better than I do.")

Eva-Owen friendship moment where he'll unknowingly vouch for Alejandro's "facade", specifically calling him a good leader which will resonate with Eva, as that is what she wishes to be.

Broadway, Baby!

Eva doing her best to be friendlier to varying levels of success. At some point, most likely at the turtle pond, Noah will pull her to the side and ask her about it. The explanation is that she's trying to be less threatening and more of a team-player, perhaps referencing her talk with Owen.

(Not entirely sure what Noah's response to this would be, so I might just have the conversation be cut-off by the carriage sabotage, however that will happen in this universe.)

Alejandro will still figure out Heather has Sierra on her side and will still get her to fangirl over Chris. BUT, this time we're given a confessional. ("Problem, Heather thinks she can use me to get to Chris. Solution? Pretend to have been manipulated by the new guy. I get a strong player off my back without gaining a target. Win-win!")

This is not the only thing Alejandro will do, however. Because of Heather and Leshawna's talk, he'll be working on improving his self-image and subtly antagonizing Heather. Most likely dropping a line in the style of "This may be a competition for a million dollars, but that is no reason for us to behave uncivilized. Besides, it'd do me no good if I won the money through cheap tricks and mockery."

Same winning order as in canon.

Fuck it,

World Tour but with Eva instead of Duncan !!!

Some plot points I conjured up while procrastinating my illustration

Eva ends up on Team Chris Is Really Really Really Really Hot.

She's almost immediately wary of Alejandro, but will write it off since she's not good with people, so it's likely just her reading into things wrong.

However, this changes in Germany, when Noah makes note of his own suspicions.

Owen is the one medically evacuated in Jamaica.

Team E-scope wins the challenge in London, and because there is no Duncan to capture, Team Amazon loses. And realistically, Heather would be voted out, sad but true

This means that Alejandro is in a bit of a situation, because Noah and Eva are both onto him and they along with Izzy have the majority vote on their team. (Which, they've technically had since day one, but Alejandro wasn't aware of their suspicions of him prior, he didn't see it as a threat)

His best strategy is then to take away that advantage. Because of his interaction with Izzy in the Paris episode, I'm going to say that Alejandro manages to convince her to vote herself, and Izzy leaves in Area 51.

Because of this Team Chris now has to stay on a winning streak where Eva and Noah will try their damn hardest to get Tyler to vote with them. Which will be a fucking task because he and Alejandro are friends.

And quickly for the Amazons. Because there's no Duncan, Courtney and Gwen can properly establish a friendship. Absolutely not without a handful of hiccups along the ride, but it'll be much more stable without him being there and they can actually talk out any issues they may have.

If we're rolling with the canon of Team Victory being eliminated in the first half of the season, then the players making the merge will be; Alejandro, Eva, Noah, Tyler, Courtney, Gwen, and Sierra (Cody is eliminated in Australia I have my reasons trust). Which means that with the addition of Blaineley, we get an f/f couple in the wedding challenge hell yeah !!

Oh and Eva makes final four because she's awesome like that

[trevisos]

got sick and had to play this scene again

[lieutenantselnia]

Yesterday I've been doing some proper physical exercise for the first time since last year and I'm just imagining how proud my f/os would be of me🥹