#maybe it’s not just escapism if it’s actually a way out

[pucksandpower]

A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?

[silentstaresfanficandfanart]

*raises hand* if you want that you should check out anime it's specifically doing this! this is exactly why anime is so popular! if you *want* adult cartoons that are about meaningful stories, check out anime! It's not that no one makes cartoons that are actually meaningful and aimed at adults, you just have to look outside of america. hopefully with time we see more things like this crop up but until it does, it cant hurt to explore outside of western media if you want to escape it's normal trappings! Check out the classics of anime, check out new popular things, if you want an anime that will completely reshape how you view food? dungeon meshi, if you want to see a story about superheroes who are girls and don't have to be masculine to be impressive and important, Sailor moon! (plus its funny and cute too but also does get quite dark despite what you'd expect!) If you want to see a masterpiece, Watch spirited away or another studio Ghibli movie, if you want something artistic and fascinating and dark thats going to break your heart, MADOKA MAGICA! If you want slice of life comfort that still focuses on adult experiences, you might want to try the iyasheki genre, and specifically i'd suggest "my new boss is goofy" which is a deeply touching little anime about a man who just left from a deeply abusive job and his experiences healing thanks to having a very kind and sweet silly boss who actually cares about him and his interesting coworkers and yes its serious at times, yes its silly at times, but at its core it has a lovely heart that's very touching.

If you want romance? they've got it, fantasy, comedy, and even genres like iyasheki that don't exactly exist much in western media, cartoons CAN be fun and not childish! and childish isint wrong either, you can enjoy a lot of shows aimed at kids that are actually still really solid when you're an adult like my little pony, or bluey! They really are meaningful shows that can still connect with an adult in a way that's amazing. :) I really hope you'll give it a chance! (and if you still dont like that, you can also check out korean and chinese animation though i dont recall what those are called and i dont know as much about them, but they have a LOT of amazing shows too :) ) I hope maybe this helps some to anyone who's looking for cartoons for adults to enjoy! (also reminder: Anime and manga actually have specific genres aimed at adults as well as younger people, and you can look into those if you want something better aimed at those, also horror IS a thing in anime too, you can find some amazing horror anime! So, give it a try! theres no telling what cool stuff you'll find!)

hey quick question why are all adult cartoons like that 

[reidrum]

bright lights

note: day 2 of reidrumas! this is so sickeningly cheesy pls enjoy <3

summary: in which spencer has to remind you of fire safety, or the time you hang too many lights on the christmas tree

cw: tooth rotting fluff i only warn you to pop some lactaids if you're lactose intolerant

wc: a cozy 1k

12 days of reidrumas

“I can’t believe we’re going to die before Christmas.”

You roll your eyes, “Aren’t you from Vegas? This amount of lights should not phase you.”

“I am, and you know those lights typically aren’t hung on flammable surfaces.” Spencer harps, “Please don’t put that—Oh my god, Where the hell did you get another strand of lights.”

You love Christmas. Spencer loves you. It was a no brainer for him to let you take over all of the holiday decorating festivities. He knew that Christmas was always special to a littler version of you, the joy and love that surrounded the holiday always warming your little heart. But as the years went on you would find yourself associating the crueler parts of your life with the holiday, and it would end with you looking back on the time and finding its memories to be not as magical as you would like to remember. Spencer was determined to restore that sentiment for you.

He’s just not sure if he’d risk death by string lights to get there.

“It’s not bright enough,” you pout, “maybe it needs more tinsel.”

The tree was already donned in all its opaque and crystalline ornaments, beaded and foiled tinsel draped around its branches. The tree already came with flashing lights, white and multicolored, but they weren’t nearly enough for the brightness you required. So of course it needed more lights.

“It definitely does not need more tinsel. Come on, put the lights down.”

You retract the lights in your hands to your chest defensively, “Don’t! You’ll have to pry them from my cold, dead hands.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows at your theatrics, “Oh, really?”

You nod, “The Christmas spirit is only as strong as the lights hung in its name.”

“Who said that?”

“Someone really wise.”

“Surely can’t be you,” he chuckles, “We can put them somewhere else just not on the tree, it already has enough.”

You shake your head no and clutch the lights closer to your chest, “Never!”

“There’s so much space on the fireplace or the dining table!” he gestures, “even the front door!”

“I have separate lights for those, duh.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Oh my god, we’re actually gonna die.”

“Dying of the Christmas spirit is actually a great way to go.” you joke, “Prophetic, even.”

He stalks towards you slowly, “My love, please. Can we negotiate?”

“Spencer, I have to use all of the lights or they’re gonna feel left out.”

There’s a brief moment of silence between you both, staring at each other from opposite sides of the couch. You study the look in his eyes, unable to decipher what he’s thinking. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, and to anyone else they wouldn’t have caught it but he is Your Spencer after all and so it really should not have caught you off guard when he makes a break to catch you.

You squeal as you take off running into the kitchen, Spencer trailing not so far behind you. He’s cornered you on the far side of the middle kitchen counter, prepared for any direction you decide to make your exit from. You try to fake him out by pretending to go one way and then making a quick escape the other way, just barely making it past him as you book it down the hallway.

You slow down at the end of the hallway, thinking you’ve finally made it to safety. You bend over slightly to catch your breath when it’s suddenly whisked away again as strong hands catch you off guard, gripping your waist and picking you up from the floor.

“Hey!” you giggle, feigning struggle in his arms.

He whispers in your ear, “Gotcha.”

The flutter in your stomach betrays your tone, “I think you hate Christmas.”

His hands tighten around you as he sets you down, not letting go, “I don’t hate Christmas, I actually love it very much. I love you much more, and I would like to spend as many Christmases as I can with you. I can’t do that if the lights burn us down, sweet girl.”

You huff in fake annoyance, you know he’s right but he doesn’t need to know that. Begrudgingly, you can admit to yourself that the tree may have enough lights. You’re honestly surprised how he didn’t make a joke about how the International Space Station could see your tree from all the way up there. Your eyes flit around the room looking for a good place to hang the string lights in your hands.

Your face lights up with an idea, “You know what I think really needs a touch of the holiday spirit?” you carefully drape the lights around his whole body and plug it into a nearby outlet and smile, “Ah, perfect.”

The lights illuminate the shape of his body from head to toe, casting a soft glow that only seems to glow brighter as Spencer tries to hide a smile and fails miserably, resulting in the most adorable and dorky face you’ve ever seen.

He glances down at the outlet, “Am I not allowed to move?”

You put your finger on your chin, “Hmm…”

“What if I make us hot chocolate?”

You walk towards him gently draping your arms around his neck, “I don’t know…”

“With peppermint?”

Intrigued, the ghost of a smile teases your face, “I’m listening…”

He sighs and rests his hands on your hips, “We can put on matching pajamas?”

You beam widely, “Okay, I’m sold. Just wanted to see how far you’d go.” You detach from him giddily, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and running off to the kitchen to get the mugs ready.

Spencer unplugs himself and walks into the bedroom,  rummaging through the dresser drawers to get the pajamas for you both. He chuckles to himself thinking how you were testing him to see how far he’d go, and you didn’t even know the full extent of exactly how far that is. His hand brushes over the velvet box buried beneath his mismatched socks and hopes that you’ll test the full extent soon.

Until then, he’ll make sure to keep you safe from festive fire hazards and satiated with peppermint hot cocoa.

[yandere-daydreams]

I have a Yandere idea for you, if you want of course!❤️ How about a yandere who is rejecting his love for the reader or in denial, and as a form of escapism creates a doll identical to the reader, maybe it started small, like him creating beautiful dresses to the reader doll, or sleeping together, eating together, maybe even giving the reader doll a kiss while his shadow critically analyzes the situation... Meanwhile he keeps bothering the reader, or teasing or trying to do all sorts of things, like flirtations that he may have practiced with his doll with the reader, giving sweets that he prepared..

tw - stalking, obsession, and disturbing themes.

wait that's so scaramouche coded actually,,, nonetheless we persist.

it's just such a show of pure, uncensored, incurable desperation. they want you, but they can't have you, so they have to settle for an imitation - cold and lifeless, sure, but as close to the real thing as they can get (well, before they're finished renovating your future bedroom/holding cell, at least). they took good care of little you, too - changing your clothes twice a day, cuddling you at night, kissing your forehead when the real you's done something that makes them want to throw doll you across the room. it's funny, how similar the list of things that can break porcelain is to the list of things that can break bone. it's good practice. they lasting they'd ever want to do is hurt their darling love, no matter which form you might come in.

the doll's good for practicing other things, too. they'd never know how to talk to someone like you in-person, so they practice on the doll, doing their best to stringing along a conversation and trying not to care that the only response they get is a glassy-eyed stare. they'd like to have a little experience under their belt by the time they actually bring you home, so they practice going over the list of rules they've drawn up with little you, walking through your daily schedule, trying miniature versions of the, uh, ""accessories""" they've bought ahead of your arrival to make sure they're all as cute as they imagined. admittedly, sometimes their activities veer into less-than-wholesome territory, but they try to catch themself before they can fall into the subsequent shame-spiral, to remind themself that this is a form of practice, too. they want to be able to take care of you - in every way you might need to be taken care of.

it is really so bad to vent a little frustration out on your temporary replacement, in the meantime?

[thef1diary]

Oh my goood Di!! You killed it with my last request and I need more. Reader starts missing hearing ghost!Max’s voice after a while following the investigation, even if he’s still there and she goes to buy a spirit box or different device that would allow her to speak with (or hear) her beloved ghost, maybe set up some motion cameras to see where he is around the house?👀 way too many thoughts about this!!

~🫠

— hm motion detection cameras you say? it is a very good way to know where he is and what he’s doing at all times, even when you’re at work. 18+ content below

Your excitement buzzed through you as you finished downloading the app on your phone. The paranormal motion camera was your latest attempt to keep track of Max since you couldn’t see him. Now that communication devices had proven to be a frustrating failure—a temporary setback, this seemed like the perfect alternative. Sleek little cameras were now perched throughout your house, angled perfectly to cover the entire space.

Of course, you hadn’t actually set it up. After some coaxing—and a fair amount of teasing—you’d gotten Max to maneuver the cameras for you, his invisible hands carefully securing it in place. You couldn’t help but laugh as the device wobbled midair while he adjusted it, his impatience apparent even without words.

“Perfect,” you murmured as the live feed popped up on your phone. The motion camera worked seamlessly, showing a faint, glowing outline of his form whenever he moved. You tested it out for a few minutes before leaving for work, grinning as you caught the faint figure of Max lounging lazily on your bed.

By lunch, your curiosity had gotten the better of you. Sitting alone in the breakroom, you opened the app, eager to check in on him.

The image on your screen made your breath hitch. The faint outline of Max was visible, but he wasn’t just lounging anymore. He was in your bedroom, standing at the foot of your bed. And in his hand, unmistakably, was a pair of your panties—the new lacy ones you’d bought after you told him about needing to wear them in public.

You watched, utterly transfixed, as his hand moved. The camera couldn’t capture all the details, but the glowing outline of his figure made it clear what he was doing. He rubbed the delicate fabric against his cock, the motion slow and deliberate, his hips rocking ever so slightly. The idea of him using your panties like that made your head spin, heat blooming low in your belly.

Your phone nearly slipped from your trembling hands as you stood up and bolted to the office bathroom. Locking yourself in the farthest stall, you leaned against the door, chest heaving. Your hands shook as you brought the screen back to life, the feed reconnecting.

There he was—still in your bedroom, still working himself over with your panties. His outline was sharper now, more defined as he moved faster, his ghostly form shuddering with each stroke.

Your free hand slid under your skirt, trembling fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. You were already wet, the arousal pooling between your thighs too intense to ignore. Biting your lip, you dipped your fingers into the slick heat, fingering yourself in time with Max’s movements on the screen.

The thought of him, alone in your room, desperate and needy, using something so intimate of yours to get off—it was intoxicating. Your breath hitched, soft whimpers escaping as you circled your clit, matching his rhythm.

On the screen, his movements grew more frantic, his body tensing. You could almost feel the energy, the raw heat of his arousal spilling through the feed. It quickly sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you as you bit down on your lip to muffle the cry that threatened to spill out.

Slumped against the stall door, you stared at the screen, chest heaving, body still trembling. Max had stilled now, his outline faint but he was clearly satisfied.

As you cleaned yourself up, one thought burned in your mind: you’d never look at that camera—or those panties—the same way again.

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[bookwyrm314]

That was a bogus study (they stopped measuring when people turned 25, so we don't know how long the brain keeps changing--though we might guess it just does that as long as it's still kicking)

That being said, there's nothing wrong with checking in on a friend who started dating somebody older than them. How much older are we talking? Well, there isn't an age number rule because these things are along gradients and require context and critical thinking skills.

The older that both parties are, the less worried you generally have to be. Ages 40 and 60 are far apart, but both parties have a LOT of life experience, so the age gap probably isn't going to matter much, if at all, frankly.

But 15 and 20? Nah, that's creepy. It's only a five year difference, but the 20 year old is clearly grooming the 15 year old. No college student should be interested in a middle school child.

So, yea, age gaps can be a problem. But you have to actually talk to the people in the relationship and get context to figure out where on the spectrum of "that's a pedophile" to "this literally doesn't matter at all to their relationship" the specific real life situation falls on.

None of this seems super complicated to me, so I don't understand why people are still being weird about it. It would be sorta understandable if the context here was discussing the legislative difficulty of trying to handle this problem, but the text reblog chain above doesn't seem to be tackling that at all.

So, defending age gaps outside of a particular context comes off as kind of skeezy to me. "It's not always problematic!" Of course not. But you're not going to know until you start asking questions, so "this might be ok, actually" is a weird starting point to put out there on the internet, without any other context to make it make sense.

Like I dunno your little bubble of the internet, but normal people with half a brain aren't saying that ALL age gaps are ALWAYS a problem no matter what. Maybe somehow you found some dumbasses who genuinely believe that? They can continue to loudly show off their red flag of not using critical thinking skills and we can all avoid them in our lives.

But I gotta believe the majority of people aren't that stupid. People KNOW power imbalances exist in a bunch of different ways, because they recognize them in their day to day lives. And the way we fight back against those things is by naming them and talking about them freely.

So yea, maybe that 21 yo went straight into the trades and is done with being an apprentice and has a decent union career they're starting and the 30 yo is the one in college. Maybe it isn't the particular demographic of older male preys on younger female. Maybe the money situation is equitable.

But if you're friends with either of those people, what kind of friend are you if you're not asking questions about their new partner? What quality of friendship do you have if you can't talk to each other about power imbalances in relationships?

Sure, it might be fine. But if you don't get the context to determine that, you have no idea what's going on. And having been on the victim end of one of these kinds of things? It's really shitty and traumatizing. And everyone who normalized it was not exactly helping me see things for what they were and escape.

So, again, weird take. Age gaps themselves are not inherently problematic, but since abuse DOES happen along power imbalances, it's-best case-really fucking weird to start writing with "ok they aren't all evil though" nobody is saying that?? Who are you defending here? The adults in risk aware consenting relationships gotta get grilled for their friends to find out things are above board.

Finding out a specific case isn't a case of abuse is not a reason to stop checking for abuse where it occurs more frequently.

can I be so honest. can I be so real. is this a safe space.

I don't actually think that a 21 year old hooking up with a 30 year old is that bad. I don't think it's a problem the way people make it out to be. that's two legal adults having sex, chief.

[xo-adeline]

"Inked forever..."

⋆°• ☁︎ - Tattoo artist!Kaiser Feat. Michael Kaiser AN: I just love the idea of Tattoo artist Kaiser... so accept this as my brain rot (Also very heavily basing this off when I got my tattoo, and my tattoo, I'm sorry!!!) (Why did I actually kinda cook with this...)

The sound of machines whirring and the constant looking into the other area of the people getting tattooed made you question so much. Would it hurt? Well duh. Should you really be doing this? What would people think of you if you did? The thoughts started vanishing when you were finally called up to the front desk as they showed you the paper with the design on it. Normally the artist would do it, but since he was busy preparing and finishing up something else he wasn’t able to. But when you finally saw it, the drawing was stunning. It had taken inspiration from the piece of art you had found when scrolling the internet and made it that much better. The way the vines wrapped around, and the way the roses were a little bigger but still had an elegant look to them. It was even better than the picture. It was perfect. With a happy nod they took the paper back to the artist and told you he’d be done soon.

It was about 10 more minutes when the person he was just working on had paid and left, and all there was left was a few more minutes until you had actually seen the artist and he was able to permanently draw on you. Now that you were thinking about it, it kinda sounded weird. Letting a total stranger draw on you, and you have to keep that drawing forever? I mean you didn’t even know him, how was that supposed to work? Which brought you back to thinking about how you had even stumbled upon him.

The many pictures of tattoos had faded into your feeds, weather it was adds, or just scrolling on pintrest, instagram, and hell even tiktok! There was no escaping tattoo ideas. Well that was until you found this one page on instagram. Countless pictures had flooded your view all of them even more impressive then the last, weather it was flowers, humans, characters, even just little designs, they were flawless. Maybe it was just feeding into the idea more and more when you kept seeing more of his work pop up day after day. After the 2nd week of the art popping up you decided that maybe this was the universe telling you it was a good idea and you should just suck it up, and get that tattoo you’ve always been wanting. So you reached out to the artist via the email in the instagram bio, and within a few weeks there you were sitting in the tattoo parlor waiting for this man to call you back.

That was one of the only things however you didn’t see. Sitting in the waiting area of the tattoo place made you think about a lot of strange things. Maybe it was the nerve, maybe it was just because you were waiting for the pain to hit. But one thing you did know for sure, was you had never actually seen him before. All his posts online were about his tattoo works, weather it was on people, a screen, or on paper. He had never once actually posted what he looked like. You could only assume it was a guy due to his name, or at least the name on the email. Michael Kaiser. Pretty cool name if you did say so. But still, you were walking into this blind with a random dude you had never seen before. Luckily if you needed to run, there were other employee’s around…

After you had worried yourself down a rabbit hole a voice called out to you.

“(Name). Right? Kaiser.”

When you turned over your shoulder, being snapped out of your spiral there he was. The Michael Kaiser, that you now knew was a guy, standing there, holding the tattoo stencil in his hand.

“Oh uh yeah! Sorry.”

“No worries. Nervous?”

He started walking back and gave a little nod of his head signaling you to follow

“A little..”

The guy brought you back to one of the chairs, setting down the stencil on the desk next to him, a small grey table with a tattoo gun with grey wrapping around it, ink colors in little containers, and two cups, one with water and rubbing alcohol. Now that you were back there, everybody else getting something done seemed pretty chill, even if there was only 2 other people besides the artists. Nobody screaming, crying, or freaking out. I mean if nobody else was, why would you?

You got up in the chair as he sat down on the stool, looking down at the stencil, before giving a little smile. He turned around and placed it down on your ankle.

“That look good in terms of placement?”

He pointed back at a mirror and you went to check it out, seeing it was it a perfect spot you nodded on the way back, sitting back up in the chair as he started getting everything else ready. You looked away for a few minutes, seeing whatever was on the TV’s that you could perhaps look at when he was doing it so you wouldn’t feel weird staring directly at him as he worked.

“If you need a break, lemme know”

He gave a slight smirk when you turned back towards him

“Rough place for your first one.”

And then he started. At first it wasn’t to bad, a pinch here and there, but nothing you couldn’t handle, well that was until about an hour later he got to the back part of your ankle. You were grateful that you could burry you’re face into the chair at this point, because lord have mercy, did it hurt. He wasn’t kidding when he said it was a rough spot. Luckily during that you did get to have a break, heading over to pay before he finished it back up. Which was when you learned an interesting story. Apparently, due to the behind the counter people, he was actually supposed to take leave that day, and he had moved all his other appointments until you had emailed him asking about the blue rose tattoo, and that was when he had called back in saying he wasn’t actually taking leave anymore, and that they could move back appointments besides the one from when you were coming in. That’s when you remembered, on his neck, he also had a blue rose tattoo, and you finally thought about how it was weird that he had made a story post a little bit after you emailed him saying that he was gonna be out, and then suddenly he was totally open for that same day.

When you finally got back mostly everybody else had clearned out and it was just you and him, plus the people still at the front. Even if the pain was almost unbearable at this point you tried your best to keep it together and not cry, or let out any sort of noise. You knew that he was probably gonna be done soon and you just had to hold on until then, easy, right? You’ve been doing it this long.

And right you were. It was only about 20 more minutes until he finished, wiping down the rest of the color that was smeared across your ankle, before wrapping it up in a sheet of cling-wrap and some tape.

“Take it off in the morning, wash it off, and you should be good to go. Make sure to moisturize it for a few weeks until the peeling goes away and that’s it.”

He handed you a piece of paper with the same instructions, and just as you were about to leave you spoke back up.

“Hey um.. I saw on your instagram you were supposed to be off today…”

He looked back over from his station where he was cleaning up and wiping stuff down.

“Yeah. Was supposed to get out of town for a trip with some of my friends, no big deal.”

“Then why didn’t you..?”

“Because I wanted to do that tattoo of yours. Didn’t wanna let somebody else have it. Not often you see people coming in here asking for a blue rose tattoo.”

He shrugged, throwing some of papers away, before sitting back down on the stool.

“Plus, not every day a pretty girl slips into your email asking for a tattoo, and who am I to stay no?”

He gave a small laugh and a smirk took over his face.

“Hey, how about instead of your email I get your number, and maybe next time we talk it will be scheduling a time for a date and not a tattoo. I mean I’m pretty sure it’s fate we met, we already have matching tattoos~.”

A smile over took your face as you exchanged numbers with him, and in turn he walked you out. Right as you were about to get back in your car and head home, he walked over and kissed your cheek.

“You did well for your first tattoo, maybe you’re next one you’ll have my initials~”

[tbyfandoms]

I Smell Snow | Joe Burrow x Reader

Pairing: joe burrow x f!reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: the first cincinnati snowfall of the season leads to a night full of magic and love

Warnings: literally a single swear word if you can even call it that

Masterlist/Request Form | Ask/Tell/Request

A/N: my first ever published joe fic! this is literally such a self indulgent fic, I won’t lie. it spawned after I was standing outside and it started snowing and then the next day I watched ‘love actually’. plus couple that with my love for ‘gilmore girls’ quotes and needless to say, this is a big ball of fluff. even if it’s not the best fic, I love it, and I hope you all do as well :) <3

When you step outside into the crisp air, a smile breaks out across your face. The sky is a soft grey, a color you'd otherwise dread if not for the time of year, and the sight alone causes excitement to stir within you.

You've been waiting for this since the moment the temperatures started dropping. The weather is of course unpredictable and you can never truly trust what the weatherman says on the news, but you're sure of it this time. You'd swear up and down you could feel it coming.

It's going to snow.

The click of the handle turning on the patio door tears your eyes away from the sky, and instead of soft grey, your eyes are now met with a soft blue color. The color of your boyfriend's eyes. A color you could get lost in if given the opportunity.

"Hey," you say softly as Joe steps outside and tries to piece together in his head what it is that has your undivided attention out here. He got the pool covered months ago and all the furniture is tucked away into different corners of the patio. He doesn't see any deer or other animals out in the yard either. There's nothing of interest and yet Joe understands that knowing you, it's gotta be something, and the thought alone has him amused.

"Hey, baby. Whatcha doin' out here?" You shrug your shoulders a bit, a tinge of pink coating your cheeks due to something else entirely than the cold.

"I smell snow," you whisper. A phrase you've come to love and use religiously when it is that time of year. You know it might seem stupid to some people, but you genuinely feel like you can always tell when it's going to snow. Weather reporting it or not. It's s silly thing between you and your friends, but somehow you're never wrong.

When you first started dating Joe it was during the spring. The snow had long since melted and the chill in the air was long gone. You've mentioned in passing before your little inside joke, but never once have you said it to him before. Saying it out loud to him has you feeling a little silly, but the look on his face quickly extinguishes it.

Joe's eyes are crinkled at the corners, his smile taking up half his face, and his perfect white teeth are on full display as a deep chuckle escapes him.

"Do you now?" The Bengals quarterback teases as he takes a few more steps towards you. As he does so, you bask in the sight of him. Your boyfriend looks so cute and cosy in his hoodie, sweatpants, and beanie. All Bengals branded, of course. Joe Burrow is nothing if not proud of his city and his team. You feel the same about him and all he's accomplished.

"I do, Burrow. And the minute that first snowflake hits the ground, I'll be telling you I told you so." You nod your head in finality before lightly giggling and turning your head back up to the sky.

Joe gazes fondly at you as he takes in every inch of your body. There you are, this beautiful girl standing before him, not having a care in the world besides knowing whether or not it's going to snow. He thinks you're ridiculous in the most loving way possible, and that's when it hits him. That's what this is; love.

The two of you have only been dating for just under a year, but the Cincinnati resident has never been more sure about anything else in his life (besides maybe football) than he is about how he feels for you. About how seriously he cares for you and wants you in his life for years to come.

Joe Burrow is completely and utterly in love with you.

A sharp intake of breath leaves the man's lips, but it's mixed in with yours as you gasp up at the sky and watch as a single snowflake drifts slowly towards your face. At first it's just one and then suddenly it's dozens of little flakes flurrying around you.

A bemused laugh shakes your body and you nearly squeal at the sight. There's always been something so magical about snow to you. You don't know whether it's the nostalgic child-like wonder and excitement of it all or if it's something else entirely, but you've never quite been able to shake it. You're not sure you'd ever want to, really.

"Joe," you start, awe completely evident in your tone as you lightly flit your eyes to your boyfriend and then back to the sky. "Look at this! It's so pretty, I can't believe I was—"

"I love you." The blonde's confession slices through the air and suddenly it feels like nothing else matters in this moment, not even the snow you were so desperate to see because—

"What?" You question, wondering if you just imagined what Joe had said. Surely you misheard him, but part of you hopes to God you didn't.

"I love the way you care so deeply for everyone. I love the way you support me and my career completely and yet still keep that fierce independence and confidence in yourself and your own career. I love that you don't let anyone or anything get in the way of your dreams, but yet you still stay kind through it all. I love the way you've accepted me and all my stubbornness no matter how irritating it may be at times. I love how smart, funny, beautiful, and a million other adjectives I could continue to list, you are." A laugh slips past your lips and it's in this moment you realize tears have begun to trickle down your cheeks, mingling with the soft snowflakes that have landed there. "But most importantly, I love you, Y/N. Completely and unconditionally, I am in love with you. And I know we haven't been together for that long, but I'm hoping that just maybe you feel the same."

Wasting no time, you practically jump the few feet it takes you to reach your boyfriend and immediately wrap your arms around his neck, his warmth engulfing you instantly as he holds onto you.

"I love you too, Joey," you smile as you pull back and lock eyes with those pale blues from earlier. As the sky begins to darken, you revel in the way his eyes shine as they reflect the patio lights. You'd debate with anyone that Joe's eyes rival the stars themselves. He'd definitely say the same about yours.

A beat passes, the two of you so wrapped in each other's presence and revelations that most definitely have now altered the courses of your lives. The thought of falling so deeply in love with someone the way you have with Joe both terrifies and excites you, and all you know for sure is that you're in this for as long as he'll have you. Something tells you though that that's going to be a very long time, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

Joe reaches up and cups your cheek in his palm, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone and brushing away a few snowflakes that have settled there. It doesn't take long for him to lean in. Dying to connect his lips with yours and craving the way you taste.

His lips mold perfectly with yours, the way they have for all these months and the way you're sure they will for months to come. As the first Cincinnati snow of the season continues to fall, you smile into Joe's mouth as you feel the flakes begin to melt between you. The warmth of your lips fighting off any of the cold trying to reach you.

You're sure you'll feel the effects of ice cold water seeping into your skin later, but right now all you can focus on is the man before you and how happy you are to have found him.

Joe pulls back and you nearly giggle at the sight of him. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are a bright pink, and you're sure if he wasn't wearing his hat that his ears would appear the same. Even though he looks like the happiest man alive right now, you can tell he's cold. Although you can admire the snow for how it looks and how it makes you feel inside, it doesn't always make you feel the greatest on the outside, especially after a long period of time.

You decide now is a good a time as any to head back inside. You're confident the first fall of snow lived up to all the hype and then some.

"C'mon, let's go inside and warm up. I think I've had enough of the snow...for now," you chuckle.

"Thank God," Joe breathes out before bringing his hands up and rubbing them together, trying to create some warmth between them. "I know you love this stuff, but I won't lie, I'm freezing my ass off."

The two of you laugh as Joe leads you back inside through the patio door. The familiar click of the door handle echoes behind you and you hum in satisfaction as the cold gets shut out and the warmth of Joe's house welcomes you with open arms.

"Hey, freezing or not, you have to admit the snow is pretty magical." Joe watches as you begin to take off your jacket, a bit of snow that clung to you falling to the ground. Some of it is still in your hair, slowly melting away, but the sight of it makes his heart swell. The snow glistens, almost sparkles, and all it does is add to your beauty in his eyes. You're so blissfully unaware of it all too, and it only makes Joe fall for you that much more.

"I think I'm gonna have to agree with you on that one, sweetheart," he replies, genuinely believing it.

Magic snow powers or not, Joe adored seeing you in awe like that tonight. He can't wait for many more instances like it, and who knows? Maybe during next year's first snowfall, he might be on one knee, confessing his love for you in a different way.

[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. 

[antianakin]

I mean. I don't think there IS a "Watsonian" reason that works. I just don't. If I did, this wouldn't bother me as much as it does. If there was one that I thought actually worked, the writing would probably have simply been better. Sometimes, a Watsonian explanation simply DOESN'T WORK and you just need to settle for the explanation that the writers probably entirely forgot about how important it is that the chip DOES NOT CARE about the technicality of a former Jedi because Palpatine wants them all dead without exceptions, especially within that first night. The ones who end up getting captured later to become Inquisitors should theoretically be spared specifically because they AREN'T captured by clones or something (maybe it's stormtroopers, or the Grand Inquisitor himself, who initially brings them in).

This is also just such a small line in the episode that I doubt anybody really thought about it as much as I did. It's a throwaway line, more intended to foreshadow that she's going to be a Jedi again by the next episode than anything else. If they'd just left the line out and we never saw a clone speak to her at all, that would've been one thing, we could've just all come up with our random headcanons as to why Barriss was spared. But they GAVE us a reason and the reason is exceptionally stupid and contradicts information we've been given previously. So now there's no way to headcanon around it, you cannot make a Watsonian explanation that works because it just... doesn't. It doesn't work.

But sure. Let's look at this new headcanon and talk about why it doesn't work, either. Obviously if you like it enough to keep it and it's important to you to have it because you loved TOTE and what it did with Barriss, more power to you, but I hope you don't mind that I'm going to analyze it and break down why it doesn't work on this post about why this line is exceptionally stupid anyway.

Ahsoka ISN'T actually made a general, she's officially a civilian consultant during the Mandalore mission. The only reason she's able to act like a general/commander is because Rex and the 332nd know her and choose to give her that kind of authority over them, but technically, REX is in charge and Ahsoka's only real contribution is that she understands more about the mission at hand. The clones really aren't all that confused about what Ahsoka's actual status is here, they know she's not officially a Jedi, and their loyalty to her presumably does not come from whether she's a Jedi or not.

It also just doesn't work for me that the chip allows for the clones to MAKE their own exceptions like that. If it gives that much leeway, this could be a massive problem for Palpatine. Like if the clones COULD just logic their way out of killing one of them somehow, it opens the door for some of them to survive and escape. And also, the whole point of the TCW scene is to show us that the chip CAN'T be worked around through logic. It should not allow for the clones to be able to even CONSIDER what Barriss did or didn't do and whether this does or does not make her a Jedi anymore. TBB chooses to give the clones a little bit more ability to consider their actions later on, once the chip has begun to wear off more, but in the immediate moment of Order 66 and probably the first few days or weeks afterward, the clones should have next to no autonomy over the choice of whether to kill someone that the chip/Order considers a Jedi or not.

It also seems like that would be a really complicated bit of code to try to make it so that the clones only kill people who a) are officially part of the Jedi Order and b) aren't part of the Jedi Order but ARE Force sensitive and act like Jedi sometimes, but NOT c) aren't part of the Jedi Order and ARE Force sensitive but don't always act like Jedi anymore. It's a lot simpler to just say "all Jedi, past and present."

Personally, I feel like the chip should OVERRIDE whatever the clones would've felt about the Jedi in question, not be BASED on what the clones felt about the Jedi in question. That just leaves way too much to chance and I don't see Palpatine being willing to allow that.

So, you know, have your Watsonian explanation if you want it. I'll just still be over here in my corner talking about why TOTE is badly written and makes no sense. I'm not LOOKING for a good explanation, it's not like I WANT to like this show and it's just this one weird line keeping me from enjoying it (honestly if I liked the rest of it and this was the one line I thought was bad, I'd just ignore it or find it amusing probably). I think the show is bad overall and in general anyway, this just happens to be one moment that I thought was particularly stupid. So even if you DID manage to come up with a good enough headcanon to explain it on a Watsonian level, the rest of the show would still be frustrating and upsetting and bad. The stupidity of the line is just an example of the stupidity of the rest of the writing in the show, it's an example of the greater issue with the writing on the show which is that nobody on the writing staff of this show gave a flying shit about writing something that made any sense or was good and meaningful, to the point that they couldn't even do enough homework to know that this kind of exception for Barriss SHOULD NOT HAVE WORKED.

There was an entire major plot element in the Order 66 arc of TCW season 7 about how the chip didn't care that Ahsoka wasn't technically a Jedi anymore and was forcing the clones to want to kill her anyway.

Like.

It's a pretty important part of that whole story that Ahsoka not being in the Jedi Order anymore DOESN'T exempt her from Order 66. It would've been a pretty boring story if that technicality had WORKED.

But somehow the clones guarding Barriss at the prison are totally fine applying that technicality to her.

I guess they just like her better than Rex and the 332nd liked Ahsoka in the end or something. Ironic.

[massy2ly]

Style and Fadel: These two are playing a weird and dangerous game

Kant and Bison do everything they can to maintain their act and appear sweet, loving, harmless and truthful. Kant as way to dodge danger and Bison as a means to escape his reality. Their relationship is riddled with lies and pretence as both try to drift away from the truth at all cost.

Style and Fadel on the other hand? I’m very very confused because they way they interact in ep 5 is so telling, so honest that you get the impression they’re sending a clear message to each other: « I know what you suspect that i know about you and what you know. And here’s what I want you to know about where I stand on the matter. »

I saw a comment on TikTok that said « Style was one Fadel’s smile away from revealing Kant’s plan ». Very accurate and it applies to Fadel as well. All the warnings he gave Style in ep 5 were CRAZYYYY for someone who fought so hard to conceal his identity. This man is not trying anymore and is even preparing Style for the truth. I believe he’s been testing him throughout ep 5. However, since Style continued not being thrown off by Fadel’s ominous words and rough, reserved attitude, going as far as showing support and giving advice, he’s like… maybe this guy can actually handle me.

It helps that Style acts like he knows something. Despite knowing the risks, he can’t help expose himself (just a littleeeee) and back Fadel into the corner with probing questions. As I said in my previous post, his feelings for Fadel are overrunning his fear. Style, curious as he is, would definitely try to unravel this man in order to make up his own mind, regardless of Kant’s opinion. Is this guy a monster or is he stuck in this wrong path? Is he at peace with what he does or does he dream of a way out?

He was basically saying: « I know that you’re not who you’re pretending to be, I know that you’re dangerous and difficult. I want you to let me in so that I can be sure that my love for you is real, that I’m not leading myself on by settling for the pieces of you that you’re allowing me to see. »

Remember that with Style, what you see is what you get. He’s an all or nothing type of guy which explains why he needs to be the 💯. This is not about the car anymore so that goofy act he pulled to get Fadel is gone. Now you see an easy-going man who, by nature, hates confusing situations and being in the dark. Not to forget that he’s probably new to the whole LOVE thing, which makes him restless and conflicted. He’s already struggling sm with keeping that secret and is risking his life by throwing hints, just to crack through Fadel’s walls. He needs to see the whole picture, he needs to figure out his feelings and to know where he stands with the secretive man he caught feelings for.

Anyway, these two were soooo sus and obvious in ep 5 that they left me gasping every time they talked. That last scene ??? Hello ?? Just lay everything into the open at this point. It felt like a game of who’s going to let their secret slip first.

They’re both itching to let loose, so desperate to trust again and to love freely. The combination of a repressed guy who longs for connection, vulnerability and a safe space / a blunt, uncomplicated and transparent man who’s learning to care for someone other than himself.

[lara4eclipze]

» love loop

sypnosis -» love is like a cycle no one can escape , you love you get love then that very love is broken , what if you just can't take it anymore

warnings-» angst, suicide, swearing, depression, both reader and lara die in here, established relationship (bestfriends) , lara had feelings for reader

talks -» im trying to experiment with my writing soo idrk how well this will do, also i know this is a very dark thing so please do scroll away if your very uhm sensitive to this topic

taglist: @ohmyhaely @nyssalvr @vrtualstar @c-yerim @jellaaa @nakylvr @chuugetmesohigh

you didnt know where you went so wrong-were you unlovable? nothing ever lasted nothing ever will, here you were again sobbing to your pillow

tears blur your eyes as you try to think clearly but you couldn't - your girlfriend has just broken up with you due to reasons you thought was so stupid

good things don't last they say yet cant you just have one thing to yourself for once? - its always you giving out love and never receiving any back

every moment felt like you were burning alive - knowing you will never find anyone that can actually love you till end of time

your phone rings with notifications every few seconds - from friends and family alike , they asked if you were alright

you couldn't respond cause you knew that you'd just end up lying - telling them yet again that you were alright and that you were just not feeling well

lara, your best friend has been calling you for the past 30 minutes - yet your hands seemed to fail every time you tried to reach for your phone and answer it

she didn't deserve to hear you sob for the maybe hundredth time this year about how you were unlovable and how you felt like you'll never meet the right person

lara felt like breaking down every time she saw you cry , just hearing your broken sobs made her die , knowing how much she can treat you way better but she didn't want to admit to you how much she really loved you

your mind was fogged over with hatred and depression nothing was worth living anymore , you slowly stood up and made your way to your balcony

the city lights faded beautifully , some blurred by your unshed tears , your hands shakily held the railings

"I'm sorry" you whisper , what were you sorry for? lara you both made a truce to never give up and always have each others back

you close your eyes and let the memories flood in , yet all of the good ones were with her with lara , it broke your heart that you didnt even talk to her before getting to this specific point

yet as you open your eyes you lift yourself up and stood on the railing , you took a quick look below you seeing no one you did it

you jumped, closing your eyes as the world around you faded into an inaudible sound, then everything was black as tears finally fell out of your eyes

this was it right? this was the end

lara drives to your apartment alarmed that you haven't responded to her calls , that's until she sees you lifeless on the cold pavement your head bleeding from what she can guess is impact of your fall

she runs out of her car quickly huddling your body trying to shake you to wake up or even show any signs of living

"y/n wake up! , don't leave me! shit don't do this to me please" she screams , she slowly started seeing the life drain out of your body , your hands got colder as your skin turned pale

as paramedics and police got to the place lara couldn't bring her self to let go of your body , she hugged you tightly regretting how late she got to your place

she wished that she just went even 20 minutes earlier , maybe just maybe she could've saved you , she could have held you for just a moment longer , she could wipe your tears away and replace it with your sickening sweet smile

days passed and none of those days did lara not sob her self to sleep, anytime she closed her eyes all she can see was you crying and begging her to help you

it was like a nightmare haunting her every night , any moment by then lara would've crumbled , yet she just wanted to see you one last time and feel your arms wrap around her just one more time

lara stood before the very same balcony you have leaped from , its like a sick play just the way you were sobbing lara was too, she wore your clothes trying to smell the comfort you bring to her life

"i want us to be together y/n , wait for me" lara mutters as she places herself above the railings , she closes her eyes and hugs herself leaping

her worries were washed away , all lara could see was you smiling at her , and as her body hits the floor all she could do was smile , she was finally gonna be with you

all lara could think about was you , even in her final moment all she wanted was you

[mountaesan]

let's go see the stars ; k. woonhak

pairing. best friend!woonhak x reader genre. fluff , friends to lovers word count. 2k warnings. um illegal activity ? they set off a burglar alarm and flee the scene LMAO , reader's gender isn't specified but woonhak calls reader 'beautiful' playlist. so let's go see the stars by boynextdoor !!  notes. in love with this song and woonhak 

It could be anywhere between midnight and 4 am when your phone buzzes incessantly on your nightstand, your ringtone blaring throughout your bedroom. Silently cursing out whoever was disturbing you and your precious sleep, you rolled over on your bed and grappled for your phone. When it was finally in your grasp, you aggressively pressed it against your cheek and answered the call in an exasperated voice.

“What.” 

There was only one person who was daring enough to disturb you in the dead of night.

“I FINISHED! I FINISHED MY COLLEGE APPS, [NAME]!” Woonhak yelled ceremoniously over the line. Wincing from the sheer volume of your best friend’s voice, you pulled the phone away from your ear as he continued to yell about submitting his final college application.

“Couldn’t this wait until the morning?” You responded groggily, suppressing a yawn as you rubbed at your eyes. 

“No, no. We need to go out. Right now,” Woonhak’s voice sounded too bright, too excited for you to stay mad. “We need to celebrate!!”

“Maybe when it’s not ass o’clock? I’m tryna sleep, Woon.” 

“Nope, too late. Look outside.” As if on cue, you heard a quiet tap on your glass window. Clambering out of bed with your phone still pressed to the side of your face, you peeked outside to catch a glimpse of your best friend standing in your backyard, a wide grin playing on his lips.

“Are you insane? It’s–” You paused to pull the phone away from your face, checking the screen to read the time before pressing it back to your ear. “–it’s almost 4 am. What business do you have in my backyard at 4 in the morning?”

“Lot’s of business,” Woonhak flashed another bright smile and waved his hand aggressively at you through the window. “Come on, please?”

You leaned against the pane of your window with a huff, peering down at your best friend who offered his best pout. With your arms crossed over your chest, you finally gave in. “Fine. I’ll be out in ten.”

Woonhak pumped his fist in the air in excitement and you turned back to your dark room, scrambling to find some clothes.

Turns out, your local 24-hour diner wasn’t actually open 24 hours of the day and you had the luck of finding out the hard way.

“What the hell did you do?” You cried out as you sprinted back to the car with your best friend hot on your heels. The once dark diner was now lit up, lights brighter than the sky on the fourth of July as a loud burglar alarm wailed for the entire neighborhood to hear. “I told you to just check if it was open!”

“I don’t know, just run!” Woonhak grabbed your hand and tugged you along, pushing you into the passenger seat of the car before getting in and starting the engine. He began backing up at an alarming speed and you clutched the grab handle, adrenaline rushing through you as Woonhak swerved dangerously through the dark, empty parking lot.

The car screeched as Woonhak made a sharp turn onto the main road, his grip on the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. You could barely catch your breath, your heart pounding so loudly it almost drowned out the fading wail of the diner’s alarm behind you. For a while, neither of you said anything, the silence filled only by the sound of the tires humming against the worn asphalt. 

Then, all at once, the sheer absurdity of what had just happened hit you. You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle a laugh, but it was useless. It escaped as a snort, and once it started, you couldn’t stop. 

Woonhak side-eyed you, his lips twitching. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you said, turning to look at him, unable to hold back your laughter. “You’re the only person I know who could turn ‘checking if it’s open’ into a full-blown felony.”

“Felony?! It wasn’t a felony!” Woonhak gasped, feigning offense, but his voice cracked, and suddenly, he was laughing too. The kind of laugh that made his shoulders shake and his hands leave the wheel momentarily to cover his face.

“Admit it,” you said, pointing an accusatory finger at his face. “You panicked the second you heard that alarm and bolted. Didn’t even think about turning it off, did you?”

“Like you were any better!” Woonhak shot back, still laughing. “You screamed so loud I thought the cops were already there!”

You doubled over in laughter as the two of you volleyed accusations, each one more absurd than the last. Woonhak slapped the steering wheel, laughing so hard he had to blink away tears, and you clutched your stomach from the ache of too much laughing. “Okay, okay, but seriously,” he said, catching his breath. “How did we even get here? It was supposed to be a simple snack run.”

“I blame you entirely,” you quipped.

Both of you dissolved into laughter again, the adrenaline ebbing away to leave behind a giddy sort of euphoria. It felt like the kind of ridiculous moment that would be retold a hundred times, exaggerated every time.

After a while, the quiet settled in again. Woonhak let out a long sigh, still grinning. “So, now what? It’s not like we can go back to the diner for my celebratory feast.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you said, wiping the tears of laughter from your eyes. “Let’s just go home before you do something to get us arrested.”

Woonhak glanced at you, then shook his head. “Nah, too boring. I’ve got a better idea.”

You raised a brow, suspicious. “What better idea?”

“Let’s go see the stars,” he said, his voice softening. The usual mischief in his tone was replaced with something calmer. “There’s this spot outside of town. You’ll love it.”

You stared at him for a moment, surprised by the sudden shift in mood. Then you leaned back in your seat, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Alright, lead the way. But if we get arrested for trespassing again, you’re the one who’s doing all the explaining to the cops.”

“Deal.” Woonhak said with a grin, and he turned the car toward an open road, your laughter fading but the warmth of it lingering as the night stretched out ahead of you. 

The road grew darker the farther you drove from town. Streetlights gave way to open fields, and the hum of the engine seemed louder against the stillness of the countryside. The stars above you became sharper, brother, dotting the night sky like scattered pinpricks of light.

“Almost there,” Woonhak said, his voice softer now.

You glanced at him, his expression relaxed, the earlier chaos replaced by an easy calm. “How’d you even find this place?” You asked.

He grinned, tapping his temple. “A guy’s gotta have his secret spots. You’ll see.”

The car eventually pulled onto a gravel pathway, the crunch of stones and pebbles under the tires the only sound as Woonhak eased the car to a slow stop. He killed the engine, and for a moment, the silence felt overwhelming.

“Come on,” he said. He hopped out and grabbed a blanket from the trunk before opening your door. 

You followed him, shivering slightly as the cool night air nipped at your skin. Woonhak spread the blanket on the ground in the middle of a field, far from any trees or light pollution. He flopped down and patted the empty space next to him.

“Not too shabby, right?” he said, tilting his head toward the sky.

You laid down next to him and froze when you saw the sight above you. “Woah.”

The stars stretched endlessly above, a glittering tapestry that seemed to go on forever. You could see the Milky Way faintly streaking across the darkness, its soft glow breathtaking. It was nothing like the view back in town, where the lights always dimmed the night sky.

“Told you,” Woonhak said, his voice smug but gentle. 

You glanced at him, his face illuminated by the glowing starlight. He looked peaceful, his usual energy tempered by the quiet of the moment. 

“See that?” Woonhak pointed upward. “That’s Orion’s Belt. And over there, that’s the Big Dipper. Do you know how to find the North Star?”

“Nope. Enlighten me, O wise one.”

He laughed, but he started pointing out constellations anyway, his voice a soothing backdrop to the stillness around you. At some point, you stopped focusing on his words and simply watched the stars, your mind becoming a blissfully blank slate.

“This is nice,” you said after a while, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah,” Woonhak agreed, leaning back on his elbows. “Way better than getting arrested for breaking and entering, huh?”

You chuckled. “So much better.”

You turned your attention back to the stars, your eyes tracing the patterns Woonhak had pointed out earlier. The Milky Way cut through the sky like a misty river, and you found yourself lost in the beauty of it all.

Woonhak, however, wasn’t looking at the stars anymore. His gaze had shifted towards you. The way your eyes lit up as you took it all in, the slight smile tugging at your lips, the way you seemed so at peace–it was mesmerizing. He tried to look away, but his eyes refused to obey. 

He didn’t mean to say it, didn’t even realize the words had formed in his mind until they slipped out. “You’re beautiful.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, soft but unmistakable. 

Your head whipped towards him, your brows shooting up as you did. “What?”

Woonhak blinked, his face going pale before heating up and flushing a deep shade of red. He sat up abruptly, as if realization had struck him like a bolt of lightning. “Oh shit, was that out loud?” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. “I–I didn’t mean–uh, I mean, I didn’t not mean it, but–oh god.”

You blinked, stunned at what just happened as Woonhak continued to stumble over his words. He looked like he wanted to dig a hole and disappear into it and his usual confident demeanor was unraveling at record speed.

“Woonhak,” you said, sitting up.

“I swear, it just slipped out!” he said, his voice a pitch higher than it usually was. “I wasn’t trying to ruin the vibe or anything, I just–”

“Woonhak,” you spoke again, cutting him off.

He froze, his eyes darting to yours nervously.

“You… you meant it?” you asked, voice soft.

Woonhak hesitated, his shoulders sagging as he sighed. “I–yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I meant it. I mean, how could I not? You’re–you’re so…” He trailed off as he gestured vaguely in your direction, his cheeks still bright red. 

For a moment, the only sound you could hear was the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then you smiled, and Woonhak swore the stars above grew a little brighter.

“I think you’re beautiful too,” you said quietly.

Woonhak blinked, his panic melting into something more soft, more vulnerable as he processed your words.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you said, chuckling at his dumbfounded expression. “But don’t let it get to your head, okay?”

A slow grin spread across Woonhak’s face, one that was bright and unrestrained. “No promises,” he paused for a moment before speaking up again. “But, uh, I guess that’s not the worst thing I’ve ever accidentally blurted out.”

You laughed as you shook your head. “Not even close.”

The two of you laid back down, your shoulders brushing as the silence returned, but it was far from awkward. It was electric, charged with unspoken emotions and the quiet hum of something new and exciting. The stars twinkled above, but it felt less like they were telling ancient stories of the universe, but rather they were writing a new one, just for the two of you. A story about a connection as vast and infinite as the night sky. 

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[cherryhazee]

The Art of Timing | Luke Hughes

wc: 2.3k

Part 1 of The Art of Loving series

Luke is sitting at a table by the window, the soft glow of the library lights giving a quiet warmth over the room. He’s so focused on his textbook that he barely notices the people around him.

Across the room, Avery spots the last open seat right across from him. She heads over, placing her thick textbook on the table with a soft thud, the sound making the curly-haired boy finally look up.

“Mind if I sit?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Um, no. Not at all,” he blurted out, his cheeks heating as he quickly scrambled to move his papers out of the way to make room. Smooth, real smooth, Hughes. He bit back a cringe, trying not to let his nerves show. His cheeks flushed slightly as he looked at the dark-haired stranger before him.

She smiled at him, just a little, but enough to make his stomach flip. “Thanks… uh…” She paused, glancing at him as if searching for something.

"Luke," he says quickly "I'm Luke Hughes."

"Nice to meet you, Luke Hughes. I'm Avery" she says, a small smile playing on her lips as she takes the chair out and sits.

They both fall into silence for a few minutes, the awkwardness seems to hang between them for a second, like they are both waiting for something to happen. Luke’s mind raced, his thoughts scattering like confetti. What do I say next? Should I try to be funny? Should I ask her about her major? He had so many things he wanted to say but none of them felt right in the moment. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, his gaze often flicking to his notes before darting back down.

Deciding to break the ice, she leans forward slightly, her lips curling into a smirk. “So, what are you studying for?” she asks while twirling her highlighter between her fingers, the neon pink gleaming under the lights.

He fumbles slightly, glancing down at his notes, a nervous laugh escaping him. “History of… something,” he says, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “At this point, it’s just dates and facts blending together.”

Avery laughed softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I feel that,” she said, the lightness in her voice putting him at ease. “I’m trying to memorize every technique for my art exam. I swear if I hear ‘surrealism’ one more time...” She rolled her eyes dramatically, and Luke found himself chuckling along with her.

His face lights up “I’m sure that’s a lot more interesting than dates and wars,” he says with a grin.

She shrugs playfully. “Maybe. But I think the only war I’m fighting right now is with this book.”

Luke’s smile grows as the tension between his shoulders starts to ease and his nerves begin to fade. This isn’t as bad as I thought. She’s easy to talk to. His thoughts drifted for a moment, just enough to realize that he was actually enjoying this conversation.

The air around them seems to shift from awkward to something more comfortable, a quiet connection forming.

Luke spots her again a few days later, this time in the bustling coffee shop near campus. She’s sitting at a table near the back, sketchbook in hand, fully absorbed in her drawing. Unsure whether he should interrupt he hesitates, his hand resting on the handle for a moment longer than necessary. But then he pushes the door open, the bell chiming above him.

Her head lifts at the sound, her face brightening with recognition.

“Hey. Fancy seeing you here,” he says as he takes a step closer, his voice slightly more confident than the last time they spoke. His eyes drift to the sketchbook in front of her. “What are you drawing?”

Avery glances down at her sketchbook, then back up at him. “Just a concept for one of my projects. I’m still working on a few details, but I think it’s getting there.” Her tone light and welcoming. She pats the empty chair beside her, inviting him to sit. “You wanna take a closer look?”

Caught by surprise, he nods, moving to sit. As he leans closer he’s hit with her sweet aroma, something between a mix of vanilla and caramel. "So...What do you think?" her voice snaps him back to reality. Too distracted to think clearly, he replies with the first thing that comes to his mind. “Wow, that’s... really good. Those are, uh, really nice traces.”

She chuckles, the sound light and easy. “Thanks. But it's just practice, honestly. You should see my sketches from last year, they were terrible." She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Luke notices the pride in her voice.

He goes to say something else but a notification pings on his phone stealing his attention. He glances at it, then realizes he's running late. “I should probably go... I’ve got a class in a few minutes,” he says while standing up reluctantly.

She nods, smiling. “Of course. We’ll catch up again soon?”

Luke gives her a shy smile, feeling a little guilty for having to leave so quickly. “Yeah, definitely. Take care, Avery.”

“You too, Luke,” she replies, her smile warm as she watches him head toward the door.

Later that day, Luke’s mind kept wandering back to his recent meeting with Avery. The way her face lit up when she recognized him back at the coffee shop, the easy confidence in her voice as she talked about her art, and the casual way she’d invited him to sit with her. The memory of her laughter, soft and genuine, echoed in his mind, pulling him back to those moments over and over.

“Hughesy! Look up!” a voice shouted, startling him from his previous thoughts. He barely managed to dodge the puck coming directly at him, his heart racing as he looked up.

“What’s on your mind these days? You seem distracted.” Ethan, his hockey teammate, asked him while skating closer with a curious look on his face.

Luke forced a casual shrug, gripping his stick a little tighter. “Nothing, man. Just… stuff.” He could feel his cheeks heat up, knowing exactly what or who was occupying his mind.

“Stuff, huh? Didn’t know ‘stuff’ could make a guy zone out mid-practice. Must be someone, sorry, something interesting." Ethan raised an eyebrow, smirking.

Luke rolled his eyes, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing serious, really. Just thinking a lot about New Jersey and... yeah.” He said lying a little, he had been thinking about his move to the league these past few days, but not necessarily right now.

Ethan snorted, giving him a knowing nudge. “Right. Well, whatever it is, I’m here if you wanna talk, alright?”

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. No need to worry," he shrugged it off trying to change the topic.

But as they lined up for another drill, he couldn’t help as his thoughts slipped back to Avery once again, hoping he would bump into her anytime soon.

And then, as if the universe had answered his thoughts, there she was. A week later, Luke found himself surrounded by the noise and energy of a house party celebrating their team making it to the Frozen Four. He scanned the room pretending to pay attention to Mark, who was reliving some dramatic highlight of the previous game. His eyes gliding over the crowd, some faces he recognized, others he didn’t. The house was packed, bodies moving in sync with the rhythm of the music.

Then, he saw her.

At first, it was just a fleeting glimpse. She was standing by the counter, a red solo cup in her hand, laughing with a small group of people. But it was the way she laughed that caught his attention. It was light and genuine, cutting through the background noise like a melody. Her head tipped back slightly as her eyes sparkled with amusement. In that moment, it wasn’t about her being the center of attention. It was how effortlessly she seemed to draw people in.

For a moment, he stayed rooted in place not knowing if he should come up to her, watching as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She looked effortlessly stunning, her dark chestnut hair falling loose over her shoulders and her outfit somehow casual yet put-together.

Mark, still mid-story, followed Luke's gaze and immediately caught on. He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I see how it is,” he said with a wink before giving Luke a playful nudge. “I’ll let you two talk.” Without missing a beat, Mark turned and melted into the crowd, leaving him standing there.

And then, as if sensing his gaze, she turned, her eyes landing on him.

A smile broke across her face, bright, warm, and entirely unguarded. “Luke!” she called out, lifting her cup in mock salute. “Look who decided to show up to his own party!”

Luke’s stomach did a flip while he grinned and watched as she took a few steps toward him. “Didn’t know this was your kind of scene,” he teased, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans to steady himself.

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” she replied, her tone light and playful.

The night stretched on, and though they mingled with others here and there, it was clear that Luke and Avery kept gravitating back to each other. At one point, they found themselves at the kitchen table, challenging each other to a few rounds of beer pong. Avery’s competitiveness came out in full force as she landed shot after shot, leaving Luke impressed and more than a little competitive himself.

“Okay, okay, you’re good,” he conceded after a particularly tight round. “But I’m still winning this.”

“Oh, you wish,” Avery shot back with a wink, tossing a ping-pong ball into the air for the last cup. It hit the rim and rolled off, missing it by barely a few inches. She let out a dramatic sigh, throwing her head back in mock defeat.

It was Luke's turn, he grabbed the ball and waited a few beats before finally taking his shot. The ball traced a perfect path in the air before dropping cleanly into the last cup, a triumphant little plop echoing off the table.

“Guess I’m not on my best game tonight,” she said, reaching for her cup and drinking its content. Her eyes flicked back to him, playful and daring. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise, I might’ve been unimpressed.”

Luke’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. He quickly masked it with a casual shrug, trying to match her easy confidence. “Guess I’m lucky then,” he said, his grin growing.

As the crowd began to thin, Luke noticed how much of the night had slipped away while they were together. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little softer than usual, “I really enjoyed tonight. We should do this again sometime.”

Avery smiled, a warmth in her eyes that matched his own. “Definitely,” she said. “It’s been fun. But I should probably head out, got an early class tomorrow.”

“Yeah, same with practice. Let me walk you out,” Luke offered, already moving to grab a jacket.

The cool night air greeted them as they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the heat and noise of the party. The sound of the music faded as the door swung shut behind them, leaving only the crunch of their steps on the gravel driveway and the distant hum of the night.

Avery let out a soft laugh. “It’s colder than I expected,” she said, her breath visible in the frosty air.

Luke noticed Avery shiver slightly, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Without a second thought, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her skin as he adjusted it.

“Here,” he said, offering it with a small smile. “Wouldn’t want you freezing.”

Avery chuckled softly as she slipped it on. “Thanks,” She tugged the zipper halfway up, her hands momentarily lingering in the pockets to chase warmth. “I always forget how cold these spring nights can get.”

Luke glanced at her, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. “You’d think we’d be used to this by now,” he said, smiling.

As they kept walking, Luke glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets to keep from fidgeting. The soft glow of the streetlamp caught in her dark hair, making it shimmer like strands of polished wood. For a moment, he thought about saying something—anything—but the easy silence between them felt too perfect to break.

As they reached her friend’s car, Avery stopped and turned toward him, “Thanks for walking me out,” she said, her voice softer now. “I know you didn’t have to, but... I appreciate it.”

Luke shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way her words made his chest tighten. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to make sure you got here okay.”

A slightly hesitant smile appeared on her face. “I’ll see you around, right?”

“Of course,” Luke replied, his smile genuine. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

She nodded, stepping back. “Take care, Luke.”

“You too, Avery,” he said softly.

As she climbed into the car, Luke stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets again. He stayed rooted in place until the taillights disappeared down the street, the faint hum of the engine lingering in the air.

Turning back, Luke found the walk home stretching longer than it should have. Even as the air grew colder, his mind kept returning to her—her laugh, the warmth she gave off, and the way she made everything feel easier. Something about her made the world feel a little less loud.

As he entered the living room, he was met with the expecting eyes of his friends. “So? Did you get her number? You two seemed close” Dylan said while smirking at him. Luke's smile faltered as he registered the words his best friend had just said.

“Shit, you didn’t. Didn’t you?” Ethan said as he took in Luke’s face.

“No...but! I’m sure I’ll see her around, I always do” he replied trying to not worry much about it.

But little did he know…

[666anxiety666]

if you could write anything with lee! curly that would be amazing!! maybe with Anya or Daisuke as a ler? no pressure of course

have a nice day!!

Why not both? 🤔 also thought I'd combine the other ask that's at the bottom 🙏

cheater!

Mouthwashing tickle fic

Lee: Curly Ler: Ayan and Daisuke

so tonight's board game night was going... just great, to say the least. Swansea and Jimmy had already gone to bed. not wanting to put with what they had seemingly predicted what would happen.

"i rolled a two so I moved two spots forward!" Daisuke exclaimed, his eyes locked on an annoyed looking Anya. "no! i saw you move three steps, you cheater!" Anya argued back. between the two was Curly, the poor man being stuck between the twos bickering. "guys, please..." Curly sighed. "Curly! you saw me move two spots, right?" "no! i saw you move three!" it was going to be a long night...

"guys, come on, i didn't see anyone doing anything. can't we just play... peacefully for once...?" curly asked with a nervous smile. he had been watching the two argue like this for the past half an hour since the game started. he knew it would've went like this when he agreed to play with the two...

Anya and Daisuke turned to look at Curly. "Captain! you're not even gonna defend me?" Daisuke exclaimed. "there's nothing to defend, you cheated!" Anya snapped back. Curly sighed. "anyway, its my turn..." Curly picked up the dice and rolled, he got a six, so he moved six spots forward. "oh, i won..." Curly released. a smile spreading onto his face.

"what?! that's not- how??" Daisuke sat up in disbelief. Anya also sat up in disbelief. Curly chuckled a little. "uh, i rolled a six...?" he explained. "you couldn't have! you were more that six stops away from the end!" "yeah! you couldn't have won!" the two younger crewmates argued. Curly chuckled again. "sorry Guys, maybe instead of arguing, maybe focus on getting better at the game." Curly shrugged with a little smugness in his tone.

Anya and Daisuke looked at each other, then back at the man between them. "really?" Curly blinked, thinking he had actually upset them. he opened his mouth to say something, but Anya cut him off. "you wanna know what i think?" Anya asked. "I think you cheated, don't you Daisuke?" "oh, definitely!" Curly could hear the almost playfulness in their tones.

"G-Guys, i didn't cheat!" Curly tried to explain. "you both know I-" Curly was cut off when he felt a poke on his side. the culprit? Daisuke. Curly jumped, turning to Daisuke, who ad the biggest shit eating grin on his face. "Daisuke, what-" but curly was cut off yet again when Anya pounced. instantly attacking his sides. Daisuke joining in almost instantly. Curly yelped. "G-Guhuhuys! wahahit!" Curly couldn't help but giggle.

"why? this is exactly what you deserve, you cheater!" Anya exclaimed, a smug grin on her face as her blunt nails raked up and down Curly's sides. Daisuke was no better, his fingers squeezing just before Curly's hips. "Yeah, sorry cap. but she's right!" Daisuke chuckled. Curly tried to curl up on himself. but with Anya attacking from the front and Daisuke from behind, he couldn't escape.

"hey, Anya! what about here?" Daisuke spoke up. his hands instantly attacking Curly's ribs, wiggling right between them and all. Curly let out a shriek, his body twisting this way and that way to escape Daisuke's tickling fingers. "Dahahahaisuke! plehehease! wahaHAHIT-!" Anya chuckled. "sensitive captain? or should i say... cheater?" she asked with a sub grin. her own fingers now digging in just right into his sides.

Curly had lost it now, a small flush growing on his face. "STOHOHP CALLING MEHEHEHE THAHAT!" "see? he's turning red because he knows he's guilty!" Daisuke exclaimed with a sharp squeeze to Curly's ribs, making curly let out an embarrassingly loud yelp. he slid down, now laying against Daisuke slightly, trapping him. "GUHUYS, COHOHOME OHON! IHIHI DIDN'T CHEHEHEHEAT!" Curly cackled "that's something a cheater would say..." Anya retorted back.

"come on, Captain. just admit it and we'll let you go! simple!" the two stopped, Anya raising an eyebrow. "well, captain? you going to admit defeat?" she teased. Curly panted, trying to regain his Barings even though the two were yet to let him go. "noho! it's not my fault you two are so terrible at the game..!"

Curly knew he was cooked the moment those words left his lips. he watched as Anya's expression darkened, even Daisuke grew nervous. it's a look he knew all too well. without a word, Anya dug right into Curly's tummy, scribbling all over it in a flash with those long nails of hers.

Curly practically screamed. "ANYA! AHAHAHANYA!" "yeah! get him Anya!" Daisuke cheered on from behind Curly. Curly didn't try to hold back his squirming anymore. Daisuke trying to hold him. "what was it you said?" Anya asked, despite the look on her face, there was a playful undertone to her words as she continued her attack.

Curly was rolling. Daisuke wanted in on the action too, adding his own touch of hip squeezes. Curly desperately tried to push the two off him, but in his weak state he couldn't. "GUHUHUYS, PLEHEHEHEASE! IHIHM SOHOHOHORRY!" "oh now you're sorry, huh?" Anya teased. both her and Daisuke wore shit eating grins.

"IHI AHAHAM! IHIHI AHAHAHAHAM!" Curly cackled. his face and ears had turned all red. even tears of laughter started to brim in his eyes. Anya saw this and finally decided to take pity on Curly, Daisuke following right after. "oh fine..." Curly panted heavily, trying to recover from that intense attack.

"you okay, Cap?" Daisuke tilted his head down at Curly. Curly sat up, running his fingers through his blonde locks. "heh... i think so, yeah... that was insane..." he panted. "and for the record, I didn't cheat..." "oh, we know." Anya piped up. Curly looked at her and blinked. "what?" "yeah, we were just messing with ya!" Daisuke chuckled.

Curly went quiet for a moment. Anya and Daisuke looked at each other. "uh, Captain?" "Curly?" Curly glared at the two, but you could see the playfulness behind his eyes. "i hope you two can run fast..." Anya and Daisuke looked at each other once more, their faces paled with realization.

Daisuke was the first to jump up and run. "Anya, run!" he squealed and ran off. Anya looked back at Curly, the blonde man smirked before pouncing. Anya squealed, just missing him. she ran off in the same direction Daisuke went. "Daisuke, wait!" "hey! get back here!" Curly ran after the two. determination in his gaze and a playful smirk on his face.

Yippee! loved writing this one too! Anya and Daisuke as a team are awesome! @estelle-skully

[enbyfvcker]

[Puppy porn star]

𝙒𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙇𝙤𝙜𝙖𝙣 (𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩!𝙬𝙤𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙚)

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,8k

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮/𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙩: Wade helps to distract his grumpy boyfriend from alcohol withdrawal by forcing orgasm after orgasm from him.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙨: Smut, rim, anal sex, handjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise kink, slight degradation kink, hair pulling, sex tape, sub/dom subtones, bottom!logan, top!wade, fourth wall break.

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It was a rough fucking day. When Logan normally tags along with Wade at his casual hit jobs, they don't usually stress him out so much. They just get the job done easy, peasy. Kill some bad guys, yada yada and all that. And it was nice to do something once in a while so that he wouldn't just rot in the apartment he now shared with his mouthy boyfriend and a blind old lady. (Logan was definitely not used to calling Wade that but it was a working progress. Besides, it has just been a few weeks since they put a name to what they have.)

But no, today drained him. He's been more testy lately if he actually thinks about it...

It was probably the fucking withdrawal. It was getting worse.

Turns out the cons of having a boyfriend now is that for once, when he acted like the self-destructive little shit that he is, he now felt like he was dragging Wade along. Fine, it wasn't really a con... It's just that Logan was used to being miserable, used to kicking himself down and drowning himself in bottles and bottles so he could escape from his own thoughts for a little while.

But Wade 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 cared. Wade cared, and Logan could see it whenever Wade took care of him when he'd come back to the apartment stumbling and barely able to hold himself up until he passed out on the couch after spending hours on a random bar. The seventh that he had been banned from in this universe already.

So maybe he hesitantly gave in and let the merc convince him to try and stay sober.

And fuck if it isn't hard as hell.

Logan was exhausted and pent up and grumpy and god he craved a drink more than anything. Several, actually.

But Wade... Well, he had his ways to distract and ease him. So it wasn't all bad.

Al was out for a date for plot convenience, and right now they were on the living room couch and Wade has his grumpy boyfriend with his back glued to his chest and grunting as Wade pumped his over-stimulated cock mercilessly. Logan's thighs were trembling, and he could barely form any coherent words, his eyes rolling back into his head as he rested it on Wade's shoulder and Wade was fucking mesmerized by the sight in front of him.

"You don't look so scary when you're all pliant and desperate in my arms, baby girl. You're just a little kitty cat, aren't you?" Wade coos in Logan's ear.

"Shut the f-fuck up-" Logan grunt in annoyance but Wade could feel his boyfriend's cock twitching in his fist and he couldn't help but smirk. Logan mind was dazed. He's lost count of how many orgasms Wade pulled out of him, his thighs and abs in a mess of his own cum. The pleasure was bordering on painful, and yet he couldn't get enough, his body overwhelmed and desperate for more. His healing factor aiding his torture, reliving his libido right after he thought he couldn't take anymore.

"Can't take you seriously when you look so sinful covered in your own juices, princess. God, you look pornographic. You think we should make amateur videos? I think they'd be a hit. The freaks reading this would surely eat it up."

"Wade-" Logan warns through gritted teeth. He lift his arm and his claws pricked out an inch and threatened to come out, but Logan's mind was too focused on the overwhelming stimulation to get them out properly.

"Ah, ah, ah. Down, boy." Wade scouts, tightening his fist on Logan's cock and using his other hand to rub the palm of it against the sensitive tip, earning a desperate whine from his lips, the claws coming back to his arms fully. "Behave."

Logan could hear the grin in Wade's voice and he wanted to fucking mutilate it out of his face, but he didn't had the energy to do much more than whimper like a bitch in heat.

"That's a good boy." Wade praises and Logan felt his cock throb at the words. "God, if you had a tail it'd be fucking wagging right now. That's it, peanut, take it like a good puppy."

"Fuck-" Logan growls, and his hips rut desperately into Wade's hand before he stills and shakes while another stream of thick ropes of cum paint his thighs. Wade 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 loved digging into Logan's praise kink.

Before he could even catch his breath he gasped out a strangled whine as Wade's hand returned to it's previous movements, unrelenting.

"W-Wade!" Logan cries out, his legs trembling.

"Tapping out already, baby girl? Come on, give me one more." The merc coos, licking and nipping at the back of his neck and suckling marks that desapeared in seconds. "Do you want me to stop?"

"N-No... Please," Logan whines and he hates how desperate he sounds, but he also don't fucking cares. Right now, his mind's all fuzzy and his inhibitions said goodbye long time ago. He felt safe with Wade, like he could just let go. "Don't."

Wade rewarded him by pumping faster, his free hand squeezing Logan's pec and pinching his nipple in a movement that made Logan arch his back and whimper, his ass rubbing against Wade's raging hard on. 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘺.

"W-Wade, I..." Logan pants, his cheeks warming as he tries to find words that wouldn't make him want to blow up in shame.

"Hm?" He feels his boyfriend tightening the grip in his cock. "Use your words, peanut, go on."

"Shit- Wade... Want your cock." He moans, his cheeks flushing as he clench his fists tight. He could just feel Wade grinning behind him.

"Yeah? How do you want it, baby cheeks?"

"You know how." Logan grunts in response, whining when Wade slows down his hand almost to a stop, pumping in a torturing slow pace.

"Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it, baby."

"Just fuckin- Fuck me already before I impale you in my claws, jerk." He growls.

"Good enough." Wade shrugs with a grin and switches their position in a quick movement, putting Logan on all fours on the couch, making him gasp. "So pretty for me." Wade praised, spreading Logan's cheeks. "You're dripping all over my couch, baby girl."

"Stop fucking calling me th-" He's interrupted by his own groan as Wade dives in and licks his rim, opening him up with his togue, reaching as deep as he could. Logan cries out, not sure if it was too much or not enough. "Wade... stop fucking teasing me, just do it already before I regret it and rail 𝘺𝘰𝘶 instead."

"You're extra bossy today, huh?" Wade chuckles, giving one last lick before moving to grab a bottle of lube in his pants pocket and desposing of them right after, spilling the liquid over his lenght. "Don't worry, I'll turn your brain mushy soon enough, cutie. Be patient for daddy."

"I swear to fucking g- oh 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬." He growls as Wade slides in roughly, his initial grumpiness replaced by a rush of pleasure. Wade takes a punishing pace, forcing desperate moans and whimpers out of him. Logan's arms were trembling, and he slacked his torso onto the couch, his back arching in a filthy angle that has Wade drooling.

"God, I wish you could see yourself right now..." Wade grunts behind him, a clear grin on his voice. "All strong and tough and fucking slutty just for me. Such eye candy."

Wade looks into an invisible audience and grins. "Yeah, I'm talking Hugh Fucking Jackman on all fours in the goddamn void level type shit, but like 10 times better."

Logan snarled but he could barely think of a retort to reprimand Wade, his mind buzzing in pleasure, lewd moans escaping from his lips that would have him blushing if he weren't completely cock drunk right now. He could feel himself leaking pre-cum at the merc's words and 𝘨𝘰𝘥 he feels pathetic, but he fucking likes it.

He shivered as he heard a goddam camera sound behind him and when he turned his head to the side he saw Wade grabbed his fucking phone and was taking pictures of him in this position, and it really shouldn't have sent all his blood straight to his cock the way it did.

"The fuck are you doing, bub?"

"Oh this one's definitely going to my wank material album." Wade just smirked in response.

"I'm gonna rip your fucking fingers out-" He moans loudly when Wade grabs his hair in his fist and tugs it back, arching Logan's back even more. Fireworks pop inside Logan's head as Wade's cock hit his prostate and brushes against it over and over in a quick pace.

"Shh, now kitty, just take it." Wade moans as he presses the record button. "My little porn star, so fucking hot."

"Shit- fuck, fuck, fuck," Logan whimpers, his cock twitching repeatedly, his balls growing tighter as his body prepares for yet another orgasm, probably the fifth of the night or something, he wasn't sure.

"Go on, Wolvie. Show me the good little cockwhore you are for me, kitten.

"Gonna cum, gonna-" A series of whines leaves his throat. His claws come out in a flash and dig into the cushions as he paints the couch with his seed, his eyes rolling back at the intense wave of pleasure hitting him like a train.

"God-" Wade wasn't far behind. He gaps and thrusts roughly a couple more times before spilling inside Logan with a desperate moan, as if he's been holding back just to bring his boyfriend to the edge first.

Logan was now boneless in the couch, his mind fully empty as he swims in the afterglow. He wasn't thinking or worrying or craving any drink, and it just felt like heaven. When his heartbeat comes back to normal he unsheathed his claws from the poor couch, sliding them back into his skin.

After a few seconds catching his breath, Wade pulls out with a grunt and records with a smirk as his cum leaks out of Logan's puffy hole before tossing his phone aside. He leans down and wrap his arms around Logan, settling them until they're spooning in the cum soaked couch, barely fitting them borh layed like this.

"We should get up and clean this mess before Althea gets home wonder why the house smells like bleach." Logan sighs gruffly, but he doesn't make any move to leave, his body too exhausted.

"Mhmm. Just five more minutes, mom."

Logan roll his eyes.

"God, you're insufferable."

"Yeah, well, you love me anyway, peanut."

And he doesn't reply anything, not a mean retort or an annoyed growl because it was true.

He does love this idiot.