#this is what always gets to me about the conversations around crediting artists

[spidergirl-fibula]

why did people celebrate mickey mouse entering the public domain and then turn around and act like using pokémon designs in some boring survival game is a crime against art

[sometimesanalice]

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes. 

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting. 

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode. 

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth. 

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his art.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you. 

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.  

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.”  He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the paint smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[naeverse]

The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

      ◽preview: 

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary: 

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw:  Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel,  Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤  Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

     ◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K 

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.' 

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it. 

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves. 

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you. 

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor. 

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin. 

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!” 

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor. 

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff. 

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.” 

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you. 

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors. 

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk. 

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag. 

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking. 

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?” 

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously. 

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo. 

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv. 

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. 

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more. 

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower. 

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

..

.

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes. 

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance. 

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter. 

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl. 

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look. 

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice. 

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words. 

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor. 

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before. 

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose. 

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”  

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again. 

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature. 

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’ 

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun. 

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed. 

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being. 

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless. 

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation. 

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous. 

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun. 

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more. 

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering. 

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table. 

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back. 

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about… 

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area. 

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant. 

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric. 

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes. 

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.” 

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding. 

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands. 

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you. 

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary. 

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words. 

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on. 

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him. 

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts. 

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position. 

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself. 

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so. 

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were. 

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo. 

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair. 

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you. 

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down? 

It felt utterly impossible… 

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell. 

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands. 

“Let me relax you.” 

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you. 

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. 

"I'm going to give you a massage." 

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair. 

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself. 

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass. 

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good. 

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot. 

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes. 

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body. 

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.” 

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things. 

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken. 

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

 “Here, it needs my attention.” 

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires. 

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin. 

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.” 

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate. 

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good. 

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything. 

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react. 

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger. 

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting. 

He chuckled. 

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you. 

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped. 

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything! 

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear. 

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.” 

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

 You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words. 

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core. 

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.” 

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

It felt surreal. 

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise. 

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you. 

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist. 

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter. 

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal. 

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition. 

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air. 

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed. 

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with. 

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair? 

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.” 

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot. 

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs. 

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver. 

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca 

Your desires.”  

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin. 

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time. 

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction. 

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more. 

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him. 

That you couldn't lie about... 

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.  

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding. 

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back. 

If you desire something, you go through with it...” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct. 

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise? 

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time. 

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter. 

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp, 

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…” 

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds. 

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you. 

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth. 

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue. 

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end. 

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter. 

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more. 

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy. 

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release. 

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold; 

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again. 

It was like music to your ears. 

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high. 

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more. 

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened. 

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more. 

Just one more taste” 

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next… 

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state. 

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried. 

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-” 

“Let me relax you, chica.” 

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever. 

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan. 

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle. 

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand. 

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed. 

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy. 

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself. 

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you. 

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time. 

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.  

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest. 

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.” 

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.” 

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.” 

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary. 

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone. 

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore. 

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek. 

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved. 

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding. 

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. 

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own. 

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it. 

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day. 

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right. 

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether. 

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist. 

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo. 

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind. 

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

[yandere-kokeshi]

What is a general hc for yandere Soap?

Warnings: Yandere behavior, military + talks about trauma and PTSD, kidnapping, and dubcon (not in detail)

A/N: Sure!! Sorry this took extremely long. I've been struggling with my health. Hope this was okay <3.

Gif and icons are NOT mine; the gif belongs to @/bunnygifs. As for the icons, I'm not sure. If you do find the artist/or are the artist, please contact me so I can credit you!

Soap is a very complicated person. Underneath his nice Jester Act, he’s an extremely manipulative, obsessive, and possessive man in every aspect possible. He owns you; you own him, vice versa.

He’s two faced with you, only if you’re capable of staying one way. Much like Jekyll and Hyde.

Johnny wasn’t sure what was so addicting about you, but he knew you were the one for him. The very first time he saw you, he was immediately smitten and approaching you with a wide smile. Flirting and wooing his ways with you as his cheeks flushed with pink, legs like jello and hands sweating as his mind was overloaded with question after question. While Soap’s not easy to fall for someone, he couldn’t help but see that you were incredibly attractive; as well as interesting and a genuine person.

It definitely makes more sense if you were on the team. Price bringing you in as a new recruit; a needed medic or another soldier that finds him just as perky, or annoying.

Or, in any other story, you could be a civilian who he had met while living next door. The apartment complex getting lonely, and somehow, the cheeky bastard showed up with a welcoming smile and a few of his buddies helping him move in. Wouldn’t it be nice to know him, no?

Despite these two — Soap would quickly realize he needed you. The calls weren’t enough. The hourly talks weren’t enough. Nothing was never enough because you weren’t his. And you certainly made him lose his mind.

Either way, you’ve caught the eye of a man who’s incredibly hard to get rid of. His name speaks loudly in certain situations when he’s with you.

That being said, Johnny is always around you — in and out of the battlefield. He’s always trying to engage with whatever you’re doing.

Gonna head out and get a drink from a bar a couple of minutes down the road? Why not let him come along? Catch up on some things, plus the two of you could play truth-to-drink.

Need to go grocery shopping? Let him drive with you! He would feel safer going with you, plus, he needs to restock his fridge. Wherever you are, he’s there; even with and without your knowledge.

Soap is a huge softie with you. Even Ghost and Price see it. It’s clear that he likes you, which leaves him doing it the ‘original’ way. He will go all out and woo your heart; going as far as to buy your favorite flowers or go get that movie you haven’t seen in ages. He pays attention closely to the conversations you two have, so expect gifts to come.

This also means that he dislikes people around you, his blue eyes turning into daggered icicles that talk to you. And those who don’t get his signals, he gets aggressive, which isn’t a pretty sight.

He makes it clear that you’re off limits and stares at anyone who looks at you too long or simply the wrong way. While he acts incredibly sweet and kind in front of you, the minute you turn around, his smile is gone and staring into the person’s poor soul until they run away with their tail between their legs.

Johnny is the type to overcompensate things, which can be annoying. He’s overbearing — almost suffocating to the point you may or may not snap at him to knock it off or leave you alone. He will act like an overprotective boyfriend, even if the two of you are not dating.

Because of this, you’ll likely lose a bunch, if mostly of your friends or close family members. At the end of the day, he’s sitting right beside you as he comforts you from the losses. I mean, he’s better than them, right?

Soap is more on the jealous side. While he knows he’s attractive and strong - likely your type - he just can’t help but pop his knuckles in pure annoyance whenever he sees you talking to someone he feels is a threat. Soap will try his best to be always around you, keeping an arm or hand on you at all times, showing people he has an interest in you or that you’re dating.

And because of his severe jealousy, he’s a master at manipulation. He’s very persuasive with his words, especially with his sweet and dirty talk.

He’s always guiding, keeping you away from people he deems bad, and whenever you question it, Johnny always smiles before telling you not to worry about it. By the end of the day, you’re in his house with him locking the door.

With how insane he is, and just how devoted he’s with you, you’re gonna be kidnapped. Even if you’re already in love, he can not stand people talking or keeping you away from him. He wants you by himself.

Your safety is his top priority. The minute it’s threatened, even by a friend invading your space or seeing you uncomfortable in public, all his nice and flirtatious mask is thrown out the window and goes berserk. He’s not afraid to swing, kick, or even draw high amounts of blood if it means that you’re safe.

Now, the minute he can call you "his" is the second he really shows his colors; being a cheeky bastard and a manipulative prick. Of course, he’s a natural flirt and will tease or woo you every damn chance he gets.

Soap is very open with affection. In all types of shapes, but he mainly shows it through gifts and physical affection. He’ll randomly give you rocks with specific names and expects you to remember.

Or cuddling you closer to his body, hand instinctively curling around your hips and lips sucking in deep bruises. His favorite part with you is rolling in bed with you, tracing your body marks as he rubs his face into your belly.

Soap is incredibly clingy. It gets worse when he gets home after being out for a long time of not seeing you.

Once he’s home, whether that’s from a mission or simply spending the day shopping for necessary items, he will not leave you alone. His arms are always on you, grasping and pulling you in for cuddles and his Scottish slangs whispering in your tinted ears for more attention.

Punishments come in waves– and if you’ve broken them, even ignoring his final warnings with tsks, it isn’t pretty.

Usually, he figures a good fuck with sorta ye out, no? With the amount of orgasms and pretty begs you let out, he’s certain you won’t break them again, correct?

But, if that doesn’t work, he’ll put a chain around your ankle, keeping you in bed and treating you the same as if you didn’t do anything. Slowly but surely, driving you insane until you say sorry.

Soap is excellent at spying and has no shame if he’s caught, even by you. You won’t be allowed to shut any doors, even if you are using the bathroom or showering. But, you wouldn’t mind him coming in, would you?

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

[wanderingsoul6261]

Credit for gif goes to esqueciment-o

Title: Heavenly Skies

James beaufort x Reader

Warning: hella sad. Mentions of death.

The entire school could name two people who haven't been there for an entire week.

James Beaufort and Y/N.

Lydia had also been gone for a few days, and she would be seen coming and going with a large workload. But the other two have not been seen.

The entire school as a whole about where the two could have gone. The entire scandal was that maybe they had decided to elope to get away from their families. That they had been stripped from their statuses within their families and were left on their own.

Little did they know, that that was far from the truth.

Reluctantly, James parents had allowed him to stay with Y/N's parents as plans were made. Their parents had allowed an arranged marriage between the two, helping strengthen the connections between the two families. In the meantime, James and Y/N had plenty of time to get to know each other, eventually falling in love.

It was rare amongst arranged marriages, in which both parties felt the same mutually about each other on the topic of love, but the two had made it work.

James was sitting in a study within the manor that belonged prominently to Y/N. Book shelves, filled mostly with classics, lined one of the walls. His head turned to the other wall, where canvases, filled, empty, and half filled, lined the wall and floor. His heart swelled as his eyes traveled over the paintings, taking in the sight of them. Most of them he had seen already, as the two of them had spent alot of time here. He would watch while she painted, often joining in and attempting his own paintings. James wasn't anywhere near as good as she was, but Y/N always told him that he did a fantastic job no matter what.

A smile came to his face as a tear rolled down his cheek, remembering the conversations.

"You did good, James! I swear on it!" Y/N had leaned into his side as they stared at his painting. It was a landscape painting, and for a person of no experience, he did well enough. She her arm around his, her other hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

James had looked down at her, a small smile on his smile.

"I don't know love. It doesn't compare anywhere close to yours." His eyes drifted from her to the paintings surrounding the room. "And yours are astonishing." He said, finally looking back at her. The corner of her mouth quirked up.

"Do you know how many artists out there in which people thought they weren't good enough? And look at where they are at now. Sure, most are dead now. But, I'm just trying to prove my point. It might not look the greatest to you in this moment, but I adore it."

James scoffed. How ironic it was in this moment. His eyes trailed from the floor to the two paintings centered on the wall. It was the two paintings they did that day. He took a few steps close to the wall, his eyes moving over the two paintings, his heart thumping against his ribcage. James lifted his hand, his fingers gingerly tracing over the details of her painting.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, knowing that it was likely either Lydia, telling him about what everyone is saying about him and Y/N at school. Or it was quite possibly Alistair or Cyril, checking in on him.

It didn't matter, because he was ignoring his phone. And he had been all week.

James moved from the wall, never taking his eyes off, as Y/N's mother walked into the room.

"Oh, James. I didn't think you were still here." She said. The exchanged soft smiles as they gazed around the room.

"You feel closest to her here, don't you?" She asked. James let out a heavy sigh, his eyes fluttering as he gazed at the floor.

"I do." He said quietly.

"There isn't anything wrong with it, James. Me and her father sit in her often." James looked up at her, tears swelling in his eyes and in this moment, he decided that he would allow himself the ability to be vulnerable.

"Why her." His voice sounded thick. "Of all the people in the world. Out of everyone on this entire planet. Why Y/N?" He croaked, the tears rolling down his cheeks. Her mother had her own tears rolling down her cheeks. She shrugged, shaking her head.

"We ask ourselves that every night." She said, a sad smile on her face. James took a few staggered steps towards her, before allowing himself to collapse against each other. They hugged each other tightly.

"She loved you James. Don't forget that. And tomorrow, you'll get your chance to tell her how much you love her back." She whispered.

------

James had arrived to the funeral home early with Y/N's parents. Lydia and their parents would be following behind them.

He made a b-line to the casket. There she lay, herself and everything she had been on full display. Tears already began to swell in his eyes as he neared it. He thought he was ready, but with each step he took closer to the casket, the more difficult it became.

Once beside it, he stared down at her. Just as beautiful as the last time he had seen her, which was only about a week and a half prior.

She had met him on the lacrosse field before he started practice. They had bid each other a Goodnight with a kiss to go.

It was only a few hours later that James heard about the accident.

Y/N and her chauffeur were killed in a drunk driving accident.

James put his hands on the edge of the casket, unsure if he would be able to stand on his own.

"Your mother told me you loved me. Always knew you could never resist my charms." He teased quietly. James drew in a shaky breath before swallowing thickly. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. He glanced down at his feet. James slipped his hand inside the casket, letting it rest on hers currently resting on her stomach.

"I know you know this already." He started, his thumb gently rubbing along the knuckles of one her hands. "But I love you, Y/N. And I always will." James smiled, gazing softly down at her face. Her expression was so peaceful, and it was almost as if nothing happened.

Oh how he hoped that she had only been asleep.

More tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the dress she wore.

"You'll paint some more heavenly scenery for me. Right?" His voice grew thicker, and he drew in a shaky breath. James blinked the tears out his eyes before closing them. He imagined her voice and laughter. It was followed by a gasp, as he started crying.

He leaned over the casket, his hand moving from hers to her face. James pressed his forehead to her own, his tears dripping his cheeks and onto her own.

He was suddenly aware of others in the room, and he had only expected her and his parents to have filed in. Were his parents really there for him. Or were they only there to save face? He rubbed his thumb gently on her cheek.

"Nothing at Maxton Hall could have prepared me for this." He said quietly. "Nothing could have prepared me for losing you. My heaven here on earth." James eyes drifted across her face, just hoping that it was a sick joke and she would open her eyes right then and there. That she would wrap her arms around him in that moment and console him, telling him that everything would be okay. He wanted everything to be okay. "Y/N. The one good thing I truly believed in." He brushed his lips against hers.

"You will continue to be that one good thing in my life. No matter where you are." He said softly, sniffling quietly. James stood upright, never taking his eyes off of her.

"I love you, Y/N. Paint the skies for me."

------

Taglist:

@honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @imasimptoowth @wheredidmyeyesgo

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-three

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: i hate how this took me all day to write. I just want to keep writing this story!

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98

I sat in the front lounge area of our bus on the couch with my legs crossed, laptop in my lap, as I scrolled through the Spotify playlist I finished creating. It was quiet up here, the rest of the guys of Hollow Souls were scattered throughout; Malcolm was out for a run around the block, Chase was hanging on Bad Omens bus, and Trey was still asleep in his bunk.

It was only 9:30 in the morning but I knew he would sleep most of the day away especially since it was our day off. We were already at the next city, parked in the venues lot, and since we didn't have to worry about sound check or setting up yet, we all did our own things.

Me? I had been debating all morning if I should create this playlist but in the end figured it was the best thing to do. I was touring with Bad Omens after all, shouldn't I be familiar with their songs?

For the next while I let Noah's voice blast through my headphones as I danced in my seat as Limits played, banged my head as Hedonist screamed in my ear, and felt my heart fall out of my ass when his soft voice of If I'm There buried deep in my soul. The lyric struck me right away and the pure raw emotion that oozed out of Noah made my heart skip a beat, almost as if I was about to pass out.

Fuck what Trey thinks, I need to watch these guys perform tomorrow night.

Malcolm came bounding up the steps, sweat dripping from his auburn hair that was falling around his bare shoulders in waves, and gave me a smile.

"Okay two things," I scrunched up my nose as he sat next to me. "How the fuck do you run so early in the morning, with your hair down no less? And you fucking stink."

"Oh, listening to our tour buddies I see," he ignored my observations by nodding to my laptop screen.

I shrugged. "I was the only one of us that wasn't familiar with them and now I'm pissed it took me so long to discover them. They're amazing."

Malcolm agreed with a nod. "Noah's voice has grown so much from their first album, it's actually impressive. It would be sick if we got him on a song for our next album."

"Trey would immediately shut that down. He hates collab's between artists," I closed my laptop and set it on the small kitchen table next to me.

Malcolm sighed while running a hand through his long locks. "We really should talk about-."

"No," I sliced my eyes into him. "I'm not having this conversation with you when he's a few feet away from us. We can talk about it later when he's not around."

"Alright," he nodded. "I'm going to hop in the shower. Chase still with the Bad Omens guys?"

"I think so," I answered, watching as he stood and made his way to the bathroom.

"Cool. You should get ready, we're going to hang with them for the day. Wear something cute!" Malcolm called over his shoulder before the bathroom door shut.

I blinked slowly at the space in front of me for a few moments before staring down at my outfit; black leggings and an oversized shirt. Which would have been fine for a day of lounging on the bus but going out in public called for an outfit change.

And that Noah will be there has nothing to do with it.

Ignoring the voices in my brain, I trekked over towards my bunk where I had a suitcase already open, clothes folded neatly into small piles and rummaged through before deciding on a pair of biker shorts and one of our merch shirts I rolled up the bottom of to show off part of my stomach. It was a warm day in Wisconsin so I wanted to be comfortable.

As I slipped on my docs and finished french braiding my hair, Malcolm emerged from the bathroom also dressed and ready to go.

He nodded in approval. "Much better."

I snorted and patted his chest while walking past him. "Glad you think so."

"I think you should change your shirt though."

"What's wrong with my shirt?" I asked suddenly self conscious about the way I looked. "If it's showing too much, I can change-."

"Fuck," Malcolm sighed. "Trey's warped your mind so bad. No, Y/N. You look great, I'm just saying it would be better if you wore this."

He tossed me a different shirt, one I caught with ease, and when I held it in front of me I gave him a raised brow.

"Really?"

"Meet you at the OMENS bus. I'll text Trey to let him know where we're at," Malcolm pounding his knuckles with mine before leaving the bus.

With my bottom lip caught between my teeth, I decided not to dwell too much on the decision of wearing the shirt. That's all it was, a shirt. If he got upset about it, he can fuck right off. Once changed in the new shirt, I realized it was a bit long since it clearly was Malcoms who was atleast a foot taller than me. The shirt rested about mid thigh and covered most of my biker shorts. I let out a few deep breaths to center and calm myself, because the idea of hanging out with the guys without Trey made me nervous.

Yes that was it, not because Noah was going to be there. Ever since we hung out the other day, all I could think about was his tattoos or the way he instilled so much confidence in me as he spoke deeply about my lyrics. No one has ever had an in-depth conversation about my lyrics before since they all thought Trey was the one that wrote our songs. The only thing Trey was good for was his screams, which I had to admit were faltering. Our energy and connection on stage wasn't the same anymore but thankfully, none of the fans cared to notice. As long as Trey dared them a glance, they were happy.

So with the confidence from my conversation with Noah the other day, I walked out into the warm morning sun, bare legs and arms on display for everyone to see. While my right leg had no tattoos, every inch of skin was covered in ink. The bright rays burned my eyes, so I slipped on my sunglasses while throwing my purse over my shoulder and made my way towards Bad Omen's bus, hearing a round of laughter emanating from the back of it.

As soon as I walked up, the conversations continued for all but one. Noah, who was talking to someone I hadn't recognised, turned his attention to me and even through his own sunglasses, I felt the burning gaze from him as he took in every inch of my body. I shrank into myself as others started staring at me but Noah's was the most intense, and I ran my sweaty palms along my thighs.

"What?" I asked.

"Nice shirt," Folio smirked. "We haven't seen that design in a while. Almost forgot it was a Bad Omens design."

I fiddled with the bottom of it and shrugged. "If we can move on from my outfit choice, that'd be great."

The voices in my mind were screaming at me to run back to my bus to change and my feet turned when Noah's voice stopped me.

"You look good."

Three words.

Those three words ignited the blaze across my skin and all I could do was nod because I was so nervous to say something, afraid I would make a fool of myself. Noah also looked good. No scratch that, he looked fucking beautiful with his hair flowing freely across his shoulders and the white shirt he wore hugged his chest and arms in all the right places. The bottom half of his tattoos were on display and I couldn't help myself as I stared at them, something I didn't realize Noah was doing the same to me.

"Hey, I'm Matt," the man who was talking with Noah smiled.

"Y/N," I gave him a small wave.

"So," Chase spoke. "There's this really awesome zoo just around the block. Figured it be cool to check out?"

We all nodded in agreement and began walking in our large group; three of Hollow Souls, four Bad Omens, and two of their crew members. Matt, their manager, and Bryan, their photographer who had a camera slung around his neck. I walked in steps with Chase on one side of me and Nick on the other. Once again, Nick was looking down at the tattoo on my leg.

"You love to analyze the designs, huh?" I joked.

He shrugged. "I can't help it. Does the design on your leg have a meaning?"

It was a large tattoo of several Greek Gods sitting on top of Mount Olympus; Athena, Artemis, Ares, and Posiedon. My favorites.

"Uh, I'm a huge Greek Mythology nerd and these are some of my favorite Gods," I gave a sheepish smile.

Malcolm turned to face us as he began walking backwards. "Don't get her started on Zeus."

I pointed a finger at him. "Everyone thinks he's the most all mighty God when in fact, he was a douche! One of the worst Gods. Makes me so angry everyone puts him on a high pedestal."

Chase chuckled. "Way to go, Malcolm."

Noah walked ahead of me a few feet and as I continued to talk with Nick, I could see out of the corner of my eye when he would turn to face me; almost making sure I was still here. Soon the entrance to the zoo stood in front of us and as I pulled out my wallet to pay, I realized it was missing.

"What the fuck?" I murmured while riffling through my purse.

"Something wrong?"

Gazing up through my sunglasses, I saw Noah looking at me with concern. He pocketed his glasses so I could see the browns of his eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

"No. Well yea," I sighed letting my purse fall to my side. "I must have left my wallet on the bus. You guys ahead. I'll see you back at the venue."

It all happened so fast; Noah pulling out his own wallet, asking for two tickets, and handing the person behind the counter the correct amount of change.

"Noah," I scolded. "You didn't have to do that!"

"Come on. They're waiting for us," Noah said with an extended arm in front of me.

The rest of the group hung back just inside the entrance as they watched us with their own wondering eyes.

I didn't move however, only kept a stern gaze on Noah through my glasses. "I had no problem going back to the bus."

He scoffed while dropping his arm. "Right, to sit with Trey while the rest of us have fun? How is that fair?"

I pursed my lips, unsure how to respond, so instead with a long sigh, I walked past him towards Chase who had a large smirk on his face.

"What?" I asked, slightly irritated.

He motioned to Noah behind me. "He was checking out your ass."

I never whirled around so damn fast before in my life and one of my braids slapped me in the face as I looked at Noah, who in fact was starting intently at me. When our gazes locked, he quickly averted his over to Bryan.

For the next while, I walked with Chase as we stopped every few minutes to check out the animals at the zoo. Halfway through our visit, I stopped to grab a pretzel with cheese thanks to Chase who paid. When we then stopped in front of a large sign showcasing the map, I gasped excitedly while pointing to it.

"They have wolves!" I turned on my heels towards everyone.

"So dogs?" Folio teased with a smirk.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "How dare you! They're not just dogs. Well, I guess they are since they descend from wolves. But-." My ramblings fell off my lips when I saw Noah staring at me.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" I wiped at my face, afraid there was dried cheese on it.

"No," Noah's voice was low. "I just like how you look when you're so passionate about something. It's cute."

Turning my face away from him so he couldn't see the way I blushed, I nibbled on my bottom lip. "We don't have to go see them."

"To the dogs-I mean wolves!" Folio exclaimed with a hand up in the air.

I all but ran to the encloser that was only a few feet away from where we were and as we approached the high chain-link fence, I bent low so I could peer through hoping to see them. With what I knew about wolves I wouldn't catch a glimpse because of the heat today. It was almost like this every time I tried to see wolves at any zoo.

Everyone stood back, a quiet hum of their conversations background noise, until with a frown I rose to my feet not realizing Noah was standing behind me. I felt his warm body heat envelope around me and I peered over my shoulder to him.

"I could stay here for hours just waiting," I admitted with a smile.

"We can stay," Noah suggested.

"No," I shook my head while turning to face him. "We can go. I don't want to make the others hang around for nothing."

His long lashes brushed across his cheek as he blinked slowly, eyes never once leaving my face. My heart was beating so fast at how close we were and I wanted to take a step back, I really did, but there was this invisible force that kept us tied together. It pulled my hand away from my purse strap to brush some hair out of his face but before the action took place, Malcolm's loud voice hollered over to us, breaking the trance we were in.

"If you two are done staring at each other, Jolly wants to go see the tigers!"

Retreating away from Noah, I scurried over towards the group of the guys as we made our way over to the next large encloser, Noah trailing slowly behind. While Jolly interacted with the tigers, I hung off to the side lost in my own thoughts. Often I would check my phone to see if Trey texted me but nothing. I was gone for hours already, wouldn't he have noticed we were gone?

Maybe he was still asleep?

I tried to think of scenarios of why he wouldn't text or call instead of thinking of how close Noah and I got back at the wolves. It was wrong of me to think of another man like that. It was also wrong for me to keep stealing glances his way all day or wondering what his skin on mine would feel like.

Almost in a trance of my own thoughts, I followed the group when we reached the petting zoo area of the zoo where you could feed deers.

"Oh, sick!" Nick exclaimed.

I, on the other hand, did not think so.

"Do you want too?" Noah asked me.

"I'll watch. You can't trust these guys, they'll try to eat your shirt." I said.

I watched him bend to his knees as a smaller deer came up to him, licking up the food from his open hand. Noah smiled brightly as the deer nibbled the cracker from between his fingers and I couldn't stop my smile as it pulled at my lips. It was one of those smiles where the skin next to your eyes crinkle and cheeks hurt from how hard your smiling.

His smile could make you forget all the bad in your life. It brought so much light to the darkness that filled my soul of the last few months. My stomach burned with something unknown and it scared me that one person could cause this intense feeling; who I wasn't even dating. Trey never once made me feel this way or even tried too. All Noah had to do was smile at me and I was on my knees in a puddle mess of desire.

"Are you going to keep staring at me or help?" He smirked up at me.

Embarrassed at getting caught, I reluctantly bent down next to him and took a cracker he extended towards me. "I swear if this little shit bites my finger, I'm going to kick your ass."

Noah bumped his shoulder with mine. "It's a deal."

"Okay, I'll admit this is kind of cool," I mused while scratching a deer on its nose.

When he didn't say anything, I turned my head slightly towards Noah but sucked in a breath when I realized how close we were. His warm breath fanned over my lips as his eyes tracked every movement of my tongue made as I licked my suddenly dry lips. We were so close I was afraid that if I leaned forward slightly, our lips would brush across each other. I could smell the lemonade he drank earlier as the scent tickled my nostrils.

Noah swallowed thickly, and a noise came out of the back of his throat as he went to say something but was cut off by someone's screams. For the second time that afternoon, we were broken out of our trance like state to see Nick and Malcolm running away from a group of deers that were chasing them.

"Uh," my voice stammered. "I should probably go help him."

Quickly rising to my feet, I left Noah behind to go save my idiot friend from a couple of deers that just wanted something to eat.

NOAH

A yawn fell past my lips as I stretched out my long limbs before leaning up against the cool metal of our tour bus, the cool night air wrapping around the small group of us. We all returned from the zoo a little while ago and while Bryan and Matt went to the crew bus and Malcom and Chase went back to theirs, I was standing with Folio and Y/N, as she pulled out some cash that she grabbed from her bus.

"Please take the money, Noah. I feel terrible that you spent your money on me," she extended the two twenty-dollar bills towards me while she clutched the small wolf stuffed animal underneath her arm.

Something I surprised her with on the way out of the zoo.

Her eyes sparkled as she eyed the gift cart when we walked past it. "Would it be stupid for a grown woman to want a stuffed animal?"

She asked to Malcolm, who merely shrugged in response. So while she wasn't looking, I bought a wolf one for her.

I didn't miss the way her lips parted in surprise when I gave it to her. Or the way she let out a long shaky breath before muttering to herself.

"He doesn't even buy me anything."

She didn't have to say his name; I knew who she was talking about.

"I'm not taking your money," I shook my head.

Y/N groaned and tried to give the money to Folio who raised his hands as if the money was cursed. "I'm not taking it either, Y/N. When Noah wants something, there's no changing his mind. He wanted to pay for you today, accept it."

"Fine," she stuffed the money into her pocket. "But I owe you back with something, Noah."

Folio was fast to speak before I could even argue. "Why don't you come hang out on the bus with us for a bit?"

Y/N's body went rigid, eyes glancing over to her bus so fast I almost missed it.

"It'll be fun. Even for a bit," Folio smiled before walking up the stairs of the bus, leaving her and I alone.

Alone.

Just the two of us.

For the first time all day.

I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly very nervous. With the others around, I could act cool around her but now under her bright eyes, my knee buckled.

"It might be fun if you hang out with me-us," I quickly corrected myself hoping she didn't notice. "We could play Mario cart?"

I stared down sheepishly at my feet, trying to find the courage to ask a girl to hang out with me. Not that fucking hard so why did my voice waver every time I tried to talk to her.

"We could play monopoly but that wouldn’t end well. Jolly thinks he’s the bomb at games and we spend most of the time kicking his ass.”

Another quick glance to her bus as she shifted on her feet something I realized she was doing because she was nervous Trey would come out any moment. According to Chase, Trey didn't call or text her all day to see where she was or at least check in on her.

"Hey," my fingers brushed along the inside of her wrist, getting her to finally look at me instead of fear to her bus. The spark that shocked through us nearly had me rear my hand back from the intensity. "You don't have to go back, you know."

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

My heart pounded as I forced the words out of my mouth before I second guessed myself. "Stay till morning? Knowing Trey, he's probably going to be nursing a hangover in the morning so he won't even notice you're not there."

"Where would I sleep?" Her voice was hushed, barley above a whisper.

With me.

"We have extra bunks," I said.

She blinked for a long moment, letting my words process in her brain. She was highly debating my offer but in the end; she shook her head.

"It's been a long day and I should head back. I'm sure Trey is wondering where I am."

The disappointment was evident on my face and I had to bit my tongue not to lash out with a comment about how much Trey did in fact not care.

"Sure," I nodded. "Let me walk you back to your bus then?"

Clutching the wolf stuffed animal closer to her chest, she nodded with a smile playing at her lips. It wasn't a long walk so my mind was running rampant with something to say to keep the last little of this perfect day alive.

"I don't think I mentioned how much I like you in my shirt."

Shit, I didn't mean that.

"Our shirt. The band's shirt," I quickly recovered when I noticed the playful gleam in her eyes.

We came to a stop in front of the door of her bus, the lights off inside which meant that either no one was in there or they were asleep.

Her gaze darted to the windows back to me. "I had a really fun day today, Noah. Thank you."

My fingers itched with the need to brush a strand of hair that came loose from her braid but I resisted.

"Anytime, angel."

Fuck.

She raised a brow at me, a reddish tint creeping from her cheeks to the tops of her ears. "Oh, angel, huh?"

"Sorry, it kind of slipped out," I rubbed my chin nervously. "If you don't like it, I can-."

"No, I like it!" She rushed out. "A lot, actually."

That was an ego boost that I desperately needed. So, with a wink, I began walking backwards to my bus calling out in the dark night air. "Good because it stays, angel!"

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Butterflies

OlderSugarDaddy!Rafe x Fem!Reader

cw:I don’t think there’s any but if you see something feel free to tell me!!

(loosely based off butterflies by Kacey Musgraves)

SugarDaddyRafe credits to the lovely @starfxkr 💋

You And Rafes First Date❤️

Rafe had been eagerly anticipating his first real date with you. Since your first encounter, he found himself drawn to your youthful spirit and refreshing outlook on life.

He decided on a unique setting for their date a museum, a place where you could explore and enjoy art while getting to know each other better.

On a crisp, clear evening, Rafe met you at the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You looked radiant. Your excitement matching his own.

You greeted each other warmly, the familiarity and ease between them growing with each interaction.

"Ready for an adventure?" Rafe asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

"Absolutely," you replied, smiling brightly.

The two of you wandered through the vast halls of the museum, stopping to admire paintings, sculptures, and artifacts from different eras and cultures.

The beauty and history surrounding them created a perfect backdrop for your blossoming connection. As you two walked, you shared stories and insights, your conversation flowing effortlessly.

"You know," Rafe said, pausing in front of an impressionist painting, "I've always loved the idea of capturing moments in time, the way these artists do."

You nodded, eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "It's like preserving a piece of life, a memory that can be revisited."

Your exploration continued, each exhibit sparking new topics of conversation and moments of shared wonder. The two of you often found yourselves laughing and discovering more about each other with every step.

Rafe couldn't help but feel butterflies as your conversation continued he felt like you were finally pulling him out of his tough exterior chrysalis.

He glanced at you, marveling at how she had brought a new sense of vibrancy and excitement into his life. It was as if you had awakened something inside him that he had long forgotten.

As you moved to the museum's rooftop garden, the view of the city skyline took your breath away. The two of you stood together, the city lights casting a magical glow around you. Rafe turned to you, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions.

"You know," he began softly, "since meeting you, I feel like I've been given a second chance at experiencing life in a whole new way."

You looked up at him, eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "I feel the same, Rafe. You've shown me that there's so much more to life than what I've known."

Rafe took your hand, the connection between them palpable. "I'm glad we met," he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Me too," you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

As you stood there, the world around them seemed to fade away. Rafe felt an overwhelming urge to kiss you, to seal the moment with a gesture that spoke of the promise and potential they both felt. Leaning in, he kissed you gently, a tender and heartfelt kiss that conveyed everything words could not.

He felt like you were lifting him up unlike his ex wife who he constantly felt was holding him down from experiencing life. After twenty years he finally felt free.

He felt like you were stealing his heart and unleashing something new in him like you were untangling the strings from around his wings and letting him finally fly free.

Rafe pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "You've brought something special into my life, Y/n."

"And you've done the same for me, Rafe," you replied, with a smile radiating happiness.

As the two of you descended from the rooftop, hand in hand, you both knew that this was just the beginning of their extraordinary journey together. The city that never sleeps had brought you together, and now you were ready to explore the future, hearts full of hope and excitement.

[moonstruckme]

Also would love more of the art student x stem student peter writing,, again totally just self indulgent here but I adore their dynamic I could go on forever, like study dates but she’s working and Peter hangs around revising notes in her studio and they both just accompany each other AGHHH I could think about them for ages

-🍁🤭

Thanks lovely!

tasm!Peter Parker x artist!reader ♡ 727 words

Your hand comes into view, taking Peter’s attention from his notes for the first time in hours as you slide a paper plate stacked with pizza slices towards him. 

“They were out of stir fry,” you say, “but they let me take extra pizza since they felt bad.” 

Peter blinks, realizing his eyes are dry and achy. “When did you get this?”

“Just now,” you say, though it sounds like a question. Your brows twitch towards each other, somewhere between bemused and concerned. “Pete, I’ve been gone for like a half hour. You didn’t notice?”

Peter blinks again, hard. He gives his head a little shake. “No, I, uh…I guess I was too distracted. Thanks for the pizza.” 

“Course.” You kiss the top of his head as you round the table, sitting down across from him with a couple slices of your own. Peter watches as you zone back into your work, a pensive frown coming to your face. You’re in the beginning stages of a new project, and the last few hours have been a frustrating cycle of erasing, sketching, and erasing again. Peter doesn’t get how you can even see through all the faded, half-removed lines on your page. 

“How’s it going?” he asks, tentative.

Your frown worsens. “Not bad,” you say, in a tone that says not great, either. “I’ve landed on an idea, but it just…it doesn’t feel perfect. I don’t want to start and then have to change my mind again.” 

“Didn’t you say that’s how it usually goes?” he prompts. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, and you sound so upset about it that Peter has to—just has to—reach across the table and take your hand. You offer him a small smile and return the squeeze he gives your fingers.

“Want a break?” he asks you, and you raise your eyebrows.

“I just took my break,” you remind him. 

It’s difficult to love someone and see them treat themselves how you treat yourself. Peter would count a run to the dining hall as a break, too, but he doesn’t like it when you do it. Still, that doesn’t give him a lot of ground for argument.

“Then can I see?” he tries, hoping talking it through will make you feel better.

You chew your lip for a second before nodding, going to slide your paper towards him. 

“Nope, hold on.” Peter stands up on his seat, stepping one gangly leg and then the other over the table before lowering himself into the chair beside you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, hugging you so that your face is squished against his bicep. “Better,” he says. “Go on.” 

You laugh at his over-the-top affection, but don’t move away, going into the details of your original idea versus what you’ve come up with on paper. The abstract always falls short of the concrete, Peter knows that, and yet he feels your disappointment in your inability to fulfill the full scope of your vision acutely. You grow more animated as you talk, eventually bringing the paper closer and sketching while he watches. Peter suggests his own solutions as you work. They’re useless of course, but he knows that having a sounding board helps you think, so he’ll keep the conversation going any way he can. To your credit, you don’t tell him all the ways he’s wrong. You only hmm and huh and then do your idea anyway. 

After a while, you come up with something you’re happier with. It’s still not perfect, but Peter reminds you again of your own tenets; that it never will be, and your only job is to do the best you can with what you have. You’re smiling by now, so it’s a win in his book. 

“You gonna talk me through your biochem notes now?” you ask him cheerily. 

“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your head. “You’re a gem for offering, but we both know you’ll get a headache.” 

“I’ll eat my pizza while you talk,” you propose, picking up a now cold slice of your dinner. “C’mon, it’s only fair.” 

Peter grins at you, your face lined with tiredness and hand stained with silver pencil lead but eyes alight with that fizzy energy you get from creation. “Okay,” he concedes. “But when we go home, we’re watching the most mindless show we can find on TV.”

[imagineanime2022]

Unconventional Artist

Grelle Sutcliffe X Reader

Word Count: 1215

Requested: Anon

Request: May I request Grell with an artistic fem s/o who has almost the opposite personality of her pls (but she shows her more dramatic/cheerful side in private around Grell or if she’s in her room) pls?

Grelle had met you when she was looking to upgrade her Death Scythe, you hadn’t been able to do what she wanted that day, it wasn’t an approved modification but that was the first time that she was able to see the work that you had done and planned to do for other reapers. Your artistic style was nothing to laugh at and it was one thing to have it all drawn out but to execute a working design.

Grelle decided that she would spend more time with you after that. She would often find you hidden away in your workshop or pushed into a corner somewhere by yourself. Grelle being as outgoing as she was had no problem starting a conversation with you and most of the time it was one sided but you would occasionally provide an answer or argument. That was where you dynamic settled for a long time.

“Why are you always hiding in here?” Grelle asked one day. “You make all these weapons but have you ever tested any of them?” “I have enough people to test them for me.” You answered. “I’m done fighting.” “Done fighting? You were out there before?” She asked. “I was for a while before you came along, I’m better in here.” You shrugged. “Who told you that?” She asked. “Me, I told me that.” You answered rolling your shoulders as you worked on repairs for another reaper's death scythe. “I don’t think that you give yourself enough credit.” Grelle mumbled as she played with one of the handmade trinkets on your desk. “You say that about everything that I do.” You mumbled as you continued his work. “Because it’s true.” She muttered into your ear, you hadn’t heard her move but she was a reaper and despite the way that she acted it was moments like this that reminded you that she was good at her job. “W-why are you so close?” You asked. “Because it makes you nervous.” She giggled as she gently guided you to drop your tools “you know since I met you I knew that you were different, I like you more than I like anyone else here, you listen to me even if you pretend that you don’t and you offer me the advice that no one else will.” “What..?” You asked. “Give me a chance I’ll show you.” She promised arms wrapping around you and keeping you close. “I don’t know, this is all so sudden.” You panicked attempting to pull away. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” She said softly, you bit your lip thinking over everything that could go wrong but almost like she read you mind she gave a reassuring squeeze to your hand and giving you a wink, it was then that you realised even if you said no she’d continue to show you everything that you could have and decided that there was no point.

From there your relationship evolved, newcomers never understood how the two of you got together but everyone else was just happy that Grelle seemed to be enamoured by you to cause too much trouble that is until Sebastian showed up in the human world with his master Ciel. You remember hearing about it and being angry at her for causing trouble and getting into a fight with the demon so when she came back crying about her Death scythe being taken away from you, you had no sympathy. “They took it from me!” She cried as she dramatically entered your office. “I heard.” You muttered as you refused to look up from your work. “You seem angry.” She said softly and you rolled your eyes. “I am.” You answered. “Explain.” She prompted. “Explain?” You asked and she nodded like a clueless child. “Alright well I’m angry that you felt your boredom was enough of a reason to kill a bunch of humans you had no business deciding the death for, I’m angry that you because you decided to fight a demon and could have gotten really badly hurt but you want to know why I’m really angry?” You asked. “That is what I asked.” She nodded. “Because you didn’t bother to tell me what would have happened if you had died, no one would have told me what happened.” You glared at the weapon that you had been fixing. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me but you would have hurt me again if you died and left me alone.” “Oh I see, you are worried about me!” She smirked as she leaned forward, her face too far into your personal space for someone who was in your bad books, however now you had been with her so long that proximity wasn’t really a problem so instead of blushing or smiling like you had before you pulled away, she didn’t let you get far before pulling you back in, her height being something that she held over you. “Now where do you think you're going?” “It’s healthy to stay away from things that upset you.” You answered. “You don’t mean that.” She teased, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I could mean that.” You grumbled defiantly squirming in her grasp. “But you don’t.” She said softly. “Whatever.” You mumbled looking away from her.

Eventually with you being the only one that Grelle listened to you were put on missions with her if only to keep her on task, it only took one encounter with Sebastian for her to fall completely off the wagon, chasing after the fight if only to anger you and the demon at the same time. “Grelle, how unsurprising to see you here.” Sebastian smirked as he easily fought her off. “Bassy you should know that I’ll be wherever you are.” She winked as she lifted her death scythe leaving herself open to an attack. You dove forward blocking Sebastian’s attack. “Ah, who’s this?” You kicked him away from Grelle before following the attack with a slash from your death scythe, he smirked as he dodged out of the way, realising too late that you had pinned him between you and the tree forcing him to block your next attack. “I’m Sebastian Michaelis.” “I know.” You muttered as you tried to push forward, your face getting far too close to his, this caused you to falter for a second and he knocked you away before moving closer to you. “Now you are interesting.” Sebastian looked over your clothes, eyes lingering on the personally designed death scythes. “Now,now Bassy, don’t forget about me!” Grelle called as she attacked from above with a loud manic laugh, “(Y/N) it’s time that we get back on mission don’t you think?” “It’s done.” You informed her. “Well, aren't we just the perfect team?” She teased, you rolled your eyes and turned to leave. “Until next time.” Sebastian bowed. “There won’t be a next time.” You muttered as you both disappeared. Grelle took your hand in hers as you made your way back. “So?” She asked. “So?” You repeated the question. “Sebastian.” She prompted. “Mmm,” You hummed as you pressed your finger to your lip. “I guess I can see where you're coming from.” You shrugged. “Still mad though.” “No you're not.” Grelle smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Request Here!!

[wyattjohnston]

until the light shines through - quinn hughes

summary: it didn’t take very long at all for laurel to realise that the world of hockey was well beyond what she could handle. there was just something about quinn that made it impossible to stay away.

note: this is set in the 2021-2022 season because i started it almost exactly 12 months ago. i’m eternally grateful to @hock-ee & @farbutnevergone for being the sounding board in the beginning of this fic, and as always to @matthewtkachuk & @laurenairay for coming in clutch and making me feel like it was worth finishing. shelb gets extra credit for reading it all multiple times and helping me fill in some gaps and catch the times my sentences ended halfway through.

word count: 17,690

playlist: good love - shawn hook | i know places - taylor swift | closer - sleeping with sirens | feel like shit - tate mcrae | you're in love - betty who

“Your Uber is here. Don’t make him wait too long or your rating will drop.”

Laurel lifted her head at the sound of the new voice and the tattoo gun being pulled away from her skin.

“The Uber driver should be a bit more patient, or his rating will drop,” Annie, the tattoo artist said, lifting her head. “You aren’t even the Uber I ordered.”

The man who had walked in shrugged, taking a seat at the front of the shop. Laurel looked between him and Annie, waiting for something more than a joke about Uber drivers. Before Annie even offered an explanation, she was telling Laurel that she was going to start the gun again—the machine, that was something Annie had stressed when they were setting up.

Laurel couldn’t help but track the movement of the machine as it got to the final parts of the black cat outline being tattooed on the inside of her wrist. It was her first tattoo and she’d always been interested in the process and despite the sting of the needle she knew exactly why people spoke about it being addictive.

“Where’d you park?” Annie asked as she was covering the finished tattoo, having already taken a photo of it to post to Instagram. Laurel watched it disappear beneath the black wrap.

“A couple streets away; parking is shit.”

“If you can wait for me to sterilise the machine and everything and lock up, we’ll walk you,” Annie offered. “Won’t we, Huggy Bear?”

Huggy Bear agreed, then trailed off grumbling about the Huggy nickname.

Even while Laurel was waiting to leave, Annie and Huggy were happily chatting away. Most of the conversation went far over her head, despite their efforts to include her or provide context, so she stood beside the counter at the front of the shop and checked her phone until it was time to leave.

She laughed politely when it was appropriate for the conversation, although she wasn’t quite sure what she was laughing at, but the least she could do was pretend to be interested when they were helping to keep her safe.

“Have a great weekend,” Annie said when they reached Laurel’s car. “Just hit me up on Insta if you forget the aftercare stuff or have any questions. I’ll post the photo tomorrow.”

“Thank you, I really do love it. And thank you both for walking me to my car.”

Huggy raised his hand awkwardly and said something that Laurel didn’t quite hear so she just waved back before getting into her car.

“He really keeps staring at us,” Karina said, her face contorting in discomfort after she did another subtle glance around the restaurant to see if said guy had stopped staring. The wave he’d given her earlier hadn’t done much to assuage their unease, though it had led to lengthy conversations about which one of them might have known who he was.

“I don’t know if it’d be better or worse if he actually came over,” Laurel said, frowning down at her empty plate. “I just want him to stop staring.”

Karina waved the waiter down to get the cheque, saying that they’d be out of there soon. Laurel huffed at the audacity of men who didn’t understand what common decency was. She didn’t look back over at him and his friend, though she desperately wanted to, because she didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested and risk him following them out of the restaurant to their next stop.

Their next step was just a bar, nothing special or interesting, just a quiet-ish place they could continue their drinking. A few other people from work were meeting them; Friday night drinks to end the week were never something Laurel would pass up.

“That’s the guy from the restaurant, isn’t it?” Karina asked, not even being casual in how she was pointing him out.

Laurel sighed, finished her cocktail, and stood up in a rush, only regretting it slightly when she felt the alcohol had gone to her head. She didn’t say a single word to Karina, who tried to catch her arm before she could get too far away and walked directly over to the guy that had been staring at her all night.

He was sitting with the man he’d eaten dinner with, and it was incredibly stupid for Laurel to confront him by herself when he wasn’t alone but Laurel’s pride often got the best of her.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” she said, not even waiting until they were looking at her. “What do you want?”

“I—uh—” the man stuttered. Laurel had to give him credit for maintaining eye contact even if he was sinking down into his seat.

“Can you stop? I have no idea who you are and it’s freaking me the fuck out.”

“We met—you were—Annie—the tattoo.”

“Oh, Teddy Bear,” Laurel said, amused by the memory, but mostly the nickname, as his face merged with the vague memory of the man who had shown up when she was getting the tattoo on her forearm.

The man sitting with him snorted.

“Huggy Bear but it’s just Quinn. Please call me Quinn,” he begged, sitting up a little straighter knowing that she at least had some recollection of him.

“Alright, Quinn, is there a reason you’ve been staring at me beyond recognising me?”

Quinn opened his mouth to answer, though nothing came out.

The man across the table, lanky and blond, stood up before Quinn could speak, and was already walking away when he announced, “I’m out of here before this gets awkward.”

Laurel watched him briefly as he left and when she turned back to Quinn his face was redder than before—though it wasn’t all that noticeable in the bar’s poor lighting.

He said, mumbled and incoherent, something that ended in pretty and Laurel had to fight the twinge that threatened to lift the corners of her mouth.

“You think I’m pretty?” she pressed, her hand resting on the back of the vacated chair so that she could lean forward just a little.

“Yeah, I—I wanted to send you a message on Insta after we met but I chickened out.”

It was reckless, probably, to say what she said next, but Laurel was a sucker for a compliment, “Would you like to buy me a drink, Quinn?”

He stood so suddenly that the table rocked, and Laurel had to catch it before the glasses toppled over. He took four steps towards the bar before hastily walking back to her to ask what she wanted to drink.

She followed him to the bar, too smart and too weary to let him just bring a drink back to her. She ordered a Tom Collins, Quinn ordered a beer, and as the bartender was making her cocktail, she leaned lightly against the bar and asked, “How did you know I was here? At the restaurant?”

Quinn’s eyes bugged and his shoulders squared, as he rushed to say, “I didn’t. I promise. I’m not stalking you—so many people would actually cut off my dick if I was.”

Laurel’s lip quirked up, wondering if it was the tattoo artist who made that threat. There was still a little part of her that didn’t trust that he hadn’t known where she was going to be but it was overridden by her interest in his awkward nature.

They weaved through the crowd of people back to their table, which was luckily still free despite their trip to the bar. Laurel sat down, leaning back in her seat and letting him lead the conversation wherever he saw fit while she enjoyed her drink.

“I’ve never had to try this hard to get a girl’s attention before,” he said, his hand running through his hair and messing up the careful mess it had already been.

Laurel tilted her head, saying, “That’s… a surprise to me.”

Quinn goes silent, instantly looking even more insecure than he already did. He coughed and said, “I suppose there are meaner ways to tell me I’m not attractive.”

“I actually thought you weren’t confident enough,” Laurel clarified, resting her elbows on the table so he knew how serious she was when she added, “I think you’re plenty attractive.”

The compliment did exactly what Laurel had been hoping it would, increasing his confidence tenfold. His chin lifting, his shoulders squaring and a smirk crossing his mouth. Laurel smirked back at him, making direct eye contact as she pulled her straw into her mouth.

Giving Quinn her phone number was an easy decision.

After waking up on a mattress comfier than she ever thought possible and smiling at Quinn who was already dressed and walking around the bedroom, Laurel enjoyed the water pressure in the walk-in shower.

When she’d walked into the apartment the night before (see: earlier that morning) she hadn’t paid any attention to where they were or what the apartment looked like. A long time had passed since she inspected apartments when she walked in; one too many had turned her off immediately and she’d rather not know until she’d had her fun. Quinn’s apartment however… she would not have had that problem based on his bathroom alone. The bathroom was always the worst.

She wrapped a towel around herself, delighted by its fluffiness, and walked back through Quinn’s bedroom so she could find him. The size baffled her, too, because the location was enough to cost a small fortune in rent each month—the thought of paying for multiple bedrooms, multiple bathrooms and a separate kitchen and dining area made her feel lightheaded. And he lived alone.

“Do you drink coffee?” Quinn asked when she found him in the kitchen.

“How often do you get a ‘no’ to that question?”

“It happens enough that I have to ask.”

Laurel’s lip twitched up in a smirk, waiting for Quinn to realise that he’d just admitted to bringing home women often enough that he had a decent sample size of those who drink coffee vs those who don’t—he was oblivious, though, just standing near the coffee machine awkwardly holding out an empty mug waiting for an answer.

She tightened the towel over her breasts and Quinn’s eyes flickered down before shooting right back up as if he hadn’t seen it all a matter of hours prior.

“I was hoping I could grab a shirt or something to wear first.”

He was startled by the question, taking a few seconds to put the mug down and nod at her. He led her to his bedroom and pulled out the second drawer in the chest.

“You can help yourself to whatever…” he said slowly. “Or anything else in here, I guess. I don’t know what you’d want.”

The twitching smirk was back, as Laurel pulled out what she expected to be a plain black shirt saying “Just a t-shirt is fine. Do you have something a bit less… colourful?”

The shirt she pulled out unfolded to show a black and yellow logo on it that very much looked like it belonged in the 80s.

“You don’t like the flying skate logo?” Quinn asked, taking it from her to stare at it in a way Laurel could only describe as longingly.

“The what now?”

“The flying skate?”

“Am I supposed to know what that is just because you’ve said it a second time?” she asked, bemused.

Quinn held the shirt to his chest, scandalised. “The Canucks logo? Hockey?”

“Oh, I’m from Florida,” Laurel revealed with a shake of her head. “I don’t know anything about hockey.”

She turned back to the chest of drawers and went about finding a plain black shirt. Hockey was something she heard about on a near daily basis but the people she spent time with regularly had long since stopped trying to convince her to give it a chance.

“I was born in Florida and I know a lot about hockey.”

Apparently, Quinn wasn’t going to let it go, though.

Laurel found a shirt, checked it for logos, and only moved back to the bed when she was certain it was in fact plain black so that she could drop the towel and go about putting on more clothes than just her underwear.

“Semantics are important here,” she said, trying to sort out of her bra on still slightly damp skin. “You were born in Florida, I’m from Florida. Where would you say you’re from?”

Quinn didn’t respond to her, just stared at her with his mouth not completely shut. Laurel cleared her throat because he was, much like when she’d walked into the kitchen, staring at her chest.

He cleared his own throat, focusing his eyes on her face, “Michigan, probably. Toronto, maybe.”

Laurel hummed as she pulled the shirt over her head, adding, when she could see him, “Both really into hockey, I thought.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Quinn twitched. “I could teach you about hockey. If you want.”

Laurel shrugged, tilting her head from side to side as she thought about it, before settling on saying, “I’ve never really been interested? Seems a bit barbaric.”

“It’s not,” Quinn said, firmly. He then hesitated and added, “Anymore.”

Laurel couldn’t help but smirk at his change of mind. She asked, partially because didn’t know but mostly because she didn’t believe him, “So, they don’t fight for the sake of fighting?”

“No,” he said, forcefully enough that Laurel’s mouth pulled shut, “there’s always a reason.”

“You’re, like, really invested in me liking hockey. Does this not go anywhere if I don’t?”

The beat of silence that followed probably only lasted three seconds but it was enough time that Laurel was working out how best to get her clothes and get out as quickly as possible. She was looking around for her top, aiming for surreptitious, when Quinn spoke.

“I play. For them. The Canucks. I’m on the team. My job is hockey.”

“Oh, no shit,” Laurel said, her laugh breathy and disbelieving. “And I just called it barbaric.”

“Does this not go anywhere because I play?”

Laurel rolled her eyes, closing the space between them. She cupped his cheeks, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She pressed up on her toes, touching her lips to his lightning fast.

“No. It doesn’t change that I was going to stay for breakfast and then give you my number.”

Karina would be so disappointed.

Christmas was finally over, another successful year of pretending it hadn’t happened, and Laurel was back to work after a lovely long weekend of ignoring the outside world. She hoped on Boxing Day that she could call Quinn for some fun, only to be told that he’d gone to Michigan to see his family.

And, honestly, what was the point in having each other’s numbers if he wasn’t going to be home?

Laurel wasn’t expecting to spend New Year’s Even with him either, she did have plans of her own, but she’d been hopeful she could leave just after midnight and be back in Quinn’s bed before the night was truly over.

He was in Seattle, apparently.

Two weeks after she left his apartment, Laurel was finally able to get back there.

“I thought, maybe, you were just really bad at ghosting,” she joked as she walked through his door, kissing him briefly and then leaning back in for a second one.

“My schedule has been kind of insane,” he said apologetically.

Laurel laughed as she shrugged off her coat, “Perils of being a professional athlete?”

“One of, I guess.”

“Did you win at least?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Quinn’s waist and looking up at him hopefully. She didn’t have any real interest in the games themselves, but she could get on board with being interested in their success at the very least.

They did win, he told her excitedly. 5-2 was the score; Laurel kept it to herself that she thought the score was quite low. She’d had a passing interest at most in basketball but that was her frame of reference for how high sports scores should be.

It was early enough in the evening that they organised dinner to be delivered and Laurel was eager to agree because she was on the second day of a New Years’ hangover and knew that bruschetta and pasta would do wonders to get her over what was lingering.

They sat down to eat at Quinn’s dining table—Laurel was positive that he’d not used it in months because of the things he had to move to clear space for them.

She was loudly enjoying her bruschetta when Quinn’s face twisted just enough that she knew he was going to say something but second guessing himself. She, not wanting to talk with her mouth full, raised an eyebrow and nodded so that he would speak.

“You’re really from Florida?”

“Orlando,” Laurel answered with a smile. “I’ve only been here since I started college in 2017.”

“I started college in 2017.”

Laurel perked up, “At UBC?”

“No, UMich. Michigan.”

“That’s why you’d say you’re from there?” she asked, thinking it was a tad odd that he’d say he was from there just because he’d been to college there. She wouldn’t say she was from Vancouver after four and a half years.

“One of the reasons, yeah. I moved to Michigan when I was 15.”

“So, you were born in Florida, you’ve lived in Toronto and also Michigan and now you’re in Vancouver?” She tried to track the movement around North America in her head. “Lot of moves for a kid.”

“Boston and New Hampshire, too. I don’t remember anything about Florida or Boston, only have a few memories of New Hampshire—mostly my brother being born and my other brother being really upset about it.”

“What are their names? Your brothers?”

“Jack is the middle child and Luke is the youngest. Two years between each of us.”

“I have a brother, Artie. He’s like 16 years older than me, though, so I don’t know him that well. Are you close with yours?”

“Yeah, real close.”

Laurel smiled at him, happy for him, even as she wondered what it would be like to have a close relationship with her family.

“Luke probably won’t be around any time soon, but we play Jack at some point—he plays hockey for New Jersey—so you might get to meet him soon. I think you’ll like him.”

A light panic threatened to break her smile but Laurel was able to keep the smile on her face well enough that Quinn didn’t react.

The tension in Laurel’s jaw was causing her a headache. It had been hours since it set in—the tension and the headache—and the only thing Laurel wanted was the cheap vodka in her apartment. Her job was stressful on a good day, and she’d known that it would be when she started her Social Work course years prior. There were some days, though, where the planets aligned and the patients were inconsolable, the families were assholes and the hospital was letting everybody down. They were the days she could do without.

She had barely stepped foot into her apartment when her phone rang and she had to resist the urge to throw her entire bag at the wall. After a few deep breaths and letting the phone ring out, Laurel took out her phone and dropped her bag onto the kitchen counter as she passed it.

It started ringing again in her hand; Laurel inhaled for a count of five and then exhaled for a count of five just to stop herself from following through on throwing it into the wall. That was a sure-fire way to get on Hayley’s shitlist and Laurel had been pretty solidly off it for long enough that she had no intentions of ruining that.

Quinn’s name was on the screen and conflict bloomed through her entire body. It wasn’t immediately clear in her mind whether she’d be calmed by talking to him or if she’d take out her anger on him. The call rang out before she could think it over.

It buzzed again, a text coming through, and she lifted her phone to read it.

From Quinn: Call me when you’re home. Come for dinner 😊

Telling him she was home and ready at any moment was easy and did relieve the tension in her jaw just a little.

Changing out of her clothes felt like far too much of an effort; she’d put enough effort into her outfit that morning anyway. It was Friday after all and there was always the possibility that Friday could turn into Friday night so she liked to look a little more put together.

From Quinn: Stay the night at mine?

And then there was that.

She’d stayed the night at Quinn’s before, though it had just been the night they met and most definitely not planned in advance. Being essentially asked to pack an overnight bag was more preparation than Laurel had been expecting this soon into their… whatever.

Hayley walked into the apartment as Laurel walked out, her eyes immediately drifting to the bag slung over Laurel’s shoulder.

“I don’t even know,” Laurel said as she hitched it further up her shoulder.

“Be safe. Call me if you need me.”

They parted with a nod at each other, their relationship with each other existing almost solely on Girl Code more so than friendship.

If it had been any other day, Laurel’s walk to Quinn’s would have been fraught with overthinking about why he was explicitly asking her to stay the night—her day had been awful enough that she was still thinking about the father of one of her patients who looked her in the eye and told her that he wasn’t ever going to take direction from a little girl.

The frigid breeze was glorious for clearing her mind.

Her headache still lingered despite the tension releasing in her jaw; it didn’t stop the big smile that grew on her face when Quinn opened the door to let her in. His smiled matched hers and she let herself be swept into a hug before she was corralled into his apartment.

The smell of food was permeating the apartment, eliciting another smile from Laurel and an expression of confused delight. Quinn bashfully led her towards the kitchen and pointed to the stove where there was a pot of Napoli sauce simmering away.

“You can cook?”

She stepped into his space, her arms around his waist as she looked up at him, surprise and awe filling her body, and Quinn was standing a little taller than normal. A little prouder.

“I have a couple things up my sleeve.”

Laurel kissed him swiftly before hoisting up the bag that was falling down her arm; Quinn wasted no time in taking it from her and disappearing into his bedroom with it. Standing in his kitchen, watching him take her bag with no weirdness or second thoughts, Laurel wondered again just what she was getting into.

They ate on the couch, Quinn switching away from the hockey game that was playing—it was unclear if that decision was made before or after her face screwed up in disinterest—and Laurel singing his praises for the pasta with Napoli sauce.

“I leave for a road trip on Monday,” Quinn said when they’d cleared the dishes and were back on the couch, sitting right next to each other. “Don’t get back until the 19th.”

“That’s a long one. Where are you going?”

Quinn opened his mouth—the only thing that came out was a long ‘uhhh’—and pulled out his phone to bring up the schedule. He said, shamelessly, “I only know when I have to be at the airport because they told us at practice today.”

Laurel cuddled up to him so that they could look at the schedule together, asking a few questions about the vagueness of going to teams named after the entire state—“You’re just going to Florida, Carolina and Washington? As if that makes sense?”

“There’s a few of them,” Quinn said, his body shaking against Laurel’s while he laughed at her incredulity. She scrutinised the list of teams he brought up and finished the conversation mostly curious about the Florida team existing in a state with a second hockey team.

“They couldn’t just call them the Miami Panthers?”

“Their arena’s in Sunrise.”

Laurel scoffed, her eyes rolling, “Of course it is. Posers.”

Quinn’s body began to shake again, his laughter so manic that he wasn’t making any noise. Laurel contorted her body to get a better look at Quinn and was enraptured by the joy on his face at her silly joke.

Kissing him is the easiest decision she’s ever made, caught with an overwhelming need to just be pressed against him. He didn’t put up any protests, not that she’d expected him to, and within seconds Laurel was in Quinn’s lap, straddling his thigh. Her skirt fanned out around their legs and she revelled in the pressure of his fingers as he pressed his fingers into the meat of her thighs. She wished she hadn’t worn tights just so she could feel his skin against hers.

Nothing felt as easy as leaning further into him, getting as close as she could physically manage and rolling her hips just to get that little bit closer. Hearing the eager noises leave his mouth—the ones mirroring those leaving hers—made Laurel even more desperate.

“Take me to bed, Q,” she breathed into his ear, rolling her hips again for good measure and gasping when his bucked up to meet them.

He did as he was told, herding her towards his bedroom with his body pressed close against hers, making her giggle as he nipped at the parts of her neck he could reach. He didn’t let up when they made it to his bed, touching parts of Laurel’s body that she couldn’t remember being touched, kissing her skin and setting every nerve on fire.

Laurel tried to return the favour, though she was distracted by the way her body was reacting to Quinn and his touches so the best she could hope for was that he was getting pleasure just by giving pleasure to her.

Her legs were weak after multiple orgasms but she was able to make her way into the bathroom, Quinn following her in soon after. He didn’t take as long as she did, happy to just rinse off, kiss her lazily, and disappear back to bed with half-lidded eyes.

All of her toiletries looked strange sitting on his counter, taking up more space than anything else on there, but she was too sated and too tired to think about it any further.

Laurel slipped under the covers, rolling her eyes a little at how quickly Quinn had started to fall asleep; he was laying on his back with his eyes closed and the duvet pulled up to his chest. Laurel lied beside him, facing him and taking him in.

“What made you ask me to stay over?”

“Long road trip,” Quinn said, mumbled and half asleep. “Was gonna miss you.”

She didn’t know whether that statement was surprising or not, or if it was the honesty it was said with that made her heart squeeze in her chest. Laurel wormed her way under Quinn’s arm and into his side, raising her head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw before she snuggled into him.

“You can call me. While you’re gone.”

He squeezed her.

“I will."

Laurel walked from her place to Quinn’s straight from work. He’d called during her lunch break to ask if she wanted to have dinner with him—maybe even stay over again—and Laurel hadn’t been able to refuse. They’d talked through his road trip mostly via text except for a phone call when he was in Florida to confirm that he was in fact not in Miami.

None of it really made sense to Laurel. Never had she been the type of person to be in constant contact with her… with the person she was seeing, but Quinn seemed to have no concerns about taking things too quickly or seriously.

She’d asked Karina for help after the phone call, desperately trying to figure out what it all meant, whether she needed to be thinking further ahead than the next day if Quinn was going to keep things the way they were.

“You’re worrying that he likes you too much?” Karina had asked, her disbelief playful but prominent. “I wish I had that problem at your age—hell, even five years ago I would have killed for that problem.”

“It’s too serious for being twenty-two.”

Karina’s laugh shocked Laurel, who truly had not been expecting it. “Laurel, sweetheart, none of this has anything to do with age.”

That didn’t help her at all.

There was no surprise home cooking waiting for her when she arrived at his door which she was quick to tease him for mostly because he had a very nice kitchen that it definitely was being wasted with him being away so often.

“I was thinking burgers and I can’t make them half as nice as the place around the corner,” Quinn said, watching Laurel from the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

She placed both her hands on the cool marble and narrowed her eyes playfully, “Are we eating here or are you taking me out, Huggy Bear?”

“I thought you’d forgotten about that,” he said with an eyeroll, his cheeks turning a nice shade of red.

“I’ve been thinking about it since that night at the bar. I don’t—why?”

“Hughes, the first three letters. It’s actually one of the more unique nicknames in hockey.”

“Are they all surname based?”

“Mostly, yeah. I should probably be Hughesy or something.”

“Not Quinny?” she teased, leaning further across the table.

“So,” Quinn said, taking a deep breath. “Quinn is technically a nickname—it’s short for Quintin.”

Laurel’s eyes widened, her head tilting ever-so-slightly as the corner of her mouth tilted up, and she said, “Is that a family name?”

“Yes,” he said, also around a smile. He then added, walking back towards his front door, “We’re going out for dinner.”

He extended his hand and Laurel didn’t think twice before she took it and let Quinn lead her out onto the street. He didn’t let her hand go when they made it onto the street like Laurel expected. She couldn’t put into words why she expected him to let go, just flexed her fingers around his and delighted in the way he swung their hands back and forth a few times.

Quinn didn’t let go until he found them a seat inside the restaurant but they sat beside each other on a bench seat, their legs pressed together tightly from knee to hip.

“Did you declare a major?” Laurel asked, midway through a story Quinn was telling about his college experience, when she realised that she hadn’t ever asked.

“Sports Management.”

Laurel hummed, “What does that let you do?”

“Become an agent, mostly, but it’d get you on the path to managing a team, too.”

“That’s what you want to do?”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, Laurel watched him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate. It took a while, a few fries being pushed into his mouth, before he finally answered, “I just want to play hockey.”

The conversation fell off there, Laurel just nodding even as her brain ticked over. Athletes and their short careers—their lack of preparation for life after sports—were a topic that fascinated her despite her general disinterest in sports. She recognised that if it was a conversation they were going to have, it needed to come much later in their relationship. Mostly for her own sanity.

Their otherwise quiet meal was interrupted by a birthday in the restaurant, and a raucous rendition of Happy Birthday was being sung to some poor man named Nathan who looked very much like he’d rather be anywhere else but sitting in front of a birthday cake.

“When’s your birthday?” Quinn asked when the noise settled.

“The third.”

A range of emotions crossed his face in a matter of seconds, and his voice was tighter than she’d heard it when he asked, “Of January?”

She smiled softly, placing her hand on his thigh reassuringly as she said, “Feb. It’s in like two weeks.”

The panic on Quinn’s face didn’t disappear, despite Laurel’s best efforts. “I don’t know if I’m going to be here.”

“I’m not worried about it. I don’t really do birthdays, so, if you aren’t here, it’s fine.”

Quinn checked his schedule, then, despite Laurel’s insistence that she didn’t care about her birthday, and radiated happiness and relief when it showed he’d be in Vancouver. She smiled at him, less sincerely than before, but at least happy that he was happy.

Quinn was home for her birthday.

It wasn’t something she’d given much thought to, really, because he’d been talking to her about plans for the Thursday evening—her actual birthday—and then for the weekend pretty consistently since he found out that her birthday was so soon.

It wasn’t until the week before her birthday, when he disappeared on a long road trip, that she realised that she was lucky he’d be around at all let alone be around for an entire weekend. If she had been born one week earlier, he would have been playing in Winnipeg.

When they’d spoken about it for the first time, Laurel had been telling the truth when she told him she wouldn’t have been bothered if he was away—that had changed when she realised that there was every possibility that he might have missed it. He’d made her excited for something she hadn’t cared about in years.

Laurel was dressed up nicely in her most expensive dress pants and a top that was probably too low cut—but it showed off the body chain she rarely got the chance to wear—and sitting on the bench in her building’s lobby as she waited for Quinn. Wherever they were headed to was within walking distance according to Quinn, but Laurel had no measure for how far he considered walking distance. She laid her winter coat over her lap and tapped her heels against the tiled floor.

Quinn waved at her through the glass door and she could see that his cheeks were slightly red from the cold despite the beanie on his head and the scarf around his neck.

“Happy birthday,” he said sweetly when she walked outside, and Laurel kissed him immediately, then tapped his nose because it was so cold against hers.

She tugged the scarf tighter around his neck, then lifted it up so it covered the bottom half of his face—resulting in a laugh as he spluttered bits of fluff—before she rushed to put her coat on before she lost all feeling in her upper body.

They started walking back in the direction Quinn came from, their hands linked, and Laurel bit back her comment about how she could have met him wherever they were going if he’d gone out his way, only because he’d insisted that it was a surprise.

And a surprise it was.

They arrived at Elisa and Laurel’s jaw dropped. Quinn noticed but only smiled at her as he led them inside.

It took a lot to make Laurel speechless, and Elisa could definitely be described as a lot. While it didn’t look overly fancy, not in the try hard way Laurel usually associated with fine dining, she still felt out of place as they were walked through the restaurant to a relatively secluded table.

“Have you ever been here before?” Quinn asked one they were seated and the waiter had disappeared to fetch a bottle of wine.

“No,” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been here.”

Quinn was quite pleased with himself, judging by the way his lips turned upwards.

When the wine arrived, Laurel wished she had any appreciation for it. It was undoubtedly better—smoother, at least—than the various bottles she’d bought over the years, but she could see other people in the room swirling it in the glass before drinking it slowly. She took an inappropriately large mouthful and hoped nobody but Quinn saw.

Staring at the menu made her uncomfortable. The price tags next to them made her skin itch and her purse hurt at the thought of what the bill would be at the end of the night. Maybe Quinn would just let her pay for her meal and not expect her to split it evenly down the middle.

“Anything you like?” Quinn asked, his foot tapping the side of hers under the table to get her full attention.

“The cauliflower sounds nice,” Laurel said, trying to keep her voice steady but she was also trying to remember to breathe so it wasn’t very convincing.

“Are you a vegetarian?” Quinn asked, his eyes wide. “I should probably know that by now.”

“No, Quinn, we had burgers together the last time we saw each other.”

“Then you can be a bit more adventurous than a crispy cauliflower starter.”

“Quinn,” Laurel whispered, leaning forward so that nobody else would hear her, “this is the exact restaurant my college friends and I would joke about only being able to afford if we became sugar babies or gold diggers. I can’t afford anything else on this menu.”

“But I can,” he said, as if that wasn’t already abundantly clear to Laurel. “I’m not gonna make you pay for a date anyway, definitely not on your birthday.”

Still leaning forward, she frowned, “You’re just going to ignore the gold digger bit.”

“If you were with me for my money, I think I’d know it by now.”

Laurel wasn’t going to debate with him in the middle of Elise that six weeks was not enough time for him to know—it certainly wasn’t enough time for him to take her to Elise for her birthday. But they were there. It would be rude to walk out.

“Next time we go out we can get tacos or something,” Quinn suggested, sounding a little worried. “But I want you to order what you really want. Live your sugar daddy dream, or whatever.”

Relaxing back into her seat, she couldn’t help but laugh at Quinn’s statement, at the serious expression on his face as he said it. She clarified with him that he was sure that he could take back what he’d said up until she told the waiter her order. Quinn assured her that he wasn’t going to do such a thing, especially not on her birthday.

The weekend following Laurel’s birthday was the All-Star Game, and Laurel was resigned to watching more hockey than she ever had in her life. It wasn’t real hockey, Quinn explained, and she didn’t really watch but it was on in the background at Quinn’s place so it was unavoidable.

When it was finally over, they were cuddled on the couch watching Black Summer when Quinn’s phone interrupted them. Laurel pulled away from him enough to let him take it off the coffee table. At first it appeared that he was going to silence it, but as he leant back into the couch Laurel noticed the furrow of his brow when it became clear it was a FaceTime call.

“Can I—” he cut himself off and his brow got even tighter, the worry so evident on his face that Laurel felt worry well up inside her.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said softly, pausing the show and putting her hand on his thigh and squeezing just to remind him that he was there.

He answered the call, holding his breath, and answered it with, “Should I be worried?”

The man on the other end was smiling, everything around him so loud that his greeting was barely intelligible. “I don’t know how to tell you this, bud, but I think Jack and Daisy are getting married.”

“They wouldn’t.”

The camera switched around on Quinn’s friend’s side, revealing what was undoubtedly a Vegas wedding chapel with a young couple standing at the altar staring into each other’s eyes so dreamily Laurel flinched. Jack and Daisy, presumably.

“You got any other ideas about what’s happening here?”

Quinn quickly started a screen recording, even if his fingers fumbled through it and accidentally turned low battery mode on and his flashlight in the control centre first.

“Did you know about this? Before today?”

“Yeah, I knew about it and didn’t even ask you if you were showing up for it. Of course, I didn’t fucking know,” Brady argued, only to promptly get shushed by someone sitting next to him.

Laurel reached over to mute Quinn’s microphone, so that she could say, “That’s Daisy? She’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah, she’s always been pretty,” Quinn agreed, readily. Easily. “Still don’t know how Jack managed to land her, let alone keep her, let alone marry her. Mom’s gonna actually murder him. I might.”

Laurel—who had never been close to her family and always imagined that one day she would just see her family again with a wedding ring and a spouse—didn’t totally understand why Quinn was so upset. She’d heard him talk about his family enough to know that they were incredibly important to him but she still couldn’t wrap her head around it.

They watched in silence as the ceremony continued. It was generic and, truthfully, lacklustre as far as weddings went until Jack admitted that it wasn’t real, just a joke, and then landed on one knee. Laurel couldn’t hear anything from the phone that wasn’t just loud noises and the video itself was a nauseating combination of colours and movement.

“Fucking little shit,” Quinn mumbled under his breath, clearly relieved.

“Did you know he was going to propose?” Laurel asked. “Obviously not right now.”

“He got the ring about a week ago. Started planning it before Christmas but only picked it up last week. He told me he didn’t know when he was going to propose.”

Laurel hummed, leaning back into the couch as Quinn turned his microphone back on just as Jack and Daisy very much looked like they were seconds away from a full-on sex show in front of all their friends.

“I’m gonna send this to my mom,” Quinn said—Laurel wasn’t sure he could even be heard over the insanity on the other end. “I’ll call you later.”

With the call ended and the video sent to his mother, Quinn sat on the couch and stared blankly at the frozen zombie on the television.

“Are you happy, sad or mad?” she asked tentatively, giving his thigh another squeeze.

“Don’t know. I always knew that they’d probably get there before I did but didn’t really think it’d be before Jack was even 21.”

Laurel moved closer to him, pressing herself closer to Quinn; she had no idea what to say about him, about Jack, about marriage in general.

She was truly out of her depth.

Laurel was halfway out the door when Hayley stepped out of the elevator. Laurel waited at the door, holding it open so that Hayley wouldn’t have to get her key out.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess,” Laurel laughed, noting the flowers Hayley was carrying.

Hayley’s eyes fell to the bag hanging from Laurel’s hand. She said, cold and emotionless, “You have to give me notice if you’re moving out. You can’t just stop paying rent.”

“Did the money not go through?” Laurel asked, immediately reaching into her pocket for her phone to check her bank account. “I swear I saw it worked.”

“It did—calm down,” Hayley said, sweeter than she’s been speaking before. “Just—you’ve been spending a lot of time at your boyfriend’s—”

Laurel, hyper aware that she was heading over to Quinn’s yet again, hastily denied the accusation. “We haven’t been together that long. We haven’t even had the exclusive talk yet.”

“Just give me some time to find someone to move in,” Hayley said, slowly, and Laurel knew for certain that she wasn’t believed.

“Yeah, of course,” Laurel said, just as slowly, but more concerned. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

With a simple nod, and an instruction to have fun, Hayley disappeared inside and Laurel was left to walk to Quinn’s—left to overthink the specifics of her relationship with him and the possibility of those specifics being defined when she arrived at his place.

The bouquet of roses lying on the kitchen counter shouldn’t have surprised her as much as they did.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his smile proud.

Laurel picked up the bouquet as she passed it, her heart beating so rapidly and thunderously that she could hear it in her ears. She hadn’t expected anything at all—which she realised was silly after Quinn had gone all out for her birthday—after receiving nothing of the sort from any relationship she’d been in.

“Thank you, Quinn,” whispered, stepping into his arms with the bouquet carefully tucked between them. “Is it a stupid question if I ask if we’re exclusive?”

“I—” Quinn paused before he started laughing, the vibration running through Laurel. “I’ve been telling people you’re my girlfriend.”

“You forgot to tell me, though.” She added, a little petulantly but mostly in a longing whisper, “You didn’t even ask me.”

Quinn asked, with all the seriousness of a fifteen-year-old asking their crush to prom in front of their entire class, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Warmth filled Laurel’s cheeks and she buried her face into his chest, unsure if she was embarrassed that she didn’t know or embarrassed by how giddy it made her feel.

It was late, much later than Laurel usually slept in even after a big night. She could tell it was late without even looking at her phone because her body always had a visceral reaction to waking any later than 8am.

Quinn was saying her name softly and Laurel hummed before her eyes opened—she was always instantly awake.

“You let me sleep in,” she mumbled unhappily.

“You need it,” he said softly. “I have to go to practice. You can stay here.”

“Practice?” Laurel asked, her eyes screwing shut in confusion. “It’s a Saturday.”

Quinn’s laugh was gentle and Laurel looked up to see his face soft; he didn’t have to say anything for her to know that she’d said something wrong.

“No weekends in hockey.”

“They should give you weekends.”

“I’ll give you the commissioner’s number and you can lodge a direct complaint.”

Laurel smiled at him, reeled him in by the hand and kissed him—he didn’t seem to have any complaints about morning breath but the hint of mint on his lips was a nice little zing to wake up to.

He left shortly after, unswayed by her attempts to lure him back into bed, and Laurel stared up at his ceiling wondering exactly how long he spent at practice.

She showered and then tried not to feel weird about raiding his kitchen while he wasn’t home; tried not to feel weird about being in his apartment while he wasn’t home.

Nothing in the apartment had been kept secret from her, so she didn’t think she’d get any major insight into Quinn’s life by snooping through the chest of drawers he’d been letting her pull shirts out of since the first day.

Laurel made a bagel with cream cheese, afraid to do much more lest she damage Quinn’s very nice kitchen and sat down in front of the television. As she ate, she opened her phone and noticed overnight she’d picked up a few more Instagram followers which she attributed to the photo of her birthday outfit.

Weirder were the random comments she’d gotten on a few of her older photos, all of which were the same person commenting on how chubby Laurel’s cheeks were. Prominent buccal fat ran in the family; there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Her attention was immediately drawn away, though, by a comment she saw on a new post of Daisy’s—Jack’s girlfriend who she’d followed after Quinn wouldn’t stop talking about her in stories from his life in Michigan.

She pondered it, forgot about it as she turned her attention to re-watching Desperate Housewives, and only remembered when Quinn walked through the door after practice, his hair still wet.

“Why is Elena Rubio commenting on Daisy’s Insta posts?” she asked, not even greeting Quinn properly. “Why are people acting like it’s normal? She’s really famous.”

Quinn leant down to kiss her, hovering above her where she was tucked up onto the couch.

He shrugged. “Jack played half a season with Elena’s boyfriend. She and Daisy kept in touch.”

Kneeling up on the couch cushion and leaning over the back of the couch, Laurel watched Quinn potter around for a few moments before her thoughts won out and she asked, “Do you know how insane that is? Elena Rubio has won Oscars. Plural.”

His head tilted. “Okay?”

“Is knowing famous people common? You don’t seem to think that’s a big deal.”

“Not really? People know people, and if they’re hockey fans then they’re easier to become friends with. Hockey players are sort of famous.”

“Well, yeah, in very specific circles but Elena Rubio is a household name worldwide. She’s like Angelina Jolie or Sandra Bullock.”

“Carrie Underwood married a guy who played in Nashville but I don’t pay attention to it—you could probably google it.”

Laurel did just that, sitting back down on the couch and opening her phone. The results were middling—Vanessa from the original incarnation of Gossip Girl was dating a player, there was something about a WWE Diva once being married to a player, a moderately famous model named Lola Faraday, and a bunch of other women who only loosely fit Laurel’s definition of ‘celebrity’.

The couch dipped beside her; Quinn peaked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.

“What makes it so interesting?”

“I don’t know,” Laurel said truthfully. “You’re hot professional athletes in your physical prime, it wouldn’t have surprised me if there was a never ending list of players dating singers or models or actresses—the lists seem to be quite old, though, and filled with a bunch of celebrities I haven’t heard of.”

“Do you think I should go shoot my shot with a celebrity?” Quinn asked, tongue in cheek.

The panic that flared inside Laurel was unusual, a jealousy she couldn’t ever remember experiencing before. She hoped the panic wasn’t audible in her voice, “I can’t compete with a celebrity, so no.”

“You can compete.”

“Sure,” Laurel said with an unconvinced hum.

Quinn’s arm wrapped around her shoulder and he pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head instead of arguing against her. Laurel didn’t doubt that he believed what he was saying, even if she didn’t think it was the truth.

“Some people aren’t very nice to Daisy,” Laurel said, frowning as she scrolled deeper down the comments left on Daisy’s post. “They’re actually kind of awful. She’s not even remotely fat but they’re talking about her as if she’s literally a beached whale—that’s an actual whale emoji. Oh my god. She knows how to deal with this?”

“Uh,” Quinn hesitated. “Depends what day it is? Some days she fights back, other days she ignores it and Jack’s told me there are some days that are full of tears.”

“God, people are so awful,” Laurel sighed, turning off her phone and throwing it on the other couch so she would stop looking at it.

Settling into Quinn’s side was the only thing she could think to do, hung up on the idea of anyone going to the effort to be so unashamedly horrible.

“Do you want to come to a game next week?”

Laurel paused, putting down the knife in her hand, and turned to face Quinn. He looked as awkward as ever standing in her kitchen, his hands buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders up around his ears.

“Do you want me to come?” she asked carefully. “I’m not interested in hockey so if given the choice I will say no, but, if you want me there, I want to support you and I will go.”

Quinn’s face shuttered, his shoulders somehow raising even higher. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Quinn,” Laurel said firmly, “do you want me to watch you play hockey?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, resigned. “Course I do.”

With her most convincing nod and her kindest smile, despite her intense disinterest, Laurel assured him, “Tell me when and what I have to do and I’ll be there.”

It was enough to relax Quinn’s shoulders, bringing them back to their normal position. “It’s against Jack on the 15th; you can sit with my mom and Daisy.”

Laurel’s shoulders ended up around her ears, instead, any pleasure she’d gained from making Quinn happy disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He was still watching her, no apprehension, completely unaware that his request was far outside of Laurel’s comfort zone.

“Your mom, Quinn?” She hesitated. “I don’t—do I have to?”

His discomfort returned, tenfold it looked like to Laurel though she didn’t have much time to read his expression before he was turning his back to her and walking towards his bedroom.

“I—I guess not,” he said, though it was muffled. With his back to her, she was only able to hear it because the otherwise silent apartment was suffocating. “I just thought it’d be nice.”

With careful footsteps, Laurel followed Quinn into the bedroom but stopped in the door and watched as he moved aimlessly. She couldn’t find a single intention to anything he was doing, just opening and closing drawers, moving things around on his nightstand and tidying the bed they’d already made.

“Quinn?” Laurel asked after a few minutes of stifling silence.

“Yeah?” He lifted his head; the false nonchalance he was projecting made her uncomfortable.

“I just think it’s a bit soon,” she explained in a whisper. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

There was no sign that it actually was okay just as there was no sign that he was going to engage in a conversation that might get it there, so Laurel sighed and left him to fiddle.

It was too early for her to head to work and she wanted some sort of resolution before she disappeared. There was a realisation that it might have been their first ‘fight’ but that didn’t concern her half as much as the thought that it might have been her first ever fight in a relationship—that, despite the short length of it, nothing had ever come close to what she had with Quinn. None of that was anything she wanted to deal with inside a hospital. The self-realisations and growth inside those walls were best left to the patients she was discharging.

Not that there was anything she could do about it when finishing up the fruit salad she’d been making for her lunch—she was already planning the conversation she would have with Karina while eating it.

Quinn didn’t reappear until the salad was packed away and the dishes were washed but he didn’t say a single word as he started moving around in the kitchen in much the same way he’d done in his bedroom.

“Are you going to be in a mood for the rest of the day?” Laurel asked, trying to keep the accusatory edge out of her voice. “I said I’d go to the game.”

“I don’t know any other guy who’s had to beg their girlfriend to come to a game.”

“You didn’t beg, you asked. You know I’m not into hockey.”

“And you won’t meet my mom.”

A burst of panic in her chest caused Laurel to freeze and she barely managed to ask, “Can I do one thing at a time?”

“I don’t know when she’s going to be back in town.”

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Okay,” Quinn said shortly.

His phone started to ring and he didn’t hesitate to leave her standing in the kitchen. He mumbled something along the lines of Jack’s got it so fucking easy as he retreated back to his bedroom.

Laurel, at a total loss and about two minutes away from just leaving for the day, decided to drop down onto the couch heavily and check the notification she’d gotten on her phone when she was starting her cooking. It was another random comment from someone she’d never heard of, who she couldn’t see had any followers in common—this one wasn’t an attack on her cheeks but on the birthday post that people seemed to be most drawn to, on the outfit she’d felt very good about.

The comment didn’t make her feel as good.

Quinn returned much more sombre than he had been when he left. Laurel had expected a frosty remainder of the morning with minimal communication and even less physical contact before she left for work, but he sat down right beside her on the couch.

“I’m happy you’re coming to a game,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Is everything alright?” Laurel asked, not even sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

He sighed, though it didn’t sound particularly sad, “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just didn’t expect to hear from Jack today.”

Rogers Place was daunting and Laurel wasn’t prepared.

She was late, to start with, rushing from work and through a sea of people wearing Canucks jerseys, and incredibly flustered by the time she reached the security guard and had to scramble through her purse for her ID while he stared at her, just waiting for the moment he could tell her to turn around.

The crowd was raucous by the time she was standing outside the box she’d been led to—she’d shirked the security guard when they arrived, refusing to let him open the door before she was ready. That didn’t end up mattering, though, because as she was taking a deep breath and reaching forward to open the door, someone appeared beside her.

That someone she recognised as the woman who had tattooed the cat onto her forearm. Annie, who Quinn had told her would be waiting.

“Hey! Laurel, right? I didn’t think you’d make it,” Annie said, moving past Laurel to open the door and reveal the box, and the ice.

“Hi, yeah. Annie?” Laurel clarified, even though she’d be hard pressed to mistake the tattoos and lavender pixie cut. “I got held up at work.”

“Don’t worry about it; we’ve all been there. Come in and meet the gang.”

‘The gang’ was an assortment of partners whose names Laurel immediately forgot, and a few small children Laurel did her best to avoid. They were all very welcoming, at least, and yet she got the distinct feeling that they were putting on a show for her as the New WAG.

“Have you been to many hockey games?” Annie asked when they were sitting.

“No,” Laurel answered, probably too stiffly, and she forced her hands under her thighs. The wool tights she was wearing were too hot for the suite. “This is actually my first one. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Good first game to come to; you get to watch Quinn play against his brother,” said someone who wasn’t Annie—the captain’s wife, potentially. That as a name Laurel would definitely need to learn about later.

Annie added, “I even think Jack’s girlfriend is here.”

“Yeah,” Laurel said, focusing very hard on not sounding bitter. “She’s sitting with their mother.”

“You didn’t want to sit with them?”

The focus on trying not to sound bitter shifted to not gritting her teeth. The suite really was too hot, and the attention on her was only making it worse. Laurel wished that everyone would just turn around and watch the game that had started, but every eye was focused on her, waiting for an answer.

It bothered her enough that she rushed out her answer without really thinking about it, “It’s way too early to meet his mother, and I don’t quite know how to broach the topic of Daisy.”

“What do you mean?” Annie asked, looking out over the ice presumably to where Daisy and Quinn’s mom might have been.

The captain’s wife was leaning in closer, too, as if it was something she would need to deal with—or something she would need to report back to the captain. Laurel didn’t know; she could assume, though.

“I don’t know,” Laurel sighed. The flood gates of her annoyance were opened. “Sometimes it just feels like there’s more than one Hughes brother who’s in love with her.”

Annie scoffed, loudly, in horror, “Quinn would never. She’s basically his little sister.”

“That’s what he says but sometimes it’s just… I don’t know.” Laurel tried to shrug, not only was it hindered by her hands being shoved under her legs but it was just weak in general, her attempt at playing it off falling flat.

“You have to ask him direct questions about it. Hockey players aren’t that bright.”

“That’s a gross overgeneralisation,” Laurel said, her annoyance swiftly moving on. She didn’t take her eyes off the game, even if she lost track of the puck every other second and had no idea where Quinn was or if he was even on the ice.

“They’re not; they’ll tell you that,” Annie said, laughter in her voice. “Too many hits to the head.”

“Quinn went to college and he’s not the only one.” Laurel finally looked at Annie and didn’t want to think about the fire in her own eyes. “You shouldn’t just label them all as dumb like that. It’s really harmful.”

“It’s just a joke,” Annie said slowly—the fire in Laurel’s eyes clearly worse than even she’d expected. “One that they’re in on.”

“I think they deserve more credit. I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Laurel stared at herself in the mirror and let the faucet run with cold water she wished she could splash on her face. It wasn’t the first impression she’d been hoping for. All she wanted was to meet a couple of people, learn one thing about hockey and leave without any other fuss—it had been nothing but optimistic.

In lieu of using the water to cool down her cheeks, Laurel ripped off some paper towel, held it under the faucet before ringing it out and pressing it to the back of her neck. Goosebumps ran down her arms but the relief was incredible.

The very last thing she wanted to do was re-enter the suite and if she hadn’t promised Quinn she’d stay until the end of the game she would have made her way home. As it were, she had made that promise so she put on her bravest face, opened the door and found a seat at the back from which she could still see the ice.

She remained in that same seat until the end of the third period, not even moving for the intermissions. The final buzzer went, though, and Laurel was on her feet and out the door. Navigating the crowd on the way out was worse than on the way in.

Quinn had given her a key to his apartment after Laurel reiterated that she was not ready to meet his mother and would under no circumstances be doing that outside the locker room after the game. The key felt out of place in her bag and it was a relief to leave it on the counter as she passed through the kitchen.

By the time he got home Laurel was showered, changed into her pyjamas and once again reading strange Instagram comments. He wasn’t acting any weirder than when she left for work that morning, so she assumed nobody had told him about her Ice Queen routine. Or the comment she made about him maybe being in love with Daisy.

She was more willing to share one than the other.

“How’d it go? We won for you.”

“I noticed.” That was a little heartwarming, she had to admit. “Thank you.”

In next to no time, Quinn was undressed and laying beside her. He was nothing but sincere as he asked, “How was it?”

“I don’t think I made many friends.” She stared up at the ceiling, her phone left to fall somewhere beside her.

“Why’s that?”

“Annie made a comment about hockey players being stupid and I told her she shouldn’t make sweeping generalisations.”

Entirely unexpectedly, Quinn laughed. “To be fair, we are pretty dumb.”

Laurel sat up, already feeling the annoyance of earlier that evening returning. Quinn watched her with wide, confused eyes.

“You went to college.”

“For two years. I didn’t even graduate.”

“Graduating isn’t the only metric of intelligence,” Laurel said pointedly. She turned her body so that she was directly facing him, not just craning her neck.

“Going to college isn’t either. I didn’t go to college because I was smart, I went because UMich has a great hockey program.”

He reached out for her, to take her hand across the duvet, but she moved away to hold it against her chest.

Her heart had no reason to be thumping as hard as it was, yet she couldn’t deny the stress in her voice when she asked,“So you’re just happy to let people think you’re stupid? No debating it?”

“What does it matter if a few people think I’m stupid?”

“Isn’t Annie your friend?” Laurel questioned, baffled. If any of her friends had taken to belittling her intelligence behind her back, whether it was true or not, reconsidering their friendship would be instantaneous.

“Why is it so important to you?” Quinn’s voice was filled with a simmering rage that she hadn’t heard since their fight about her going to the game. “It sounds like being smart is the only important thing in the world.”

“I’ve watched really bright kids be pushed to the side because their parents decided that all their kids were dumb,” Laurel pressed, her own voice strained, “maybe because the parents themselves aren’t very intelligent. Maybe none of them were ever given the opportunity. I’m not saying that everyone is or needs to be the smartest in the room; I’m saying it’s harmful to just say that all hockey players are dumb because guys aren’t even going to try.”

Quinn’s brows pulled together, what he said next clearly very obvious to him, “They don’t have to try. As long as they’re good at hockey.”

The ire in Laurel’s body collapsed into sadness—disappointment, maybe—and she tried to convey her desperation to him with just a look. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“Quinn, you know that this has to end. Some players will be out of hockey before they’re twenty-five, right? If they truly think they’re stupid because that’s what they’ve been told their entire life then what hope do they have of being successful in anything else? All they’re good at is hockey, right? What’s Jack going to do?”

“I don’t—” Quinn sighed. “This isn’t a fight I want to have, Laurel.”

Laurel shuffled down the bed, turning her back to him and pulling herself to the edge of the mattress.

“Okay.”

Laurel had, in a fit of guilt, agreed to spend time with Daisy while Quinn took his mother to breakfast. Jack was well on his way to the next city and Laurel didn’t want to be the reason that Daisy spent the morning alone, so she said yes to cooking them breakfast.

It was the only time Laurel could remember being ungrateful for the extra days off afforded to her at work.

Quinn didn’t even stick around to wait for Daisy to arrive so he could introduce them—though Laurel did expect that if he had, Daisy would have arrived with Quinn’s mom and defeated the whole purpose of the separate breakfast.

So, Daisy arrived shortly after Quinn left, and Laurel just stood to one side in the kitchen as Daisy talked a mile a minute, introducing herself and depositing a grocery bag of pancake ingredients and topping onto the counter.

She beamed at Laurel when it was all out and neatly organised: “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes,” Laurel agreed, much more subdued.

“I know Quinn tried to get you to sit with us last night,” Daisy said as she opened some drawers to find bowls and measuring cups that Laurel didn’t even know Quinn owned. “He shouldn’t have tried to put you in the middle of all that.”

“All what? Do you and his mother not get along?” Laurel asked, stunned at how casual Daisy was. “I don’t mean to pry, sorry.”

Daisy shook her head, “We get along great, emotions have just been really high since I—oh wow, this still isn’t easy to talk about. The—you know. Planned Parenthood and all that.”

Laurel paused. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say.”

“Oh,” Daisy said, though it didn’t seem that her own pause was because she’d revealed something she hadn’t meant to. “Jack said you were together when they spoke last week so I figured.”

“No but I guess that explains why his mood shifted so suddenly that morning. Are you—are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just feel stupid that we let it happen in the first place.”

“That’s the word of the day apparently. It probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but you aren’t stupid. Shit happens and sometimes it’s not fucking fun. You’ve just gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Thanks, Laurel,” Daisy said with a smile so sincere Laurel inwardly flinched. “It does mean a lot.”

Needing something to do with her hands and distract herself from the entirely unexpected seriousness of the conversation, grabbed at the lemons to cut them up and juice them.

Thankfully the conversation was kept light while they cooked—even lighter when the first pancake came out burnt in a phenomenon that upset them both because they agreed the test pancake is most definitely the best pancake.

Daisy was fine, Laurel decided. That did little to assuage her worries that Quinn was in love with Daisy, of course, but it was hardly Daisy’s fault if he was. The way she spoke about Jack made it clear that she wasn’t leaving him for anyone, though, which did ease some of the concerns.

They sat down at the dining table to eat, setting it with way too many toppings for the two of them, and Laurel got whiplash when Daisy jumped back into the heavy conversation without any preamble.

“Ellen doesn’t know yet—or she might now but she definitely didn’t last night. I just thought you didn’t want to sit with us in case you accidentally spilled the beans.”

“I’m not ready to meet his parents yet. We’ve only been official since Valentine’s Day—it’s been a month.” Laurel pushed a piece of pancake through the lemon juice on her plate without looking up.

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t really think about that. Jack and I were in high school, so parents were kind of unavoidable. I’ve never had to deal with it being too soon. They’re good people, Ellen and Jim. Helped me through a lot even when Jack and I were brand new.”

Laurel nodded, still not looking up from her plate. She didn’t have anything else to say; she couldn’t argue that they were bad people when she’d never met them. She also didn’t feel like spilling her life story to Daisy.

It wasn’t a problem Daisy had, though. She wasn’t at all bothered by Laurel’s silence, just filled it easily with the revelation that her mother had passed away when she was in elementary school. Until Ellen came along, Daisy said with the most well-adjusted ease Laurel had ever come across, she didn’t have a maternal figure to help her through the day-to-day aspects of growing up.

Laurel sat in place, stewing over her own mother being physically present but emotionally distant, and wondered, not for the first time, if it wouldn’t have been easier to run away to live with her father. Maybe his third wife would have been a better mother.

Things had calmed down quite considerably after Quinn was able to spend time with Ellen. Laurel decided that the pressure he’d put on her about them meeting stemmed more from him missing Ellen more than it did from being desperate for them to meet.

Laurel hadn’t been to any more games. Quinn didn’t put any pressure on her for the other games that week—taking her comments that she hadn’t made any friends in stride, saying that they could try again whenever Laurel wanted—and then he’d disappeared on a weeklong road trip.

She was really hating road trips, and not just because she had to return to the tiny apartment she shared with someone she only liked half the time.

Missing Quinn as much as she did hadn’t become normal yet, in fact it was getting worse every time he left.

She spent a lot of time on Instagram while he was gone—the influx in followers and comments was getting increasingly more aggressive, steadily rising each and every day. For someone who had never put too much stock into what other people did or said on social media, Laurel was taking them all very seriously.

Quinn caught on when he got home and his eyes had flickered to her screen more than a couple times. There was nothing for her to try and hide, so she hadn’t thought twice about him seeing what she was doing, or even telling him about the sudden uptick.

That was a mistake, though, she soon realised, when he immediately tensed up and said, “I’m calling Annie.”

“Why would you call Annie?” Laurel asked, turning off the screen and hiding the phone behind her leg as if he’d change his mind.

“Because they’ve found you and I don’t—I need—How long?”

Laurel hesitated to answer, and settled on a not-entirely-truthful, “It’s only been a few weeks.”

“Right. We’ll get them to stop.”

And so, Laurel ended up sitting in a very nice living of a very nice house, opposite Annie and her lavender hair, her tattoos and a resting bitch face that Laurel was actually quite jealous of. It was enough to put her on the back foot immediately.

“I know that I wasn’t the nicest or whatever, at the game. I’m sorry. I get preachy and a lot of people don’t like being preached at,” she conceded, her head hanging low.

“If it was a little less preachy,” Annie said, her voice much lighter than Laurel had expected, “we’d probably agree about most stuff.”

Laurel wasn’t actually sure if Quinn had briefed Annie on why he’d brought her over; he hadn’t said a whole lot while they were driving away from downtown and into the suburbs of Vancouver. The silence left her pondering exactly what Quinn had found so serious about it all, so serious that he couldn’t even tell her why he wanted her to talk to Annie.

“I kind of need help, though? If I’m not pushing my luck. I’m gaining Insta followers like crazy and I don’t know these people. They’re commenting on my photos and my stories and sending me messages. Quinn seems to think it’s a big deal.”

Annie bristled, her back straightening so immediately that Laurel flinched. Her question was filled with exasperation and defeat, “You have a public account?”

“Uh, yeah? Don’t most people?”

Annie sighed.

“First things first—make it private. Once it’s private, you block everybody you don’t know so that they unfollow you. The photos currently on the account are already out in the world but we can at least stop new ones from getting out.”

Laurel let the words sink in, trying to make sense of them as well as trying to make sense of how serious Annie looked—the resting bitch face had shifted to determined and a little frightened.

It frightened Laurel that she squeaked out, “Getting out?”

“Fuck, you really don’t get it. You’re a WAG now, so there’s a subset of fans who care about you and they care too much. Sometimes they’re just really nice and respect that you’re human and have feelings and then there’s the psychos who send you hate mail.”

As she was speaking, Annie opened up her own phone and Googled her name—the first results, predictably were related to her tattoo artist career but as she scrolled a little further she put her phone down on the table so that Laurel could see every link that followed that was slightly off-kilter.

It was all disjointed but exactly as Annie had said. Various photos of Annie were splashed across Twitter or Tumblr, with or without Brock, and the accompanying comments that moved between complimentary and taking cheap shots at how little Annie weighed, or the ever-changing colour of her hair, or the state of her tattoos.

It wasn’t dissimilar to some of the comments Laurel had seen on Daisy’s Instagram—or the one she’d seen on her own.

With her heart in her stomach, Laurel said, “They like to go for my cheeks.”

“Your cheeks?” Annie asked, her voice and face softening.

“They won’t shut up about how chubby they are, as if I don’t know exactly how much fat is sitting in my cheekbones.”

Annie laughed, humourlessly, “They always find the insecurity. They’re real fucking good at it.”

Together they went through the long process of clearing out Laurel’s followers, blocking them all one by one. The number had crept up a lot higher than she thought it had.

Rogers Arena was no less daunting the second time.

It was a very different daunting, though, despite Karina being by her side. She wasn’t making a beeline to the suites because nobody knew she was even at the game, but trying to get to their seats moments before the puck was set to drop was a stress Laurel didn’t need.

“You can teach me what’s going on, right?” Laurel turned to Karina in a panic while still halfway down the stairs

“Yes, Laurel,” Karina sighed, fond but exasperated, turning Laurel back around and guiding her to their seats. “Just like I told you I could when you asked me to come.”

“I know, I just—I want to surprise Quinn.”

Karina reminded her, again, that there was no way Laurel was going to learn all the ins and outs of hockey from one game—“definitely not when the Canucks are playing the Coyotes.”—as they sat down in their seats. The seats that cost far more money than Laurel had anticipated; good thing she was ready to fully commit to being a WAG who knew the sport.

Despite Karina’s insistence that the game was going to be lacklustre and nothing to learn from, the Canucks came out swinging.

Laurel knew enough from what Quinn had told her that multiple goal games weren’t all that common so seeing the Canucks score two goals in the first period was exciting enough. When they scored another four in the second, with only one minor interruption from the Coyotes she was ready to truly lose her mind.

The atmosphere was infectious. Not even her constant leaning in to check something with Karina was ruining her night—like when the Coyotes were penalised for ‘too many men on the ice’ or when Quinn was sent to the penalty box was ‘cross-checking’. Watching him on the box on the big screen above the ice was funny, Laurel couldn’t deny that even if the fans around her vehemently disagreed with the call.

“He definitely fucked up, right?” she clarified with Karina after the protesting had died down.

“Definitely. He’s just our guy, so obviously the refs are wrong.”

Laurel just hummed, bemused.

By the end of the game—when the Canucks had managed to score another goal for a 7-1 victory—Laurel had to admit that she was hooked. It would be different to sit down in front of a television and watch, even sitting in the suite wouldn’t cut it, because sitting amongst so many people who were utterly invested in the outcome was addictive.

Adrenaline was still coursing through every part of her body when she let herself into Quinn’s apartment. He wasn’t home, yet, and wouldn’t be for a little while longer she knew and had given her his spare key yet again. He knew she was spending the evening with Karina but, as had become increasingly common, wanted her to be there when he got home.

She wondered frequently when the key would be handed over for good.

With so much excitement in her veins, Laurel was still wide awake when he got home. Part of her wanted to reveal the secret right then and there, that she was at the game, that she saw him get numerous ‘assists’ and the two-minute penalty, but she managed to calm herself down just enough to keep it together.

Quinn stood in the doorway to his bedroom, his tie nowhere to be seen and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Laurel watched him closely from where she was sitting up against the headboard.

“I heard there was a big win,” she said, putting her phone down and letting the duvet covers pool in her lap.

Quinn smirked, the confidence rolling off his body not something Laurel saw everyday but it was definitely something she liked.

“Big, big win,” he agreed, stepping slowly closer.

Laurel’s heart rate picked up, not that she thought it possible, and she froze in anticipation while he walked closer.

“Jack’s boys lost, though.”

Truthfully, he may as well have thrown her into the Arctic Ocean with the speed his words ruined any sort of arousal.

She gathered the duvet and slowly slumped down into the mattress. She still tracked him as he walked around the room and changed out of his suit and mourned the mood he’d so sufficiently killed.

“That’s a shame.”

He continued to talk about Jack—about hockey, mostly, but sometimes veering into random pieces of their childhood that she tried to piece into what she’d been told previously. His family’s closeness would never cease to fascinate her.

She felt herself falling asleep, suddenly drained after the realisation that they weren’t heading towards orgasms of any kind and buried herself into the covers pulled up around her chin.

“We bought a house in Michigan so we can spend the summers together.”

Laurel blinked, taking a moment to determine that she’d heard him correctly. She asked, “the whole summer?”

“That’s the plan. It’ll be so good. We’ve got so many buddies from there or who spent enough time in Michigan that they can’t wait to go back—”

Nothing else he said mattered, not even to slot anything into his backstory, because all Laurel could think about was him spending the entire summer so far across the continent.

Any interest Laurel had in learning the game of hockey or the life that came with it disappeared with the knowledge that Quinn wasn’t wasting any time in leaving Vancouver when his season was over. And it would be over soon.

She didn’t know much but she did know that they weren’t making playoffs.

The plan as she knew it was for Quinn to fly to Michigan a week after their final game but she’d purposely been avoiding learning much about it because it only made her angry.

If Quinn had noticed the distance she was keeping, he hadn’t said anything.

Her visits to his place had been limited and it wasn’t even intentional. The final games of the season, some on the road, along with some team bonding meant that Quinn’s schedule didn’t have much time for Laurel.

That wasn’t helping matters.

Laurel stood outside his apartment buildings for a few moments, trying to compose herself before she buzzed the intercom to be let up. She had to talk to him about it because the internal speculation was driving her crazy, and she’d watched her mother ruin too many relationships due to lack of communication.

When she stepped into his apartment, it was clear Quinn felt the tension between them. He didn’t lean in to kiss like he normally would, just stood to the side and let her in; she moved far enough into the apartment to hover in the kitchen but didn’t go much further.

“Why are things weird?” he asked, so direct and abrupt that Laurel was caught off guard. “I haven’t seen you in like two weeks and you’re weird on the phone. What did I do?”

“I don’t know, Quinn,” Laurel said with a huff. “This feels like a really crucial time in our relationship and you’re just going to fuck off for the whole summer. More than the summer? Leave now and not come back until, what? September?”

The immediate attack was the wrong decision, it became immediately clear, when Quinn tensed up and his face closed off completely. It was the meanest she’d ever seen him.

“I was going to be back in about two weeks,” he said, devoid of any emotion. It made it hurt so much worse to hear the detachment in his voice when he added, “To see you.”

Laurel cowered, “Why are you going at all? Do you need a break from me?”

“It’s my brother’s 21st birthday, Laurel, and I’m not going to miss it. I was thinking about asking if you wanted to come but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No,” Laurel agreed, clenching her fists at her sides, “I don’t think it is a good idea. I don’t think we’re a good idea.”

The tension defused ever so slightly, Quinn’s mask slipping just enough to show shock and a little bit of hurt before he recovered. His voice was still quiet as he asked, “Do you really mean that?”

Laurel deflated, too; every insecurity she had about relationships came to the forefront of her brain. “Yeah, I mean, what do we have in common, Quinn? We’re Americans living in Vancouver? I don’t get what you do for a living but it’s also not even just what you do for a living, is it? It’s your whole life.”

Quinn took half a step forward, then froze. Laurel wanted him to be closer but didn’t make any effort to close the gap.

“I have a life outside of hockey and I thought it included you.”

“You don’t exist without hockey, Quinn,” Laurel sighed, her voice small, “and you don’t even see it. You’re here from September to May because of the hockey season, but you’re also on the road a lot and not really here, and I’m expected to just… accept and understand that and wait for you all the time. And then when the season’s done, you want to disappear for like four months and you expected me to just follow you when you asked at the last minute. I don’t have the luxury, Quinn.”

“I know that.”

“Why did you only give me two weeks’ notice? Why didn’t you talk to me about it at all? I get that your mom dropped a hell of a lot for your dad’s work and then your hockey careers and Daisy seems to be doing the same for Jack, but I didn’t grow up in hockey or even sports—I don’t get any of this and you’ve never really explained it to me. The life, not whatever happens on the ice.”

“That’s why I wanted you to sit with my mom and Daisy—they can explain it all to you.”

“But it’s not their job, is it, Quinn?”

“Laurel, they know what it’s like to be a WAG. I have no fucking clue what it’s like. The best people to help you are the girls who live the life you know nothing about but you just refuse to talk to them.”

“I—I spoke to Annie,” Laurel countered, knowing that it was weak.

“Once. I have tried so hard to bring you into my world and you fight me at every turn.”

“What about my world?” Her question came with a renewed fire, thinking of all the parts of her life Quinn didn’t know about; all the things he hadn’t taken the time to learn.

“You won’t let me in there, either. So, I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Maybe he couldn’t learn without her teaching him. Maybe he hadn’t asked.

Laurel didn’t know. All she did know was that her heart was slowly crumbling in her chest as she tried to put on a brave face and pretend it was the outcome she’d wanted by showing up in the first place.

She ducked her head so she could walk past him, saying coolly that she was going to collect some things from his room. There was no way she’d be able to remove everything of hers in one trip when she hadn’t even brought her overnight bag but if she could at least grab her expensive skin care items and her favourite clothes that would be something.

Quinn followed her, his footsteps dull and heavy, and she felt his eyes watching her as she moved around. She didn’t snap at him, didn’t ask him what he was worried she’d steal, just focused on fitting what she could into her purse.

“I went to a game, you know?” she asked as she carefully took a shirt from one of the hangers she’d co-opted and folded it into her purse.

Quinn huffed a disbelieving laugh. “The one I begged you to come to.”

“The night up told me you were going back to Michigan, actually,” she corrected. “Sat in the crowd with Karina from work and she tried to teach me what was going on. I was going to surprise you by learning how the game worked without you having to teach me.”

“Too late for that, isn’t it? You’re the one who thinks we should break up.”

“I guess I am,” she said, a sad smile stretched across her face. “I don’t know how this is where it ended, Quinn.”

“I wish you’d told me two weeks ago that you were mad at me. Probably could have avoided this.”

Laurel shrugged, half-heartedly, “I don’t know. This shit’s always inevitable for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be, you know that.”

“Bye, Quinn.”

She left him standing in the doorway of his bedroom and didn’t turn back around once as she left, fearing that she’d beg him for anything that made it better.

There wasn’t anything that could make it better.

Laurel knew the minute she accepted that the date was a bad idea. The one piece of advice her mother gave her for getting over relationships was that “a week for every month you were together” was the proper timeframe for getting over someone.

If Laurel counted from the day she officially became Quinn’s girlfriend, three weeks was plenty of time. Half a week too long, even.

If only that had assuaged her guilt enough to not ruin the night out Brooke had organised for them. Even if the night was drinks and dancing at the same dive bar where she’d met Quinn.

Drinks and dancing were easier than any other alternative that wasn’t just sex; it was clearly just a prelude to sex, regardless, and not even a very vague one.

Laurel could handle the pretence, though, because Brooke was proving to be enough of a difference from what she’d realised was her ‘type’ that Laurel had no issues pressing up against her on the dance floor or sitting in her lap when they stopped for drinks.

By the time a lovely haze was settling over Laurel—Tom Collins had leant his name to a very nice drink—it all came crashing down.

“Why do the Vancouver Canucks keep staring at us?”

She hadn’t noticed them, had been far too wrapped up in getting Brooke to take her home, before they were pointed out to her but, sure enough, Quinn was standing across the room huddled with more than a few guys from the team.

“I dated one of them,” Laurel said with a sigh, averting her gaze before she could accidentally make eye contact with any of them. If Quinn caught her, she would die in the spot.

“Yeah?” Brooke pushed. “Recently enough that they’re still staring?”

17 days.

But she wasn’t counting.

“It wasn’t a great breakup.”

“Damn.” Brooke paused. “Does he know you also date women?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then I can do this—”

At first, Laurel melted into Brooke’s mouth—the softness was something she didn’t realise she’d missed and Brooke’s fingers had crept under her top and were applying just enough pressure to really curl the heat in Laurel’s stomach.

The beat that followed replaced the heat with led, and Laurel pushed herself out of Brooke’s lap. She had enough of a mind to fix her top and then no mind at all when she turned to where Quinn had been and made the eye contact she’d dreaded.

17 days wasn’t enough.

Quinn was moving, then, weaving his way through his teammates and towards the entrance to the bar; Laurel didn’t even feel Brooke’s hand on her wrist as she rushed to follow him.

Laurel hated dive bars and all the people in them, each and every one stepping in and out of her path as she desperately tried to stay on her feet.

A cool breeze hit her like a wall when she stepped onto Water Street, enough of a shock that she flinched and stopped in her tracks. Someone was following close enough behind her that she was forcibly moved onto the sidewalk.

She locked eyes on Quinn, standing at the gutter with his phone in his hand. He looked up from it, presumably hearing her shoes on the contact, and sighed so deeply she saw his shoulders rise and fall.

“Quinn—I—”

“It’s fine, Laurel,” he mumbled, looking away from her and down Water Street, “we’re broken up.”

“I didn’t want her to do that,” Laurel stressed, reaching out to touch his arm. Quinn took a tiny little step and her hand fell away. She whispered; then, “Especially not in front of you. I’m sorry.”

“We’re not together. You can do what you want. I’m getting out of here.”

A car pulled up in front of them; Quinn was quick to open the door.

She touched his arm again, her fingers digging into the jacket he was wearing so he couldn’t shake her off, and she pleaded, “I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”

Laurel felt the ire pouring off him even though he barely looked at her over his shoulder, when he said, “You never let me tell you, so how could you?”

“Quinn—”

He shook his arm, forcibly dislodging Laurel’s hand. She teetered backwards as she stepped out of the way of the car door so it didn’t close on her—it really didn’t feel like that would have been a bad thing.

Instagram was a much quieter place after The Purge at Annie’s House and after months of not being with Quinn. The requests to follow her died down around July, she guessed because nobody could say they’d seen them together so she was no longer interesting.

Laurel couldn’t deny that she’d googled her own name a few times since Quinn left her on Water Street, curious to know what any of the ‘puck bunny' blogs had been saying about her—most updates post August were that she and Quinn were done. Quinn was officially back on the market.

Too many people were poking fun at her Instagram handle—‘looks like @l0nelylaurel is l0nelier than ever’ and it was all hitting too close to home.

Truth be told, 153 days was no easier than 17.

A lot of that could be contributed to the angst of waiting for Quinn to show any sign that he was even coming back to Vancouver. The season was ten days from officially starting and he hadn’t even re-signed with the Canucks.

He was still in Michigan.

Or that’s what she thought—what she expected—until his post appeared on her feed.

6 more years.

The newly christened hockey fan in her was ecstatic.

The pining ex-girlfriend was… desperate. Maybe.

To Quinn: is it too late to apologise and tell you i’ve been learning about hockey?

The lack of context bothered her and she sent a follow up text soon after.

To Quinn: congratulations on the contract. i’m proud of you

She didn’t think that context helped her case, either, but at least it was a reason to be texting him behind just missing him.

Laurel wasn’t expecting a text back with any speed. Returning to her job after a week of vacation time was hard enough; having to sign a whole new contract and join the team after they’d already been through the bulk of their training and bonding wasn’t something she could comprehend.

That was mostly because she’d heard from various Canucks fans at work about how damaging it was to the team for him and Petey to hold out so long.

She brought up YouTube to mindlessly watch something so that she didn’t dwell on her texts to Quinn, but she hadn’t even picked something when her phone buzzed and his name showed at the top of her screen.

From Quinn: Maybe there’s a table free at Elise. Heard about someone who’s big trophy wife fantasy was getting dinner there 🤔

Her heart sank.

It was a reasonable leap for him to make, she couldn’t fault him for it even if it made her want to claw at her skin and disappear into her couch for the rest of her life—but not before she made sure he knew it wasn’t like that.

To Quinn: it’s not about the contract. just didn’t know when you were back in town

From Quinn: Bad joke. Come over tomorrow after work?

The relief that overcame her was almost painful in how good it felt. Her heart was no longer sinking but instead racing faster and stronger than she knew how to deal with.

To Quinn: 💕

There was a pleasant, refreshing chill in the air as Laurel made the walk from her apartment to Quinn’s.

Haley had questioned where she was going for no other reason than Laurel didn’t change out of the clothes she’d worn to work—almost every time she’d left the house since May she’d changed into something more appropriate for a bar because, well, she was headed to a bar. They still weren’t friends but Haley worried enough that Laurel had to assure her it wasn’t self-destructive.

The bars had been pretty self-destructive. Seeing Quinn was the opposite.

She hoped, anyway.

He must have been sitting at the buzzer with how fast he let her into the building, and he was standing in his open door when she stepped out of the elevator.

“Welcome home?” she said, tilting it into a question when it crossed her mind that she didn’t actually know where he considered home. Maybe he’d just left home.

He smiled, “It’s good to be back. Come on, I pulled a few strings and have some food from Elise coming.

“Quinn…” Laurel trailed off, concerned that she’d been invited over as a joke.

“It’s really nice food and I know you like it. I really would have taken you there but I know my joke didn’t land.”

Laurel nodded, short and still uncertain. He carried on, though, guiding her into his apartment. He was acting like nothing had happened, like the last two times they’d seen each other hadn’t been disasters.

She washed her hands, taking a little extra time in the bathroom to recompose herself. He was being far nicer than he should have. She hadn’t expected him to be horrible to her—even if she’d been half concerned it was all an elaborately cruel joke—she just hadn’t expected him to welcome her in with open arms.

They ate peacefully, Laurel rather overwhelmed by how good the food was, by how Quinn had remembered what she’d ordered on her birthday. Quinn interspersed their eating with some stories from Michigan, so tentatively that he was obviously testing the waters.

She listened, grateful to have him back in front of her, delighted by the familiar awkwardness with which he carried himself.

She tried to fill him in on what she’d been up to while he was away, coming up short as she’d had no time off.  

Quinn, seemingly realising she was floundering, turned the conversation in an entirely different direction on a hair pin.

“I didn’t do enough to help you get used to hockey and the life it comes with.”

Laurel blinked, stopping her wine glass as it was halfway to her mouth and putting it carefully back on the table. She said, measured, “You weren’t the problem, Quinn.”

“Maybe we share the blame but I—everyone I know goes from zero to sixty in like three weeks,” he explained, his hands twitching around his knife and fork. “Jack and Daisy have been virtually married since high school and I need to stop comparing my life to his but it’s a bit depressing when my go-to example of a relationship is my younger brother.”

“At least it’s a happy one. Mine are every relationship my mom ever blew up. I do a pretty good job replicating them.”

A sympathetic look crossed Quinn’s face, one Laurel didn’t feel entitled to, but he didn’t continue the conversation. He let go of his knife and reached his hand across the table to hold hers. He simply squeezed it comfortingly and smiled.

It lit up her entire body.

By the time they were washing up, Laurel was settling into his apartment as if she’d never left. Nothing changed since May, almost definitely because Quinn hadn’t been home, and she found her ice cream in the freezer where she’d left it and pulled two spoons from the drawer. Quinn followed her easily to the couch.

She turned sideways on the couch, crossing her legs so that she was facing him and he sat at the opposite end and also turned to face her. The ice cream container was settled onto the cushion between them, teetering precariously.

“Did you really go to a game without telling me?”

She startled, “You remember that?”

“Pretty sure I remember the entire convo word for word.”

It was a pretty quick way to bring down the mood, even if it looked like Quinn hadn’t intended it to be, the flinch that followed his words clue her into his regret.

“I did, yeah,” Laurel powered on. “You won and I had fun.”

He smiled and she smiled back, caught up in the immediate happiness that replaced the regret. Despite the happiness, he was hesitant when he asked, “Do you think you’ll want to go again?”

“I’d like to,” Laurel admitted, still smiling. “I should probably know the game, right?”

“The Devils are in town next month. Daisy might come. Mom won’t make it this time.”

“I can handle Daisy,” she assured him. “That’d be really great, Quinn. I don’t have the equivalent for social work in a hospital, but if we plan drinks any time soon I’ll make sure it’s a day you’re free. You can meet Haley if you want.”

She moved the ice-cream from between them and leant sideways to put it on the coffee table. The only thing keeping her from falling off the couch completely were Quinn’s quick reflexes and his hand shooting out to press against her rib cage.

She held her breath at the contact, at the easy way he helped her back onto the couch, and then at the sincerity in his voice as he said, “I’ll meet whoever you’ll let me meet, Laurel.”

“Letting people in is hard for me but I really want it to be you who changes that.”

He’d barely gotten out “Me, too” before Laurel was moving across the now empty space between them to capture his mouth in a kiss.

The morning after the game against the Devils—a 5-2 defeat that almost wished she hadn’t been present for—Laurel and Quinn squeezed in breakfast with Jack and Daisy before Jack got on a flight to Edmonton.

Jack was… Not what Laurel expected.

His arrival was so loud and energetic that she glanced sideways at Quinn to see how he was going to handle their breakfast being interrupted by a fan, and she took a couple of steps back just to be out of the way. Her confusion grew when Daisy walked in behind him, rolling her eyes as Jack launched himself at Quinn.

“They literally saw each other last night,” Daisy said, hugging Laurel. “It’s like this every time.”

“He’s not what I was expecting,” Laurel admitted. “Quinn’s so quiet and you are, too, that—”

“Daisy? Quiet? You pull your body double in for the game?” Jack asked, stepping away from Quinn. “I’m Jack—Daisy’s conned you.”

“I know how to read a room.”

“I’m Laurel.”

Given Jack’s entrance, the hug wasn’t entirely unexpected. She made eye contact with Quinn over Jack’s shoulder, saw the pleased smile on his face and knew that everything was really going to work out fine.

tag list: @fallinallincurls @spine-buster @2manytabsopen @xcicix @sorryjustafangirl @senditcolton @shinyfalcon4 @guesswhoispathetic @laurenairay @ripepeach @jarmorie @p1nkbarbi3

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[searchingforatrail]

complex megop opinions below!

Not necessarily positive or negative, just a very objective view of it and how fandom sees it vs. other ships with a similar dynamic. 

This isn’t ship hate, because it’s my OTP. It’s just a realistic look at MegOp spurred on by the fact that I tend to see people overlook the obvious issues for moral points. Meaning, I’ve run upon some sort of hate towards megastar shippers from  some megop shippers, usually with people accusing the former of being unhealthy and abusive, and i’m like, the latter isn’t? 

And not just the ship, but people too. 

I credit most of the great development and realistic approach towards a positive MegOp portrayal to fans, given that in most media we have of them, their relationship starts out great and disintegrates into one of the most tragic relationships of all time. Not only because they fall out, but because they hurt each other, drastically. Megatron, arguably more. Not only does he hurt Optimus, he targets him by harming those close to him. Whether it’s children or his closest friends, he personally hurts those around Optimus.  

In Prime, it’s arguably worse. Because it’s not just physical, but it’s psychological too. Especially during the Orion Pax saga. 

And the same could be said about Optimus to Megatron as well. Initially. Just in a different light. Optimus, a privilege mech, using his position and power to speak over Megatron, to dismiss his want to use violence and overthrow a government who abused him, etc., is a great example of an abuse of power. 

And I always stand by the fact that Megatron was 100% within his rights to want to use violence to hurt those who hurt him. 

In IDW both have an entire conversation about how badly they’ve hurt each other, Megatron flat out admits to wanting to hurt Optimus by hurting people around him. He knows what emotionally fucks with his closest friend, and proceeds to do it on a galactic level. Repeatedly. 

But people aren’t supposed to interact with megop shippers because they ship megastar? On the basis of abuse and/or an unhealthy relationship? 

What makes them different? A lot, i’m sure. There’s an arguably closer work relationship with Megatron and Starscream, the abuse is physical and psychological. There’s a larger power imbalance, and it’s over the span of a longer time. Starscream has less of a chance to fight back as opposed to Optimus, and the relationship between Megatron and Starscream is not always as equal as Megatron and Optimus’s. 

So it’s much easier to say “This is an unhealthy relationship”. 

But that’s canon. Shippers and artist work very diligently to change it, fix it, and write happy endings to it that end pretty well. They’ve worked to create complex endings to an abusive ship, very similar to how canon and fanon writers have done the exact same thing to Megatron and Optimus. 

But the bottom line is that both ships are very unhealthy. At least a a point. They don’t start that way, and they might not end that way, but a significant chunk of time, they are very, very unhealthy. And the even bottomer line is that fans work very hard to give it a healthier ending--both ships. 

And that said, I don’t understand the vitriol that comes from MegOp shippers to Megastar shippers, especially when both ships have similar dynamics. 

I guess the argument is that “well, one ship is more abusive/unhealthy than the other”, but you get in a weird space when you start to say one version of abuse is more valid than the other. 

And don’t get me wrong, there are stark differences between both ships. I do think Starscream is in a place where he experiences abuse more, but that doesn’t make Megop unhealthy or a morally superior ship. It doesn’t it any less hypocritical to add  “megastars dni/megastars get hit by trucks/i hate megastar shippers” on your profile on the basis of abuse or unhealthy relationships if you ship MegOP. 

I think it’s just dismissive of what both megatron and optimus go through during their time together, because their unhealthiness is acceptable. And that leaves a very sour taste in my mouth. 

So yeah, those are just my thoughts. I welcome another perspective, just be kind about it. 

And I love MegOp. Megatron and Optimus are my favorite characters. but I also know the ship is the most complex ship, imo, to date in transformers. and it’s not without it’s fair share of pain and agony. But why is their dynamic okay. why does it give is the right to be crappy towards other shippers who ship a similar dynamic to ours? 

[aimixx]

kaveh x gn! reader

A short Kaveh drabble

concept: accidental hand touching (credits to eloquentmoon)

Words: 637

reblogs are highly appreciated<333

Taglist: @astranne @hakunonn @scarlet-kazuha @jackpotsadgirl69420 @yoizhi @baelloraa @itsyourgirlria @itsactuallylina @vinnie-w @teeheelittlebitch @garlicforthewin @soggy-bruh (if you want to get tagged, please fill out this form!)

"Are you in love with someone?"

As he was taking a small walk around the Grand Bazaar to get materials for his work, Kaveh overheard the question as he passed by two people having a conversation.

Love. He heard from many people that it is a beautiful feeling, a feeling that gradually makes you change your flaws and draws you closer to the person of affection. 

As an artist, Kaveh is always drawn to beautiful things, he is a man who is determined to make all his creations earn the title of beautiful. So far, he never failed once and he takes pride in that.

So of course for creative people like Kaveh, emotions and experiences that leave a positive impact on someone is obviously a beautiful scenery. There is nothing more beautiful than a smile that comes deep from the heart.

Kaveh would sometimes wonder when he would experience this feeling with someone. He loves every design he makes, loves the smiles and joy it brings to his clients. 

"Are you serious? There's no oil paint?" 

He was at the shop where he got all his materials from, the vendor there knows Kaveh well and everything he usually gets. Kaveh was about to greet the vendor when he noticed a new face.

He never saw this person before, not only in the Grand Bazaar but in Sumeru City in general. 

"Excuse me," Kaveh said, interrupting the two, "There's actually another store that mostly sells paint." 

"Where is it?"

"Near the fountain." He said, pulling out a bag of mora as the vendor packed up everything that Kaveh needed.

"Are you an artist too?" They asked, joining Kaveh on the small walk to the other store. 

"I'm an Architect, my name's Kaveh." 

"I heard about you, my teacher told me a lot about you and your projects. The name's (Name). Nice to meet you." 

The blossoming of a new friendship that neither the two artists know where it will take them. The two bonded over many things, their artwork, adventuring and many more.

As they got everything they wanted, neither wanted this precious time to end. 

"Wanna go out for lunch? My treat." (Name) said, Kaveh wanted to protest but he was unsuccessful due to (Name) insisting on treating him for lunch.

"Take it as a celebratory treat for making a new friend."

~☆~

As the day neared its end, the stars decorated the dark night sky as the two new friends were sitting on a bench admiring the sparkly sky.

"This was nice." (Name) said, stretching out their hands as they reclined back into the bench. 

"It is a nice change honestly, I really needed it."

"Out of inspiration?" They asked, dropping their hands on their lap. 

In the process, their left hand accidentally touched Kaveh's right hand that was resting on the bench.

At the contact, the two blushed and (Name) pulled away their hand. 

"I'm so sorry!"

"No it's my fault, I'm the one who was moving my hand." (Name) said, looking away and blushing. Kaveh was silent as the blush deepened. “Anyways, it’s getting late. See you tomorrow!” They stood up, alerting Kaveh out of his trance and he looked up at them as they started walking away. “Wait!” He called out, (Name) looked back at him as he walked up to them. “Can I walk you home?” “Sure.” (Name) replied with a smile. They had a short but nice walk to (Name)’s residence as they continued to have small chats about random stuff they saw as they walked.

When Kaveh returned home that night, he sat down on his bed and looked at his hand. The same hand that brushed (Name)’s.

Is this what love feels like?

A smile lingered on Kaveh’s face as he embraced the beauty of love.

[tswaney17]

I Do Bad Things with You - Part 36

Happy New Years, my loves! 🍾🎉 Wanted to start out the year with an update. It's hard to believe that this will be the final year of IDBTWY. I have several parts written out and I'm working on the remaining handful. Regular updates will be coming soon. I can't wait to share the rest of this story with you! Thanks for sticking with me on this journey. 💕

This is another long update, so grab yourself a drink and a snack.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 15,683

It had been just over a month since Azriel’s return home and the two had been inseparable. Elain had thought that after their sexcapade, the desire, the need for him would have lessened, but once again, she found that she was incredibly wrong in her assumption.

They had just finished a second round for the evening on the couch after having a go on the kitchen counter. Azriel was still buried to the hilt, deep inside her as they fought to catch their breath when his phone started to ring.

Sliding a hand around her upper back to hold her close, he leaned over to snatch the device from the ground where it landed when it was knocked off the armrest.

Elain whimpered at the pull from his cock on her sensitive center. She had ridden him hard and fast tonight and was now feeling the effects of that ride.  

“Easy, my love,” he murmured, kissing her hair.

She pressed her face into his neck, snuggling into his embrace, and inhaled his scent. Sweat mixed with midnight mist and cedar. It was so intoxicatingly him that it made her throb between her thighs; body practically begging to be wound up again.

His noise of concern had her pulling back to glance at his face, but found his eyes on his phone screen, lips drawn into a frown. “It’s your sister.” 

Elain twisted her head to see which sister’s name appeared on the screen, but he already clicked answer and put the call on speaker.

“Hi, Feyre.”

Her sister’s cheerful voice filled the living room. “Hi, Az! Did I catch you at a bad time?”

They both looked down between their naked bodies to where his already re-hardening cock was still seated in her warm, wet pussy.

Elain had to bury her face into his shoulder to keep herself from laughing as Azriel said, “Not quite. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know that the painting you purchased for your office is finished; however, I was hoping to show it at a gallery at the end of next week. Would it be okay to deliver it a few weeks from now?”

A painting? Elain didn’t know he had bought something new from her sister—though it shouldn’t have surprised her either. Az had Feyre’s artwork all over the place.

“Yes, of course, that’s fine.”

“Oh, great! Thank you! I wanted it to be the centerpiece of the show. Do you and Elain want to come?”

Golden amber eyes met hers.

When? She mouthed at him.

“When and what time?” he asked her.

“It’s next Friday at seven. The usual place.”

Feyre had her own gallery now that she was a world-famous artist. She hosted all her showings there; had paintings constantly on display and for sale. It made Elain so happy to see her little sister go from painting on their dressers to painting for celebrities. Her work went for thousands. Sometimes more.

Returning to the conversation at hand, she did her mental calendar in her head, running through her shift schedule, and nodded.

“Yeah, I think we can make that,” Az told Feyre.

“Yay! I’m so happy to hear it. Okay, well, that’s all I needed to ask you. Thanks, Az!”

Elain held up her finger at him. “Hey, Feyre!” she called.

Seemingly startled by her sister’s voice, she stuttered, “Y—yes? Hi Elain. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.”

Azriel, deeming himself done with the conversation, attached his lips to her neck and gently sucked at the skin.

It made it difficult to concentrate on her sister, but Elain focused. “It’s fine. Hey, what’s the attire for this gallery?”

“Semi-formal typically.”

She sighed. “I figured. I have nothing to wear unless I pull out the same dress again.”

That made Azriel stop his ministrations to look at her, but before he could say anything, Feyre beat him to it.

“I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go to lunch with Nesta and me this weekend. Maybe we can go dress shopping and make a day of it? Are you off shift?”

Elain blinked, startled by the invite. The sisters hadn’t done things together in years, not like this. Lunch and shopping? That was something Feyre did with Mor.

Azriel placed his hand on her the base of her throat, letting his thumb swoop over her skin in a soothing gesture, just giving her the notion of his presence.

“Um, yeah. That sounds great.”

“Perfect. I’ll text Nesta and confirm. Thanks, guys. Oh, and next time, feel free to just let me go to voicemail so I’m not interrupting you.”

Elain’s face went as red as a tomato. “What?”

Her sister snorted. “Please. I know when I’m disturbing two people in the middle of that. You could’ve just called me back when you were finished.”

“Feyre!” she hissed.

Azriel leaned his head down to brush his mouth over her fluttering pulse. He licked her skin, tugging it between his lips.

She had to fight the moan working its way up her throat. Her toes curled in pleasure.

A scoff. “I can hear him sucking on you right now.”

“She’s not wrong,” Az breathed.

“Azriel!”

“Gross. On that note. I’m hanging up. I’ll text next time. Bye, you two. Have fun.”

The line went dead.

Az tossed his phone back onto the ground, latching his mouth around her nipple.

“You’re a scoundrel,” Elain murmured, fingers sliding into his hair.

He smiled against her breast, sucking deeply. “Would you like me to stop,” he asked, biting down lightly on the tip.

She groaned, head falling back and allowing her golden-brown hair to cascade down her back. “You better fucking not.”

Chuckling, Azriel continued to worship her until they were both utterly exhausted and fell asleep tangled in bed later that evening.

~~~~~

Elain was finishing up getting ready for her shopping trip. She pulled out a deep blue sweater dress that had been sitting in her closet for the last couple of years, and a pair of black ankle boots. It was perfect for the fall season, even if it was a little old—it was comfortable. And easy to slip on and off when they were trying things on.

She wasn’t sure how today was going to go. Elain hadn’t been shopping with her sisters in years. Actually, not since high school when she went looking for a prom dress. Nesta had been less than enthused the entire time and Feyre was just excited to have been invited. The whole experience was an ordeal, to say the least.

Azriel was in the kitchen as she made her way downstairs, a cup of coffee resting in his palm. He was reading what looked like a stack of papers, likely for work when he glanced up and smiled at her. “You look lovely, Elain.”

She peeked down at herself, face blushing. “Thank you, Az.”

He got up, coming over to her to brush a kiss on her cheek. Reaching into his back pocket, he slipped out his wallet and handed her a sleek-looking black credit card.

Elain glanced between the outstretched piece of plastic and his face. “What are you doing?”

“Take this. I want to buy your dress.”

She looked at the card like it had personally offended her. “I can’t just take your credit card, Azriel.”

He raised an unimpressed brow. “Why not?”

“Because!” she stated though she didn’t elaborate.

Az sighed. “Look, I know how Feyre and Nesta shop and they’re going to hit places that you would probably never step foot into because that’s not how you would spend your money. I’m not telling you to go on a five-thousand-dollar shopping spree—though you could if you wanted to, I wouldn’t mind if you did—but I want you to take my card and use it for whatever you want to buy today.”

Oh gods, this man. Still, Elain hesitated. “What if you need this today?” she tried.

He scoffed. “I have five others with varying lines of credit still in my wallet. I’ll manage without it.”

She blinked, mouth opening in disbelief. Good lord! She knew Az had money, but coming to terms with the reality of it still sometimes struck her like a slap to the face.

“Please, El. I want you to do this. You deserve to treat yourself to something nice.”

Damn him. She rolled her eyes. “Is it really treating myself if you’re paying for it?” she asked, finally taking the card from his fingers.

An arrogant smirk toyed on his lips. “Would you like me to put you on the account so you’ll technically be paying for it?”

Elain poked him in the chest. “Don’t you fucking dare.” The thought of having access to that kind of money made her head spin. She would really be a gold digger if she even remotely allowed it.

“Don’t,” he said, voice going cold. “Don’t fucking call yourself those names. I can see the words on your face.” Azriel stepped into her space, crowding her until she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact. “This isn’t about the money, Elain. That’s not what this relationship is about. Stop letting what he said control this.” He took her hand and cradled it against his chest. “Our relationship is more than that. Our love is more than that. I know it, you know it. Forget what others may think and remember that. I hate that you even consider those thoughts about yourself.”

He was right and she knew it. Elain hated that she let Graysen’s words manipulate how she viewed herself, and her dynamic with Azriel for so long when she knew how wrong it was. Their bond was formed from history. From the hurdles they conquered together. And from a love that she had never seen before. Not in books or movies, real life or make-believe. Nothing had ever compared to what she had with Azriel. And that should’ve been her first clue that those words couldn’t touch her.

So, she took a deep breath, pulled them from the innermost parts of her heart where they had been sitting since he spat them at her, and breathed them out. Out of her heart, out of her soul, out of her life.

Elain slid her palm up his chest to curve it around his nape, rising on her tiptoes so she could bring his head down for a slow, sweet kiss. One he reciprocated in kind. It was a gentle, brush of lips. Nothing to set her skin on fire, but it did make her heart pound in her chest. “You’re right,” she admitted, thumb sweeping over his jaw. “I have been living with his words as a brand on my skin for too long and it was time to let it go. Thank you, Az. I needed to hear that.”

He nudged his nose into hers affectionately. “I just want you happy, Elain.”

“I am happy. You make me happy. So incredibly happy. Don’t think that you don’t.” She kissed him again, feeling the need to reassure him that she was as blissfully content with him and this relationship as she claimed.

His palms spread across her back, holding her to him, and he likely would’ve pushed it further had the elevator doors not pinged open revealing her sisters, Cerridwen, and Fenrys.

They broke apart, but Az kept a firm arm snaked around her waist, holding her flush against him.

“Jesus Christ,” Feyre muttered. “I got the audible version the other night and now I get to see the live-action?”

Her boyfriend shot the younger Archeron a glare. “Seems fitting since I got quite a view of your video production.”

“You what?” Nesta exclaimed.

Elain was just as bewildered.

Feyre’s cheeks reddened. “That was supposed to remain a secret,” she hissed. Those blue eyes turned on her. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to end things with him?”

She felt Azriel tense beside her.

But Elain just patted his chest. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m quite taken with him.”

He relaxed slightly, kissing the top of her head.

“Before I hear any more horror stories of my sisters and my brothers-in-law, can we go now?” Nesta demanded, already heading back for the elevator.

She turned to him, wanting to reassure him over Feyre’s comment. “It was a joke, what she said.” Elain kept her voice low to not let the others overhear her.

“I know. Just took me a bit by surprise.” His face turned a bit devious. “Do me a favor, pay for lunch today on that card.”

Elain raised a brow. “Why?”

“It’s my petty revenge on Nesta. She hates when I swoop in and buy dinners and shit.”

She crossed her arms. “And why are you exacting petty revenge on my older sister, dare I ask?”

He chuckled. “The year that they snuck around in high school…Cash and I shared a bedroom wall—”

“Stop!” Elain held up a hand. “That’s enough. I’ll buy lunch.”

Laughing, he descended upon her for another stolen kiss. “Have fun. Call me if you have any issues. Love you.”

She pulled from his arms. “Love you too.”  

~~~

“Tell me again why we have two bodyguards with us?” Nesta asked as they perused one of the shops in the mall. They had to drive into Hewn City to hit some of the larger, more fashion-forward, high-end stores.

The Hewn family came from very old money. The original settlers in the area named it after themselves—because of course they would. Since then, they’ve built it up into a bustling, glittering city. And while the family itself no longer technically owned the land, they still held power and sway in the politics and policies of its citizens. The fact that Elias was one of them and Az was merged with them when he built his empire still sometimes rattled her brain.

He had explained some of it to her not that long ago, giving her a very brief overview of the Mob life and power hold. Elain had deemed it necessary for her to have this information since they were together, and Az was quick to agree.

But she had to give it to the Hewn family. They knew how and where to put their money.

Azriel had also been one hundred percent right about the types of places that her sisters would be shopping in. They were completely out of her comfort zone price-wise, but she didn’t dare voice that out loud. Instead, she searched for discount racks, which turned out, there were none.

Elain glanced in her elder sister’s direction. “They’re just to provide security.” She and Az had discussed having them tag along for this shopping trip. If they were sticking to Velaris, then he agreed that they’d be okay to go alone. But Hewn City was just over an hour away and Azriel was hesitant about not having any sort of security precautions around.

“A rumor has spread about you in the underworld,” he had told her. “Of your existence. I’m assuming it’s Elias starting shit and nothing has come of it, but Hewn is out of my territory—”

“Your territory?” she raised a brow.

“Yes, where my word is law. Someone gets a whiff of three Archerons entering the city of Hewn alone…I’m almost afraid to think of what they might attempt.”

The statement left her reeling. His word was law. She supposed she should get used to that given she was dating the head of a Mob. Jesus. That’s not a sentence Elain thought she’d ever say to herself. “Why don’t you come with us?”

He trailed his fingers over her bare back. “My presence invites challenge. While I would prefer to be there over sending somebody, I may draw attention to you that I would rather avoid if possible. Plus, this is supposed to be a shopping trip for you and your sisters, and I would like to try and keep that as normal as possible.”

They had agreed to limit the information they shared with her sisters unless it was deemed necessary. Therefore, just a security precaution and not because she could already be being watched.

The thought made her skin crawl.

Fenrys noticed her shiver and moved a bit closer to her.

“It is a bit weird,” Feyre admitted, glancing at the golden blond male trailing behind them, Cerridwen a step to the side.

She slid a hanger to the side, found a dress that had potential, looked at the price tag, cringed, and kept browsing. “You get used to it.”

In truth, both Fenrys and Cerridwen—and their siblings—had become friends with her. She enjoyed their company, so their presence today didn’t bother her. She’d gotten used to having them follow her around.

“How about this, Elain?” Nesta called, holding out a stunning white gown. It had one long sleeve, the other cuffed with a deep V-neck. The dress was slit up to what looked like mid-thigh, perhaps higher, but what made this dress truly unique was the train that secured around her wrist of the short sleeved-side. No embellishments. No glitter. Just a satin finish.

It really was gorgeous and Elain hated having to check the price tag. She nearly choked at the four-digit number.

Feyre stepped up beside her. “Oh, that’s lovely. You would look gorgeous in that.”

“I can’t.”

Her sisters just stared at her. “What do you mean? At least try it on,” Nesta encouraged.

“The price…it’s too much.” Fuck, this was uncomfortable.

Nesta’s arms lowered slightly. “Correct me if I’m wrong but did I not see you putting a black credit card into your wallet before we left? That’s not yours, now, is it?”

Her face blushed. “Well, no. It’s Azriel’s.”

“And why did he give you his credit card, Elain?”

If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed that a secret conversation happened behind her back at how well her sister guessed her hesitancy. But she knew Az would never betray her confidence like that. “To buy a dress,” she whispered.

“And did he give you a limit on what you could spend?” she asked, knowing very well that he didn’t—wouldn’t.

Elain crossed her arms. “You know I really hate when you use your lawyer shit on me.”

Her elder sister smirked. “Suck it up. Now take the damn dress and go try it on.”

Feyre was trying to hide her laughter behind her palm.

Grumbling, she snatched the dress and stormed off to the changing rooms. Stripping out of her clothes, Elain slipped on the white gown, somehow managing to zip it up on her own—though not without struggle—she’d have to ask Azriel to help her with it if she bought the damn thing.

If.

But when she looked at herself in the mirror, Elain felt the control to refuse such an expensive piece of clothing snap.

Because she looked beautiful. Utterly and completely beautiful. “Wow,” she breathed, twisting and turning for a full-body view. The open back would require her to go braless, not that that was an issue. Nor would her boyfriend mind, who loved to get his hands all over the bare skin of her back. The thought had her biting back a grin.

“Elain!” Feyre called. “Get your cute butt out here.”

She rolled her eyes, but opened the door and stepped out.

Both of her sisters gaped at her, neither saying a word. Her eyes fluttered to Fenrys behind them, also blatantly staring at her, then to Cerridwen who was beaming.

Finally, Nesta snapped out of her reverie. “You look stunning, Ellie.”

Her cheeks heated at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Azriel is going to lose his mind with you in that dress,” Feyre stated, shifting closer to get a better view. She swept a hand over her sleeved arm, admiring the fabric that fit her sensuous curves like a second layer of skin. “Honestly, if you make it to my show at all, I will be surprised.”

Fenrys let out a choking sound, trying and failing to hide his blushing face. “I’m just going to do a quick sweep,” he murmured and darted away.

The girls chuckled at his retreating figure.

“I think he’s attracted to you,” Nesta announced, eyeing him through the clothing racks.

Elain blanched. “What are you—no he’s not!”

She only raised a brow. “Sure. Just make sure Azriel doesn’t catch wind of it because he won’t like his employee sniffing around you.”

Her stomach tightened at her older sister’s words. There was no way Fenrys had any feelings for her. And even if he did, he wouldn’t act on them nor would he make things inappropriate for Azriel to have to step in and do something about it…right?

She worried on her bottom lip, so lost in her train of thoughts that it took Feyre calling her name again for her head to snap out of it. “What?”

“I asked if you were going to get the dress,” her sister said again, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Oh.” Elain ran her hands down the bodice of the gown and sighed. “Yes, I’m going to get it.” Damn them and their expensive taste.

“Excellent,” they said together.

Redressed in her blue sweater dress and boots, Elain carried the gown up to the register while the others hung back and waited for her to make her purchase. “Hello,” she greeted the employee who just looked her over with disdain. Immediately, she felt her skin prickle, like she was being judged. Her smile fell.

“Can I help you?” the woman demanded, voice hostile enough that she nearly flinched.

But she wouldn’t let her see how badly it affected her and simply glanced at the dress still sitting on the counter. “I’m trying to purchase the dress here.” Elain kept her voice carefully neutral, digging into the role, the mask that she’d often seen Az wear as she pulled out the black credit card and placed it on the counter next to the gown.

Again, those blue eyes swept over her from head to toe, taking in the dress that was years old, out of current style, and off a sales rack from Target. But Elain kept her back straight, head held high, and took the weight of that assessing gaze.

Scrutiny radiated from the woman like an awful stench. “I’m sorry. But this dress is very expensive and we don’t have anything else for you.”

Disbelief and shock warred in her mind. Did she walk straight into a scene from Pretty Woman? Elain felt the others’ attention had turned on her and the conversation at hand. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, but like hell would she let this woman talk to her like this. And she knew that if Azriel were here, this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.

No, they’d probably be offering him champagne while he shopped. Well, she supposed it was time to see just how far that name went.

So, Elain leaned on her elbows, slid the card forward, and asked, “Who’s name is on that card?”

The woman huffed but looked down, turning the card to get a good view. Her eyes shot to Elain’s, glanced back down at the card, and returned to her, regret simmering there.

She smiled sinisterly at her. “My boyfriend,” she emphasized the word and took some sick satisfaction in watching as the woman blanched, realizing she fucked up, “gave me his card to buy whatever I wanted. Now, I didn’t want to spend an atrocious amount in your fucked up, pretentious little store, but I really liked this dress. So,” her eyes narrowed on the nametag she wore, “Lauren, how about you go ahead and ring this up so we can all just move on with our lives? Sound good?” She cocked her head to the side, golden brown locks falling off her shoulder.

“Apo—apologies, miss. I didn’t—”

“No,” Elain interrupted. “You didn’t. You looked at me and judged me based on what I had on. It is incredibly disrespectful and you should feel shameful for it.”

The woman swallowed hard. “Is Mr. Knight here?”

What? What does that have to do with anything? “No, he’s not.”

She sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t process this without him present since the card is in his name.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me?” Elain hissed.

“It’s a store policy to prevent fraud.”

A second presence appeared at her side and she turned to see Cerridwen slap her ID down. “Charge it to Mr. Knight’s personal account. Cerridwen Wraith. I’m on the account.”

Elain gaped at her.

She merely shrugged. “If he wants to pay for your dress today, he’s going to.”

“Is this why he sent you with Fenrys rather than both of the Moonbeams? Not that I don’t love having you here, but splitting the siblings caught me by surprise.”

Cerridwen laughed. “Indeed it was. He had concerns there might be issues with you using the card and he’s got accounts with some of the larger stores here. I often will come to buy things for him. So, both Nuala and I are on his accounts.”

“You do too much for him,” she laughed.

A cleared throat caught her attention and she returned her gaze to the employee behind the counter. She handed her the garment bag as Cerridwen slid her ID and the receipt into her wallet. “Apologies again, Miss—um, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Elain hung the bag over her arm. “I didn’t give it.” She narrowed her eyes at the sales clerk. Given the conversation she and Az had about her identity coming out in the underworld, and her current location in Hewn’s territory, Elain felt that perhaps she needed to take a few extra steps to ensure that she remain confidential. “My boyfriend is a very powerful man and values his and my privacy. I highly recommend you keep this little incident and me to yourself, lest you want somebody else to pay you a visit to ensure that it does. They won’t be as generous as I was, especially because of the disrespect you showed me today.”

The woman’s light face went even paler at the underlying threat.

“Good day to you.”

Fenrys was instantly at her side, guarding her back as they made their way from the store.

“What the fuck was that?” Nesta hissed as soon as they stepped outside.

Elain just looked at her. “What?”

“What you just said in there to her…that’s not you, Elain.”

She whirled on her sister. “So, I’m just supposed to let her speak to me in that condescending tone like you’re doing right now?”

Both Fenrys and Cerridwen stepped back, giving them space and privacy, though she knew they could still overhear the entire conversation.

Those blue-grey eyes went lethal. “It wasn’t the first part I was referring to; it was the last. The threat. That wasn’t you, that’s something Azriel would do.” Twice today—that was now twice today that both of her sisters made a snarky comment about her relationship with Az or voiced an opinion she did not ask for and Elain had had enough.

“Do not think, for one second, that you have any idea about him or us,” she snarled. “What you see, what he allows you to see is barely the tip of the iceberg. You do not know him and you do not know us.” She decided that her sisters needed just a glimpse of how deep the threat of being with Azriel went in order to understand this. What her motive was. “Wanting our privacy is not just because of his wealth. There are eyes everywhere, watching him. Watching me. Word is out and we are trying to keep it as low-key as possible. So, yes, when people find out about us, we take steps to ensure that they understand the consequences of them further adding to the mix of rumors.”

Feyre reached out a hand and gently placed it on Elain’s arm. “It must be a bit scary to constantly feel like somebody has their eyes on you all the time. And I understand why you guys feel the need to do what you do. You live a different life from us—sometimes I think we forget that.” Her blue eyes cut to her eldest sister. “Don’t we Nesta?”

Her older sister looked at her warily. “What kind of eyes are watching you?”

“Dangerous ones. And we are not in a territory where Azriel holds a lot of sway. Yes, his name is still recognizable, is still a threat, but these are not his streets.”

She blew out a breath. “I admit that your being with him brings me concern. Elain, when you were kidnapped, I never felt fear like that. And I’m not going to lie to you, I do hold Azriel at least partially responsible—”

“That’s not fair—”

“Let me finish,” Nesta said sternly. “I hold him partially responsible because I knew once you were back in his life, he wouldn’t be able to stay away. I’m not oblivious to his doings, Elain. When Az returned from overseas, he was different. He radiated this dark and dangerous essence, and I never wanted you to be sucked into that. But given your history with him, I knew there would be no turning back for either of you once you admitted your feelings.”

Nesta gripped her arms at the elbows. “I am so grateful that you’ve found your happiness, but I will always hold him accountable when shit goes down, Ellie. You are my sister first.”

She took a deep breath, trying to take in and understand the words her sister had said. “Look…I am not the younger sister you had to look after because mom died and dad decided to take to alcohol rather than care for his three daughters. I’m grateful you want to protect me, but you don’t get to do that for me anymore. I’m a big girl; I’ve been through hell and back, and I have found a man that respects, cherishes, and loves me more than I ever thought possible. I am okay, Nesta. I don’t need you looking out for me. I can handle myself.”

Her sister, not one typically for physical affection, grabbed her by the shoulders and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry. That day I found you with Grayson, I promised myself that I would never let another man hurt you again, even if it was him. But I suppose that isn’t my decision to make for you. And I am relieved you found your happiness with Azriel. Please don’t ever doubt that.” She pulled back, those stormy blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I realized how true his intentions with you were when you went missing and I saw just how badly he went out of his mind with worry. He let you go because he loved you, and blamed himself for your abduction. And I knew, just knew, there was no going back for either of you at that point.”

Elain let out a small laugh. “I think it was even before that but trying to admit it to myself was a struggle.”

Nesta squeezed her shoulder. “I hope you can forgive me for my melding. I only want what’s best for you.”

She nodded. “Just allow me to make my own decisions from now on, and let us move forward.” Giving her sister another squeeze and a reassuring smile, she released her, stepping back.

“Now that that is out of the way, how about we go have lunch? I’m hungry,” Feyre announced, clearly trying to get them back on a more normal playing field.

“Lunch sounds great. Where do you want to go?” she asked.

They ended up at a small café, spending a good hour there eating and chatting. Despite the earlier conversation, Elain felt like they were normal sisters. Perhaps the truth weighing on Nesta needed to come out for her to finally open up and feel comfortable with them again. And even though it had hurt her to know that Nesta hadn’t approved of her and Az getting together, it also made her realize that there was nothing that could’ve prevented that from happening.

Not their siblings.

Not the threats against Azriel and her from other Mobs.

Nothing.

Whether it was fate or the Mother or some other god, something in the universe decided he was hers and she was his and nothing would ever change that. So, Elain let go of the pain that came from Nesta’s confession and worked toward building something new with her and Feyre. Something stronger.

Something they never had before.

~~~

They hit one more store next to the café before heading back to Velaris, and the only reason she wanted to go inside was because of the very sexy bodysuit on the mannequin in the display window. It would be perfect for the next visit to the club.

Elain was in the elevator on the way up to the penthouse, the garment bag on one arm and the shopping bag on the other. Thankfully, the bodysuit was much less expensive and the store had no qualms about taking Azriel’s card. Though, she’d be glad to give it back to him. Having it sitting in her purse made her a bit nervous. Not because she wanted to use it, but to lose it. Elain checked for it at least four times just to make sure it was still sitting snugly in its little pocket in her wallet.

The doors pinged open and she stepped out. “Az?” she called out, setting her stuff on the counter and fumbling with her purse to pull out the piece of plastic. She knew he was home, his car sitting in the garage was the first indicator, but he would’ve texted her if he had to leave.

Footsteps padded down the hallway and then he appeared from around the corner. The sight of him nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. He came to her, tugging her into his arms, and kissed her. “Hi, baby.”

She beamed up at him. “Hi, there. I missed you.”

A boyish smile tugged on his lips. “Yeah? Can’t get enough of me?”

“Never,” she breathed, rising on her tiptoes to press her lips to his again.

His chuckle in her mouth sent shivers running down her spine. “What’d you get?” he asked, looking at the two bags on the counter.

“Well, I did find a dress. Wasn’t even on sale or anything.” Az laughed at that. “And I found something for the next time we go to your club.”

Those thick, dark brows shot into his hairline. “Now you have me curious,” he told her, reaching for the small, pink bag.

But Elain expected this and lightly smacked the top of his hands, clicking her tongue. “I don’t think so. You’ll get to see it the next time we go and not a moment before.”

“Tease,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her lips again. Leaning an elbow against the counter he asked her, “So, do you want to tell me about what happened with the card?”

She blinked up at him, face paling. “Who told you?”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “Nobody. I get notifications when something is charged to my account there,” he nodded toward the white garment bag. “Which tells me that something must’ve happened with the card.”

Her hand splayed on the plastic, rubbing it between two fingers absentmindedly.

“So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Not really,” she admitted, ducking her head. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment from the whole disaster that occurred at the fancy, schmancy retailer.

Scarred fingers tucked under her chin to lift her gaze to his. “Elain…” he encouraged in that deep baritone that melted her insides and made her weak in the knees.

She sighed. “Honestly, the whole thing was awful.”

“Tell me.”

Elain swallowed the lump in her throat, the ache of what she had to push down while she was belittled and degraded by that employee. She launched into a brief overview of what had happened, telling him what the woman had said to her, how she had judged her based on what she was wearing, and she watched the emotions flutter across his face. The most prominent of them being utter wrath. “It was humiliating to have her stand there and judge me like that. And the only reason she stopped is because of you.”

He looked taken aback. “Me? What did I do?”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I may have flashed your name on the card and informed her that you were my boyfriend. She did a complete one-eighty after that, realizing she had well and truly fucked up.” His thumb stroked the side of her neck in a soothing gesture. “Afterwards, she asked if you were there because there’s apparently a store policy that they require an ID verification for the purchase. That was when Cerridwen swooped in with hers and charged it to your account—I hope that was okay.”

Az tugged her into his chest, burying his face into her hair. “You know it was more than all right, El. I’m sorry you had to experience that today. Frankly, I’m about ready to drive down there myself to give them a piece of my mind and close my account with them.”

Her eyes widened, but he kept going before she could say anything.

“But I know you wouldn’t like me doing that. Though, I guarantee nothing about the account closure. I don’t typically purchase much with them and after this, I don’t want to do business there again at all.”

Elain sighed. “I guess I can’t say I blame you there.” She swiped the plastic card off the counter and held it out for him. “Here.”

Those amber-colored eyes glanced down at her outstretched hand and back up to her face. “Keep it.”

“Az…”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just for emergencies. You don’t have to use it for anything else.”

She crossed her arms. “Okay, say I even remotely considered this—what am I supposed to do if I get ID’d again and I’m using your card? This is asking for trouble.”

Azriel rubbed the back of his head in a gesture that told her he had already thought about this question and had a solution for it. “Well, what if I made you an authorized user on that line of credit? Because then you would get a card with your name on it.”

Her eyes went as large as saucers.

“Now, before you freak out because I can see it coming, this does not mean you’re on the account. It just authorizes you to use it, say for emergencies.”

She narrowed those brown irises. “That’s a technicality!”

The corner of his lips quirked up. “Perhaps, but I still think it’s a good idea. Just in case something happens to me and you need money to pay for something quick.”

“What’s going to happen to you?” she worried.

His fingers brushed over her cheek. “Nothing is happening to me. But it’s always good to be prepared should something occur.”

Her chest tightened. “You say that like you’ve recently made adjustments.”

“I have. I readjusted my will when you were kidnapped.” He paused, letting the statement hang between them. “As of right now, you’re set up to obtain half of all my personal assets.”

Elain’s knees gave out and only his quick reaction prevented her from hitting the ground. “I need to sit down,” she breathed. Half of his assets. Half! She didn’t want to even consider the total amount that would be. Her heart pounded behind her ribcage. “Why would you do that?” she asked when he finally got her into one of their dining room chairs.

Azriel knelt in front of her, hands on her thighs. “Because I wanted to make sure you were taken care of, even if I didn’t make it out of that warehouse, love. And I still want to make sure of it. Now that we’re officially together, I’d like you to become my sole beneficiary.”

She couldn’t breathe. It was like this incredible weight had collected on her chest.

“El, baby. I need you to take a breath before you start to hyperventilate.” He inhaled deeply, helping to match hers to his. “Good. Keep following me.”

After a few minutes of silent breathing, Azriel leaned forward to kiss her brow. “Listen, we don’t have to do anything drastic now about the will. We can come back to that, but I would like you to be open about it. The authorized user bit, I do have that option ready for you to sign if you want to do that now. If you want to think about it some more, that’s fine too.”

She placed her hands on top of his. “That’s a lot to take in.” He flipped his palms up to squeeze her fingers. “I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, Azriel, I really do, but that was just a lot to think about.” Her thumbs stroked over his. “Maybe we do baby steps for this too,” she murmured. “What do I need to sign for the authorization form?”

“You sure? You’re more than welcome to think about it if you want to take some time.”

Elain nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Grinning, Az rose and took a seat next to her, pulling his phone from his pocket. “It’s just an electronic signature.” A few taps on the screen and he was sliding the phone on the table towards her.

She glanced through the document—it was a fairly simple thing. No credit was pulled. He just literally put down her name, a few pieces of basic contact information, and that was it. Taking a deep breath, Elain signed her name using her fingertip. “Just for emergencies,” she told him.

A smirk. “Yes, emergencies,” he reassured her, kissing her pert nose and taking the phone back to send off the document. He twisted towards her, leaning his chin on his fist. “I do have to go to the club tonight. I’m meeting somebody there to discuss some business.”

Elain raised a brow. “What kind of business?”

He took her hand in his; let his thumb brush over her knuckles. “Nothing serious. Just somebody who has some information that I need.”

Her head cocked. “Am I privy to this information?”

Az chuckled, kissing the pack of her palm. “I have a network of spies that collect information for me. I’ve been having them look into who started the gossip about us and what they’re planning to do with it.”

“I thought you were under the assumption that it was Elias who started that rumor?”

“I am, but assumptions should always be verified.”

Well, that made sense. She glanced at the pink bag still sitting on the counter. “Can I go with you?”

He blinked, hesitating.

“I don’t have to go into the meeting with you, but just to the club.” She traced over a line of scars on his palm. “Maybe we can go to dinner tonight and then head to the club. I can just wait at the bar while you do your thing.” Elain dragged her nail up the inside of his wrist, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake. “Perhaps dance a little. And afterward…” she let her voice trail off.

Azriel hooked a foot around the leg of her chair, dragging her closer. “And afterward?” he encouraged, leaning forward to nip at her earlobe.

A sweet sigh escaped her lips. “I might let you get a full view of the little outfit I purchased today.”

His lips skated down the column of her throat. “I’d rather get a view of you with it off,” he murmured huskily, sucking on the juncture of her shoulder.

“Hmm?” she breathed. “I think that can be arranged.”

Growling, Azriel scooped her out of her chair and carried her up the stairs to their bedroom for a little preview of what was to come later that evening.

~~~~~

Azriel thought he had died and gone to heaven that night when Elain came down the stairs in her little outfit. The outfit nearly brought him to his knees. Because that little outfit was a skintight bodysuit, sucked up to the succulent curves of her waist, her breasts. A V-shaped cutout sat on her bust showing off miles of her ample cleavage. And even with her high-waisted jeans, the suit was cut high enough up on her hips to show just the smidge of skin to make his mouth physically water. Paired with those damn heels he wanted her to wear while he devoured her on the god’s forsaken piano, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Ethereal. Alluring.

If he didn’t know any better, he would say she looked positively appetizing.

She had flashed him a little smirk, the fucking minx, shrugged on a leather jacket since it was sleeveless and it was cold as fuck outside, grabbed his hand, and tugged him towards the elevator—because apparently, they were still going out tonight even though he had no desire to eat anything other than the delectable thing standing in front of him.

So, Azriel had suffered through the last three hours in a semi-hard state and was now regretting the decision to meet with his informant because he was in no mood to deal with them.

Specifically, because Elain had done everything in her power to torment and torture him. Like at dinner, she’d somehow dropped a bit of cream sauce on her left breast from her fork. The little menace swiped it up with her finger and proceeded to suck the digit clean like it was his cock.

He considered himself a man of strong will, but everyone has their kryptonite. And well, Elain at dinner was his.

“Knock it off, Elain,” he growled.

She flashed him an innocent look, popping her finger from her mouth. “What?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

Again, a look of sweet innocence, but he could see a mix of something slightly sinister there. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” A devious smile spread on her lips.

Only Az’s impeccable self-control kept him from fucking her on the table in the middle of the restaurant, other patrons be dammed.

Now, it was his turn to tease her as they strolled into his club. He swept his hands over her body, landing on her hips and guiding her towards the bar. She was to wait for him there while he dealt with his business, not wanting her to get too involved in it.

He sat her on one of the barstools, hands resting on her shoulders, and leaned down to brush his lips over the shell of her ear. “What do you want to drink?”

Her body shivered, but Elain was determined in her endeavors tonight as she reached back and gripped his thigh. Mouth parted, she tipped her head back to peer up at his face. “Tequila and Sprite,” she breathed.

Az smirked, knowing the effect he was having on her. He waved down Elide, who was working behind the bar that night. “Elain, you remember Elide? Elide—Elain.”

Elain smiled. “Of course. Good to see you again, Elide.”

The dark-haired beauty beamed. “You too, Elain. What can I get for you?”

A thumb stroked her neck. “She’ll have tequila and Sprite. And a whiskey for me, thanks.”

Elain tilted her head, giving him more access to her throat, that gorgeous, thick, golden-brown hair tumbling down the side of her body. She hummed under the machinations of his fingers.

Twisting her seat to face him, he pressed his lips to hers in a slow and sensual kiss. Stepping between her legs, he forced her jaw up to angle how he could claim her mouth, licking in and tangling his tongue with hers.

She pulled back, panting to catch her breath. “You’re peacocking.”

The words had him spluttering. “I’m what?”

A grin split her face. “Peacocking. Marking your territory. Making sure all the males here know I’m yours while you’re away—”

“Fuck yeah, you’re mine,” he growled, lowering his lips back to hers.

Elain’s giggle broke off into a heavenly sigh, her small hands clutching the sides of his jacket.

Two drinks clinked on the bar top, Elide offering them a sheepish smile. “Sorry for interrupting.”

Elain’s laugh was as lovely as she was. “Don’t fret. He’s peacocking before he runs upstairs for a meeting.”

“I’m not peacocking,” Az argued.

Elide wiped the counter off with a towel. “You’re most definitely peacocking.” She shot Elain a wink earning another giggle from his love, and how could he even continue to fight it when it produced such a beautiful sound from her?

“Fine, gang up on me.” He wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders and leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek. “I’m going to head up. I shouldn’t be long. Stay here, please.” He waved his finger over the drinks. “Elide, anything she wants, please.”

The woman nodded. “Of course. We’ll take care of her here.”

He plucked his drink from the counter, dropped another kiss on Elain’s plump lips, then made his way up the stairs to his private booth.

Azriel picked a spot on one of the large couches that gave him a perfect view of Elain at the bar. He’d only had a few sips of his drink before there was a knock at the door and it opened to reveal his informant. “Sit,” he said, motioning with his glass.

Ruhn parked himself in a spot across from Az. “Mr. Knight,” he murmured, voice deep and full of dark promise.

The man in front of him was as good-looking as he was deadly. Long hair shaved on the side, sleeve tattoos, piercings, a smoker. Everything that described a bad boy to young girls growing up. But he was good at what he did—extracting information from people discreetly. And non-discreetly when the need arose.

He was a male version of Manon.

Ruthless.

Bloodthirsty.

Cunning.

All qualities Azriel looked for in an informant. He needed somebody who wasn’t afraid to get their hands dirty. And Ruhn—he wasn’t afraid to get dirty.

“Drink?” he asked.

A small, knowing smirk curled the corner of his mouth. “I’ll hit the bar on my way out. Curious about the pretty thing you’ve left sitting there.”

He kept his face carefully blank. “You will do well to stay far away from her.” The warning was implied in his tone of voice.

But Ruhn just laughed. “You asked me to look into who started the rumor about you two. I’m assuming that must be Elain considering you were just making out with her.” At his lack of amusement from the conversation, Ruhn leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Azriel,” he said, unafraid to call him by his name, “You know that I would never do anything to compromise you or her. You have my word that she is safe with me.”

The words were comforting. To know that he had yet another person in his corner to protect Elain. Because somewhere deep down, Azriel had a feeling he was going to need everything in his arsenal.

“Thank you, Ruhn.” He tipped his glass towards him. “What have you found?”

The other man sat back on the couch. “Your assumption about who started the rumor was correct. Elias Hewn went straight to the Illyrian Mob with information on you. They took him up the food chain to Nicklaus—”

“Not directly to Frankie?” he pondered, rubbing at his chin.

Ruhn stretched his long arm across the back of the couch. “Nick is Frankie’s second. He filters through all the information before anything gets to him. Typically anything going in wouldn’t even get to Nick for weeks. The fact that Elias got to him within an hour of showing up on their doorstep and not getting a bullet in his head means they’re desperate to break through your defenses.”

Azriel wasn’t sure if that prided him, or made him apprehensive. Nervous mobsters tended to act irrationally and people ended up dead. He took a sip of his whiskey.

The male across from him cocked his head to the side, long hair sliding off his shoulder. “I know that mob families clash and all, but this seems personal for you. And Elias knew exactly who to go to strike you the hardest. What are the Illyrians to you?”

It wasn’t common knowledge where Azriel came from. He buried that part of his past a long time ago. Kier knew, and passed that information on to Elias, clearly. His family knew and Elain did. The twins did, but they were also his right hands so they had to know. Other than that, he kept the information hidden from the world. But perhaps, Ruhn also needed to know—to better protect Elain and himself from the war that Elias was trying to bring upon them.

“Frankie and Nick are my biological brothers.”

Ruhn’s blue eyes went wide and he swore low and viciously. “Fuck, I knew you were Illyrian, but I didn’t think you were that Illyrian.”

“I don’t claim any part of that family. I broke free as a child and I will never look back.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

Azriel set his drink down on the table between them. “What are they planning on doing with the information?” This was his worry. His brothers were fucking ruthless, vicious monsters. They took, tortured, and killed for pleasure. His hands were a prime example of that—and they were children when they did that to him. He wanted to keep Elain far away from that and them.

“Nothing as of yet. There’s been no word from Frankie or Nick about what they plan to do with that information. Rumors are circulating that Elias is chomping at the bit to get some action from them, but they’re holding their cards close to their chest. If I had to place a bet, I’d say Elias will act before they would. And he’ll end up dead for it either by your hand or by theirs.”

He snorted, glancing out the one-way glass towards the bar. “You’re not wr—” His heart stopped as he saw a man standing over Elain. He was on his feet in an instant, walking towards the window to get a better view, Ruhn a half second behind him.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

Azriel studied the man who was clearly trying to talk to Elain. “No, I don’t. Do you recognize him? Is he a part of the Illyrian Mob?” He read her body language and found nothing that indicated she was in any danger, or that she felt threatened. Az glanced further along the bar and saw Elide hovering close to where Elain sat.

“I don’t recognize him, but I don’t know everyone who’s a part of their mob. Too frat boy for the Illyrians.” Blue eyes turned to him. “Do you want me to handle it?”

The question was treacherous. Ruhn’s way of handling people usually ended up with them dead. And Azriel hadn’t quite decided whether this man deserved that fate yet. “No, but let’s head down there and see if that needs to be changed. Follow my lead.”

So, two of Velaris’s most dangerous males made their way down the stairs and were swallowed up by the crowd.

~~~~~

Elide bounced between serving patrons and chatting with her, and Elain realized that the two of them could likely become good friends if given the chance. She remembered seeing the harsh scarring on her ankle—knew she had her own demons and past like Elain did. Felt that they probably had a lot in common and wondered if Elide had any family or friends in the city. She’d have to ask Azriel about it.

A glass of water was set down in front of her. “You look a little flushed,” Elide smiled.

She chuckled. “Thanks. I forgot how warm it is in here. I am glad I left my jacket in the car though. It would’ve been sweltering with it on.”

“Hence why I’m always in a t-shirt,” she joked. Somebody down the bar called for her and she politely excused herself.

It had been about fifteen minutes since Azriel had disappeared and Elain figured he wouldn’t be gone much longer when a warm body sidled up next to her. She glanced up to find a man with sandy blond hair and startling blue eyes looking down at her.

He gave her a dashing smile, one that likely would’ve made her heart trip had she been twenty-two. He was young, probably younger than her, and desperately trying to show off some swagger. “Hello,” he cooed.

Elain raised a brow. “Hi,” she answered politely and turned back towards the bar, hoping to effectively dismiss him. But, she should’ve known he was a persistent type of man.

“I’m Zack,” he announced, holding out a hand for hers.

She twisted back towards him, giving him a charming smile. “Violet,” Elain said, taking his hand and shaking it.

Elide snorted, and then covered it with a cough.

Those blue eyes sparkled. “Violet. Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Elain leaned her cheek on her fist. “Is that really the line you’re going with? Believe me, I’m no girl. And I’m not here alone. So, let me put you out of your misery before you attempt to woo me. My boyfriend will be back shortly.”

“Boyfriend?” He sounded surprised. “I’ve been watching you for the last ten minutes and you’ve sat here alone the whole time. So, tell me, Violet, what kind of boyfriend leaves their gorgeous woman,” he swapped words this time, emphasizing it in the inflection of his voice, “here at the bar alone for ten minutes. Free to be hit on by any random stranger, hmm?”

“One that has business to attend to,” she cocked her head slightly.

He snorted. “Sure, business. The only business I see is you, sweetheart.”

Her eyes flicked between his, read the hunger there that often presented itself in men that tried to pick up women. She wasn’t afraid of this man, not here. Not when she knew Azriel was watching this entire interaction. She’d felt his presence approach a few seconds ago as he lingered in the shadows, waiting to see when to intervene.

Before she could respond, Zack powered on.

“If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

She drummed her fingers on her chin. “Sounds creepy.”

He chuckled like she wasn’t saying anything to get him to leave. “Believe me, gorgeous, what I could do to you, your body will be begging to keep me close.”

Elain leaned back in her seat, well aware that her boyfriend was close to breaking. “Take it from me, this body is plenty well-marked.”

“Let me tell you what I think, Violet,” he said, brazenly running a knuckle over her bare arm. Elain forced herself not to move, not as she saw Azriel behind the man stalk forward. “I think you should let a real man buy you a drink.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t need you to buy me a drink. Mine are on the house.”

That, finally, made him pause. “On the house? How?”

A mischievous grin lit her face. “Oh, didn’t I mention earlier that the boyfriend in question owned this club?”

Fingers gripped her wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but enough so to be an act of entitlement and force Azriel to his limit. “Who the fuck is your boyfriend?”

A large, scarred hand came down on Zack’s shoulder. “I am,” came his deep, dark, voice, edged in a little bit of violence. “And I suggest you take your hand off my girlfriend before I forceable remove it.”

Elain’s eyes sparkled at the sheer dominance in his tone. She crossed her legs, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Azriel.

The corner of his lips curved up just slightly, well aware of how turned on she was, but he refocused his attention on the blond.

His pale hand slipped off her wrist until Azriel was able to pull him back and stepped between her and him as a third body took his place. Elain had no idea who he was, but she was struck stupid by how dangerously beautiful he was. Dark, long hair, tattooed everywhere she could see, aside from his actual face, pierced, and with stunning blue eyes that nearly reminded her of Rhysand’s. They looked like they could’ve been distant cousins if she were being honest with herself.

She blinked, bringing herself back to the conversation—or argument, apparently—that was still going on.

“My associate will show you out.”

The other man gripped Zack by the shoulder, none the gentle, and hauled him away.

Elain watched him get dragged away, still arguing, before turning on her boyfriend. “Azriel,” she hissed. “Who was that?”  

He brushed a knuckle over her rounded cheek. “My informant.”

“Does he have a name?”

Fingers stroked down her throat. “Not here, he doesn’t.”

She knew what he meant; that he couldn’t volunteer that information while they were publicly exposed like this.

A grin passed over his lips as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Violet, huh?”

Elain’s mouth quirked up into a devious smile. “He never specified which name he wanted from me.”

A deep, seductive rumble emanated from Azriel’s chest. A laugh that had her toes curling in her shoes. “So devious,” he murmured, lips caressing the shell of her ear and making her shudder. “Dance with me?”

Setting her drink on the bar, Elain let herself be pulled off the barstool and tugged out onto the dancefloor. Together, they got lost in the rhythm and beat of the music.

Azriel, it seemed, had not let her transgressions from earlier go unrequited as his hands slid all over her body in broad, possessive touches. If she was facing him, he would cup her full backside, taking his fill while his teeth and tongue worked at the underneath side of her jaw.

When she flipped around, falling into the cradle of his hips, those beautifully scarred hands roamed freely, down to her waist, her thighs. Then up to mold her heavy globes in his palms. Thumbs brushed freely over her nipples, pebbling them against her lace bra and providing delicious friction to the sensitive nubs.

Elain’s head tipped back against his shoulder, tilting to the side and giving him access to the base of her throat. His attention was purposeful, designed to draw every sensation out of her. He lavished her neck while she ground into his growing erection. “Az,” she whined, not even sure he heard her over the sound of the music. She reached back, running her fingers through his damp locks and gripping them hard enough that he groaned into her throat.

He growled nipping at the lobe of her ear. “Come on, let’s go up to the suite.”

She let herself be guided up the stairs to his private room, his scarred palm a steady, warm presence on her lower back. It took Azriel speaking to his informant to realize that they were even followed up.

“Nobody comes in or disturbs us.”

The other man nodded and then turned those startling blue eyes on Elain. He looked her over, a simple assessment but the gaze felt weighted like there was meaning and purpose behind it. But she did not shy away from it—no, Elain held her head high and proud.

His lips curved up a fraction in the corner, something that you’d miss if you didn’t pay attention to detail. But she did; she always did. And for some reason, Elain felt like she passed some sort of test with him, whatever it might be.

Azriel shuffled her into the room, shutting the door behind her and locking it.

She turned, wanting to ask again about his name, but stopped at the look on Azriel’s face. It was more than just hunger that she saw there. It was a version of himself that he had yet to let her see; yet to let come out and play. Because standing in front of Elain right now was the dominant version he unleashed when he needed to fuck and control and take pleasure.

It made her body go warm, weak, and very, very wet at the sight of this version of himself. The inner sexual beast he had awoken within her purred at the anticipation of what was to come. Made her tremble with desire and lust.

He must’ve seen the reaction because those amber eyes darkened—a heavy, breath blowing from his lips. Azriel held out a hand to her. “Come.”

Oh, she very nearly did. On shaking knees, she took his hand and followed him over to the one-way window to look out over the club below. The music produced a dull beat through the glass and when Azriel took her hand in his, then stepped behind her to grab her other one to pin them palm down to the window, Elain felt the vibrations traveling through her very bones.

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmured, running his tongue over the arch of her ear. “My queen.” Az slid his foot between hers and nudged them open more, spreading her against the glass. “Don’t move your hands,” he ordered, spreading her palms flat against the cool mirror.

Her breathing turned heavy as the pads of her fingertips dug into the window, anchoring herself to the present. She could feel the wetness between her legs growing with every word he said, every sweep of his hands down her body. Elain wanted him to touch her. To taste her. To take her.

His smile on the skin of her neck sent a shiver wracking down her spine. “Look out over all them, love. Those are our people.” One hand began toying with her nipple again through the fabric of her bodysuit, the other was flicking at the button of her jeans. “This is our kingdom, El, and we rule it all.” His voice was a low, seductive whisper that had her insides melting.

Elain whimpered. “Please, Az—I need…”

A pinch on her nipple had her moaning. Her body arched, pushing more of her breast into his eager palm.

“Tell me, love. What do you need?”

She knew vague answers tonight would get her nowhere. If she wanted to find her pleasure, she was going to have to ask for it. Demand it. Her head fell back against his shoulder. “I need you to touch me, to taste me.”

“Where? Where would you like me to touch you?”

“Azriel,” she growled, growing impatient.

A hand gripped her hair, tugging it backward and exposing her delicate throat. “I’m not Azriel, here,” he said, voice stern. “You call me, Sir.”

Elain mewled, squirming in his grasp.

“Now, tell me where you would like me to touch you, love?”

That sensual voice had her throbbing. “My legs,” she cried. “Between my legs. Please, Sir.” She needed the relief of his fingers, his tongue, anything.

A kiss to her rounded cheek. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, popping the button of her jeans. Dropping to a knee like a fallen knight, he bent her leg to take off one heel and then the other.

Elain looked over her shoulder to watch him.

“Eyes forward,” he ordered. She snapped her head back, looking out over the club. “Do not move unless I tell you to or move you myself. Keep your head forward. I want you to watch over our kingdom while I pleasure you.”

Her head bowed, breath going erratic as he slipped her jeans down her thighs and carefully maneuvered them off her body. She felt hot and cold all over, her skin burning yet tremors ran over her limbs, her back.

Finally, his fingers found purchase between her legs, over the bodysuit, but it was enough pressure that Elain moaned, hips undulating against his hand searching for more friction.

He tsked, rising to his feet so he could press himself against her backside. “I told you not to move, baby.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“So polite,” he murmured into her hair, those tantalizing digits swiping gently over her sex. “And so wet too. I can feel how soaked you are through your suit, El.”

Some sound came out of her—though what it was, she had no idea.

Popping the three buttons at the bottom of the suit, Az shucked it over her head, leaving her standing in just her bra and panties. Her hands immediately went back to the glass after leaving to rid her of her clothes.

“Such a good fucking girl. You want to be rewarded even after all the teasing you did to me tonight.” A nip on her cheekbone.

Her breath caught in her chest. “Please, Sir.” The tone was utterly pathetic, but she was aching and desperate for any sort of relief. “I’ll be good,” she said quietly.

Moving quickly, Az unhooked her bra and slid it off her, then dropped back down to his knees, taking her underwear with him. While on the ground, he slipped her heels back onto her feet, giving her the extra four inches in height.

Elain’s heart was pounding in her chest. She felt herself become wetter between her thighs. Knew Azriel had a kink for her in heels and apparently wanted to explore that tonight.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She did.

“If you start to feel unsteady or it hurts too much to stand in these, tell me. I don’t want you to break an ankle just for my pleasure. Understand?”

Blood was rushing through her ears but she heard every word. Every damn word. “Yes, Sir.”

There was a little bit of the devil in the smile he gave her. “Lean forward. Chest against the glass.” His hand ran up her leg to squeeze and knead her rear end.

The position put a fairly deep arch in her lower back, but she immediately knew why he wanted her like this. The vibrations from the music below traveled through the glass into her breasts, pebbling her nipples and stimulating them. Elain whimpered, cheek pressed into the window.

Another hearty squeeze on her ass grabbed her attention. “You don’t even know how fucking sexy you look, spread out and at my mercy like this.” He nipped her plush thigh and the curve of her rounded cheek with his teeth. “Hold still.” And then he pounced, going straight between her legs with his mouth.

Elain was already so turned on by his teasing that he’d barely started and she was at the precipice of an orgasm in record time. Her legs shook on either side of his face from where he was dipped beneath her.

A chuckle vibrated against her clit, making her moan with pleasure. “Only a few swipes with my tongue and you’re ready to come already?” His movements slowed, focusing on applying pressure with the tip of his tongue right where she needed him most. “Do you want to come, my sweet girl?”

Her fingers flexed on the glass. “Please, Sir.” More wetness coated her from Azriel’s lavish attention and his dominance—something she had no idea she wanted to explore. She gasped as two fingers plunged into her, deep and stretching her.

“Because you’ve listened so well, you may come. Call out my name when you do.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand; one she would happily oblige to.

Turning to sit on his ass, Azriel slid completely underneath her in the most indecent position, attached his mouth to her clit while maintaining his movements with his fingers, and sucked.

Elain’s entire being shook as her orgasm swept over her body. She called out his name and a few other choice words. Wave after wave of pleasure radiated from head to toe and she only managed to pant out, “Gonna fall—” before her knees buckled.

Thank god for Az’s quick reaction because he managed to grab her by the hips and brace her tumble until she was a pile of limp bone in his lap. A scarred hand threaded through her hair to cradle her head up onto his shoulder. “You were supposed to let me know before you fell, El,” he chastised, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Couldn’t. No time.” Her words slurred together in a sleepy state.

He brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “No sleeping yet. I’m not done with you.” Giving her a few moments reprieve only, Azriel maneuvered her back to her feet and rose behind her. “Hands back on the glass, baby.”

Those tantalizing fingers swept between her thighs from beneath her, stroking over her sensitive center but somehow making her desperate for more.

The sound of his belt buckle clinking had her body trembling with need.

A slight chuckle from behind her ear. “Are you desperate for my cock, El?” he asked, shedding his clothes if the rustling sound was anything to go by.

With her spread and wanton, he could feel exactly how desperate she was for him. But the quick tug on her hair told her he wanted her to say it. “Please fuck me, Sir,” she moaned.

A gentle hand slid up her throat, forcing her head back so she looked him in the eyes. There was something soft and tender there—and she realized he was looking at her as her Azriel, not as the dominant Mob boss.

“Is this position okay?” His voice was so soft, it nearly shattered her heart.

Elain quickly understood why he was asking. He wanted to take her from behind, and while she wasn’t bent over anything, Azriel still must’ve thought the position might cause her some discomfort given what she had been through. She had to swallow the lump in her throat at how sensitive he was to her feelings, to her history, even in the heat of the moment. “I’m good, Az,” she confirmed. “And I appreciate you checking in first. That means a lot to me.”

He leaned forward to kiss her and though it was a soft, gentle brush of lips, it was also deep and meaningful in a way she could not describe. “My good girl,” he whispered in her mouth. “Let me know if anything changes or if it becomes too much.”

Pulling her flush against him, Elain felt his hard cock dig into her backside. Azriel was quick to readjust her stance, spreading her legs more—careful of her in her heels still—and lined himself up.

In one long, hard thrust, he seated himself firmly inside her. Arms wrapped securely around her body, he set a thorough pace, groaning into her neck.

Using the glass wall as leverage, Elain matched him thrust for thrust, desperately chasing that second high. Her sweat-slick back slid up and down his chest, feeling every hard ridge and plane of him as they moved against each other. She loved the way his muscular body felt against her soft, curvy one. Loved how he adored that she had a bit more for him to hold onto with a rounded behind, hips, and a small swell on her lower tummy.

Elain wasn’t skinny like either of her sisters—never had Feyre’s athletic build or Nesta’s model shape. But Azriel had always adored her body for what it was. An hourglass figure with plenty to love.

Tilting her hips, she urged him to move faster. To fuck into her harder. She needed to feel him coming inside her. Needed to fall off that blissful edge again. “Please, Sir. More. I—” her words were cut off by a moan when he hit a particularly pleasurable spot deep inside her. “I need you to touch me,” she cried out.

Azriel grunted by her ear, tongue tracing the sensitive flesh. Those scarred hands traveled over her form, one north, and one south. Fingers wrapped around her throat, not tight enough to restrict her airway but firmly enough to tip her head back slightly so she was forced to rest it against his shoulder. The other set moved to rub over her clit in tandem with the strokes of his cock, timing his pleasure and sending it shooting up her spine. “Let go, Elain.”

The demand in his voice had her toes curling in her heels and with two more thrusts, she was cresting, screaming as she fell over that edge.

He wasn’t far behind her, giving her only a few more strokes before he sank his teeth into her shoulder and filled her to the brim.

Her legs were shaking and had his arms not been around her holding her up, Elain would’ve definitely fallen to the floor again. She was panting heavily, desperately wanting to stand upright, but waited until he gave her the word.

Azriel finally released her from his teeth, planting a kiss where the bite would surely leave a mark. His breathing was heavy and laborious as he gently pulled himself out of her.

Elain could feel their combined releases spill out, dripping down her thighs and splattering onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he moaned, nuzzling into the junction of her neck and shoulder. “How are you so perfect every fucking time?”

She smiled to herself. “I think I could say the same about you.” A languid kiss on her neck had her melting into him.

Without warning, Az scooped her into his arms making her yelp, and carried her over to the couch. He didn’t seem to give one fuck about sitting on the leather butt-ass naked, nor over the fact that she was still a mess between her thighs as he placed her on his lap and cradled her to his chest.

Elain rested her head on his shoulder, her ear pressed over his heart. She could hear its thundering beat; let it soothe and relax her post-orgasmic body.

His hands swept over her body, aiding in bringing her down from her high. “How are you feeling?” he finally asked, breaking the contented silence that had settled over them.

Her fingers lazily traced the swirling tattoos on his chest, shoulder, and down one arm. “Good. Relaxed. Tired now, but satiated.” She twisted her head to kiss his chest, right over that beautiful heart. “Happy, too.”

“Yeah?”

She could hear the boyish smile in his tone. Forcing herself to lift her head, heavy as it was, she met his gaze. “Very much so.”

He leaned forward and kissed her softly, nothing to ignite more but just to show her his love and affection. One she reciprocated with everything she had. Az reached up to cup the side of her face. “And how was the sex itself? With you in a more submissive role and calling me Sir?”

Elain blinked, cheeks pinkening under his scrutiny. She should’ve known he would ask her about how she felt since this was the first time he really put them into that dominant/submissive role. Az had tested the waters a few times here and there, but tonight was their first time splashing into the pool.

A thumb brushed across the apple of her cheek, likely noticing the color change and wanting to comfort her so she could freely speak her mind.

“I like it when you take control. You know I’ve never had a problem with wanting you to have the reins over the sexual aspect of our relationship…” she began, focusing on the swirling ink of his right pec.

“I sense a but, coming.”

Her eyes flashed to his; saw the openness in them.

“I just want you to be honest with me, El. If you don’t tell me what you do or don’t like, I can’t make changes to what I’m doing. I’m sensing you’re not fond of calling me ‘Sir’ then?”

She shook her head, taking a deep breath. “It’s not that I didn’t like it, I just prefer to use your name. I feel more connected to you like that. I don’t have any qualms about dropping it when the mood is right, or if we wanted to make, say, this place our home for where I only call you ‘Sir,’ then that’s fine with me. But I’d like to maintain the use of your name for our regular sex at home.”

The corner of his lips curled up into a devastating smile. “I think that is more than fair. I want you comfortable with what you call me during sex, love. And if I say anything you don’t like, I need you to tell me—”

“Derogatory. I don’t like that,” Elain interrupted.

“Good, because I don’t either. I have no desire to put you down while I worship you. That’s not a kink I was ever into. I don’t fault people who do, but it’s just not me. And thank you, for telling me that.” He brushed another kiss to her lips. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

She nuzzled further into his throat, enjoying the softness he always gave her after sex.

Cleaned up and redressed, Azriel fluffed up Elain’s post-sex hair, took her by the hand, and led her from the private suite.

The informant was still at his station outside the door, a smirk toying on his lips. It was obvious he knew exactly what the two of them did in there and she couldn’t help but blush at the notion of it. That he knew they were having sex while he stood guard right outside the door. Elain prayed the music was loud enough to cover her screams.

Lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You’re adorable when you blush, love.” Azriel’s midnight voice slithered across her bones, making her skin heat. “Don’t worry about him. He’s not one to kiss and tell.”

The words hinted at something more, but she wasn’t sure if she should ask here or not. So, she let herself be tugged through the club, the other man a steady presence at her back. As they made their way through the throng of patrons, Elain suddenly felt a sense of dread wash over her. Like she was being watched.

She halted, pulling Azriel to a stop as she looked around the club, eyes darting here and there, looking for anyone who looked out of place.

“Elain?” Az called, stepping up behind her. A warm hand was placed on her waist. “Elain, what’s wrong?” he asked, in her ear so she could hear him over the music.

The other man with them notated her attention fixed on the crowd and stepped closer before he too began scanning the room.

She returned her gaze to Azriel’s worried one. “Somebody is watching us. I can feel it.” Elain had always had a sixth sense when it came to things like this—something that became more prominent after Graysen attacked her, so when her gut alerted her to something amiss, she listened.

Azriel’s attention snapped to his companion. “Go,” he barked.

The long-haired man disappeared into the crowd within steps, despite his height and the breadth of his shoulders. She lost him within seconds and Elain realized this was a man whom if he didn’t want to make it known he was there, you’d have no idea he was. It was a bit terrifying to think of, to have that kind of ability and she thanked god it was on their side.

Az’s arm circled her waist and brought her closer to him, shielding her. “Let’s go.” He held her tightly against him as they hurried out through the door of the club and into the cold, Velaris night air.

She shivered, though whether that was from the briskness or being watched, she had no idea. Still, he rubbed his palms over her bare arms as he stopped to speak to the bouncer. Lorcan, if she remembered correctly.

“Take note of anyone who leaves in the next few minutes, in particular alone. Somebody inside doesn’t belong.”

“Do you need me to take a look?”

“I already have somebody inside doing a sweep.”

Lorcan nodded. “I’ll pull footage and send it to you tomorrow to review.”

Nudging her forward, Azriel got her in the car, locking the door manually before closing it and making his way to the driver’s side.

Once they had pulled away from the curb, her questions spilled out of her. “Azriel, who was that?”

He glanced at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “The informant? His name is Ruhn. He’s been on my payroll for almost five years now.”

“What does he do for you?”

“Gets me information.”

She huffed at the answer that wasn’t an answer. “And how does he get that information, exactly?”

A small curve of his lip. “So observant, my love.” He reached across the console to take her hand and brush a kiss across her knuckles. “By any means necessary.” So, manipulation and torture then. Those hazel eyes looked at her again; assessed her state. “What did you feel with his presence?”

She thought about it, leaning an elbow on the door to prop her chin on her fist. “He felt dangerous. Threatening.”

“Were you scared of him?”

“No,” she told him earnestly.

He contemplated her response. “You said he felt dangerous, but you weren’t scared of him. Why not?”

She wasn’t exactly sure where these twenty questions were going, but she knew Azriel had a point to it. “Because I know you’d have never brought him near me if he was a danger to me.” It was the truth. No matter whom Az had on his payroll, if he did not have his complete faith and trust in them, he wouldn’t let them anywhere near her.

“Well, you aren’t wrong there.”

“Why are you asking me, Azriel?” There was something he had been hedging towards, just hadn’t gotten to yet.

His thumb stroked the back of her palm in a soothing gesture. “I just want to know who you’re comfortable with should I have to send you somewhere to keep you safe.”

She looked taken back. “Send me somewhere? What do you even mean by that?”

He sighed. “Get you out of town. Without me, while I handle whatever situation has come up.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Azriel, I’m not going anywhere without you—”

“Elain…”

“Don’t you Elain me,” she hissed, pulling her hand back. “Haven’t we established that splitting up ends up causing more problems? Or do we need a refresher of what happened in that warehouse?”

Azriel pulled the car into its designated parking spot in the garage and twisted in his seat to look at her. “I don’t want to split up, El. But if I can better protect you with you somewhere else—”

“Stop.” Her throat tightened as she desperately tried to rein in her tears. “Despite what you think, we don’t work well when we’re apart. So, unless you’re planning on coming with me, you can put this bullshit plan of yours away. Because I won’t do it.” Elain crossed her arms over her chest.

He pursed his lips like he was fighting a smile. “Very well.”

Her brows shot into her hairline. “Really? That’s it?”

A chuckle. “Would you like to argue some more?”

Doe-eyes narrowed. “No, but I do have another question for you.”

“Of course,” he said, gesturing for her to continue.

“Your comment about Ruhn not kissing and telling—it seemed to suggest there was something more. Was there?”

“Ah, you caught that, huh?” He shook his head, rubbing his lower lip with his thumb. “Back in the early days of our partnership, Ruhn asked me to a threesome.”

If Elain thought her jaw was hanging open before, it was on the floor now. “You’re fucking with me?”

Azriel laughed, full-bellied. “I told you that he gets information by any means necessary. Sometimes he’ll use that sexual prowess of his to do the dirty work for him. It’s something I’ve made clear I never expected him to do but he said he likes using it, so I’ve let it go. You’d be amazed at how willing people are to talk after a few orgasms.” Another light chuckle.

“One night we were at a party and he was trying to work a woman who was dating the leader of the Southside gang. When he propositioned her, she said that she’d talk if she got two for one. The extra being me.”

Elain’s heart was beating so hard in her chest, she was surprised he couldn’t hear it. “Did you?” she asked, almost worried about the answer. She knew Azriel was far more experienced than her, but this just gave her a rough idea of how completely out of her element she was with him.

His eyes flicked over her face before he shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I don’t sell myself like that for information. Ruhn is free to do what he wants, but that’s not how I wanted to live my life.”

“So, you didn’t get the information you wanted.”

A smirk played on his lips. “Oh, I got it all right.”

“How?”

“Everyone has a price. Most people can be bought—just add enough zeros to the end of the number and they’ll sing. But Jess, the girlfriend, there was something she wanted more than money.”

Elain cocked her head to the side. “What’s that?”

“Freedom. You see, in my world, information is the most valuable thing you can own. When Ruhn asked me about the threesome and I turned it down, I knew we’d need to go to a backup plan. So, we took Jess into a room under the impression of fucking her, but instead, I offered to have her boyfriend killed and grant her, her freedom. He was a piece of shit, constantly beat her and put her in the hospital a few times. I knew this information ahead of the meeting to use should things go south. This was her one real chance to get out.”

“Why didn’t she go to one of those women’s shelters? Or the police?”

Azriel laid out a hand, palm up, and waited for Elain to place hers on it. “He would’ve killed her if she left him. He was not the type of man you can simply run away from, El. And the police wouldn’t have been able to help her. They’re essentially useless, nearly half being paid off by one criminal or another.”

“Do you have some on your payroll?”

He nodded. “I do.”

It was a lot to take in. A lot to digest. But she needed him to be honest with her, and he had. “Thank you, for telling me.”

He stroked her hand again. “I told you I wouldn’t keep things from you. I promise I won’t. And if you ever have questions about my past, please ask me. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

Elain dipped her chin in forgiveness. Well, she supposed no better time than the present to get her newly unlocked fear out in the open. “Az, do you think I’m sexually compatible with you?”

Now it was his turn to look taken aback. “Where is this coming from?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, gaze looking down at their linked fingers. “After our conversation earlier, with my candor about the ‘Sir’ and all that, and now just hearing about you being asked to a threesome, I can’t help but realize how completely out of my element I am in comparison to you. I just—” she sniffed hating that she was so insecure about this but wanting his reassurance anyways. “I just want to know if you have concerns about being with someone so inexperienced.”

“Elain, look at me.”

Taking a steadying breath, she finally did, finding his hazel irises blazing.

“You are more than enough for me. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt that I was unsatisfied with our sex life?”

She shook her head no.

“I very much love what we have. I love that you’re inexperienced and that I get to help you explore your pleasure and fantasies. Your sexual awakening is because of me, and that brings me great pride. You’re wondering if we are compatible? Baby, you were fucking made for me. Nobody could ever compare to what we have and how well we fit together. And right now, all I want to do is get you upstairs and show you exactly just how compatible we really are.”

Her breathing shifted during his speech; heat pooling between her thighs. Feeling emboldened by his words, Elain met his gaze and said, “Then what’s stopping you?”

Azriel was out of the car a half second later and at her door, scooping her out and throwing her over his shoulder.

She squealed in surprise. “Azriel!” she cried out, laughing and smacking him on the butt. “Put me down!”

“I will. On our bed and then I’m going to fuck you until your brain short-circuits and turns to goo.”

True to his word, he did just that—Elain was not able to form coherent sentences when he was through with her. But damn, did she sleep like a baby that night, tucked securely in his warm embrace, exhausted, without the worries of what was yet to come.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

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[jessequinones]

Writing Lesson: It’s okay to make mistakes.

I know as a writer I make mistakes, in fact, I’m certain if you go through this text you’ll find grammar and punctuation errors and that's ok. This text isn’t a book or a peer review essay. It’s a conversation from me to you about mistakes in writing.

When I was young, learning how to write, I created this.

***

2010, Wildcats: Civil War

“What are you saying?” A black tom said to a brown tom with anger in his voice.

Before he was finish Shadow walk away wan Deathclan was about to leave but what Whiteheart said next made Shadow froze in his tracks. “I know I can beat you.”

“Is that so?” Shadow said as he was turning around and was slowly walking back toward Whiteheart.

“That is correct.”

“Well then….let’s have a little battle right here and now then.”

Whiteheart could not say no, or back down now. He walks right it in this battle.

***

Yeah...it’s not good but the point is, even though I was a terrible writer, I never stole my writings. All of my terrible stories were original and that’s what I want to talk to you about today.

The word plagiarism has been going around the internet for the last few days and I noticed when people who plagiarised other’s works get caught they tend to say they don’t feel comfortable with their own writings and thought it was a good idea to steal. Assuming they’re genuine, let me say it’s okay if your writing isn’t good, that’s how we learn.

You write a bad sentence or a paragraph which doesn’t make sense, and someone will point it out. You’ll learn over time not to make the same mistakes and grow as a writer. Just copying from someone else won’t help you learn because you’re no longer making mistakes, you’re just copying.

I always hated the saying you gotta keep practising your craft to get better because there were a few times when I thought I couldn’t improve. I kept practicing but I kept making the same mistakes and didn’t know how to get better. For those types of situations, I find it best to ask someone whose more experience how to overcome your hurdle and let me be the first to say there are plenty of people in your craft who’ll be willing to help.

As for writing, here’s a trick I did to help me create stories. For practice, I took a book, like the Warrior series for an example, and copied their words. Before you say that’s plagiarism, first things first, I never published the stories I was copying, and secondly, I was figuring out how the Erin Hunters were creating their stories.

When artists learn how to draw for the first time, they copy someone else’s art style and maybe even do trace works until they become confident in their ability to create their own. I was still trying to learn what my writing style was, and I wanted to figure out how someone else created theirs. Over time I started to get an understanding of how sentence structure was made. I understood foreshadowing, and I understood when and where to add descriptions. I would start looking at lines in the books after I wrote them and be like...I could improve this. I started to see things I didn’t think were necessary for the story and after a while, I told myself I was ready to write my own Warriors fanfic.

Learning from someone else, being inspired by another. These are all things that’ll help you grow as a writer but you still got to do the work yourself. You can’t say you created something original if 90% of it was stolen, you’re only hurting yourself.

If you’re a new writer and have questions, even if you think they’re very basic, please feel free to ask me. I’m not the best writer. In fact, I don’t really know how to create informative writing, which is why I’m practising now, but I do know a few things and am always willing to help someone if I have the time and don’t forget. Keep trying and keep writing, your writing is better than you give it credit for.

[danielcatart]

TW warning ⚠️

Let's talk about some of the issues in the Call of Duty fandom

If you think this gif maker's thing is the worst petty group attack thing I read before from fckt people in COD fandom, then nahh...

In two years I seen even more brain damage people in call of duty fandom, one of them who was harrasing artist for not giving them credit for pose reference, POSE bruh..., nobody owns a pose. Later on they was proven that they both use same photo reference and noting was stolen, and they themself didn't give credit for many photos they used for sfw and nsfw works that they draw.

The reality is Artist not obligated to give credit for what reference they used or what was their inspiration if they don't feel comfortable with the source and talking about it. Nobody's is original and thats was that the point in the end.

But the worst thing is still for Me in this community is the pd*file "artists" who have huge support for their morally disgusting Art's in Twitter 💀 which is crazy for Me, and people who try to defend it and the artists says that they are themself are survivors and that's shitt is for them some kind of fckt up way of healing 💀, when in reality no any actual survivor or therapist will agree with that statement..., Some of them also fetishize gay and trans people and draw them being graped and dr*g abused graped, what is absolutely insane 😭.

Other worst one is the minors who constantly accuse people of being pd*files just because they didn't get s*xual attention from the cosplayer that they want, it's disgusting how they treat cosplayers like characters when in reality there is a person under the costume, and it's not okay to play around with accusations like that and ruining people life's.

Another one was fake accusations of the Artist's white washing Gaz, what unfortunately happens a lot with artists in the COD. One of the artist style was grayscale and they don't put any colors on any characters yet people try to find a problem to harass them, what's was not even the worst one yet. The other one who acuse that's shitt herself is a black minor artist who draw Gaz whey more darker and with stereotypical features, while the artist on who she send hate group is a adult and she draw everyone in the same bright bruned grunge style. Also that minor followers openly in the comments was speaking about how they hate non-black people as a black people bruh and she was liking their racist comments, and who was deciding to stand for the artist and was saying the minor is wrong, she would call them racist too and send her minions to harras them... While in art groups we had conversations about this and many talented artists agreed that none of them are was whitewashed and the minor artist doesn't understand anything signs their beginner, but it's still not okay for them as a minor to harass an adults and sent hate speech on them. We as a adults have our own limits and we can't always just sit and watch what's happening especially when our pages says MDNI and yet they were interacting with it and harassing us... We as adults are not obligated to teach them how to act on the internet, they have parents for that, and their phones should being under control of their parents

welcome, this is the shitty part of COD fandom...

And the most known one is obviously toxic "men" gamers who constantly harassing women players in the game.

sorry if what for mistakes in the text, English is not My language and I'm dyslexic.

[lamemaster]

Thank you! I’m not sure what kind of description your looking for but I’ll give it my best. This is for the ship event. Also I really enjoy your writing it’s always fun to read!

I am an introverted woman who is great at pretending to be an extrovert in public but I get tired of people very quickly. I have a slight anger problem and get snappy (it only happens when I start to feel a little sick not an excuse but that is the most common thing.) To try and fix this I asked my friends and family to call me out on my attitude and stuff so I can better notice it and apologize.

I am mostly a calm personality until I either get really excited and passionate about something (I talk fast and get loud) or I am really anxious and nervous (take a lot of deep breaths and my shift around a lot).

I am sensitive to animals getting hurt I have to hug my animals and squeeze them good if I hear about another animal getting hurt. And I once tried to help a insect feeling really bad for it until I remembered that it’s actually the kind of bug you want to kill. Not a good example but kinda funny on my end.

Lastly I love to read, write and play video games.

I apologize for this being really long.

Reading your post, I felt like we were made from the same prototype lmao (snapping included).

Based on your description, I ship you with the gentle giant of Gondolin,❤️‍🔥 Rog❤️‍🔥.

Introvert with extrovert abilities, bubbly passionate being with a strong (uwu) love for animals, slight temper, sign Rog up.

My cannon Rog is a 'go-with-flow, it's fine, no problem' kinda elf BUT with you, it is not fine. How dare that elf look weird at your elf? Taking a stand for your elf is your birthright and nothing stops you from it ever (Rog thrives in his male wife era).

(Credit to the artist whom couldn't find)

The Lord of the House of the Wrath of Hammer does not believe that love knows no logic.

Every reason, every logic has only ever made him love you greater. You, who is willing to care for injured animals, a trait that deeply resonated with him. It wasn't uncommon to find you cradling some wounded creature in your arms. You seemed like a Maia of Yavanna herself, with the boundless love you had for the flora and fauna of the land.

However, your love wasn't limited to animals and plants alone. You were the life of social gatherings in Gondolin. Your spirited voice had the power to delight anyone fortunate enough to be in your presence.

Rog vividly remembered the first time he met you at one such gathering.

In a grand hall, filled with the entire population of Gondolin celebrating the annual feast, Rog found himself surrounded by other lords. Everyone was reveling in the joy of another new year. You were in the company of Lord Ecthelion, the Lord of the Fountain, but somehow, fate had led you to the same group of elves as Rog.

At that moment, Rog's thoughts didn't linger on your presence. Instead, he felt the overwhelming pressure to fit in, to be a part of the group, and to contribute to the witty conversations that flowed among the lords from the West. He had never felt more out of place. He couldn't help but believe that maybe he truly didn't deserve his lordship. He wasn't like them; his very name meant "monster," setting him apart from the rest.

Throughout the evening, Rog had attempted to interject his thoughts into the conversation several times, but each time his voice was drowned out by the bustling chatter of others.

"I-"

"Glorfindel! Come here, you oaf," someone interrupted him yet again.

Forcing a smile on his face, Rog tried again, "The harvest-"

"Did you see Salagant?" Glorfindel, who had just arrived, whispered excitedly, and once more, Rog's voice was lost in the cacophony.

"What about the harvest, Lord Rog?" a clear voice cut through the noise, and Rog's heart skipped a beat.

There you were, looking at him with the most earnest gaze. In a group that had overlooked him the entire evening, you listened to him with the utmost sincerity.

Maybe that was the reason Rog found himself walking you home that night, talking to you about everything that had gathered in his heart, mind, and soul, finally able to share his thoughts with someone who truly cared to listen.