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writingpandagoth · 29 days ago

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hi!! sorry if this is formatted wrong, i’ve never tried a request before!! what about a snape x reader where they’re both young professors and it’s his first time chaperoning the yule ball as a teacher? i was thinking the reader is his assistant or a junior professor, and they’re supposed to be chaperoning the slytherins together, but he’s sort of slowly been developing feelings for her over the months she’s been teaching (except he deflects it by being a bit rude and sarcastic with her, so she thinks he hates her and there’s a little bit of angst). but maybe he notices she keeps avoiding dancing at the yule ball (even when the other professors do) and so he awkwardly asks if she’d like to dance, but she admits she was never taught. i was thinking maybe he takes her out of the ballroom and teaches her to dance, and eventually there’s a confession of how they feel? ✨

it’s absolutely fine if you don’t have time to write this, i just wanted to say i really love your writing and i devour your fics religiously!!

I am so happy you enjoy all my stories so far and I hope you enjoy this just as much.

Slow Dance of Hearts

The Great Hall had never looked so alive.

Strings of frost-charmed ivy wrapped around the stone columns, and enchanted snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, vanishing just before they hit the marble floor. The orchestra hummed in the corner, tuning their instruments with the quiet elegance only magic could produce. Everything sparkled—candles, crystal, silk.

Everyone sparkled.

Except Severus Snape.

He stood stiffly at the edge of the dance floor in full black robes, arms crossed over his chest, a perpetual scowl tugging at the corner of his mouth. The Yule Ball. As if the school year wasn’t already insufferable enough.

To make matters worse, he’d been assigned to chaperone Slytherin this year.

With you.

You—bright-eyed, maddeningly enthusiastic, recently appointed junior professor and his assigned co-chaperone. You had been a blur of nerves and fresh parchment since September, and despite your endless efforts to be polite, helpful, and occasionally charming, Severus had met your presence with the usual weapons in his arsenal: dry sarcasm and sharp looks.

It wasn’t personal.

It was necessary.

Because if he let himself think about the way your eyes lingered on the stars charmed into the ceiling, or how your laugh curled through the hallways like warm smoke, or how you chewed your quill when grading, or the way you pushed your hair behind your ear when—

No. It was better this way.

He hadn’t meant to grow so aware of you. It had started slowly—your voice in staff meetings, softer than the others, always thoughtful. Then your lesson plans, which you used to nervously ask for feedback on, parchment clutched between ink-smudged fingers. He remembered the way you’d glance up at him mid-sentence, as though bracing for one of his sharp remarks… and how he’d always give them, because it was easier than admitting you made him nervous.

You’d baked lemon scones once—early October, after a long week—and left one on his desk. He hadn’t said thank you. He’d just stared at it for ten minutes, then eaten it alone in his office, biting through the citrus glaze with clenched teeth and a heart pounding so hard he nearly choked.

You made things warm. And warm made him dangerous—to himself, to everything he’d so carefully built around himself.

So he did what he always did.

He deflected.

With sarcasm. With silence. With cold precision.

He thought it would keep things safe.

You, meanwhile, had spent months trying to figure out what, exactly, you’d done wrong.

You’d admired him from the moment you arrived—brilliant, composed, impossibly competent. He’d intimidated you, sure, but there was something magnetic beneath his cutting exterior. Something controlled, and strangely elegant. Something lonely.

It was the loneliness that got to you.

You’d tried to be kind. Helpful. You brought him tea once—he told you he didn’t need hand-holding. You asked if he wanted company in the dungeons during a staff snowstorm—he told you he preferred the quiet. You even defended his teaching once in the staffroom, and he’d looked at you like you’d said something unforgivable.

You’d stopped trying after a while. You couldn’t bear the humiliation.

And here you were—assigned to supervise the ball together, trying not to feel awkward in your dress.

You stood near the back of the ballroom, fingers loosely wrapped around a half-finished glass of punch, your eyes tracking the crowd like it might give you something else to focus on. The music floated softly through the space, graceful and golden. Students spun past, laughing, flushed, half-dancing and half-tripping over their dress robes. Even a few professors had taken to the floor—Flitwick was positively radiant, bouncing through a quickstep with Madam Sprout. McGonagall and Dumbledore waltzed like they’d invented the damn thing.

You smiled, politely, watching.

But you never stepped forward.

And Severus noticed.

You looked beautiful. He noticed. He had noticed the moment you entered the room, light catching in your hair like it was made for candlelight.

He wasn’t supposed to be watching you. He had told himself that enough times tonight it had become a mantra. Watch the students. Watch the exits. Not her.

But his eyes kept dragging back to where you stood, just slightly in shadow, away from the torchlight and the hum of conversation. You looked… not unhappy. But apart. Distant. Like you were present only by obligation.

He told himself it was none of his business. And yet he couldn’t help it.

You didn't danced all evening—not with students, not with staff. You’d laughed when Filius offered you a spin and declined with a smile that looked a little too practiced.

But still you watched the dancing couples like you would love nothing more than join them.

And it was starting to drive him mad.

He tried to act unaffected. He had a role here, after all. A reputation. It wouldn't do for Severus Snape to go soft in the candlelight because some young junior professor had a way of looking like she’d stepped out of a dream.

You, who had chipped away at him all term with your kindness, your steadiness. You, who brought him tea without asking. Who stayed late to help him mark essays even when you nearly fell asleep doing so. Who laughed at his dry remarks when no one else dared. You, who looked at him like he wasn’t broken.

So when he finally found himself standing beside you at the edge of the room, he said—too flatly, too pointedly—“You do realize we’re meant to supervise, not skulk like misbehaving children.”

Your shoulders tensed.

“I wasn’t skulking,” you replied, trying not to sound hurt. “I was… watching.”

“From the shadows,” he said coolly. “As though you’re avoiding something.”

You laughed once, a little too tightly. “Maybe I am.”

He glanced at you, something sharp in his eyes. “You are aware you don't need to stand here and just watch?”

“I just… don’t dance.”

“That much is obvious.”

You turned your face away slightly, the words hitting harder than you wanted to admit.

“Is there a problem with that, Professor Snape?” you asked, masking the sting with clipped politeness.

He exhaled, almost silently. “No. Only curious.”

And then—after a long breath,

“Would you like to?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked. “Sorry?”

“To dance,” he said, voice neutral—too neutral, as if he could pretend it wasn’t important. "You want to do...that?”

You’d caught him watching McGonagall and Dumbledore who were still dancing.

You blinked again, confused. He must have been analyzing. Observing. Judging, more likely.

“Oh,” you said quickly, defensive now. “I know I’m not very graceful, but you don’t have to—”

He rolled his eyes. “Merlin, I wasn’t criticizing you.”

“Well, what then?”

He hesitated. Then, with a faint huff—half frustration, half something far more vulnerable—he held out his hand.

Awkward. Stiff. Palm open, as though it pained him to offer it.

And you realized.

You stared at it.

Then at him.

And for the first time in weeks, you truly saw it—not coldness, not distance—but uncertainty. Hesitation. He wasn’t mocking you. He was asking.

You swallowed hard.

“I—I can’t,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I mean, I… I never learned. I don’t know how.”

Severus stared at you for a moment.

“I mean, properly,” you added, filling the silence with nervous words. “My family wasn’t the type to host balls or anything. I always… sat them out. I figured I’d keep doing that.”

And then, to his own horror, heard himself say, “Come with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said come with me.” His voice was quieter now.

You looked around, baffled. “Where?”

“Somewhere less… crowded.” His hand still raised in offering. Awkward. Stiff. But real.

You stared at it.

Then slowly, nervously, you placed yours in his.

It was warm. Steady. A little calloused at the fingers, like he’d spent too many nights turning pages and brewing in silence.

He led you out of the ballroom, away from the lights and laughter and strings of enchanted snow. The corridors beyond were quiet, echoing with faint music from the Great Hall. You walked beside him in silence, your hand still in his, and tried not to think about how this felt like something out of someone else’s story.

Eventually, he stopped in a long, dim corridor lit only by torches and a single stained-glass window that caught the moonlight like a secret.

“This will do,” he said, releasing your hand gently.

You stood awkwardly across from him, arms crossed in front of yourself, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of your body.

He noticed.

“I won’t let you fall,” he said, tone dry but surprisingly gentle. “It’s not complicated. Just follow me.”

You nodded, too afraid to speak.

He stepped forward slowly, placing one hand just below your shoulder blade. His other hovered in the air for a beat before you realized you were meant to take it. You did—tentatively—and your fingers curled into his.

The moment you touched, something shifted.

His hand tightened slightly.

Yours did too.

“Start with your weight on your right foot,” he said, voice low and careful. “One step back. Left foot. Then to the side.”

You tried.

Your foot caught slightly.

He steadied you without a word, one hand tightening at your back to hold you upright.

“Again.”

He walked you through the motions. Slowly. Patiently. You weren’t graceful—not yet—but he didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock. He just moved with you, gently correcting your steps, murmuring little directions under his breath.

“Keep your chin up,” he said once, and when you tilted your head toward him—confused, flustered—his eyes met yours.

The air shifted.

There was something in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

You danced, slowly, in that quiet corridor lit only by moonlight and magic. Neither of you spoke, not at first. It wasn’t silence, though. It was something closer. Warmer.

You stepped on his foot once.

He grunted.

You winced. “Sorry.”

He glanced down at you. “You’re not bad.”

“High praise.”

A twitch of a smile. “You’re better than I was.”

You blinked. “Wait—when did you learn?”

“Seventh year. McGonagall forced the whole school into etiquette lessons. Claimed if we were going to represent the school, we’d do so without mangling each other’s toes.”

You laughed. The sound echoed gently in the corridor.

And then, quietly: “Why did you ask me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His hand was still at your back. Your fingers still rested in his.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just… I couldn’t stand watching you look at the floor like you didn’t deserve to be part of it.”

Your breath caught.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered.

He flinched.

You hadn’t meant to say it. But it was out now. Real. Heavy.

“I never really knew why you were that way to me,” you added, softer. “You’re always so cold. Sarcastic. I tried, you know. I tried to be… kind. To make it easier. But you always looked at me like I was a nuisance.”

“I was afraid,” he said quietly.

You stared at him.

“Of what? Me?”

“Of what you made me feel.”

The words hung there. Unbelievable. Beautiful. Terrifying.

You didn’t know what to say.

But your fingers tightened in his. And you didn’t look away.

The corridor had gone still.

There was no music out here, no audience, no swirling gowns or twinkling lights—only the faint echo of violin through stone and the whisper of your own breath.

His hand was still resting against your back.

You could feel the heat of it through your robes.

Your heart was beating too fast.

“I was afraid,” he said again, his voice low, steady but uncertain. “You were kind to me. And I didn’t know how to take it. No one’s ever looked at me like you did.”

“Like what?”

“Like I was worth something.”

The confession hit you square in the chest.

You opened your mouth, but whatever you meant to say got lost somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

“I thought if I pushed you away, it would make it easier,” he continued. “That if I kept a distance, I could stop… feeling so much.”

His eyes held yours now—truly held them. No sneer, no sarcasm. Just raw honesty.

“And yet every time you walked into a room,” he said, quieter, “I felt like I could breathe for the first time.”

You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t want to.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered again.

“I never hated you,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to love you… without ruining it.”

That did it.

The emotion in your chest swelled too full, too fast—throat closing, breath catching, everything trembling.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Your fingers curled tighter into his.

And then—

As though something finally broke loose in him—

He stepped forward, his hand guiding yours, and with a sudden, graceful motion—

he dipped you.

Just enough that the world tilted. Just enough that your breath left you.

One arm still around your waist. The other still holding your hand.

Your lips were inches from his.

The only sound was your breath catching and his deep inhale, like he’d been waiting all year to do this.

And then

He kissed you.

Like he’d already imagined it a hundred times but hadn’t let himself believe it could be real.

And you kissed him back.

Not just because you wanted to.

Because you’d waited through sarcasm, through silence, through months of aching uncertainty—and now, finally, he was here, and he meant it.

When he pulled back, barely, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless, he murmured:

“Next year, I’ll ask you to dance at the start of the night.”

You smiled, still in his arms, still dipped just enough to feel like you might float.

“I’ll say yes,” you whispered. “Next year, and every one after that.”

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Still tucked into his arms, your hand resting in his, his fingers curled protectively around your waist—like if he let go too soon, the moment might disappear.

You weren’t dancing anymore. Not exactly.

Just swaying, barely. Breathing together.

The candle in the nearby sconce flickered low, casting soft golden light across the floor, catching in the dark strands of his hair, the corners of his eyes.

You brought your hand up slowly, brushing a loose lock back from his face.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

Instead, he leaned into the touch—just the slightest shift, just enough to let you feel how deeply he wanted to stay right there.

“Your hair’s always falling in your eyes,” you murmured, your thumb brushing gently along his temple.

“Occupational hazard,” he replied, voice low and dry. “Brooding is terrible for grooming.”

You smiled, and so did he—just faintly, just enough.

You shifted in closer, arms wrapping around his middle now, your cheek against his shoulder.

“I don’t want to go back in yet,” you whispered.

“Then we won’t,” he said, immediately. “Let them think we’re supervising the outside perimeter.”

You laughed against his chest, and he let out a soft huff that was almost a chuckle.

His hand came up, brushing slowly over your hair, smoothing it back behind your ear. His fingertips lingered at your jaw, then trailed down to your collarbone, reverent.

You looked up at him.

And he kissed you again.

Softer this time. Less urgency. No question. Just… yes.

Yes to you.

Yes to this.

When he pulled back, his lips still brushing yours, he whispered,

“I’m not going to run from this again.”

You smiled, eyes shining.

“I know.”

And you stood there in the quiet glow, two people wrapped in each other’s arms, as the music from the ballroom played on like a lullaby meant only for you.

#severus snape #fanfic #severus snape x reader #harry potter

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hungarianshinobi · 2 months ago

Text

Ryomen Sukuna x F!Reader - His favourite Obsession

Summary:

"I have many obsessions, but not the finest booze, nor the best fucking drug in this world compares to you, (y/n)"

Ryomen Sukuna. The man who's responsible for many crimes in the heart of Japan along with the other members of his yakuza organization. The man whose heart and eyes are as cold as ice when it comes to killing someone, not feeling the slightest pity for those he sees as a threat. He's the most feared man in Japan for a reason. Everyone knows who he is throughnout the country. His own men are fearing him, yet nobody knows him actually. Not even (y/n), but he knows everything about her. She is oblivious to that fact for a very long time, having no clue that the man of topic is stalking her. His love for her is beyond affection. It's an obsession. The kind of obsession where he would do literally anything for the woman he loves. He takes the phrase 'I would kill for you' rather seriously.

His favourite Obsession - Sukuna x F!Reader

Written by: Hungarian Shinobi

Started on: 2025.04.15.

Completed at: ~Still ongoing~

⚠️EXPLICIT CONTENT⚠️

✓ I only own the storyline of the book

× I do not own the characters of Jujutsu kaisen

Disclaimer + Chapter 1

Disclaimer (MUST READ)

Please don't skip this short disclaimer, there are important informations included within this "chapter". (If you skip, don't blame me that I didn't warn you about a few things, because I always do.)

First of all... NO MINORS! Or at least no minors who are not mature enough for the explicit themes I am going to write in this story.

So if you are a snowflake and can't handle violence, bloody themes, mentions of murder, kissing, lemons/smuts or whatever that can be included in this category, you should stop reading right here. I'm sure you can find a more suiting book for yourself if you can't handle these kind of stuff and prefer rainbows and sunshine when it comes to books.

I'm not a merciful person when it comes to mature content, so don't blame me if you've proceeded to read further. I'm not taking responsibility for causing a shock or you losing your innocence. ✌️

Okay, let's start...

As in my other stories, I would like to thank you for clicking on my book and giving it a chance! It really means a lot to me! ❤️

What I give in exchange for clicking on my story is nice adventure! Something that my crazy mind created...

Those who have read any of my other stories know what kind of writing style I have, but for those who are new, I'm going to tell a few things:

• I usually write 2000 words per chapter. However there are times when I make it a bit longer if there is a lot happening according to the plot. I think 2000 words for a chapter is the most comfortable to both write and read.

• I am a merciless person when it comes to cliffhangers so bear with me.

• Speaking of which... Yes I do write in my free time just like most of the fellow fanfiction writers here. I have a life, a family with two kids, so please be patient and don't ask for an update when I just updated. (Of course badly waiting for it is something else, but I'm not going to force myself to write if I don't have time or if I'm not in the mood)

• I LOVE drama, fluff and dirty minded scenarios. I honestly live for these kind of themes so prepare yourself if you are as rotten as me when it comes to mature content ✨

• Yes the story will contain smut. (How could I not include any in it ತ‿ʖತ) I know that somewhere deep you all seek for quality smuts just like me... Wattpad as well as other platfroms lack quality ones. There are rarely any in my opinion that are actually great. Those chapters will definitely be longer than my usual 2000 words. Yes you read it right 😌 if you don't believe me, peek into one of my latest stories for proof.

• I won't always put a warning before the chapters, sometimes I forget about it. Oh and be sure to get the whole world's holy water for yourself. (Honestly I think it's going to be useless. We are all going to rot in hell for liking these kind of books but if all the hot anime men are waiting for us there who cares 🤷‍♀️)

• Also I am very cruel because I try to describe feelings as detailed as possible. This is both true to happy and sad feelings. Make sure to always have ice cream in your freezer and brewed tea. If you don't have any, come back here, I am giving them away for free. Extra popcorn and tea is free as well. Choose to your liking: 🍧🍨🍦, 🍿🍿, 🍵🫖

• I do love plot twists and make my readers confused or fool them with these twists so be prepared 😈

Things I appreciate:

💟 I love any kinds of feedback. Let it be comments, votes or messages. It makes me want to write more and update more frequently to satisfy your needs. So if you have anything to say, feel free to do it! I always appreciate it!

💟 If you have any fantasies in your mind you want to see throughnout the story tell me! There are no limits. (If you knew how dirty my mind is you would run away I swear)

A few more things that are important:

° My first language is not English so I apologize for any kind of grammar mistakes, I try my best. (Typos don't count)

° I'm not going to follow the anime's timeline. I mean, there will be a few things included to bring life to my book and be close to the world of Jujutsu kaisen, but this is a fanfiction where I am the boss 😎 Besides, this is a Mafia/yakuza AU. No cursed energy etc in this world.

° You may also find me on Archive of our own (Ao3) and Wattpad so you don't have to dm me and tell someone stole my work if you see the story there.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungarianShinobi

https://www.wattpad.com/user/Hungarian-Shinobi

But if you perhaps see my work somewhere else, let me know. I never give permission to anyone to post my stuff somewhere else.

Speaking of which. NEVER and I mean it... Never! Ever! rewrite, repost, use my story as a base or steal it. Any kind of form within the meaning of using my work in anything is absolutely unacceptable! I work hard on my books, please respect my effort and don't do this.

° I do not own the anime/manga, nor the characters. They all belong to the dear creator, Gege Akutami.

° This fanfiction was created for fun and created for fellow Sukuna simps. ^^

° I do not own any of the pictures and fanarts I put inside the story unless I say so.

° I only own the storyline and a few ocs here and there throughnout the story.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

His favourite obsession - Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Written by: Hungarian Shinobi

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Time for advertising 🎉

Demon slayer/Kimetsu no yaiba stories:

Uzui Tengen x Reader - His Princess: A story in which (y/n) is part of the Rengoku family. Tengen is a teasing, flirtatious bastard and she wants to avoid to fall for his charm. But of course she fails eventually... (Completed)

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader - F#cking Proffessor Rengoku: The title says it all I guess (Completed)

Reliving the past - Kokushibo x Reader: manga spoilers about Kokushibo!! (Ongoing)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Overhaul x Reader stories:

FORBIDDEN: An alternative universe where Overhaul is not a yakuza. He's a doctor. He's married and y/n has a huge crush on him for a long time. No spoilers! (Completed)

From haters to lovers: Going mostly by the anime's timeline. The title says it all. Spoiler alert! (Completed)

Dabi x Reader stories:

When I was your man: Y/n works as a prostitute. The story is about how Dabi wants to get her back because they broke up. Also it tells their story of their meeting and progress. (Completed) Spoilers about the truth of Dabi!

Our Destiny: High spoiler alert! If you haven't read the manga or don't know the truth about Dabi and don't want to get it spoiled, don't read! Y/n and him know each other since childhood. Toxic relationship. (Completed)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Chrollo Lucilfer x reader: The Devil's angel

(Y/n) is a young billionaire and she completely and utterly falls for the epitome of gentlemen. Chrollo Lucilfer. First love. (Ongoing)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Other JJK work:

Fushiguro Toji x Reader - Red flag? I'm colorblind

The title says it all! (Ongoing)

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Thank you for taking your time and reading this far if you did.

-Hungarian Shinobi

Chapter 1

Third person POV:

So beautiful. So... god... damn... beautiful....

He would think to himself whenever he steals a quick glance at the screen of his phone or the monitor back at his home. Yes... He has cameras installed all over the place where she lives and he hacked his way into the security cameras she most frequently visits in order to keep a close eye on her. He wished he had cameras in her home too, because he can't see what she does there inside.

Even from a distance he admires her. He loves her... Or rather, he is beyond obsessed with this woman named (l/n) (y/n).

He only talked to her once in person. In that same moment he fell... he fell so hard in love with her that there's never a moment he doesn't think about the woman he loves so badly.

He didn't even think he's capable of such emotions. That is until he met her on that certain day about half a year ago.

The bustling streets of Tokyo hummed with life, the neon lights reflecting off the damp pavement from the recent drizzle. (Y/n), a petite young woman with warm, doe-like eyes, was hurriedly making her way home, arms laden with groceries.

As she navigated the crowded sidewalk, her mind preoccupied with the mundane tasks ahead, she suddenly collided with a tall, imposing figure. Startled, she stumbled backward, her heavy canvas bag tumbling from her grasp and spilling its contents across the damp concrete.

"Ah-... I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, quickly crouching down to gather her scattered belongings. Sukuna, a man of sharp features and cold, piercing eyes, knelt down to help her, his long, elegant fingers deftly picking up wayward items.

As they both reached for the same fallen apple, their fingers brushed. (Y/n)'s cheeks flushed at the unexpected contact, her heart fluttering in her chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and apologetic. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there."

Sukuna's gaze lingered on (y/n)'s face, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and wide, innocent eyes. He felt a strange sensation in his chest, as if something inside him had awakened and was demanding attention. He gently took the apple from her hand, his fingers brushing against hers once more.

"No, no, it was my fault," Sukuna said, his voice smooth and low, like distant thunder. He handed her the apple, his eyes never leaving hers. She took it, her hand shaking slightly. "Thank you." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

As Sukuna stood up, he felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to keep her by his side. He felt possessive, territorial, and his mind raced with thoughts of her. He couldn't stop staring at her, drinking in the sight of her delicate features, her soft skin, her innocent eyes. He couldn't explain it, but he felt a sudden, intense connection to this innocent girl. Her pure, untainted beauty was like a siren's call to him, drawing him in and refusing to let him go.

His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, drowning out the cacophony of the city around him. He wanted to reach out, to touch her again, to mark her as his. The primal urge to claim her was overpowering, unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her walk away, her figure small and delicate amidst the sea of strangers. He felt a strong urge to follow her, to ensure her safety, to know every little detail about her.

Sukuna trailed behind (y/n), his eyes never leaving her as she navigated the crowded streets. He followed her all the way to her apartment, noting the address and committing it to memory. As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, he lingered across the street, watching the lights flicker on in her window.

Sukuna's heart raced like a teenager's, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, his mind racing with unanswered questions. Who was this girl? What was it about her that had him so entranced?

A surge of emotions crashed over him. Confusion, curiosity, possessiveness, and a strong, undeniable desire to know more about her. He felt a connection to her that he couldn't explain, like an invisible thread binding their souls.

Was he obsessed? Is it possible in such a short amount of time? Yes...

From that day on, Sukuna's life was no longer his own. His mind was consumed by (Y/n), his every waking moment filled with an insatiable hunger to know everything about her. He found himself questioning his own sanity as he became increasingly obsessed with uncovering every detail of her daily life. Days turned into weeks. He barely slept, his mind constantly wandered to her, imagining her daily life, her habbits, her smile, the sweet scent of her hair. He felt like he was going mad, driven to insanity by his obsession.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, his mind racing with images of her, wondering what she was doing at that very moment. Was she sleeping? Reading? Thinking of someone else?

Someone else...

The mere thought of another man's eyes on her, or their thoughts drifting to her, filled Sukuna with a sickening jealousy. His stomach churned and his fists clenched at his sides. He couldn't bear the idea of sharing her, even just in someone's imagination.

He became obsessive, finding himself outside her apartment building at odd hours, just to see if she was home. He'd watch as other men passed her on the street, their eyes lingering on her innocent beauty. Each glance felt like a physical strike against his chest. "She's mine." He would whisper to himself, his voice low and dangerous. The thought of anyone else claiming her attention, her time, or her affection made him see red. He found himself growing increasingly irritable, snapping at his underlings and strangers alike when they would inadvertently mention a woman's beauty or charm.

Sometimes at night, unable to sleep, he'd stare at her window, imagining her sleeping form. The thought of some unknown man ever laying eyes on her bare skin made him positively murderous. He found himself inventing scenarios in his head... what he'd do if someone dared to touch her, dared to love her...

(Y/n) is his afterall...

Sukuna's obsession grew like a cancer, consuming every waking thought. He began to stalk her more brazenly, unable to keep his distance despite the installed cameras. He'd appear near her workplace, her favorite café, pretending coincidence. Each 'accidental' encounter sent electrical jolts through his body.

"Funny running into you here..." he said smoothly, approaching her table. His heart hammered in his chest at their proximity, at how the sunlight caught in her hair. "Mind if I join you? I have a few minutes before work and..." he trailed off, letting his eyes meet hers.

"Wait... weren't you..." she started, her eyes widening with recognition. "The man who... ? The apple..." she stammered slightly, putting down her coffee cup. He smiled, a slow, knowing smile. "Guilty as charged." he said, sitting down across from her.

"It's a small world, isn't it?" he murmured, eyes locked on hers. He could feel the weight of his obsession in every word, every glance. He wanted to reach across the table, to take her hand, to claim her right then and there.

"How have you been?" he asked, voice softer than usual. He already knew from his stalking she'd been well, her favorite matcha latte order hadn't changed.

Sukuna quickly softened his expression. "You know what, I should apologize." he said gently, leaning back slightly to give her space. "I realize we've only met briefly before, and here I am, invading your personal space."

He offered an apologetic smile, genuinely seeming to regret overstepping. "I hope you don't mind my rude interruption. It's just, after our brief encounter, you left quite the impression. I thought perhaps fate was trying to connect us again, silly of me, isn't it?"

She laughed, finding his self-deprecation surprisingly charming. "Not silly at all," she replied, picking up her coffee cup again. "You're so funny."

Sukuna chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You really don't think I'm following you, do you?" He teased lightly, watching her reaction closely. She shrugged, oblivious to his ulterior motives.

"No, of course not!" She exclaimed, her eyes widening innocently. "Why would you follow me? I'm not interesting enough for someone to stalk." she said sweetly, completely unaware of the predator sitting across from her.

Sukuna's heart nearly stopped at her innocent naivety. How could she possibly think she wasn't interesting? Every single detail about her captivated him. The way she held her coffee cup, how her eyes sparkled when she laughed, the faint rose color of her lips. Everything...

He felt a primal urge to protect her, to shield her from the world's harsh realities. Even from himself. He was a mafia boss in the dark underworld afterall. And she was so pure, so unspoiled by the darkness that lurked in people's hearts. He wanted to keep her that way, locked away from anything that might tarnish her innocence.

For now, he would bide his time, slowly weaving himself into her life. He'd be patient, meticulous. He'd court her like a gentleman, shower her with affection and attention. He'd make her fall in love with him, blindly, deeply. He'd learn everything about her, from her favorite flowers to her deepest fears. He'd become her rock, her confidant, her everything. And when she was irrevocably his, he'd reveal his true self... slow reveals, designed to keep her hooked, to make her too entangled to leave.

"My name is Ryomen Sukuna. May I ask your full name?" he inquired politely, his voice as smooth as velvet, tilting his head slightly. "I feel like we've had such a pleasant encounter, and I'd like to know the name of the lovely woman I had the fortune of meeting." He finished his coffee in the meantime, placing the cup down gently on the table in front of himself.

"Of course." she replied with a sweet smile. "It's (l/n) (y/n)." She held out her hand politely, as if expecting him to shake it. Sukuna's heart skipped a beat at the chance to touch of her soft hand in his.

Gently, he grasped her hand, lifting it up to his lips. He barely brushed his lips against her knuckles, a subtle, almost imperceptible kiss. But it was enough to send shivers down her spine and make his heart race. "Enchanté, (l/n) (y/n)."

(Enchanté=delighted, overjoyed - french=english)

(Y/n)'s cheeks flushed a delicate pink as Sukuna's lips barely grazed her knuckles. Her heart fluttered wildly, unprepared for the electric spark his gentlemanly gesture ignited. "Oh!" she gasped softly, a startled and pleased sound escaping her parted lips.

He released her hand gently, a charming smile playing on his lips. He could see the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to pursue her more.

He glanced at his rolex which rested neatly on his wrist, hiding the tattoo beneath, part of his façade as a wealthy businessman. "I apologize, but I need to leave now." he said regretfully, standing up. "It was a pleasure running into you again, (y/n)." His voice was warm, his smile sincere... a lie...

Her eyes widened slightly, and she gasped softly, "Oh, you have to leave so soon?" She pouted gently, but her smile remained warm and inviting. Her cheeks still held a soft blush from his kiss on her knuckles. She looked genuinely disappointed that their encounter was ending so abruptly.

Sukuna chuckled lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm afraid so. The life of a businessman is a busy one." he lied smoothly, his gaze never leaving hers. "But perhaps we'll bump into each other again soon."

She nodded, a wistful smile on her face as she watched Sukuna prepare to leave. "I hope so. I work on the other side of the street, so... I always drink my morning coffee here." she said softly, waving goodbye with a gentle flutter of her fingers.

"Until we meet again, (y/n)." he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity that belied his true intentions.

He'd slowly introduce her to his world, gradually reveal his true nature. By the time she realized the monster he was, she'd be so enmeshed in their love that she'd never consider leaving. He'd keep her locked in his mansion, his queen, his obsession...

The bell above the cafe door jingled melodically as Sukuna stepped out, his eyes lingering on (y/n)'s form until the door swung shut behind him. He took a deep breath, a satisfied smirk curling his lips.

Phase one complete...

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

End of Chapter 1

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-Hungarian Shinobi

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wintersxkiss-a · 7 months ago

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She could feel how his attention at her neck would leave marks upon her pale skin, a fact that only had her head tipping farther to the side. Breast arching into him as she offered more of her skin to his brutal menstrations. Nails clawing at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it out of his pants before following his command.

Somehow managing to reach between them and undo the lacing of his pants. Cool fingers reaching in to draw his hardened length free. The size making her mouth water even as she guided his tip to her entrance, her need for the man currently devouring her having already left her soaked and ready.

Her hips shifted once his tip was there, rolling in one motion to burry him within her heat even as she growled into his ear. Hands moved to his hair to keep his head in place, his mouth upon her skin as she encouraged him to fuck her like a wild animal.

He felt her leg shift to his thigh and wasted no time. His hands moved to firmly secure one leg around his waist as his other shifted to move her skits out of the way before he lifted her from the ground, pinning her to the wall.

Her warmth against his center set his core on fire as his mouth now moved from hers to devour her neck, biting and marking as he went. He didnt care that the purple coloring would most likely deepen overnight. He didnt care that she would not be able to hide them, in fact thats what he wished for. He wanted anyone who dared to gaze at the woman before him would know that she belonged to him and only him.

"Untie me." He ordered as bit her again. He needed to be free of his constraints. He needed to be buried inside her. He needed her now.

#caraxesryder #no snowflake is a like (a song of ice and fire)#craving a touch not bathed in death (lemon/nsfw)

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druidwolf21 · 6 months ago

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Space wolf Christmas

Traditions

Space wolf Ulryk / F reader

Just having a bit of short sweet fun with my boy

No content warning just fluff fluff fluff, a tiiiinny little bit of angst, a little bit of smoochin but it's all cute!

I was going to save this till xmas eve, but mobile Tumblr sucks so here it is now!!!

Tags: @beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @astrohymn @kitty-chan33 @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @yurihasurunbara

"what in the name of Russ are you doing?"

You spun on your heels, smiling as Ulryk stepped into his quarters, eyebrow cocked as he looked down at you amused.

"it's a tree" you hummed, rocking on your feet as you turned back to the fir, placing another small carving amongst its branches. "You know, normally bigger than this? Tends to grow outside?" You squeaked and laughed as his large hand swiped at you, dancing backwards from his grasp.

'i know that, Astín, I want to know what it's doing here" he huffed, flicking his braid back over his shoulder as he sat on his bunk and began twisting off his leather boots. "I am Vlka fenryka, not a bloody gardener" finally slipping both shoes off, he began to wrestle out of the thick layers of fur that encumbered him. You rolled your eyes and stepped over, helping tug the hide over his head and dropping it in a pile at his feet. Now sat in a grey sleeveless tunic and fur lined trousers, the Astartes turned his full attention back to you, glacial eyes glittering in the candle light.

You flushed under his gaze and returned to the small tree sat on the desk, placing a final carving amongst its fragile needles. "It's only for a few days in the season. The thralls have something small in their quarters, I thought you'd enjoy it too" you heard the groan of metal and soft footsteps as he stood, looming behind you as he watched you work. Heat crept up your neck as you felt him reach past your arm and his large finger tapping a small wooden wolf that snarled in the branches. "Did you- not do this? When you were younger, I mean?"

His finger paused against the carving, before flicking at the thin twigs and pulling back. "I don't know, I can't remember" you turned to look up at him, watching as his gaze softened slightly as he looked over the different baubles in the tree. Carved animals, snowflakes and little flagons, each balancing precariously in the evergreen boughs. "I think, on fenris, there was a tree in the Aett but-" he shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. "That was a long time ago"

You wrapped your arms around his waist, drawing his attention down to you with a soft squeeze. Ulryks brow creased in a frown as he saw tears pricking your eyes and he cocked his head in confusion.

"that's so sad" you whispered, butting your head gently against his stomach "you don't remember anything?" You felt him shift and strong warm hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you back as he knelt down. "Are you... upset?" You dug the heel of your palms into your eyes, wiping away tears before they fell "It's just sad, all of the serfs have memories they share about the holidays, but yours are all gone" you chuckled weakly as you tapped a finger against his head "probably replaced with thoughts of stomping around in your ruddy great boots making more mess for me to clean"

He continued to watch you, his bright blue gaze emotionless as you shuffled under the intensity before caving. The scar across his cheek warped his lip slightly as his jaw twitched. "Sorry, that was- obviously your duty is more important than- I just meant-" stuttering over your words until the wolf stopped you with a squeeze on your shoulders and a huff.

"kærr, we make new memories this year" he ran a calloused thumb across your cheek with surprising softness before coughing and rising to his feet. "If it's that important to you" you smiled at his gruff attempt at disinterest as he went back to fiddling with the tiny fir sapling. "What else do the thralls do? Besides drag fire hazards into their dormitories"

You squealed and span, running to a small box left at the foot of his bed. Tearing it open you produced a wreath of woven evergreens and ivy, red berries and silver beads interwoven in the vines. "We weave these at the start of winter, the wolf priests of fenris do it too! But theirs are much bigger" you hummed as you hung it on a nail embedded into the steel wall, stepping back to view it before nodding, satisfied. "They also set fire to theirs, we just hang ours"

Ulryk watched you potter about, nodding as you spoke, your blue grey tunic peppered with fallen pine needles as you set about hanging conifer boughs about his room. He breathed deeply, smelling fresh mint and forest sap mixing with your faint sweet perfume. He allowed it to envelop him, almost tasting the faint spice of nutmeg that mingled with the woody scent. The smell twisted in his mind, tangling into a deep memory that was just too far out of reach. He was wretched from his thoughts by a soft hand tapping his arm.

"this is a jul log" you chattered, holding up a thick branch to show him. He cast his eye along it's length, admiring the carved runes painted glittering silver embedded along its length. "It brings good luck, well, supposed to" you handed it to him, the oak suddenly looking small in his massive hand. Ulryk looked at the wood, twisting it slightly as the dim light of the fire reflected off the metallic inscription. "What do I do with it? Burn it?" You shrugged "Some people do, but I spent a while making this for you, so I'd rather you keep it" looking around, he settled on the mantle piece, resting the log above the wrought iron fire place.

He spun back and watched as you fished one last thing from the box. "Will you help me?" You raised your hand in the air, gesturing towards the top of his door. You blushed and giggled as he swept you up in one strong movement, his strong hands wrapping easily around your waist and lifting you to his shoulder. He closed his eyes as your small fingers tangling through his hair to balance as you leant over to hang the small bundle.

"what is this?" He queried, gently setting you down below the verdant leaves now hanging above you. You swept your hair behind your ear, the flash of a small bead glinting in your hair caught his attention for a moment before he noticed the red across your face deepening.

"well, it's just a silly thing, but you umm, well, when you meet someone under the mistletoe, you kiss"

Ulryk's face hardened and he took a knee, grasping your arms firmly "kiss? Have you stood with someone under this mistle toe?" You gasped at the sudden change, hurt and confusion slowly creeping to his face as he stared you down. "No Ulryk, I haven't" you soothed, trying not to laugh at the pout that had etched its way across his handsome face. "There's no mistletoe in the serf quarters, if that's what you're thinking" you wriggled yourself free and wrapped your arms around his neck, his breath hot on your face as you leant forward "I got this, just for you"

His hands found your hair and back as he pulled you to him, his dry lips finding your own in a soft kiss as he held you. The taste of smoke and mjord was like honey on your tongue as his warmth enveloped you. Your thin fingers tangled into his braid as you broke the kiss to press your forehead against his.

"kærasta, I like this holiday" he muttered, leaning in to chase your lips again. You lost yourself in the feel of his body against yours, his hand combing your hair as he held you close, feeling like you were melting into his touch. The world was quiet as his hardened exterior dissolved under your soft kisses, the crackle of the fire and soft whisper of a breeze through the sprigs of winter growth broke the silence as you finally pulled back, sucking air back into your lungs that you didn't know you needed.

'i like it too" you whispered, stroking a line along his jaw.

"but you better take it down when you go, I don't want to kiss grimnar should he come knocking, I doubt he tastes as sweet as you, sweetling"

#warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer x reader #warhammer 40k #space wolves

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nikethestatue · 6 months ago

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Not Another Hallmark Christmas Story

@sirenarts

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

Please enjoy this dark Christmas story.

Summary:

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

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

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

Chapter One

There she was.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Exquisite.

Soft and full, and just the right height.

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

My fingers itched to touch her.

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

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

I rubbed my hands excitedly.

This one was mine!

All About Last Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His response was predictably terse: If you must.

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

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

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

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

Redo, and pages marked up in red.

You are better than this

Sloppy work

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

He just…waited.

He watched me and he waited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ummm, I guess,” I responded stupidly.

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

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

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

I flushed.

God, he was an asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

Graysen?

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed at last, seemingly relieved.

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

“No, no,” I agreed quickly.

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

“Thank you, Azriel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elain, a word.”

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

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

Let me explain a little about my background.

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

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

The actual manager is Azriel Singer.

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

“Elain, a word.”

And that’s how we met.

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

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

I blinked at him.

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

“Elain?” he asked at last.

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

“A word,” he said impassively.

I swallowed. Suddenly, my throat felt impossibly dry.

“Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

So he was a lawyer too. Great.

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

Quite the corner office he got.

“Sit,” he told me. I sat.

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

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

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

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

“Nevertheless you are here now.”

I nodded just once.

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

That seemed deceptively simple.

“That’s all?” I repeated.

He nodded.

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

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

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

“I do,” I said at last.

His handsome face changed and turned cold and unreadable.

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“I am,” I insisted.

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

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

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

And that’s how it began.

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

What did he want? Again?

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

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

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

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

“Good job out there,” he said suddenly.

Y’all. I just about fell over.

What was this?

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I?” he asked.

I sighed.

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

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

“Do you?” I confirmed.

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

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

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

I gasped.

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

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

“As expected,” I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’ll have a Macallan, neat.”

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

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

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

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

I pouted.

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you like me?”

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

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

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

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

“Because the thing is that I like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? How much more can I give?”

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

“And when is that going to be?”

He chuckled darkly.

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

My heart dropped.

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

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

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

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

“Nooo,” I protested. “I am buzzed…”

“I know,” he said calmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

My heart dropped.

He wanted me.

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

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

His hand tightened on my shoulder.

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

All About This Christmas

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

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

She was so fluffy.

I smiled to myself.

Perfect size.

I hurried over to the seller and pointed,

“I want this,”

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

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

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

Maybe, maybe it was Cassian?!?

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

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

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

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

Elain, redo the projections for the 4th quarter

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

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

Elain, walk me through your analysis

Elain, send me the numbers before 10 am

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

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

And on and on and on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had a reputation? Also, brilliant?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see it now,” Cassian said to him.

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

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

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

“I’ll take this one,” he said again.

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

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

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

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

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

My cheeks flamed and I took a steadying breath.

Why was Azriel here???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Azriel shrugged, and then said calmly,

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

“No!” she snapped. “NO!”

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

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

He huffed an incredulous snicker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was shaking my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Imperfections? Screw him.

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

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

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

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

I blushed.

He wasn’t wrong.

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

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

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

He scoffed,

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

The back and forth was exhausting me.

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

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

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

“Hmmm,”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me?”

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

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

What the hell?

What. Is. The. Actual. Fuck??

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

“We can’t do that!” I cried out.

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tapped his feet on the pavement and said,

“Let’s go. I am freezing.”

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

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

He extended his hand to me.

I just stood there, trembling.

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

#elriel #azriel and elain #elriel fanfic #Not Another Hallmark Christmas Story #dark romance fic #elain archeron #azriel #pro elriel #elain #elain x azriel #my writing

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