#i guess that is a fair assessment

[yuridovewing]

can i skip to tbc. can i just skip these last three books, maybe stagger through sqh, and start tbc, the arc im actually interested in? would you all judge me? am i missing anything of value from the latter half of avos. will my life be at all improved seeing the tree chapters. is there anything of worth in these unpleasant and meanspirited books.

[alddente]

When I said I wanted to pass without T the monkeys paw curled and now people in public stare at me because they think I’m a little boy who can’t find his parents

[kabretoss]

please be proud of me, I ollied out of an Internet Discussion before it became an Internet Argument

[sweetblood]

on friday i kind of just threw my coursework assignment in like 'here take that it is what it is', thinking that it would be a very impersonal marking process (as it has been previously, you just submit it on the website and then get a pass/fail with no feedback). i knew that some of it wasn't amazing, but i was like 'eh i'll never have to interact with the examiner so whatever'. then today i got an email from the actual course tutor like 'hi sophie. i've reviewed your coursework before submission and you need to amend these bits before i send it over to the examining body. you really fucked XYZ up (paraphrasing)'. that means someone actually READ it omg how mortifying.

[rachiller]

Had the “hey I don’t think I’m being paid enough” conversation with the GM today and she was so nice about it so i felt less terrible but I am also still SO stressed about it

[mostly-imagines]

Dear God Get Out

jason todd x reader

aka not a moment of privacy

warnings: mild sexual activities, more people than jason would ever want in your apartment during those times

The second Jason’s through the door his arms are out, seeking to pull you into him. You let him engulf you in his arms without thought, this being the first time you’ve seen him all day.

“Missed you.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

You hum and rake your fingers through his hair. “I know, my love. Missed you too.”

He pulls back to look at you and holds your neck gingerly in his hands. “You’re good?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You nod and kiss his collarbone softly, wrapping your hands around his forearms. He gives your forehead a kiss and walks you backwards to the couch, leaning down over you until you have to sit.

He follows you down and kisses your lips and guides you backwards to lay. He drapes himself over you, inserting himself between your legs. He refocuses his attention to your neck, and sucks at a very particular spot below your jaw that you know he targeted on purpose.

“Okay, that’s not fair.” You breathe out, halfway to a sigh.

“No? How ‘bout this?”

He nips at you, startling you to a near moan. Your reaction only encourages him, as he holds your jaw and tilts your head to the side for more access.

He slips his hand under your shirt, grazing the skin underneath. He leaves open kisses all across your collarbone, trailing them down your stomach once he has your top off and strewn half away across the room.

You stop him, pulling him back up to you for a kiss. He furrows his brows at first, only understanding when you start to pry at his shirt too. He removes it for you, tossing it with startling accuracy right by yours.

He resumes kissing down your body, hands trailing down your sides along with him. He peppers kisses on your thighs and hooks his fingers into the seam of your underwear, readying to remove them.

It’s almost astonishing how silently he'd managed to open the window only to stumble and flail his way to the floor.

The sudden clatter scares the hell out of both you and Jason, who jumps to a stand immediately.

“Tim!”

“Evening. D’you guys still have any—oh.” Tim finally regains his coordination and stands up to see you sprawled out on the couch, bra and underwear your only cover.

His eyes go to the floor real quick and Jason lets out an exasperated sigh, looking around for something nearby to cover you up with.

“—you know, wait up means wait up!”

Oh good, Dick’s here too.

You sit up quickly and try to cover yourself with your arms, though there’s not much of a difference you can really make.

Dick ducks in from the fire escape and lands significantly more gracefully than his counterpart had.

It takes him no time at all to assess the room and see you, knees to chest on the couch, trying very hard to appear as though you’re not half naked. Takes him even less time to see Jason, standing in front of you, fuming.

“Oh. Oops…”

Jason chucks the tv remote at Dick and uses the distraction to pull you up from the couch, pushing you behind him. His massive frame is more than enough to cover what his brothers have no business seeing.

“Get the fuck—”

And just for good measure, Damian jumps down next and crouches in the window.

“Jesus Christ,” your boyfriend mutters, hands covering his face in exasperation.

Damian takes one glance at the room and grimaces—Tim’s eyes are glued to the floor, Dick’s acting as though there’s something very interesting on the ceiling, and Jason’s shirtless. He can’t quite see you behind Jason, though he doesn’t need to in order to guess what he’d just walked in on.

“Ugh, seriously Todd? That’s disgusting.”

You let your forehead hit Jason’s back, thoroughly embarrassed. He reaches back to caress your waist, and you know somewhere in that action there’s a reassurance that he’s going to get them out as soon as humanly possible.

“Yeah, seriously. This is our apartment, demon brat. Get out.”

“Maybe we should come back later…” Dick suggests, more awkward than in his usual character.

Jason glares up at the heavens. “Or never.”

“At least keep it in the bedroom, you animals.” Damian chastises.

Jason suddenly wishes he hadn’t thrown the remote so soon. “Our apartment.”

He looks back at you without moving the shield of his body, eyes apologetic. You meet gaze and turn your head to rest your cheek on him instead, your own hidden meaning of reassurance. It’s fine.

You can’t see them but you hear a shuffle and hope to god it’s not another vigilante.

You place a hand on Jason’s lower back and peer around his shoulder, seeing Tim turned back around towards the window and trying desperately to get Damian to move out of the way—Damian, seemingly having no regard for Tim’s urgency.

You’re not quite sure if it’s over discomfort or embarrassment in seeing you so undressed, or if it’s because his self-preservation kicked in when he saw the look on Jason’s face. Maybe both. Probably both.

Both.

“Will you stop?” Damian slaps his hand away. “We came here for a reason.” He looks past Tim at you, “Do you have—”

“No.” Jason cuts in, growing visibly more agitated.

Damian’s face contorts as he looks back up to Jason, “What is your—”

Now Dick cuts in, “Okay, that’s fine, we’ll just ask the old man.”

“Great.”

Dick pauses. “On the couch though, Jaybird?”

Jason takes a deep breath.

“Alright, ten seconds, then I get the gun taped under the table.”

That’s warning enough for Damian—he’s called that bluff once before and learned the hard way.

Tim doesn’t even take a second glance before hauling it out of your apartment, his cape getting caught on the window frame briefly before he scrambles away.

Dick calls out an apology to you before trailing out the window after him.

Jason lets out a heavy exhale and turns to you, hands gliding naturally to your waist.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t need to be.”

He gives a low hum and wraps his arms around you, pulling you down with him as he crashes down onto the sofa.

“Should I feel bad about almost railing you into the couch?”

“I wouldn’t waste any tears over it. Not like it would’ve been the first time we did it.”

He laughs and tugs you further into his chest. You curl into him and close your eyes, thinking.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“How did Tim survive as Robin?”

“I’ve been asking that question for years.”

reblog or 🚫

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[pucksandpower]

Stitched Together

mafia boss!Charles Leclerc x surgeon!Reader

Summary: helping a man in dire need of medical attention leads you down a road you never could have imagined

Warnings: this is a mafia romance so … yeah (gunshot wounds, drugging, kidnapping, and Mattia Binotto)

The quiet streets of Monaco glisten under the soft glow of streetlights as you make your way home from a work dinner. The night air carries a slight chill, and you pull your jacket tighter around yourself, your heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement.

Suddenly, a pained groan echoes from a nearby alley, stopping you in your tracks. Your instincts as a surgeon kick in, and you cautiously approach the shadowed passage.

“Hello?” You call out, peering into the darkness. “Is someone there?”

Another groan answers you, and as your eyes adjust, you spot a figure slumped against the wall. Rushing forward, you kneel beside the man, immediately noticing the dark stain spreading across his midsection.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, your training kicking in. “Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor. I’m going to call an ambulance.”

As you reach for your phone, a hand weakly grasps your wrist. “No ... no hospitals,” the man rasps, his voice strained.

You frown, conflicted. “Sir, you’re seriously injured. You need medical attention.”

“Can’t ... risk it,” he manages, his breathing labored.

Biting your lip, you consider your options. “Okay, what’s your name?”

“Charles,” he replies, grimacing as he shifts slightly.

“Alright, Charles,” you say, your voice calm and steady. “If you won’t go to a hospital, will you at least let me take you back to my apartment? I’m a surgeon and I can patch you up there.”

Charles hesitates, his piercing green eyes searching your face. After a moment, he nods. “Okay.”

With some effort, you manage to help Charles to his feet, supporting his weight as you slowly make your way out of the alley. “My place isn’t far,” you assure him. “Just hang on.”

The short walk feels like an eternity, but finally, you reach your apartment building. As you fumble with your keys, Charles leans heavily against the wall.

“Almost there,” you encourage, guiding him inside and into the elevator.

Once in your apartment, you lead Charles to your couch. “Lie down,” you instruct, already moving to gather supplies. “I need to assess the damage.”

Returning with your medical kit, you carefully cut away Charles’ blood-soaked shirt. The bullet wound is clearly visible, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize it’s not as severe as you initially feared.

“Good news,” you tell him, meeting his gaze. “The bullet seems to have missed any vital organs. I can clean and stitch this up, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you sure I can’t convince you to go to a hospital?”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “No hospitals. Please.”

You nod, respecting his decision despite your reservations. “Alright. This is going to hurt, but I’ll do my best to be quick.”

As you work, Charles grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists. “So,” he says, clearly trying to distract himself, “what’s a surgeon doing patching up strange men in her living room?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? I have no idea. I guess I just couldn’t leave you bleeding in that alley.”

“Most people would have just called the police,” Charles points out, hissing as you clean the wound.

“Well, I’m not most people,” you reply with a small smile. “And you seemed pretty adamant about avoiding official channels.”

Charles studies you for a moment. “You’re not going to ask why?”

You shrug, focusing on your work. “It’s not my place to pry. Though I have to admit, I am curious about what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

A wry smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “Trust me, it’s better if you don’t know.”

“Fair enough,” you concede. “Hold still, I’m about to start stitching.”

As you work, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face.

“You’re good at this,” he comments after a while.

You smile, not looking up from your task. “I should hope so. I didn’t go through years of medical school for nothing.”

“How long have you been in Monaco?” Charles asks, seemingly genuinely interested.

“About three years now,” you reply. “I came here for a fellowship at the hospital and ended up staying.”

Charles nods. “Do you like it here?”

You consider the question as you finish the last stitch. “I do. It’s beautiful, and the work is challenging. But ...”

“But?” Charles prompts when you trail off.

Sighing, you begin applying a bandage. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels a bit ... lonely, I guess. It’s not always easy to connect with people here.”

Charles’ expression softens. “I can understand that. Monaco can be a difficult place to truly belong.”

You meet his gaze, surprised by the understanding in his eyes. “Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and I’ve made some friends, but sometimes I miss the sense of community I had back home.”

“Where is home for you?” Charles asks.

“Originally? A small town that feels like a lifetime away from here,” you answer. “Nothing like Monaco, that’s for sure.”

Charles chuckles, then winces slightly. “I can imagine. It must have been quite the culture shock.”

You nod, smiling. “You have no idea. But enough about me. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks to you,” Charles replies, attempting to sit up.

You gently push him back down. “Not so fast. You need to rest and let that wound start healing.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on keeping me hostage, doctor?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. But I’d feel better if you stayed put for at least a little while. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Water would be great, thank you,” Charles says, settling back against the couch cushions.

As you move to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, you can’t help but glance back at your unexpected guest. There’s something intriguing about Charles, beyond his mysterious injury and resistance to seek official help.

Returning with the water, you hand it to Charles, who takes it gratefully. “Thank you,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours as he accepts the glass.

You sit in the armchair across from him, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. “So, Charles,” you begin, “what do you do when you’re not getting shot in dark alleys?”

Charles nearly chokes on his water, coughing slightly before letting out a surprised laugh. “You certainly don’t pull any punches, do you?”

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Well, you did say it was better if I didn’t know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be curious.”

Charles regards you with amusement. “Fair enough. Let’s just say I’m in ... business management.”

“Business management,” you repeat skeptically. “That must be some high-stakes business.”

“You have no idea,” Charles murmurs, his expression turning serious for a moment before he shakes it off. “But really, I’d much rather hear more about you. It’s not every day I meet a beautiful surgeon with a penchant for rescuing mysterious strangers.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment. “There’s not much more to tell, really. I work, I occasionally have dinners with colleagues, and apparently, I moonlight as a back-alley doctor.”

Charles laughs, then winces, pressing a hand to his side. “Careful,” you warn, “You’ll pull your stitches.”

“Worth it,” Charles says with a grin. “You’re quite something, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a guy who got shot and refused proper medical care.”

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” Charles quips.

You shake your head, amused despite yourself. “Clearly. Though maybe you should consider a slightly less dangerous lifestyle. I can’t imagine getting shot is good for your long-term health.”

Charles’ expression turns thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I’ve been due for a change.”

An unexpected wave of concern washes over you. “Charles, are you in some kind of trouble? Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looks at you, surprise and something else you can’t quite place flickering in his eyes. “You’ve already done more than enough. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you say dryly, gesturing to his bandaged midsection.

Charles chuckles. “Point taken. But really, you’ve been incredibly kind. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” you say, surprised by the intensity of your own words.

Charles holds your gaze, his expression serious. “I promise.”

A moment of charged silence passes between you, broken only when Charles slowly pushes himself to his feet. “I should go,” he says, though he sounds reJoristant. “I’ve imposed on you enough.”

You stand as well, moving to steady him. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay and rest.”

Charles shakes his head. “Thank you, but I really should be going. I have some ... matters to attend to.”

You bite your lip, concerned. “Alright. But please, take it easy. And if you need anything — if that wound gives you any trouble — don’t hesitate to come back or call me.” You scribble your number on a piece of paper and hand it to him.

Charles takes the paper, his fingers lingering against yours. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For everything.”

As you walk him to the door, you find yourself wishing he would stay. There’s something about Charles that intrigues you, draws you in despite the obvious danger surrounding him.

At the threshold, Charles turns to you one last time. “I meant what I said earlier. You really are something special. I hope our paths cross again under ... better circumstances.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Then, with a final smile, he’s gone, leaving you standing in your doorway, your heart racing and your mind reeling.

As Charles exits the building, he immediately pulls out his phone, his expression hardening into one of intense focus. He dials a number, speaking in a low, authoritative tone the moment the call connects.

“It’s me. I need eyes on someone, 24/7. A surgeon named Y/N Y/L/N. She’s under my protection now. No one touches her, understood?”

He ends the call, casting one last glance at your apartment building before disappearing into the night, already planning when and how he’ll see you again.

***

The glittering lights of the Hotel de Paris’ ballroom cast a warm glow over the assembled guests. You smooth down your elegant evening gown, feeling slightly out of place among Monaco’s elite. The hospital’s annual benefit gala is always a grand affair, but tonight feels different, charged with an energy you can’t quite place.

“Y/N!” A is familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Dr. Sophia Moreau, one of your closest colleagues, approaching with two champagne flutes in hand. “You clean up nicely,” she teases, offering you a glass.

You accept it gratefully, taking a small sip. “Thanks, Sophia. You look amazing too. How’s the night been so far?”

Sophia shrugs, her eyes scanning the room. “Oh, you know, the usual schmoozing and small talk. But there’s a buzz going around. Apparently, the director has some big announcement planned.”

Your interest piques. “Really? Any idea what it’s about?”

“No clue,” Sophia replies. “But whatever it is, it’s got the board members practically giddy. And you know how rare that is.”

You chuckle, nodding in agreement. The hospital’s board is notoriously hard to please, a fact you know all too well from your years of lobbying for transplant certification.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Dr. Henri Beaumont, the hospital’s director, takes the stage. The room falls into a respectful hush as he taps the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Beaumont begins, his voice carrying across the ballroom. “Thank you all for joining us tonight in support of our wonderful hospital. Your generosity never ceases to amaze me.”

You listen politely, expecting the usual platitudes. But as Dr. Beaumont continues, you feel your heart begin to race.

“Tonight, I have the great pleasure of announcing a new chapter in our hospital’s history,” he says, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Thanks to an incredibly generous donation from one of Monaco’s own, we will be embarking on a project that will revolutionize healthcare in our principality.”

You grip your champagne flute tighter, hardly daring to hope.

“Within the year, our hospital will become fully transplant certified,” Dr. Beaumont announces, his words met with a wave of gasps and excited murmurs. “And that’s not all. This donation will also fund a dedicated medical helicopter, allowing us to transport organs and critical patients with unprecedented speed.”

The room erupts in applause, but you barely hear it over the pounding of your own heart. After years of fighting, of presenting proposal after proposal, it’s finally happening.

“None of this would be possible without the extraordinary generosity of our donor,” Dr. Beaumont continues once the applause dies down. “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking Mr. Charles Leclerc!”

As the room once again breaks into enthusiastic applause, a figure rises from one of the front tables. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize the man turning to face the crowd.

It’s him. The mysterious Charles from the alley, the man whose life you saved. He looks completely different now — impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his presence commanding the room’s attention. But those piercing green eyes are unmistakable.

“Y/N?” Sophia’s voice breaks through your shock. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blink, tearing your gaze away from Charles to look at your friend. “I ... yes, I’m fine. Just surprised, that’s all.”

Sophia raises an eyebrow. “I’ll say. This is everything you’ve been working towards. You must be thrilled!”

“I am,” you assure her, your mind still reeling. “It’s just ... a lot to take in.”

As the applause dies down and the crowd begins to disperse, you find your eyes drawn back to Charles. He’s engaged in conversation with Dr. Beaumont and several board members, but as if sensing your gaze, he looks up. Your eyes meet across the room, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Excuse me,” you murmur to Sophia, setting down your champagne flute. “There’s someone I need to speak with.”

You make your way through the crowd, your heart pounding with each step. As you approach, Charles politely excuses himself from his conversation and turns to face you.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you, his voice warm. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr. Leclerc,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Charles’ smile widens. “I’m full of surprises. Though I believe you already knew that.”

You glance around, noticing the curious looks from nearby guests. “Could we speak privately?”

“Of course,” Charles says, gesturing towards a secluded balcony. “Shall we?”

You follow him out onto the balcony, the cool night air a welcome respite from the crowded ballroom. For a moment, you both stand in silence, looking out over the twinkling lights of Monaco.

“So,” you finally say, turning to face him. “Charles Leclerc. I’m guessing that’s not the name you usually give to people who find you bleeding in alleys.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s not. But it is my real name.”

“And you’re ... what? A millionaire philanthropist?”

“Among other things,” Charles replies enigmatically.

You cross your arms, studying him. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were that night?”

Charles leans against the balcony railing, his expression turning serious. “Would you have believed me if I had? A man refusing hospital treatment, claiming to be a wealthy businessman?”

You have to admit he has a point. “I suppose not. But this ...” you gesture back towards the ballroom, “This is incredible. The transplant certification, the helicopter ... it’s everything I’ve been fighting for.”

“I know,” Charles says softly.

You blink, surprised. “You know?”

Charles nods. “After that night, I ... may have done some research. I was curious about the remarkable surgeon who saved my life without asking questions or for anything in return.”

“So this donation,” you say slowly, “it’s because of me?”

“In part,” Charles admits. “Your passion for your work, your dedication to improving healthcare here — it’s inspiring. But more than that, I saw an opportunity to do some real good. To maybe balance the scales a bit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Balance the scales? What exactly is it that you do, Charles?”

He gives you a rueful smile. “Let’s just say my business dealings aren’t always as philanthropic as tonight’s donation might suggest.”

A chill runs down your spine as the pieces start to fall into place. The gunshot wound, the refusal of hospitals, the mysterious “business management” — it all points to one conclusion.

“You’re not just a businessman, are you?” You ask quietly.

Charles holds your gaze, his expression unreadable. “No, I’m not. Are you sure you want to know more?”

You take a deep breath, considering. Part of you wants to walk away, to pretend this conversation never happened. But a larger part — the part that couldn’t leave a bleeding man in an alley, the part that’s drawn to the mystery and danger Charles represents — wants to stay.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “I want to know.”

Charles nods, respect flickering in his eyes. “Very well. But not here. This isn’t a conversation for a crowded gala.”

“Then where?” You ask.

“Have dinner with me,” Charles suggests. “Tomorrow night. I’ll answer all your questions, I promise.”

You hesitate, weighing the risks. But the memory of that night in your apartment, the connection you felt with Charles despite the strange circumstances, makes your decision for you.

“Alright,” you agree. “Dinner tomorrow.”

Charles smiles, relief evident in his features. “Thank you. I’ll send a car for you at eight.”

Just then, the balcony doors open, and Dr. Beaumont steps out. “Ah, there you are, Mr. Leclerc! And Dr. Y/L/N, how wonderful. I was hoping to speak with both of you.”

You plaster on a polite smile, trying to hide your frustration at the interruption. “Dr. Beaumont, good evening.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Dr. Beaumont says, looking between you and Charles.

“Not at all,” Charles replies smoothly. “Dr. Y/L/N was just expressing her excitement about the transplant certification project.”

Dr. Beaumont beams. “Yes, isn’t it marvelous? And it’s all thanks to your generous donation, Mr. Leclerc. We can’t thank you enough.”

“Please,” Charles says, “call me Charles. And the thanks should really go to Dr. Y/L/N here. Her proposals and persistence were what brought this need to my attention.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks as Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his eyebrows raised. “Is that so? Well, Dr. Y/L/N, it seems we owe you a debt of gratitude as well. Your dedication to this cause has clearly paid off.”

“Thank you, Dr. Beaumont,” you manage, still reeling from Charles’ praise. “I’m just glad we’ll finally be able to offer these life-saving services to our patients.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Beaumont agrees. “In fact, I’d like to discuss the possibility of you heading up the new transplant department. Your expertise would be invaluable in getting the program off the ground.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “I ... I would be honored, sir. Thank you.”

“Excellent!” Dr. Beaumont claps his hands together. “We’ll set up a meeting next week to discuss the details. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle with our other donors. Charles, Dr. Y/L/N, enjoy your evening.”

As Dr. Beaumont retreats back into the ballroom, you turn to Charles, still stunned. “Did you have something to do with that offer?”

Charles holds up his hands innocently. “I merely suggested to Dr. Beaumont that the project would benefit from your leadership. The decision was entirely his.”

You shake your head, a mixture of gratitude and confusion swirling inside you. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Then don’t say it,” Charles replies softly. “Just promise me you’ll use this opportunity to do what you do best — save lives.”

You nod, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the events of the evening. “I should probably get back inside,” you say reluctantly. “People will be wondering where I’ve gone.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees. “I look forward to our dinner tomorrow. There’s much we need to discuss.”

As you turn to leave, Charles gently catches your hand. “Y/N,” he says, his voice low. “Whatever you learn tomorrow, whatever you decide ... know that my feelings for you are genuine. That night in your apartment, it ... it changed things for me.”

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. “It changed things for me too,” you admit softly.

Charles brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “Until tomorrow, then.”

As you make your way back into the ballroom, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and questions. You spot Sophia across the room, waving you over with a curious expression.

“Spill,” she demands as soon as you reach her. “What was that all about? How do you know Charles Leclerc?”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain the inexplicable situation you’ve found yourself in.

“It’s ... complicated,” you finally say. “And I think I’m about to find out just how complicated it is.”

***

As the sun sets over Monaco, casting a golden glow across the city, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building, nervously smoothing down your dress. The sleek Rolls Royce that Charles promised pulls up, and a uniformed driver steps out to open the door for you.

“Good evening, Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets you politely. “Mr. Leclerc is expecting you.”

You slide into the plush leather seat, your heart racing with anticipation. The drive through Monaco’s winding streets is brief but gives you time to collect your thoughts. Before you know it, the car is pulling up to Le Louis XV, arguably the most exclusive restaurant in all of Monaco.

As you step out of the car, you spot Charles waiting for you at the entrance. He’s impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his presence commanding even among the elite clientele entering the restaurant.

“Y/N,” he greets you warmly, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Thank you, Charles. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

As you enter the restaurant, you’re immediately struck by the opulence of the decor. Crystal chandeliers hang from intricately painted ceilings, and the soft strains of a string quartet fill the air.

The maître d’ greets Charles by name, leading you to a secluded table tucked away in a corner. Charles pulls out your chair for you before taking his own seat across from you.

A waiter approaches, offering you menus. As he leans over to pour water into your glasses, you notice his gaze lingering a bit too long on your neckline. Before you can react, Charles clears his throat sharply.

“I think we’ll need a different server,” he says, his voice cold and authoritative. The waiter pales, stammering an apology before hurrying away.

You raise an eyebrow at Charles. “That was ... intense.”

Charles’ expression softens as he looks at you. “I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. I simply don’t tolerate disrespect, especially towards someone I care about.”

His words send a flutter through your chest, but you push it aside, reminding yourself why you’re here. “So,” you say, meeting his gaze, “you promised me answers.”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Indeed I did. But first, let’s order. This conversation may take a while.”

Once you’ve placed your orders and the new, much more professional waiter has poured your wine, Charles leans back in his chair, studying you intently.

“What do you know about the Monegasque underworld, Y/N?” He asks quietly.

You shake your head. “Not much, honestly. I know it exists, of course, but it’s not exactly something we discuss in the hospital break room.”

A small smile tugs at Charles’ lips. “No, I suppose not. Well, to put it bluntly, I am what you might call the boss of the Monegasque Mafia.”

Despite your suspicions, hearing him say it so plainly sends a shock through you. “The Mafia? Charles, that’s ...”

“Illegal? Dangerous? Morally questionable?” He finishes for you, his tone wry. “Yes, it’s all of those things.”

You take a sip of your wine, trying to process this information. “How did you end up in that position?”

Charles sighs, his eyes distant. “It’s a long story, but the short version is that I inherited the role from my father. He built this empire, and when he died, it fell to me to maintain it.”

“And the gunshot wound?” You ask, remembering the night you first met.

“A disagreement with a rival organization,” Charles explains. “It’s been dealt with.”

You feel a chill at the implication in his words. “Dealt with how?”

Charles meets your gaze steadily. “Do you really want to know?”

After a moment’s hesitation, you shake your head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Smart,” Charles says approvingly. “The less you know about certain aspects of my business, the safer you’ll be.”

The waiter returns with your appetizers, providing a brief respite from the heavy conversation. As you start to eat, you find your mind whirling with questions.

“Why are you telling me all this?” You finally ask. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to reveal your identity?”

Charles nods slowly. “It is. But I trust you, Y/N. That night in your apartment, when you helped me without question, without judgment — it showed me what kind of person you are. And I find myself ... unwilling to lie to you.”

His honesty touches you, despite the circumstances. “I appreciate that, Charles. But where does this leave us? What happens now?”

Charles leans forward, his eyes intense. “That depends on you. I won’t lie — being associated with me comes with risks. But it also comes with benefits, as you’ve seen with the hospital donation.”

“Is that what this is about?” You ask, a hint of disappointment creeping into your voice. “You’re trying to buy my loyalty?”

“No,” Charles says firmly. “The donation was genuine. Your passion inspired me to do some good. This ... this is something else entirely.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I have a proposition for you. I’d like you to work for me, as my personal doctor when the need arises.”

You blink in surprise. “Your personal doctor? But I’m a surgeon, not a general practitioner.”

“Exactly,” Charles nods. “In my line of work, emergency surgical skills are more valuable than routine check-ups. You’d be on call for me and my ... associates when medical attention is needed discreetly.”

You sit back, considering his words. “That sounds an awful lot like being a mob doctor, Charles.”

He doesn’t deny it. “It is. But it would also give you the opportunity to save lives that might otherwise be lost. And I can promise you, the compensation would be ... substantial.”

The waiter returns to clear your plates and bring the main course, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts. As you cut into your perfectly cooked steak, you mull over Charles’ offer.

“What about my work at the hospital?” You ask. “I can’t just abandon that, especially not now that we’re getting the transplant certification.”

Charles shakes his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to. This would be in addition to your regular work, called upon only when necessary. Your hospital duties would always come first.”

You take a sip of wine, studying Charles over the rim of your glass. “And what if I refuse? What happens then?”

“Then you walk out of here, go back to your life, and we never speak of this again,” Charles says simply. “I meant what I said, Y/N. I trust you. If you choose not to be involved, I know you’ll keep my secret.”

His sincerity is clear, and you find yourself believing him. “Can I ask you something, Charles?”

“Anything,” he replies.

“Why me? Surely there are other doctors you could approach, ones with more ... flexible ethics, perhaps?”

Charles’ expression softens. “Because you’re extraordinary, Y/N. Your skill, your compassion, your integrity — they’re rare qualities, especially in my world. And selfishly, perhaps, I want to keep you in my life.”

His words send a warmth spreading through your chest, and you find yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, everything you know tells you to walk away, to keep your life simple and safe. But on the other ...

“What would it entail, exactly?” You ask, surprising yourself.

A glimmer of hope appears in Charles’ eyes. “Primarily, it would involve treating injuries that can’t be taken to a hospital — gunshot wounds, knife punctures, that sort of thing. Occasionally, there might be a need for more ... specialized care.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Specialized how?”

“Let’s just say that sometimes, information needs to be obtained through methods that aren’t entirely ... ethical,” Charles says carefully.

You feel a chill run down your spine. “You mean torture.”

Charles doesn’t flinch from the word. “Yes. Your role would be to ensure that lines aren’t crossed, that no permanent damage is done. To save lives, even in the darkest of circumstances.”

You take a deep breath, trying to reconcile the charming man across from you with the brutal world he’s describing. “I don’t know if I can do that, Charles. It goes against everything I believe in as a doctor.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “I know. And I wouldn’t ask you to participate directly. Your job would be to mitigate harm, to heal. Nothing more.”

As the waiter clears your plates and offers dessert menus, you find yourself at a loss for words. Charles watches you carefully, giving you space to process.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons. I know it’s not an easy decision.”

You nod, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you. I ... I will think about it.”

As you share a decadent chocolate dessert, the conversation shifts to lighter topics. Charles tells you about his childhood in Monaco, and you share stories from your medical school days. Despite the heavy subject matter earlier, you find yourself laughing and enjoying Charles’ company.

All too soon, the evening draws to a close. Charles insists on walking you out, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you exit the restaurant.

As you wait for the valet to bring his car around, Charles turns to face you, his expression serious once more.

“Thank you for hearing me out tonight, Y/N,” he says softly. “Whatever you decide, know that I meant every word. You’re an extraordinary woman, and I’m honored to know you.”

Before you can respond, Charles leans in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth in a kiss that’s both chaste and charged with potential. You feel your breath catch in your throat, your heart racing at his proximity.

As he pulls back, Charles meets your gaze, his green eyes intense. “Think about my offer. And when you’ve made your decision, good or bad, call me.”

With that, he steps back, leaving you feeling slightly dazed as the valet pulls up with his car. Charles opens the passenger door for you, ever the gentleman.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly. “I hope to hear from you soon.”

As the car pulls away from the curb, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. You touch your fingers to the spot where Charles kissed you, still feeling the ghost of his lips.

Part of you knows you should run as far and fast as you can from Charles Leclerc and the dangerous world he inhabits. But a larger part – the part that yearns for excitement, for purpose beyond the hospital walls – is already considering his offer.

As Monaco’s glittering lights pass by outside the car window, you realize that no matter what you decide, your life will never be the same. The question is, are you ready to take the leap into the unknown?

With Charles’ business card burning a hole in your purse and the memory of his kiss lingering on your skin, you know that the decision you make will shape not just your future, but potentially the future of Monaco itself.

***

The shrill ring of your phone pierces the quiet of your bedroom, jolting you awake. Fumbling in the darkness, you grab your phone, squinting at the bright screen. Unknown number.

Your heart races as you answer, “Hello?”

“Y/N,” Charles’ voice comes through, tense and urgent. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

Sitting up, suddenly alert, you reply, “Charles? What’s wrong?”

There’s a brief pause before he continues, “I wish I could give you more time to consider my offer, but I’m afraid circumstances have forced my hand. One of my associates is badly injured and needs immediate medical attention.”

You can hear the strain in his voice as he continues, “If you’re willing to accept my offer, I’ll have someone pick you up right now. If not, I understand, and I’ll look for help elsewhere. But I need to know your decision now.”

Your mind races, weighing the implications. This is it — the moment of truth. Do you step into Charles’ world or walk away?

Taking a deep breath, you make your choice. “I’ll do it. Send the car.”

You can almost hear Charles’ relief through the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. A car will be there in five minutes. Be ready.”

The line goes dead, and you spring into action. Throwing on clothes and grabbing a bag with some basic medical supplies, you’re waiting outside your building when a sleek black car pulls up.

The drive is tense and silent. The driver, a stern-faced man, offers no conversation as he speeds through Monaco’s empty streets. Within minutes, you’re pulling up to an expansive, gated compound.

As soon as the car stops, the front door of the mansion flies open. Charles strides out, his face etched with worry.

“Y/N,” he greets you, guiding you quickly inside. “Thank you for coming. Follow me.”

You hurry after him through opulent hallways, your mind struggling to take in the surroundings. “What happened, Charles? Who’s hurt?”

“My right-hand man, Pierre,” Charles explains as he leads you down a staircase. “He was ambushed leaving a meeting. Took a bullet to the chest.”

You nod, your mind already racing through possibilities. “How long ago?”

“About an hour,” Charles replies, pushing open a door.

You step into what appears to be a fully-equipped operating room. On the table lies a man, his breathing labored and shirt soaked with blood.

Rushing to his side, you begin your examination. “Pierre? I’m Dr. Y/L/N. Can you hear me?”

Pierre’s eyes flutter open, filled with pain. “Y-yes,” he manages to wheeze.

You turn to Charles, who’s hovering nearby. “I need to examine him properly. Can you help me remove his shirt?”

As you and Charles carefully cut away Pierre’s bloodied shirt, you assess the wound. The bullet hole is below his right collarbone, and his breathing is increasingly strained.

“The bullet’s punctured his lung,” you announce, your mind already formulating a plan. “He needs surgery immediately. Charles, I’ll need assistance. Are you up for it?”

Charles nods without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”

You quickly outline the procedure as you prep Pierre for surgery. “We need to reinflate his lung and remove the bullet. It’s going to be tricky, but we don’t have time to get him to a hospital.”

As you work, you fall into a focused rhythm, your years of training taking over. Charles proves to be a capable assistant, following your instructions precisely.

“Suction here,” you direct, carefully navigating the delicate lung tissue. “Good. Now hold this retractor steady.”

Hours pass in a blur of intense concentration. Finally, you step back, exhaling deeply. “I think we’ve done it. The lung’s reinflated and the bullet’s out. He’s not out of the woods yet, but his chances are good.”

Charles looks at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude. “Y/N, I ... thank you. You’ve saved his life.”

You nod, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion. “He’ll need close monitoring for the next 24 hours. Is there somewhere I can clean up?”

Charles leads you to an adjacent bathroom, where you wash the blood from your skin. As you emerge, you find Charles waiting, two glasses of whiskey in hand.

“I thought you might need this,” he says, offering you a glass.

You accept it gratefully, taking a long sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly, helping to calm your frayed nerves.

“So,” you say, meeting Charles’ gaze. “I guess this makes it official. I’m your doctor now.”

Charles nods solemnly. “Indeed. And I can’t express how grateful I am. Not just for tonight, but for taking this risk.”

You lean against the wall, suddenly feeling the weight of your decision. “I still have questions, Charles. About all of this. About what I’m getting myself into.”

“Of course,” Charles agrees. “Ask me anything. You deserve to know what you’re part of now.”

Taking a deep breath, you begin, “How often can I expect nights like this? And what exactly is the nature of your ... business?”

Charles considers his words carefully. “Nights like this are, thankfully, rare. Most of what I’ll need from you will be more routine — treating minor injuries, regular check-ups for my key people. As for my business ...” He pauses, taking a sip of his whiskey. “It’s complex. We have interests in various sectors — some legitimate, some less so. Gambling, real estate, import and export. And yes, sometimes that involves activities that aren’t entirely legal.”

You nod slowly, processing this information. “And the violence? The rivalries that led to Pierre getting shot?”

“An unfortunate reality of our world,” Charles admits. “We try to minimize it, but conflicts do arise. My goal is always to resolve things peacefully, but sometimes ...” He gestures towards the operating room, where Pierre lies recovering.

“I see,” you murmur. “And my role in all this? Beyond providing medical care, I mean.”

Charles’ expression softens. “Your role, Y/N, is to be a light in this sometimes dark world. To save lives, to minimize harm. And perhaps ... to remind people like me that there’s good in the world worth protecting.”

His words touch something deep inside you, and you find yourself nodding. “I think I can do that.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only when a monitor in the operating room beeps. You both rush to check on Pierre, finding his vitals stable.

As you adjust his IV, you ask, “So, what happens now? Do I just ... go home and wait for the next emergency call?”

Charles shakes his head. “Not quite. I’d like you to stay here for the next day or so, to monitor Pierre’s recovery. After that, we’ll set up a more formal arrangement. You’ll have a secure phone for communications and a driver on call for when you’re needed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And my regular job at the hospital?”

“Remains your priority,” Charles assures you. “This work will always come second to that. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or the good you do there.”

Relieved, you nod. “Alright. And ... us? Where do we stand?”

Charles steps closer, his eyes intense. “That is entirely up to you. My feelings haven’t changed since our dinner. But I understand if this is too much, too complicated.”

You find yourself drawn to him, despite the rational part of your brain screaming caution. “It is complicated. But ... I can’t deny there’s something here. Something worth exploring.”

A smile spreads across Charles’ face, genuine and warm. “I’m glad to hear that. We’ll take it slow, see where this leads us.”

Just then, Pierre stirs on the operating table, groaning softly. You both move to his side, your instincts taking over once again.

“Pierre?” You call softly. “Can you hear me?”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first but then settling on you. “Who ... where am I?”

Charles steps into his line of sight. “You’re safe, my friend. This is Dr. Y/L/N. She saved your life tonight.”

Pierre’s eyes widen in recognition. “The surgeon ... from the alley. You recruited her?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “It’s a long story. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” Pierre croaks, attempting a weak smile.

You check his vitals as you explain, “The bullet punctured your lung. We’ve repaired the damage, but you’re going to need time to recover. No strenuous activity for at least a month.”

Pierre nods, then looks to Charles. “The meeting ... did we get the information?”

Charles places a hand on Pierre’s shoulder. “We did, thanks to you. But don’t worry about that now. Focus on getting better.”

As Pierre drifts back to sleep, you turn to Charles. “He needs rest. And so do we, for that matter.”

Charles nods in agreement. “I’ll show you to a guest room. We should both try to get some sleep before morning.”

As you follow Charles through the mansion, the events of the night start to catch up with you. By the time you reach the luxurious guest suite, you’re practically swaying on your feet.

“Get some rest,” Charles says softly. “I’ll have some fresh clothes brought for you in the morning.”

As he turns to leave, you catch his hand. “Charles ... thank you. For trusting me with this.”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “No, Y/N. Thank you for taking this leap of faith. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you sink onto the plush bed, your mind whirling with the night’s events. You’ve crossed a line tonight, stepped into a world you never imagined being part of. But as you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.

For better or worse, your life will never be the same again.

***

As the weeks pass following that fateful night, you begin to notice subtle yet undeniable changes in your daily life. It starts with a prickling sensation at the back of your neck, a feeling of being watched that you can’t quite shake. At first, you dismiss it as paranoia, a natural reaction to your new connection with Charles’ world. But then you start to catch glimpses — a man in a dark suit lingering across the street from your apartment, a familiar face that seems to pop up wherever you go.

One morning, as you’re grabbing coffee before work, you decide to confront the situation. Turning abruptly, you lock eyes with a tall, broad-shouldered man who’s been tailing you for the past few blocks.

“Alright,” you say, crossing your arms. “Who are you and why are you following me?”

The man looks momentarily surprised before his face settles into a neutral expression. “Mr. Leclerc assigned me to ensure your safety, Dr. Y/L/N. I’m not meant to interfere with your daily life.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And does Charles think I need a bodyguard to get my morning coffee?”

The man — you decide to call him Shadow in your head — gives a small shrug. “Mr. Leclerc believes in being thorough. I’m here to protect you from any potential threats.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine. But can you at least try to be a little less ... obvious? I don’t need my colleagues at the hospital getting suspicious.”

Shadow nods. “Of course. I’ll maintain a more discreet distance.”

As you continue your walk to the hospital, you can’t help but feel a mix of irritation and a strange sort of warmth at Charles’ protective instincts.

The surprises don’t stop there. Later that week, you return home from a long shift to find a large, elegantly wrapped package outside your door. Curious, you bring it inside and carefully open it.

Inside, you find a stunning designer handbag — one you vaguely remember admiring in a shop window weeks ago. Attached is a simple note:

A beautiful bag for a beautiful doctor – CL

You can’t help but smile, even as you shake your head at the extravagance. Pulling out your phone, you send a quick text to Charles.

The bag is gorgeous, but you really didn’t have to.

His reply comes moments later.

I wanted to.

Is it not to your liking?

You chuckle, typing back.

It’s perfect. But you don’t need to shower me with gifts.

Perhaps not. But I enjoy it. Allow me this small pleasure?

Rolling your eyes fondly, you respond.

Fine. But nothing too outrageous, okay?

You can almost hear his chuckle in his reply.

I make no promises.

True to his word, the gifts keep coming. A rare first edition of your favorite medical text. A pair of ridiculously comfortable designer shoes that somehow fit perfectly. Each accompanied by a note signed simply “CL”.

But it’s not just the material things that change. One day, as you’re buried in paperwork at the hospital, a delicious aroma wafts into your office. You look up to see your colleague standing in the doorway with a bag from your favorite local restaurant.

“Special delivery,” Sophia says with a grin, setting the bag on your desk.

You blink in surprise. “I didn’t order anything.”

Her grin widens. “No, but apparently you have a very thoughtful admirer. This has been showing up every day for the past week. The nurses have been taking turns bringing it up.”

Your cheeks flush as you open the bag, finding a perfectly prepared lunch and another note from Charles.

Sophia leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So, who’s the mystery man? Anyone I know?”

You quickly tuck the note away. “It’s ... complicated. We’re still figuring things out.”

“Uh-huh,” Sophia says, clearly not buying it. “Well, whoever he is, he’s got good taste. In food and women.”

As Sophia leaves, you can’t help but smile. Despite the complexity of your situation with Charles, these small gestures warm your heart.

The changes extend beyond gifts and food, though. You start to notice that things at the hospital seem to be running more smoothly. Bureaucratic hurdles that used to take weeks to clear now resolve themselves in days. Equipment requests that were once denied due to budget constraints are suddenly approved.

One afternoon, you’re in a meeting with Dr. Beaumont, discussing the progress of the new transplant center.

“I must say, Dr. Y/L/N,” Beaumont says, beaming, “the speed at which we’re moving forward is remarkable. It’s as if all the red tape has simply ... vanished.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suspecting Charles’ influence but unable to confirm it. “Yes, it’s ... quite fortunate.”

Beaumont leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think our generous donor, Mr. Leclerc, might have something to do with it. He seems to have friends in high places.”

You force a neutral expression. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Beaumont chuckles. “Let’s just say that certain government officials who were dragging their feet on approvals suddenly became very cooperative after a few calls from Mr. Leclerc’s office. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

As you leave the meeting, your mind is whirling. You appreciate the help, but the extent of Charles’ influence is starting to sink in. That evening, you decide it’s time for a face-to-face conversation.

You send Charles a text.

We need to talk. Dinner tonight?

His reply is almost immediate.

Of course. I’ll send a car. 8 PM?

At eight sharp, you find yourself being ushered into an exclusive rooftop restaurant. Charles is waiting, looking as handsome and composed as ever in a perfectly tailored suit.

He stands as you approach, pulling out your chair. “Y/N, you look lovely.”

You sit, fixing him with a serious look. “Charles, we need to discuss a few things.”

His expression turns concerned. “Is everything alright?”

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “The bodyguard, the gifts, the lunch deliveries ... it’s all very sweet, but it’s a bit much. And the thing with the hospital — are you pulling strings to make things happen?”

Charles listens intently, his face unreadable. When you finish, he leans back, considering his words carefully.

“I apologize if I’ve overstepped,” he says finally. “The protection is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. Your safety is paramount to me. But if the gifts make you uncomfortable, I can scale them back.”

You nod, relieved he’s listening. “And the hospital situation?”

Charles sighs. “I may have ... encouraged certain officials to be more cooperative. But I assure you, it was all above board. No bribes, no threats. Just a gentle reminder of how beneficial the new transplant center will be for Monaco.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “Gentle reminder, huh? And I suppose your reputation had nothing to do with it?”

A small smirk plays at the corner of Charles’ mouth. “I may have a certain ... influence. But I used it for a good cause. The transplant center will save lives, Y/N. Isn’t that what matters?”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Charles reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I know my world is very different from yours, Y/N. I’m trying to bridge that gap, to make things easier for you. But if I’m going about it the wrong way, tell me. I want you to be comfortable with this ... with us.”

The sincerity in his eyes touches you. “I appreciate that, Charles. I do. I just ... I need to feel like I’m still in control of my own life, you know? Like I’m not just being swept along in your wake.”

Charles nods, squeezing your hand gently. “I understand. From now on, I’ll consult you before making any decisions that affect your life. No more surprises. Well, fewer surprises, at least.”

You laugh, feeling the tension dissipate. “I suppose I can live with that. But maybe we can compromise on the bodyguard situation? I don’t need a shadow 24/7.”

“How about this,” Charles proposes, “The security detail maintains a distance unless you’re entering or leaving your apartment or the hospital. They’ll be there if you need them, but not constantly in your space. Would that work?”

You consider for a moment, then nod. “I can live with that. Thank you for listening.”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Always, Y/N. Your happiness and comfort are important to me.”

As the waiter approaches to take your order, you find yourself relaxing, enjoying the evening with Charles. The conversation flows easily, touching on your work at the hospital, Charles’ legitimate business ventures, and your shared love of classical music.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re feeling more at ease with the situation than you have in weeks.

“Charles,” you say, savoring a spoonful of soufflé, “I have to ask. How did you know about the handbag? The one I admired weeks ago?”

A mischievous glint appears in Charles’ eyes. “I have my ways. Let’s just say I pay attention to the things that catch your eye.”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees with a smile. “But admit it, you’re starting to enjoy it.”

As you leave the restaurant, Charles’ hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you realize that he’s right. Despite the complexity, despite the lingering concerns about his world, you are enjoying this. Enjoying him.

Charles walks you to the waiting car, opening the door for you. Before you get in, he catches your hand, his expression turning serious.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “I want you to know that I treasure what’s growing between us. I know my world is complicated, often dangerous. But with you ... I see a possibility for something real, something good. I hope you can be patient with me as we navigate this.”

Touched by his honesty, you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’m here, aren’t I? We’ll figure it out together.”

As the car pulls away, Charles watching from the curb, you lean back in your seat, a small smile playing on your lips. Your life has certainly become more complicated since that night in the alley. But as you reflect on the past few weeks — the challenges, the surprises, the growing connection with Charles — you can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement about what the future might hold.

***

The cool evening air greets you as you exit the hospital, your shift finally over. You roll your shoulders, easing the tension from a long day of surgeries. As you walk towards your car, your mind drifts to Charles, wondering if he’ll be free for a late dinner.

Suddenly, a sharp prick in your neck startles you. Before you can react, a wave of dizziness washes over you. The world tilts, your vision blurring. You try to call out, but your voice fails you. As darkness encroaches, your last conscious thought is of Charles.

When you come to, it’s to a pounding headache and disorientation. You blink, trying to focus. The room is dimly lit, cold, with bare concrete walls. As awareness creeps back, you realize you’re strapped to a chair, your wrists and ankles bound tightly.

Panic rises in your throat, but you force it down, trying to assess the situation. You’re still in your scrubs, which means you haven’t been unconscious for too long. There are no windows, no indication of where you might be.

The creak of a door opening snaps your attention forward. A man enters — relatively tall, curly-haired, with a scar running down the left side of his face. His eyes, when they meet yours, are cold and calculating.

“Ah, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, his voice carrying a slight Italian accent. “So good of you to join us. I hope you’re comfortable.”

You glare at him, finding your voice. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man chuckles, pulling up a chair to sit across from you. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mattia Binotto. And as for what I want ...” He leans in, his gaze intense. “I want Charles Leclerc.”

Your heart races, but you keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mattia’s laugh is harsh. “Come now, Doctor. Let’s not play games. I know all about your ... relationship with Charles. I’ve been watching you both for quite some time.”

“Why?” You demand, tugging futilely at your restraints. “What does Charles have to do with this?”

Mattia leans back, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Everything, my dear. You see, I used to work for Charles’ father. I was his right-hand man, his most trusted advisor. And how did the old man repay my loyalty? By kicking me out, exiling me from Monaco.”

You listen, your mind racing. Charles had mentioned conflicts within the organization, but this ... this was something else entirely.

“So this is about revenge?” You ask, trying to keep him talking.

Mattia’s eyes flash dangerously. “Revenge, yes. But also reclamation. What was taken from me, I intend to take back. And you, my dear doctor, are the perfect bait.”

Fear claws at your insides, but you push it down, channeling it into anger instead. “Charles won’t fall for this. He’s smarter than that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on his intelligence,” Mattia says, standing up and beginning to pace. “You see, Charles knows exactly who I am and what I’m capable of. He’ll come for you, make no mistake. And when he does ...” Mattia’s smile is chilling. “Well, let’s just say I have quite the reunion planned.”

You struggle against your bonds, your mind whirling. “You’re insane if you think you can take on Charles and his entire organization.”

Mattia stops pacing, turning to face you. “Insane? No, Doctor. Prepared. I’ve spent years planning this, gathering allies, waiting for the perfect moment. And you ...” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You jerk away from his touch. “You are the key to it all.”

“Don’t touch me,” you snarl, glaring up at him.

Mattia chuckles. “Feisty. I can see why Charles is so taken with you. It will make breaking you all the more satisfying.”

A chill runs down your spine at his words. “If you hurt me, Charles will-”

“Charles will what?” Mattia interrupts, his voice mocking. “Come charging in to save you? That’s exactly what I’m counting on, my dear.”

You fall silent, realizing that every word you say is potentially giving Mattia more ammunition. Instead, you focus on studying your surroundings, looking for any potential way out.

Mattia seems to sense your shift in focus. He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. “Don’t bother looking for escape routes. This room was designed to hold people far more dangerous than you. You’re not going anywhere until Charles arrives.”

Pulling back, he checks his watch. “Speaking of which, I imagine he’s discovered your absence by now. Shall we give him a call?”

Your eyes widen as Mattia pulls out a phone — your phone. He scrolls through your contacts, finding Charles’ number.

“No, don’t-” you start, but Mattia silences you with a sharp look.

He puts the phone on speaker as it rings. After two rings, Charles’ voice comes through, tense and worried. “Y/N? Where are you? Your security detail lost track of you hours ago.”

Mattia’s grin is triumphant as he speaks. “Hello, Charles. It’s been a long time.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before Charles responds, his voice low and dangerous. “Mattia. If you’ve hurt her, I swear-”

“Now, now,” Mattia interrupts. “Your precious doctor is fine. For now. Whether she stays that way depends entirely on you.”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t listen to him! It’s a trap!”

Mattia backhands you, the slap echoing in the small room. “Quiet!”

“Y/N!” Charles’ voice is anguished. “Mattia, I’m warning you-”

“You’re warning me?” Mattia laughs. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to come alone to the address I’m about to send you. If I see any of your men, if I even suspect you’ve involved your friends in the police, the good doctor here will suffer the consequences. Understood?”

There’s a tense pause before Charles responds. “I understand. Let me speak to her.”

Mattia considers for a moment, then holds the phone closer to you. “Make it quick.”

“Charles,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Don’t do this. It’s not worth-”

“Y/N, listen to me,” Charles interrupts, his voice intense. “I’m coming for you. Just hold on. I promise, I’ll make this right.”

Before you can respond, Mattia pulls the phone away. “How touching. You have one hour, Charles. Come alone or she dies.”

He ends the call, turning to you with a satisfied smirk. “And now, we wait.”

The next hour is agonizing. Mattia leaves you alone in the room, your mind racing with possibilities, each worse than the last. You test your restraints, but they hold firm. The chair is bolted to the floor, leaving you no way to move.

Just when you think you can’t take the suspense any longer, the door opens. Your heart leaps, thinking it might be Charles, but it’s Mattia who enters, followed by two burly men.

“It seems your knight in shining armor has arrived,” Mattia announces, his eyes glinting with malice. “Let’s make sure we give him a proper welcome, shall we?”

He nods to one of the men, who moves behind you. You feel the cold press of a gun barrel against your temple.

“Is this really necessary?” You ask, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Mattia shrugs. “Insurance, my dear. Can’t have you trying anything heroic when Charles arrives.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion outside the room. The door bursts open and Charles strides in, his eyes immediately finding yours.

“Y/N,” he breathes, relief and worry warring in his expression.

“Charles, no,” you plead. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s a trap!”

Mattia steps forward, clapping slowly. “Bravo, Charles. Right on time, and alone, as instructed. I must say, I’m impressed by your obedience.”

Charles tears his gaze from you to glare at Mattia. “Let her go, Mattia. This is between us.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mattia replies, circling around to stand behind you. He places his hands on your shoulders, and you struggle not to flinch. “You see, your lovely doctor here is my insurance policy. Insurance that you’ll listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

Charles’ jaw clenches, but he remains still. “Say your piece, then.”

Mattia’s grip on your shoulders tightens. “It’s quite simple, really. I want what’s rightfully mine. The position your father stole from me, the respect I deserve. You’re going to step down, hand over control of the organization to me, and leave Monaco. Forever.”

You can’t stay silent any longer. “Charles, don’t do it! You can’t trust him!”

The gun presses harder against your temple, silencing you.

Charles’ eyes flick between you and Mattia, his expression unreadable. “And if I refuse?”

Mattia’s laugh is cold. “Then you get to watch your beloved doctor die, slowly and painfully, before I kill you too. Your choice, Charles.”

The tension in the room is palpable as Charles considers his options. You try to catch his eye, to silently communicate that your life isn’t worth the price Mattia is demanding. But Charles’ gaze is fixed on Mattia, his mind clearly racing.

Finally, Charles speaks, his voice eerily calm. “You’ve made one critical mistake, Mattia.”

Mattia’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? And what’s that?”

A small, dangerous smile plays at the corner of Charles’ lips. “You assumed I came alone.”

In that instant, several things happen at once. The lights in the room suddenly cut out, plunging everything into darkness. You hear the sound of breaking glass, followed by several muffled thuds. Someone grabs you, and for a moment you panic, thinking it’s Mattia. But then a familiar voice whispers in your ear.

“It’s me, Y/N. Hold still.”

It’s Pierre. You feel him cutting through your restraints. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you make out shapes moving in the room — Charles’ men, you realize, taking down Mattia’s guards.

When the lights flicker back on, the scene has completely changed. Mattia and his men are on the ground, subdued by Charles’ team. Charles himself is standing over Mattia, a gun pointed at his head.

“You’re right, Mattia,” Charles says, his voice cold. “This was between us. You should have left Y/N out of it.”

As Pierre helps you to your feet, you stumble, your legs weak from being bound for so long. Charles is at your side in an instant, supporting you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

You nod, still trying to process what just happened. “I’m okay. How did you ...”

Charles manages a small smile. “Did you really think I’d come unprepared? My men were in position before I ever entered the building.”

You lean into him, relief washing over you. “I thought ... I was so scared you’d give in to his demands.”

Charles’ arm tightens around you. “Never. I would never let him hurt you, Y/N.”

As Charles’ men secure Mattia and begin to lead him away, you turn to Charles. “What happens now?”

Charles’ expression turns grim. “Now, we make sure Mattia can never threaten us again. And then ...” He looks down at you, his eyes softening. “Then we talk about upgrading your security. Because I’m never letting something like this happen again.”

***

The morning after your harrowing ordeal, you find yourself seated in the hospital’s main conference room, feeling as though you’ve stepped into some sort of surreal dream. To your left sits Charles, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. Across the table, the hospital’s board of directors fidget nervously, their eyes darting between you, Charles, and Dr. Beaumont, who sits at the head of the table.

The tension in the room is palpable as Dr. Beaumont clears his throat. “Well, Mr. Leclerc, Dr. Y/L/N, thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I understand there’s been some ... concerns about security?”

Charles leans forward, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “Concerns would be putting it mildly, Dr. Beaumont. Dr. Y/L/N was kidnapped from your parking lot last night. I think that warrants more than just concern.”

You can see the color drain from Dr. Beaumont’s face. “Kidnapped? I ... we had no idea. Dr. Y/L/N, are you alright?”

All eyes turn to you, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I’m fine, thank you. It was a ... misunderstanding that’s been resolved.”

Charles’ hand finds yours under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “A misunderstanding that could have ended very differently. Which is why we’re here to discuss new security measures.”

Dr. Beaumont nods, still looking shaken. “Of course, of course. What did you have in mind?”

“Two of my personal security team will accompany Dr. Y/L/N at all times while she’s on hospital grounds,” Charles states, his tone brooking no argument.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before one of the board members, Dr. Rossi, speaks up. “Mr. Leclerc, while we certainly understand your concern, having armed guards in a hospital environment is highly unorthodox. It could make patients uncomfortable, not to mention the potential liability issues ...”

Charles’ eyes narrow. “I’m not particularly concerned with what’s orthodox, Dr. Rossi. I’m concerned with Y/N’s safety.”

You decide to intervene, hoping to smooth things over. “Perhaps we could find a compromise? The security team could maintain a discreet distance, only stepping in if necessary?”

Dr. Beaumont latches onto this suggestion eagerly. “Yes, that sounds more reasonable. We could provide them with visitor badges, allow them access to staff areas ...”

“No,” Charles cuts in firmly. “They stay with Y/N at all times. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

Another board member, Dr. Chen, leans forward. “Mr. Leclerc, please understand our position. We have protocols, regulations to follow. Having armed personnel constantly present could jeopardize our accreditation.”

Charles’ smile is cold. “I’m sure exceptions can be made, Dr. Chen. After all, I’d hate to think that the hospital values bureaucratic red tape over the safety of its star surgeon.”

The implied threat hangs heavy in the air. You can see the administrators exchanging nervous glances.

Dr. Beaumont attempts to regain control of the situation. “Now, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that satisfies everyone. Mr. Leclerc, what if we were to increase our own security measures? Install more cameras, hire additional guards ...”

Charles shakes his head. “Not good enough. My men are highly trained professionals. They stay with Y/N.”

You can see the frustration building on the faces of the board members. Dr. Rossi tries again. “Mr. Leclerc, please be reasonable. We can’t just allow civilians to roam freely through sensitive areas of the hospital. There are privacy concerns, not to mention-”

“I think you misunderstand me,” Charles interrupts, his voice dangerously soft. “This isn’t a request. It’s happening. The only question is whether you choose to cooperate or not.”

The threat in his words is unmistakable. You watch as the color drains from Dr. Rossi’s face.

Feeling the need to defuse the tension, you speak up. “Perhaps we could implement this on a trial basis? See how it works for a month and then reassess?”

Dr. Beaumont seizes on this suggestion like a lifeline. “Yes, excellent idea, Dr. Y/L/N. A trial period would allow us to address any issues that arise and make adjustments as necessary.”

Charles considers this for a moment before nodding slowly. “A trial period is acceptable, provided there’s no interference with my security team’s duties.”

Relief is palpable around the table, but it’s short-lived as Charles continues.

“Of course, I understand this arrangement may cause some ... inconvenience for the hospital. To that end, I’m prepared to make an additional donation to help smooth things over.”

The board members perk up at this, their expressions shifting from worry to interest.

Dr. Beaumont leans forward eagerly. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Leclerc. What sort of donation did you have in mind?”

Charles’ smile is predatory. “Let’s say ... sixteen million euros, to be used at the hospital’s discretion. Provided, of course, that my security requirements are met without further argument.”

The room falls silent as the enormity of the offer sinks in. You can practically see the dollar signs in the administrators’ eyes.

Dr. Chen is the first to recover. “Mr. Leclerc, that’s an incredibly generous offer. I’m sure we can work out the details of the security arrangement to everyone’s satisfaction.”

Charles nods, satisfied. “I’m glad we understand each other. Now, shall we discuss the specifics?”

What follows is a detailed negotiation of the security protocols. You watch, somewhat bemused, as the very same administrators who were stammering objections moments ago now fall over themselves to accommodate Charles’ every demand.

By the end of the meeting, it’s agreed that Charles’ security team will have full access to all areas of the hospital, will be allowed to carry concealed weapons, and will have final say on any security matters relating to you.

As the meeting wraps up, Dr. Beaumont turns to you, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Dr. Y/L/N, I hope you know that your safety is our utmost concern. If there’s anything else we can do ...”

You manage a small smile. “Thank you, Dr. Beaumont. I appreciate the hospital’s flexibility in this matter.”

As you and Charles stand to leave, Dr. Beaumont calls out, “Mr. Leclerc, a word in private, if you don’t mind?”

Charles nods, turning to you. “I’ll be right out, Y/N.”

You exit the conference room, your mind whirling. As you wait in the hallway, you overhear snippets of the conversation inside.

Dr. Beaumont’s voice, low and eager, “... sure there isn’t anything else we should know?”

Charles’ reply, cool and dismissive, “... all you need to concern yourself with ...”

A moment later, Charles emerges, his expression softening as he sees you. “Ready to go?”

You nod, falling into step beside him as you walk towards the elevator. “Don’t you think this is all a bit ... excessive?”

He stops, turning to face you. “After what happened last night, I’m not taking any chances with your safety. I can’t lose you.”

The raw emotion in his voice catches you off guard. You reach out, touching his arm gently. “You won’t lose me. But Charles, this is my workplace. I need to be able to do my job without feeling like I’m under constant surveillance.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know. And I’m sorry if this complicates things for you. But please, just give it a chance. For my peace of mind, if nothing else.”

You study his face, seeing the worry lines etched around his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Despite your reservations, you find yourself nodding. “Alright. We’ll try it your way. But if it becomes too disruptive ...”

“Then we’ll reassess,” Charles finishes, relief evident in his voice. “Thank you, Y/N.”

As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. The world of medicine, with its clear rules and ethical guidelines, seems far removed from Charles’ realm of shadowy deals and armed guards.

“Charles,” you say as the elevator descends, “what exactly did Dr. Beaumont want to discuss in private?”

Charles’ expression turns guarded. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just some details about the donation.”

You’re not entirely convinced, but you decide not to push it. As the elevator doors open, you’re greeted by the sight of two men in suits — clearly Charles’ security team.

Charles nods to them. “This is Andrea and Joris. They’ll be your primary security detail.”

You force a smile, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

Andrea and Joris nod respectfully, but their expressions remain impassive. You can already tell that this is going to take some getting used to.

As you walk through the hospital lobby, you’re acutely aware of the stares and whispers from staff and patients alike. Charles seems oblivious to the attention, but you feel your cheeks heating up.

“Charles,” you murmur, “people are staring.”

He glances around, then shrugs. “Let them stare. Your safety is more important than gossip.”

You’re about to argue further when you spot Sophia rushing towards you, her eyes wide with concern.

“Y/N!” She exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “I heard you were in some kind of trouble last night. Are you okay? And who are these guys?”

You extract yourself from Sophia’s embrace, acutely aware of Charles and the security team watching. “I’m fine, Sophia. Really. It was just a misunderstanding. As for these gentlemen ...” You gesture vaguely. “They’re, um ...”

“Private security,” Charles interjects smoothly. “In light of recent events, we felt it prudent to take extra precautions.”

Sophia’s eyes dart between you and Charles, clearly bursting with questions. “Private security? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You can feel a headache building behind your eyes. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later, okay?”

She nods, though her expression says this conversation is far from over. “Okay, but you owe me details. Lots of details.”

As Sophia walks away, you turn to Charles with a sigh. “This is going to be a nightmare to explain to everyone.”

Charles’ expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I need you safe. Everything else ... we’ll figure it out together.”

Looking into his eyes, seeing the mix of concern and affection there, you feel your resistance crumbling. Despite the complications, despite the danger, you know that what you and Charles have is worth fighting for.

“Together,” you agree softly.

As you head towards your office, flanked by Andrea and Joris, with Charles by your side, you can’t help but feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life. One filled with more danger and complexity than you ever imagined, but also with a depth of love and protection you never thought possible.

The hospital corridors stretch out before you, familiar yet somehow changed. You take a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them head-on — with Charles (and now apparently with an armed escort) by your side.

***

A year later, life has settled into a new normal. You’ve grown accustomed to the peculiarities of being the personal physician to Monaco’s most powerful man, including the late-night calls and the sometimes bizarre injuries.

Tonight is one of those nights. You’re in Charles’ private medical suite, nestled within his sprawling mansion, tending to yet another gunshot wound. The room is state-of-the-art, rivaling any hospital, but with a touch of luxury that screams Charles.

“Ow! Easy there, mon cœur,” Charles winces as you clean the wound on his upper arm.

You roll your eyes, but there’s affection in your voice as you reply, “Maybe if you’d stop zigging when you should be zagging, we wouldn’t be here so often.”

Charles attempts a charming smile, but it turns into a grimace as you start preparing the sutures. “You know I can’t help it. Danger follows me everywhere.”

“Mhmm,” you hum skeptically. “And I’m sure you do nothing to encourage it.”

As you begin stitching, Charles lets out an exaggerated groan. “Y/N, you’re torturing me. Is this revenge for forgetting our dinner reservation last week?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “If I wanted revenge, I’d let Pierre patch you up instead. Now hold still, unless you want a scar to ruin your perfect skin.”

Charles pouts, looking more like a petulant child than the feared boss of the Monegasque Mafia. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Only a little,” you admit with a smirk. “Someone has to keep that ego of yours in check.”

As you finish the last stitch, Charles flexes his arm experimentally. “You know, for someone who claims to care about me, you’re awfully indifferent about my pain.”

You start cleaning up, shaking your head in amusement. “Stop getting shot if you don’t want stitches.”

Charles’ hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer. “But it hurts,” he whines playfully. “You should kiss me, treat me with care. I’m your patient, you should be good to me.”

You laugh, gently extracting yourself from his grip. “Nice try. But doctor’s orders are rest and recovery. No strenuous activity for at least a week.”

Charles’ eyes widen in horror. “A week? You can’t be serious. What am I supposed to do for a whole week?”

“I don’t know,” you tease, “maybe try not getting into gunfights? I hear it’s good for your health.”

Charles stands, testing his arm’s mobility. “You know that’s not what I meant. Come on, mon amour, surely there are some ... activities we could engage in that won’t strain my arm?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep a straight face. “No sex, Charles. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Charles groans dramatically, flopping back onto the examination table. Then, a mischievous glint appears in his eye. “What about just a little ... oral attention? That won’t affect my arm at all.”

You can’t help but laugh at his persistence. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Charles grins, clearly thinking he’s won. “But you love me anyway.”

“God help me, I do,” you admit, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “But the answer is still no. Doctor’s orders, remember?”

Charles sighs in defeat. “Fine, fine. But you owe me when I’m healed.”

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” you promise with a wink. “Now, let’s get you to bed. And I mean for sleeping, mister.”

As you help Charles to his feet, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You know, this whole stern doctor act is incredibly sexy. Maybe we could role-play once I’m better?”

You playfully swat his uninjured arm. “Behave or I’ll have Pierre stand guard outside our door to make sure you rest.”

Charles chuckles as you guide him out of the medical suite and towards the bedroom. “You wouldn’t dare. Pierre’s terrified of walking in on us after last time.”

The memory makes you blush. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look him in the eye.”

As you reach the opulent bedroom, you help him settle into bed. He catches your hand as you turn to leave. “Stay with me?” He asks, his voice soft and vulnerable in a way few people ever get to hear.

Your resolve melts. “Just to sleep. I mean it, Charles.”

You kick off your shoes and climb into bed beside him, careful not to jostle his injured arm. Charles immediately pulls you close with his good arm, nuzzling into your neck.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Not just for this, but for everything. For patching me up, for putting up with my dangerous life, for ... for loving me despite it all.”

The sincerity in his voice touches you deeply. You turn in his embrace to face him, cupping his cheek gently. “Charles, I don’t love you despite your life. I love all of you, dangerous parts included. Though I could do with fewer midnight patch-up sessions.”

Charles chuckles softly. “I’ll try to schedule my injuries for more convenient times in the future.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “How about trying to avoid injuries altogether?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Charles teases, but then his expression turns serious. “I know my life isn’t easy, Y/N. I know I ask a lot of you. If it ever becomes too much ...”

You silence him with a gentle kiss. “Stop right there. I’m not going anywhere. I knew what I was getting into, and I choose this — I choose you — every day.”

Charles’ arms tighten around you, mindful of his injury. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Probably not,” you agree with a smirk. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”

As you lay there in comfortable silence, your mind drifts to the events of the past year. The increased security measures, the close calls, the exhilarating highs and terrifying lows of being part of Charles’ world. It hasn’t been easy, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“What are you thinking about?” Charles asks softly, noticing your contemplative mood.

You trace lazy patterns on his chest as you answer. “Just ... everything. How much has changed in a year. How different my life is now.”

Charles tenses slightly. “Do you ever regret it? Getting involved with me, I mean.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him properly. “Never. It’s crazy and dangerous and sometimes I think I must be out of my mind, but I’ve never been happier.”

The relief on Charles’ face is palpable. “Even when I wake you up at ungodly hours to stitch me up?”

“Even then,” you assure him with a smile. “Though I reserve the right to be grumpy about it.”

Charles laughs, then winces as the movement jostles his arm. “Fair enough. I suppose I should be grateful you haven’t accidentally stitched anything embarrassing into me yet.”

You grin mischievously. “Don’t give me ideas. I’m sure ‘Drama Queen’ would look lovely across your bicep.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Charles gasps in mock horror.

“Try me,” you challenge playfully. “Keep whining about your injuries and find out.”

Charles pulls you closer, nuzzling into your hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll be a model patient from now on.”

You snort in disbelief. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Now get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

As Charles’ breathing evens out, you find yourself marveling at the turn your life has taken. From a chance encounter in a dark alley to this — sharing a bed with one of the most powerful men in Monaco, patching up bullet wounds in the middle of the night.

It’s not the life you ever imagined for yourself, but as you feel the steady beat of Charles’ heart beneath your hand, you know it’s exactly where you’re meant to be. Dangerous, complicated, and wonderfully yours.

You press a soft kiss to Charles’ chest, careful not to wake him. “I love you,” you whisper, knowing that no matter what challenges tomorrow brings, you’ll face them together.

As sleep begins to claim you, your last coherent thought is a mix of amusement and affection. You make a mental note to stock up on lollipops – it seems your most frequent patient has a penchant for post-treatment rewards, and you have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot more of his pouty face in the future.

But that’s okay. Because for every whine, every pout, every dramatic sigh, there’s also the fierce protectiveness, the tender moments, and the love that radiates from Charles in everything he does. It’s a package deal, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to Charles and let sleep take you, ready to face whatever adventures — or misadventures — tomorrow might bring.

[letoasai]

dp x dc Chronos part 2

Part 1  and Part 3 

The Justice League sat in the Watchtower, some of them at least. The meeting was meant to be a quick one, only certain members in attendance to make sure they were all on the same page after the debrief of the last mission. Not all of them were necessary and most were usually busy. 

Today Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash and Green Lantern were in the middle of wrapping things up when the alert sounded. The siren blared twice before the red lights in the corner of each room flashed in an emergency.

“What in the world…” Flash grumbled but was obviously the first to the controls to look for the problem. None of the main alarms had been triggered, none of the doors messed with. No unusual motion noted in parts of the station that were currently vacant. “Weird.” 

“What is it?” Batman was next beside him, arms crossed as he peered at the screen with narrowed eyes. 

“It’s the sensors.” Flash said. “We’re picking up some kind of  interference.” 

“Way up here? What kind?” Green Lantern asked, he’d moved to one of the wide windows of the viewing deck as if he would be able to see something approaching. As things were, there was nothing but the normal vastness of space with Earth to one side.

“No idea.” Flash said. “Never seen something like this before.” 

“Any idea on a location?” Superman asked, appearing by Green Lantern’s side. 

Flash just clucked his tongue, hitting buttons much faster than a normal person. It was almost an irritation that he had to wait for the computer to keep up with him. “I mean, there’s nothing exactly to track yet.” 

“An anomaly then.” Wonder Woman said, leaning back against the conference table they’d all just been sitting around. “Something natural?” 

“There’s nothing natural about this.” Batman said, tone skeptical as he gazed at the screens. 

“Gonna side with that bat on this one.” Flash said, “It’s more like a warning before anything happens. Something setting off the sensors but nothing else? Feels like it was on purpose.” 

Green Lantern rolled his eyes. “What, like something’s knocking before they make themselves known?” 

Before anyone could even offer their opinion on what they thought of something so ridiculous, a spark of green ripped through the air like lightning. Just as quickly it spread out into an obvious portal. Every member of the Justice League sprang into position, circling the phenomenon to block it in from every direction. Things like this shouldn’t have been possible, but it wasn’t the first time an intruder had gotten creative to get inside the Watchtower. 

Without any fanfare, a man stepped out. They presumed it was a man anyway. He was dressed in mostly shades of purple other than his leather boots and gloves. He was covered by a cloak and hood, but when he looked up, it was hard to say what about him was the most unsettling. The red eyes. The blue skin. The pendulum clock that set back into his chest so far that he could only be missing crucial organs. 

“Who are you?” Superman demanded, quickly trying to assess if there would be a fight or not. 

“How did you get here?” Batman said right after, gravel tone somehow more frightening because he was calm. 

The intruder just gestured with his thumb at the portal behind him. “Thought it was rather obvious.” 

“Your purpose?” Wonder Woman asked, looking relaxed but her body was tense and ready to react in a moments notice. 

“My purpose?” He chuckled quietly. In his hand was a staff they’d almost missed before, the top of it cradling a clock. It seemed to be a theme given the number of watches and clocks he wore. “I’ve come to call in a favor. The Justice League owes me several.” 

“We owe you? Ppfff. Yeah right. We don’t even know who you are.” Flash rolled his eyes.

The intruder turned to the Flash, his brow raised. “Speedster, with the amount of times you’ve dabbled in the time stream, you alone owe me your life a fair few times.” 

“Time, huh?” Green Lantern looked him over. There were a lot of clocks... “Guess that’s your schtick.” 

He chuckled again. “I go by many names, only one will be relevant to you today.” He turned his attention onto Wonder Woman who squared up under his gaze. If she was going to be his focus then she’d take him head on. 

“And?” She arched a brow at him. “What name may we call you?” 

He looked amused, red eyes filled with mirth. “You, Diana, may call me grandfather.” 

The room stilled, the others looking around in varying degrees of confusion while Wonder Woman just paled. 

“Chronos. God of time…” she muttered, making it very clear to the team what they were dealing with. A God. 

“I go by master of time these days, but yes. I am that Chronos. I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn down but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.” Chronos said, the minute and hour hands on his staff moving strangely. 

“You’re a god, and you come to us for help?” Batman asked, unimpressed no matter the glowers he was being sent by the others. 

“You are the Justice League, aren’t you?” Chronos looked pleased. “Righting wrongs. Defending Earth. Justice is in the name and everything.” 

He didn’t talk like a god. He didn’t even talk as formally as Wonder Woman herself tended to occasionally. 

“Doing tasks for you is asking for trouble.” Wonder Woman muttered. She’d heard stories, so many stories. 

Chronos shrugged. “Time is messy. Keeping it in line is difficult. Especially when there are those who mess with it who should not.” He was not above verbally throwing speedsters under the bus.

“What do you want?” Green Lantern asked, obviously suspicious but paying very close attention. 

“Simple.” Chronos answered, still looking at his granddaughter. “You will take custody of your uncle for a time. He needs a safe place to rest and live.” 

The silence that followed was loud, no one knowing what to make of that. Wonder Woman herself looked puzzled. 

“Are you claiming a sibling of Zeus needs a babysitter?” 

Chronos hummed. “He is my son though he holds no biological relation to your father, i suppose.” 

“Then how is he her uncle?” Flash asked, with a hint of sass. 

“You can ask Batman how it works.” Chronos mused, saying all he would say on the matter but that was enough. 

Wonder Woman couldn’t fathom what kind of person her grandfather would see fit to adopt. “Are you going to tell me more?” 

“Telling you more would imply you were agreeing to the task.” 

She tsked. “None of your word games. I want to know what i could be walking into.” 

Chronos never once looked threatened or put out, he did however, appear to look a few years older than he had when he’d first appeared. “He recently needed to be removed from his home for his safety. He can easily visit me but staying with me long term at this time is not beneficial to him for health reasons.” 

Superman frowned. “Removed from his home? How old is he?” 

“Sixteen. If that is all you need to know, i will fetch him. It may take some time for him to regain consciousness.”  Chronos said. 

“He’s been hurt?” Batman was frowning at the thought, looking more and more unhappy as the conversation progressed. 

“I did say he was removed from his home.” Chronos said, almost flippantly as he stepped back into his glowing green portal. It remained open, everyone exchanging looks. 

“Diana, is this a good idea?” Superman asked, willing to accept her judgment. Greek gods were more her wheelhouse. 

“Chronos was a titan. Is a titan?” She frowned. “His power is immense for a being thought to be killed.” 

“Something about him is off.” Batman agreed. “He was not worried at all. That is someone aware they have the upper hand.” 

Wonder Woman just nodded her agreement. Chronos was the god of time. There was no telling what he knew. “I’ve never met him before.” 

“Hell of a time for family reunions.” Flash snarked, heading back to the controls to see what readings they could get on the floating portal. It was obvious each of them wanted to study it in their own way. Scans and samples were first on their minds but it was clearly some kind of magic they weren’t familiar with. 

It was almost a shame there wasn’t a single member from JLD currently in the Watchtower. They might have been able to provide answers. 

Before much of anything could be done, Chronos returned, somehow looking several years younger than when he first appeared. In his arms was a lanky teen, cradled carefully as if he were fragile. He was equally a sight that left the League speechless. He wasn’t blue, in fact he looked more or less human other that the freckles that shined. 

Superman was the one to immediately note they were constellation patterned. 

His hair was a stark white that wisped and flowed as if he were under water. His clothes were strange, a detailed variation of an old hazmat suit, all done in black and white. Floating above his head was a crown that didn’t seem to know if it wanted to be on fire or covered in ice. It bobbed back and forth and even did a slow flip in the air but never left the area about the boy’s head. 

When no one uttered a word, Chronos took that as permission to begin the introductions. “Diana, this is your uncle. Danny Phantom. Son of the Stars. The Personification of Balance. The Ghost King. High King of the Infinite Realm.” 

“He’s a king?” Batman frowned. “He’s a boy.” 

“He could be both, Bats. He’s got a crown.” Flash chuckled softly. 

Chronos shared his amusement. “I did say he was only sixteen.” The god paused for a moment as the teen twisted in his arms, his face pressed against Chronos’ shoulder and a hand lightly pressed against the door of the clock embedded into the man’s chest. 

The fact that, even asleep, the boy was comfortable in the gods arms didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Is he injured?” Wonder Woman asked. They’d gone over this already but he didn’t look actively wounded. He seemed to be sleeping only. 

Chronos grunted once. “One form heals faster than the other. He needs rest, ambient ectoplasm which he knows how to get on his own, and food. He can answer your questions if he feels like it.” 

“If he feels like it?” Green Lantern frowned. 

“He’s the King.” Chronos’ lips twitched in amusement again. “If he decides to tell you more, or seek help, that is his decision.” 

“Seek help?” Batman’s eyes were narrowed. “Seek help for what?” 

Chronos approached and shifted the teenager into Wonder Woman’s arms. His crown shifted back and forth but never left the teen. The grip he had on the god wasn’t noticed until he tried to pull away and Chronos needed to carefully extract the boy’s hand. 

Ignoring Batman, he pressed on. “He’ll need to follow up with his doctor by the end of the week. He’ll know how to do that. If he doesn’t, his doctor will come to him. That should be incentive enough.” 

“Does he know you’re dropping him off here?” Superman asked, brows knitted together in concern. The heroes had been expecting a fight, not to be handed a royal teen. 

“He has a fondness for for space, so you might want to let him wake up here.” Chronos said instead, ignoring that question too. He was growing older again, a short, white beard starting to form.

“How long will he need to be in my care?” Wonder Woman asked, noting the boy weighed very little in her arms. In sleep his features were soft, hopefully he was as sweet as he looked. 

“Good luck.” Chronos said, staff reappearing in his hand now, turning back to the portal without giving her an answer. 

“Hey! Wait!” Flash yelled but for once, he was too slow, the god and the portal disappeared. 

Five members of the Justice League just stood in a mild stupor, their attention shifting to the sleeping teen. 

“Well…” Superman muttered. 

Wonder Woman looked at the boy, floating hair and crown moving in tandem. “I’ll set him down. We’ll see if he can answer any of our questions when he wakes up.” 

“You gonna call him Uncle Danny?” Flash asked, not bothering to hide his smile. 

Wonder Woman just ignored him and turned to stride off towards the med-station. -------------------------

------------------------- No idea at all if i’ll continue this. If anyone else wants too, go for it. ^_^

@markus209

[luveline]

could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher

thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k

You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair. 

He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.

"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds." 

"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day." 

"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys." 

"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit." 

You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly. 

"I understand that it sounds fantastical." 

"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am." 

"That's alright. Take your time." 

Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?

You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well." 

"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly. 

You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too. 

"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly." 

Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you. 

"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends." 

"What do you think?" 

"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic." 

"What's his first?" he asks. 

"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form." 

"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things." 

"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you." 

"Aaron," he corrects.

Your tone drops too low. "Aaron." 

"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him." 

You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job." 

"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks. 

"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up." 

"I could say the same thing." 

The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"

Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you." 

"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?" 

Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!" 

"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you. 

"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper. 

He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope. 

You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.

Dear Miss L/N, 

I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter. 

Gratefully yours, 

Aaron Hotchner. 

P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him. 

You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?

[hypewinter]

Prev

Tim came down the stairs with an empty mug in hand. As he entered the dinning room he found a kid happily eating pancakes. Ah this must be the new adoptee, he thought to himself as he recalled last night's group chat.

"This is not a new adoptee," Bruce said looking up from the boy. Man, Tim hated when the old man guessed their thoughts like that.

"Say whatever you need to convince yourself B," Tim replied with a shrug as he went into the kitchen.

Bruce shouted after him, "He already has a family!"

The boy immediately interjected, "She's not my family silly! She's my friend."

Tim chuckled to himself as he filled his mug and came back into the dining room. "Aw B," he said smugly, "he doesn't even have a family. You're not saying we're gonna leave him on the streets are you?"

Bruce for his part, glared halfheartedly at Tim before turning back to the little boy. Tim also took this time to observe the boy. He believed Oracle had said his name was Danny. Danny was currently happily kicking his legs as he stabbed at his pancakes. Tim couldn't help but note how the pancakes had already been cut into bite sized pieces. Other than that, he seemed perfectly fine. No apparent injuries or adverse reactions to sudden movements. His clothes were also nice and clean. Probably Alfred's doing. Speaking of the old butler, he came in and set a plate down in front of Tim.

"Oh I'm not-" One eyebrow raise was enough for the young man to shut his mouth. He looked down at his plate only to immediately turn back to Alfred with an eyebrow raise of his own. "Mister Danny claimed it was not fair he was the only one to receive such special pancakes. He was rather insistent that everyone experiences such happiness this fine morning," Alfred informed.

Ah, that explains why Tim had gotten star shaped pancakes. He looked over at Danny who was smiling giddily at him. As Tim took his first bite of pancake, he couldn't help but agree with that assessment.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Danny?" the boy looked up at him. "As you know our... mutual friend left you in my care. As such after you're finished with your pancakes, what do you say I take you back home?"

"Ok!" the boy replied before shoveling more pancakes into his mouth.

"I think I'll tag along too," Tim said. There was no way this little "drop off" was going to go as planned and he wanted to be there to see it. After all, someone had to keep the group chat updated. Besides, he took great joy in Bruce's half perplexed half annoyed expression.

"Don't you have some meetings to attend today?" Bruce asked through gritted teeth, guessing his son's angle. "Nope," Tim answered sweetly. "My schedule's all clear today."

"Fine," Bruce relented. "If you want to come along on this very quick drop off, I won't stop you."

Tim smiled into his mug. This was gonna be fun.

-----

"We're here!" Danny exclaimed as they pulled up to an abandoned looking apartment building.

"Are you sure this is your home?" Bruce asked cautiously. Tim couldn't blame him, this place was on the outskirts of the Bowery and looked like nobody had lived there in years.

Danny opened the door and hopped out. "Yep!" he said. "I know because I'm a big boy and big boys know how to get home." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Right," Bruce muttered pensively as he examined the building.

They all entered the building and began ascending the questionable stairs with Danny taking them two steps at a time. As they climbed, both Bruce and Tim noted how rundown the building looked. Walls were peeling and there was rubble and trash all over the floors. The railing on the stairs looked so rusted that a gust of wind could probably knock them over. Most of the lights didn't work because of one thing or another which luckily wasn't a problem considering it was daytime. But none of that was even the most concerning part. No, the most concerning part was how silent it was.

As they walked down the hall, it was simply too silent. Even taking into account that most people would already be at work right now, it was still too quiet. There was no hint of people coming back from work the night shift. No sound of those staying home sick or someone with a day off. No dogs barked, no cats made any noise. It was an eerie silence that seemed to blanket the whole building. It was unnerving.

Danny stopped in front of a door and opened it with ease. There was no lock or anything. Once again adding to the list of concerning evidence. They entered after Danny to discover a shabby looking flat past the door. There was barely any furniture, and the furniture that was there looked like it should have been thrown out years ago. The floor boards seemed as if they would give way at any moment too. The windows to the far side allowed lighted in but that only served to illuminated the mountain of dust everywhere. The apartment didn't even look lived in. There were no clothes anywhere, no dishes, no sort of decorations, nothing.

Danny seemed undeterred by any of this and happily pranced into a room off to the right. Tim followed him as Bruce stayed behind to look around more.

As he entered, Tim was relieved to find that at least this space looked lived in albeit barely. The bed had Superman themed sheets on it and there was a backpack leaning against the closet. The bed also had a blanket laying on top of it which Danny ran to and grabbed. He came back over to show Tim.

"This is my most precious thing!" he explained excitedly. "My friend gave it to me. Feel it! It's super soft."

Tim knelt down and felt the blanket which was black and had stars all over it. "You're right," he said. "It really is soft." Danny beamed. "Told ya!"

Tim smiled at the boy's obvious excitement despite his less than stellar living arrangements. Just then, Bruce called for him. Tim returned to the main room with Danny in tow, still clutching onto his blanket.

Bruce turned to him and handed him a piece of paper with an unreadable expression. The paper had cursive scrall on it that simply read, Take care of him my knights.

Danny looked up at them both curiously and Tim just sighed. So much for this being a quick drop off.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

What are your thoughts and the same-face-syndrome Oda has going on with Nami, Vivi, Rebecca, and Shirahoshi?

Oda is kind of a frustrating artist in this regard, as he is in many regards.

Because on the one hand he demonstrates, to a greater extent than almost any of his peers, the ability to design interesting, varied, creative, compelling and fun characters, with a huge variety in presentation and body type, and without the dehumanizing distancing that a lot of artists employ when depicting non-normative bodies.

Charlotte Lola for example, one of my favourites, is a character who is extremely caricatured, and depicted as stocky, broad, and rough around the edges, with a missing tooth and odd proportions. But the story consistently treats her interiority with respect and depicts her as complex and interesting beyond her sillier surface traits.

... and then up AGAINST that you have the Infinite Leggy Busty Beauty Brigade, which includes Nami, Robin, Carrot, Pudding, Doll, Domino, Boa Hancock, Vivi, Kalifa, Shakuyaku, Alivda, and on and on and on and on.

And it's this frustrating binary where Oda seems to know exactly ONE way to visually present feminine beauty: thin, curvy, busty, with long legs and a round face, and he repeats it over and over and over again like his only two modes of design are either Copy Paste Pin-Up or Crazy Caricature.

The same face syndrome comes out of that, I think. Because the gamut of what A Beautiful Woman™ can look like in One Piece is so narrow and has so few traits available to it, repetition becomes inevitable.

And idk if this is just Oda's personal indulgence, maybe he just draws the kinds of women he's attracted to, and fair enough I guess, people have the right to be self-indulgent in their art, but it is consistently one of his biggest weaknesses as an artist and designer that he just can't seem to stop reproducing the same hot babe design over and over again.

I will say that Oda is not noticeably any worse in this regard than most anime and manga - copy pasted normative bodies with same-face syndrome is the norm, not the exception, especially for female characters. And that doesn't make it not a flaw in Oda's work, just a flaw that should be understood and assessed within its context, where Oda's repetitive babes are (at least in my opinion) still more distinct and interesting than how most of the industry treats its Hot Babe characters visually.

Still wish he would incorporate, like, ONE new idea for what a beautiful woman can look like, though.

[grandlinedreams]

|| [AS!reader Masterlist]

|| warnings: as!reader, semi reader-centric from Az's viewpoint, more detail to pre-Cauldron meeting, protective Nesta, mentions of previous pieces to this series, little touch of angst, fluff, starfall!fic, mating bond, suggestive, nsfw: piv, unprotected sex (make informed decisions, kids!), soft sex, fingering]

The first time Azriel meets you, you're human. Painfully mortal but beautiful, even for the wary way you watch him from beside your sisters.

He thinks you may orbit closer to how Elain views it all, frightened rather than combative, no teeth on display like Nesta. But you do not shy away, nor do you lash out ㅡ you simply watch. You don't speak, but the protective shift of Nesta, other side of your fair coin, says enough.

He hears you for the first time, however, before they depart. You stand a few feet away, watching him before your lips part.

"For what it's worth," you tell him, "Feyre looks happier now. Happier than she ever was with us." You pause. "I'm glad."

The second time that Azriel sees you, it's as you're being thrown into the Cauldron. You fight much like your sisters, but you still go under ㅡ and reemerge as something you'd never wanted to be.

And just like that, you're launched into Azriel's life with all the force and grace of a shooting star.

"Guess what?"

From the way Cassian is grinning at him, Azriel isn't sure that he wants to know. There are a thousand reasons for him to be looking like that, all amused mischief as his eyes gleam.

"What," he says, weary as Cassian throws an arm around his shoulders.

"Mor told [Name] about how Starfall is coming up," his brother says and while his tone is conversational, there's smug edge to it that makes Azriel want to punch him.

"And?" He prompts, pulling free of Cassian's grip to avoid giving into that temptation.

"Come on," Cassian goads, "it'd be the perfect time to tell her about the mating bond." When Azriel tenses, Cassian gives him a look. "Everyone knows, Az. We can all tell."

The Illyrian doesn't blush outright, but color blooms a little on his cheeks as he counters roughly, "Everyone but [Name]."

Cassian's smile dims. "Well, yeah. But if you told herㅡ"

"No." Azriel's tone is quiet but sharp. "I won't do that to her." He won't force you, refuses to. You've already had so much taken from you, decided for you ㅡ he won't be the one to add more.

He's content with what he has with you now, truly ㅡ even though there have been several instances this last week alone where he's wanted to do nothing but kiss you.

He's waited this long, after all ㅡ what's a little more?

Despite being your twin, it isn't often that Nesta indulges in anything particularly affectionate with you ㅡ so when she offers to braid your hair for Starfall, you accept.

Sitting down in the chair before the vanity in your room, you watch her pluck your brush from the counter before you speak.

"Hey, Nes?" You wait for her soft sound of acknowledgement. "You and Cassian are mates, right? Like Feyre and Rhysand?"

"Yes," she answers slowly, watching you in the mirror ㅡ trying to figure out what you're trying to get at as she sets the brush down and begins finger combing through your hair. "Why?"

Your gaze drops from hers to your fingers, brow furrowing in thought about how to tread forward. "...What...what did the bond feel like?"

Her fingers still in your hair for a moment, and you can feel her gaze on you. Weighing, assessing ㅡ wondering why you're asking. Your gaze doesn't leave your hands. The fingers through your hair resume, sectioning it out.

"I don't know how to put it," she says quietly, quieter than you've ever seen your sister be as she begins plaiting your hair. You lapse into silence, watching her. For all her sharp edges, she's just as beautiful as she's always been ㅡ and you understand why Cassian loves her as fiercely as he does.

She sweeps the braid off your neck, winds it into an elaborate halo the same shade as her own ㅡ pinned into place by a handful of pearl-head pins.

"Like coming home," Nesta finally says, and your eyes lock. "It felt like coming home."

In the countless centuries that he's been alive, Azriel genuinely doesn't think he's ever seen anything as beautiful as you are.

You turn as he approaches, and he forgets how to breathe for a second, heart stuttering in his chest. Silhouetted against the night sky, your dress shimmers like liquid starlight ㅡ but his eyes flick to your earrings, the necklace that rests against your collarbone. Both are deep blue ㅡ the same shade as his siphons, his Starfall gift to you.

He tries not to read into it, even for the way it sends his heart beating faster at the idea of the subtle claim to you.

"There you are," you say as he approaches, "I was waiting for you."

"I was looking for you," he counters, smile tugging at his lips as you answer with your own, and when he reaches the railing of the balcony, you slip to stand beside him. "Not one for parties?"

"Not really," you admit. It'd taken a hearty glass of wine from Mor to keep you from changing your mind and hiding in your room ㅡ and even now, the slow sweep of Azriel's eyes over you makes nerves buzz beneath your skin.

Turning away for a moment, you pluck the neatly wrapped parcel from beside you and present it to him, trying to keep your voice steady. "This is for you."

Azriel blinks and then reaches to take it from you, paper crinkling beneath his fingers. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," you say, trying not to think of the other parcel still on your bed, neatly tied with a bow. Instead, you busy yourself with watching as Azriel tugs the paper free carefully, popping the box open.

It's a sheath. Made of dark to match his fighting leathers, polished metal clasps wink dully in the light, and words are tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

"It's for Truth-teller," you say, resisting the urge to wring your hands, "I saw some like it at a shop and went in to ask if it'd be possible to make one custom."

Hope sparks in Azriel's veins, sings at the fact you had it made especially for him. "It's beautiful," he murmurs. "Thank-you."

Relief floods you, but you're not done yet. You exhale softly, steeling yourself. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

Azriel stills.

"I'm still adjusting to all of...this," you say, gesturing vaguely, "but it's been easier for me, because of you. I appreciate what you've done for me. And I ㅡ I'm not sure if I really understand the whole concept of mates, but.." You can feel his attention on you, unfaltering as you force yourself to meet his eyes. "You make me feel safe in ways nobody else has, and I ㅡ I love you, Azriel."

Azriel stares at you. And for one horrifyingly too-still moment, you think he's going to reject you. That you're wrong, that the pull you've felt has been all you ㅡ and then he's kissing you.

His hands, scarred and just as beautiful as the rest of him, cup your face gently as you lean into him with wordlessly eager curl of your own fingers into his shirt.

Idly, Azriel notes that the stars have begun their yearly descent, but neither it nor the sweet strains of music matter when your lips are so soft against his.

"We are," he murmurs against your mouth when he finally convinces himself to pull away, wiping at the tears that slip from your eyes. "Mates. I've known for a while."

You blink up at him. "How long have you known?"

He thumbs at the soft plush of your cheek. "Since that first time I took you for a flight at night."

Your lips tremble. "Oh," you say. "Oh."

And then you're crying again, and Azriel is all too happy to kiss every single tear away.

If he died right now, he'd die content.

You're against him in the way he's only allowed himself to dream about, face tucked into his neck and breathing steady, heartbeat a perfect match for his.

Gone is your dress, draped against a chair in your room, swapped for the comfort of a sweater of his, black material that drapes to your mid thigh and wreaths you in his scent. The earrings and necklace have stayed, and he'd be lying if he said it doesn't feed into that instinctive, territorial need.

"Still have something for you," you mumble, half-asleep lilt to your tone that makes him squeeze you to him tighter before he relents, letting you pull away from him.

"You're going to spoil me," he says, and you huff a soft laugh.

"Maybe you deserve to be," you answer with a gentle tug to that bond, one that he answers in kind. You return with a small box, presenting it to him with the glimmer of starlight in your eyes as he sits up.

The ribbon wound around it is also blue, a touch that makes his lips quirk before he's opening it. Nestled in the middle is a tiny tart of flaky crust and mixed berries, sugar sprinkled carefully over it.

"I was told that I had to offer you food to show that I accepted the bond," you say, quiet as you watch him pull the tart from the box. "Hopefully it tastes as good as it looks?"

Azriel blinks. "You made this?"

You nod. "Before everything," you say, voice quiet, "when we were still...I used to sneak down to the kitchen and watch the cooks."

Azriel brings the tart to his lips. It's sweet, the crust crisp ㅡ but more than that, he lives for the way your eyes light up, the happiness that vibrates down the bond and magnifies his own.

He swears he'll do whatever he has to in order to keep seeing that beautiful smile of yours.

"Come here," he murmurs, opens his arms for you as you crawl back onto the bed to fold yourself back against him ㅡ and then his fingers are under your chin, tilting your head up for a kiss.

Kissing Azriel is something that you're absolutely certain that you'll never get tired of. The kiss deepens, and he tastes of berries and sugar, making your head spin more than wine ever has.

The creep of his fingertips against your bare legs makes you shiver and press into him, soft noise leaving your lips. Azriel's hands curl against your legs for a moment before he's kissing you harder, a little rougher ㅡ and then he's turning, pressing you into your bed as his mouth leaves yours.

The work of his teeth against your pulse makes you jolt with a soft moan, and you're squirming by the time he pulls away to look at his handiwork, pupils almost engulfing his iris. "Beautiful," he rasps, and you reach to pull him back against you.

Your fingers slip beneath his shirt to span against toned muscle and warm skin, delighting in every twitch and shiver you get as you explore.

There are slots in it to allow his wings, and you slip your hands free so that he can remove his shirt before you're touching him again. Your fingers trace the dark whorls of ink over his shoulders, following the delicate curls until he's pinning your arms above your head.

"If you keep touching me like that," he tells you, "I'm going to lose my mind."

Slotted between your legs, you can feel the hard press of him against your inner thigh, and he groans when you arch into him.

One hand keeps your wrists above your head as the other shoves the material of his sweater up, pulling until he's tossing it over the edge of the bed.

The soft sound he gets when he palms at your breast makes him wonder if he can come from just your noises alone ㅡ and then he's mouthing at your ribs, kissing against your navel and then back up to your lips.

The kiss is deceptively sweet for how he pairs it with the slip of his hand between your legs, groaning at the abundant arousal that wets his fingers.

A choked moan leaves your lips as he slides a finger into you, the pulsing clamp of your walls around the intrusion as your brow knits, hips jerking against the exploratory thrust of his digit, soon joined by a second.

You pant as he works you open, the curl and spread of Azriel's fingers making you writhe as pleasure pools in your lower belly.

Azriel doesn't miss a thing, taking in every little twitch of your body, the sounds that you make ㅡ committing it all to memory. It's all far better than what he'd imagined, and his name has never sounded better than when it spills from your lips as you tighten around his fingers.

He eases you through the pleasure that sweeps over you, murmuring such soft praise into your skin that your chest aches. His fingers slip out of you, your whine of protest cut short by the way he kisses you soundly.

There's the gentle coax of your legs to part them a little further ㅡ and then he's bare against you, nudging at your slick folds before he sinks into you.

Light sparks at your fingertips, calmed by the slot of Azriel's fingers between yours, pushing them down into the bed beside your head as his hips roll against yours.

Azriel takes his time with you. He keeps his pace steady and languid, the creak of the bed beneath you and your shared moans a quiet symphony he wants to hear for eternity.

Your pleasure crests a second time with the warmth of his mouth at your breast and this time you take him with you, the hot spill of him making you whine his name ever so sweetly.

He takes you two more times after that, finishing with you splayed out over him, your backdrop the night sky beyond your window as you put all the stars to shame.

[arc-misadventures]

What are those

Winter " weiss mom wants me to marry jaune

All the girls who do want to marry him hug winter " welcome sister

Weiss 😱

The Dragons Dowery

Weiss: Ughhh… Gods that was a nightmare…

Yang: Yeah, that was… That was a mess…

Ruby: Going to have some words with, Blake. She… she…

Yang: Has no chill?

Ruby: Yeah, that… How did this all happen? I was too busy trying not to get attacked by crazed faunas that I forgot.

Weiss: Jaune said he eats dust, I wanted to test that out, and then he started belching up fire. Apparently, the quality of, Dust made by the, Schnee Dust Company is considered… cheap to his literal taste.

Yang: Cheap? What do you mean by cheap?

Weiss: I… I don’t know. When he started hacking, and belching out fire, and when he had a chance to speak all he said was that my father was a, ‘cheap bastard.’

Ruby: So, he thinks the dust is of poor quality? What does that mean?

: Mr. Arc considers the, Dust made by the, SDC to be of poor quality. As is it unrefined in his opinion. Therefore it… tastes rancid…

Ruby: Huw? Who are you?

Weiss: Winter; You’re here?!

Winter: Hello, Weiss it’s nice to see you again.

Yang: Is this your aunt, Weiss?

Weiss: Aunt? No this is my older sister, Winter Schnee. Why did you think she was my aunt?

Yang: She’s taller, older, has breasts…

Weiss: Hey!

Yang: She’s the complete opposite to you, so I thought you were family, just not siblings.

Winter: That is a fair assessment.

Weiss: Winter?!

Ruby: Hello! I’m Ruby, Ruby Rose leader of, Team RWBY!

Winter: Ruby of, Team RWBY?

Ruby: Yeah… even I get confused at times too…

Yang: Well, I’m Yang Xiao Long! This little gremlins cool hot older sister, nice to meet you!

Winter: Pleasure. There should be four members, where is the fourth member of your team?

Weiss: Our fourth member is, Blake Belladonna, and she is… somewhere…? I don’t know where she is, last time I saw her she was trying to linch me because she thought I tried to kill, Jaune.

Winter: And… why did she try to do that?

Weiss: Blake is a faunas, and she’s part of the more… fanatic devotees towards my friend, Jaune Arc.

Winter: I suppose it has to deal with him being this supposed, ‘Dragon King?’

Weiss: That’s more, or less it.

Ruby: So, what brings you here, Winter?

Winter: Mother, and I came at the request of your summons.

Yang: Summons?

Ruby: Are you talking about the time, Weiss yelled at your dad to get her diamonds checked?

Winter: Yes, Weiss wanted, Mr. Arc to authenticate the authenticity of our family’s family jewels.

Yang: Was that a correct sentence?

Ruby: The auto correct says so.

Weiss: And, how did the grading go?

Winter: Well… two thirds of them are fake…

Weiss: Eh…?

Winter: A fact that, Mr. Arc proved by eating the fakes…

Ruby: He ate them?

Winter: Even mother’s engagement ring was a fake, to which he proved by eating it.

Yang: Ouch.

Winter: But, based upon what, Mr. Arc said, the person father bought these diamonds from was an infamous swindler specializing in fake diamonds.

Weiss: Oh… Well, I guess that’s okay…

Winter: And, Mom offered the, Schnee Diamond as a dowery for, Jaune.

Weiss: Eh…?

Ruby: The what?

Yang: The Schnee Diamond? The hell is that?

Weiss: It’s our family’s heirloom; My grandfather, Nicolas Schnee found it decades ago during a mining expedition when he was founding the SDC. He named it after our family to be a moniker of our family’s legacy. Ha… you know it’s actually funny…

Ruby: What’s funny?

Weiss: All the diamonds my father acquired were fakes, and yet our grandfather’s diamond has more valuable than anything father could ever hope to acquire.

Winter: Fufufu~! That is quite funny.

Weiss: But, wait… Mom offered it as a dowery… F-For whose hand…?

Winter: …

Winter: M-My hand…

Weiss: W-W-What?!

Yang: Seriously?

Ruby: Congratulations!

Weiss: Ruby?!

Ruby: What?

Weiss: No, I… Okay, no… W-What did you say about all of this? No! What did, Jaune say about all of this, because based upon what he said, I will kill him!

Winter: Well… he was inspecting the, Schnee Diamond when, Mother made this offer. And, well… he seemed highly conflicted.

Yang: Was it because of, Jaune’s obsession of precious stones?

Winter: I would believe so. He seemed genuinely interested in accepting mother’s offer, but he eventually put the diamond back into its case, and shook his head. Jaune then told my mother that while he was genuinely tempted to accept her offer, it would remain my decision to accept this marriage proposal. And, that he wouldn’t accept anything until he learned more about me. Considering at most he knew about was that I was, Weiss’s older sister, and that I was more… full bodied than her. Whatever that meant.

Yang: I think he was talking about how, Weiss is flat, and you have booba.

Weiss: I am not flat!

Winter: Oh… that makes sense…

Ruby: So… you want to marry, Jaune?

Winter: …

Winter: Because of my position in the, Atlas Military I never thought about marriage. But, now that it has been presented before me as it has… Well… I am uncertain of how to react to all of this.

Yang: Probably should get to know, Jaune before you think of marriage then.

Winter: That would be an appropriate option to take. Should I ask him on an outing to get to know him then?

Yang: A date?

Winter: Yes, a date. Do you think he’d prefer dining at the, Chatou Chriteline?

Ruby: They serve food there right?

Winter: It’s a restaurant, the most famous high class one in all of, Vale. Have you not heard of it?

Yang: Lady, do we look like high class, hoty toty kind of gals?

Winter: Well…?!

Weiss: Don’t answer that.

Winter: Very well then…

Ruby: You could ask, Jaune’s girlfriends for help.

Winter: G-Girlfriends…? He already has a girlfriend?

Weiss: He has two actually…

Yang: And, if I play my cards right he’ll have three~!

Winter: You want to become a part of his… His…!!

Yang: Harem? Hell yeah I do~!

Winter: But, why?

Yang: I’m in love with the blond goofball. What more needs to be said?

Winter: You’re in love with him…?

Yang: Yeah. I can give you a list of reasons why, but all that matters really is that I love him.

Winter: Is that really all that matters…?

Yang: …

Yang: What are you asking?

Winter: I’m asking if you love him.

Yang: No, you’re not asking me that.

Ruby: What is she asking you, Yang?

: You should ask, ‘Have you ever been in love before?’

: She’s an, Atlasian. I doubt they understand the concept of love.

Winter: What? Who are you?

: Hello~! I’m Pyrrha Nikos, and I am, Jaune’s, First Chosen.

: Hi there pretty lady~! My name is, Coco Adel, his, Second Chosen.

Weiss: What are you two doing here?

Pyrrha: Yang texted me about the dowry. And, we decided to see who actually managed to get, Jaune’s attention.

Coco: And, I must say, Jaune has impeccable taste~!

Winter: Actually my mother put me up for this whole arranged marriage by offering him a dowery he couldn’t deny, well, barely could deny. This whole thing wasn’t my idea.

Pyrrha: Yeah, he’s been dealing with that a lot lately.

Winter: I’m willing to believe that. But, I must ask, what did the two of you mean by, ‘Chosen?’

Pyrrha: Oh it’s just a name we were given by the faunas because we were the… the… the first that…

Coco: The first girls that, Jaune fucked~!

Pyrrha: Yeah, that…

Winter: Y-You’ve slept with him?

Pyrrha: Yes we have.

Coco: Several times.

Pyrrha: We’ve slept with each other actually.

Coco: The future threesome we will have will be legendary~!

Pyrrha: Hopefully we won’t be walking out with a limp next time.

Coco: You kidding? The limp is the best part!

Yang: How good of a limp is it?

Coco: Why spoil the surprise~?

Weiss: Stop it. I don’t want to hear this. You can have your perverted sex lives all you want. I just don’t want to hear you explain it to me. Also, you broke, Ruby.

Yang: What?

Ruby: Bwhaaaaaaaaaaaaa…

(Thud!)

Yang: RUBY?!

Pyrrha: Oops…

Coco: Ha! Blushing virgin.

Pyrrha: So… are you interested in dating, Jaune, Winter?

Winter: Well… to be honest, as you guessed I never dated before… or, be interested in anyone romantically. So, I don’t know…

Pyrrha: That’s fair, I’ve never been in love until I met, Jaune. And, after we first met I fell head over heels for him on the spot.

Winter: You’ve never been in love until after you met him?

Pyrrha: Nope. I’ve had plenty of famous people, and the like come on to me, but they never sparked anything in me. They were all just trying to use me to their advantage in one form, or the other. But, then I met someone who knew nothing about me, relied on me for who I am, and not who appeared to be. I’m more happy now than I have ever been since I met him, and becoming his girlfriend has made me more happy than I could ever imagine.

Winter: But, are you okay with… sharing him?

Pyrrha: I was hesitant at first, but the benefits of being part of a harem are quite… enticing~!

Winter: They are?

Coco: Ignore her, unless you want to hear something juicy~?

Winter: I would rather not.

Weiss: Me as well.

Yang: Well I would!

Coco: Later, hot stuff. So, tell me; are you interested in dating, Jaune, or would you prefer to brush this all aside, and forget this all happened?

Winter: …

Winter: I am willing to… investigate the possibility of a relationship if that is possible…

Weiss: You can’t be serious, Winter?

Winter: Have… have you ever seen a person, and thought, ‘what if?’

Weiss: I have…

Winter: Did you ever try to find out what, ‘what if’ could become?

Weiss: I have, and honestly I regretted trying to.

Winter: Then would you have regretted trying to, or never trying, Weiss?

Weiss: …

Weiss: Haa… I would have regretted never trying… Go… Go, and see if things could work between you two.

Winter: Thank you, Weiss.

Coco: Then come with us beautiful, and let us tell you all about our little dragon~!

Pyrrha: Little? Coco, honey, what part about, Jaune is little?

Coco: Good point.

Winter: I would prefer to learn more about his personality, habits, interests, and the like, before… before learning about those things.

Coco: Probably for the best if we do so.

Pyrrha: We wouldn’t want to scare her away now doubt we?

Coco: You coming along, Yang? Certainly you’ll want to hear this~!

Yang: Hell yeah I do!

Winter: I’ll see you later, Weiss. Shall we have dinner together later?

Weiss: I would love to, Winter. Have fun you… (Pa-Ping~!) Oh, Jaune just sent me a text.

Weiss: …

Weiss: W-What the hell…?

Pyrrha: What’s wrong, Weiss?

Weiss: ‘Weiss! Save me! Your mom is trying to seduce me, and it’s working! Save me before I do something I will (Slightly?) regret! Help!’

Coco: W-What…?

Pyrrha: Your mother is trying to seduce, Jaune… Why?

Yang: And, it’s working…?

Winter: How would I know?

Ruby: …

Ruby: Uhh… aren’t you going to go save, Jaune?

Weiss: Huw?

Winter: Beg pardon?

Ruby: Jaune just called for your help, are you two going to go save him, or are you going to let your mother sleep with your friend, and your, potential, husband?

Weiss: …

Winter: …

Weiss: Well… It’s, Jaune.

Winter: He seems like a pretty nice guy.

Weiss: And, the message he sent shows he doesn’t want to do it.

Winter: But, Mother is trying to seduce him, and succeeding… somehow.

Weiss: Mom sleeping with my friend just sounds wrong.

Winter: Not as bad as the thought of Mother sleeping with Father…

Weiss: I feel like throwing up just thinking about it…

Winter: Is that why she trying to seduce him, to have… to have a good time?

Weiss: Possibly, Pyrrha, and Coco gloat constantly on how good he is in bed. Maybe, Mom wanted to see that for herself.

Ruby: Uhh… Are you two trying to justify, Jaune sleeping with your mother?

Weiss: Uhh…

Yang: Sounds like you’re gonna let him bang your mom.

Winter: Well…

Ruby: Do you want, Jaune to sleep with your mom…?

Weiss: …

Winter: …

WW: Well…

[pygmi-cygni]

greed - marc spector

Greed - selfish desire for money, status or power

So this is in part inspired by @missdictatorme's post here but is also part of my Seven Sins series

have we all seen the tinkerbell gif? do y'all know what that is? you should. if you don't you're too young to be here.

ANYWAY.

cw: guess. spanking, sex, angry sex - not hate sex, marc is just Aggressive, 18+, reader is an avatar for Ra, afab reader, face riding, semi-public sex.

*i made reader small just because of the fairy thing but that doesn't mean 'skinny' it just means proportionally small. this is too many disclaimers just read it xox

He hated asking for help. God, it burned his skin alive to bow down to that level. It felt like he was a grumpy child asking for help with his shoelaces. But even Marc knew it had to be done. This mission was too big to be done alone.

He met your eagerness with cruelty. Refusing to look you in the eye, Marc barked orders and beckoned you into the fight. As an avatar of Ra, you had quite the arsenal for tricks and weapons. Marc didn't want to admit, but it was pretty damn impressive.

With the effortless grace of a dancer, you swept the feet out from another assailant, swinging your mantle expertly into his face.

Marc stumbled back, watching you dance around your opponents, face serene as dawn.

Oh shit-

A man came up behind you, too fast for you to catch. Marc lurched forward too slow, and the man's fist collided with your shoulders. Buckling, you collapsed in a pool of gold shimmer, radiating out from the point of impact.

Huh. Marc filed that away for later, scooping you up and slamming the assassin's face into a stone wall. The man collapsed, surrounding himself in irony crimson sludge.

You would be fine, but Marc still propped you up, pulling off his mask to inspect you for injuries. Catching your breath, you wheezed a grin.

"You...you didn't say you were pretty," you coughed around a laugh, winking at him with your good eye.

Marc flickered a grin, ignoring the way his cheeks heated. A subtle warmth radiated off of you - the heat of Ra's healing rays at work. He subconsciously pressed closer, drinking in the heat. Your breathing had evened, dark eyes watching his with interest. He looked away, shifting back. The luster of your strong arms was intensely preoccupying his mind. It made you pearlescent, glowing in the moonlight.

Sun and moon, two peas in a pod.

He was delirious. Mumbling something about needing bandages, Marc fled, sweeping off into the night sky. He felt the warmth of your gaze burning his back for hours later. Stumbling into the kitchen, he didn't wait to undress before fisting himself furiously to the vision of your halo, crying into his hand.

Every fight, you danced the waltz of tension. The rope twisted and knotted tighter each time, heated gazes now molten magma in your eyes. Marc had his fair share of sinister fantasies, jaw aching with the urge to bite into your neck.

He thought back to the shimmering halo that enveloped you after each hit. He could make you shine brighter than anything.

Hot, heavy lust pounded thickly as he ran, feeling like weight dragging at his heels. His core was roiling, twisting his gut so hard he almost groaned a release in the middle of the alley. The fight was over, you'd parted ways with a slow, coy wink and a flourish of shimmering breeze. The scent of linen and honey coated his mouth like a drug, making logic feel floaty and detached.

Marc shuddered against a wall, growling loudly. He sucked in lungfuls of soiled London air, wishing that it was your smell. Panting, he tried to shut out the building arousal.

"O-oh fuck," he gritted out, flexing his hands against the mossy wall.

Something gently rustled his hair, sweet air swirling around his nose.

"You," he breathed, stumbling towards the end of the alley. Your concerned expression met his.

"I heard you," were the frantic words out of your mouth, assessing him for damage, "are you-"

Marc slammed you against the wall, mouth snarling over yours. A surprised yowl was swallowed by his urgency. You moaned weakly, hands shoving at his chest. Quickly, you relented, sinking into the wet heat of his mouth. He licked and sucked at your tongue, drinking in every noise and breath you made. That familiar heat was rising around your skin, making his spine prickle with lust.

"Need," he gasped, groaning into your neck, "off-"

His strong arms bracketed you against wet brick while he dug his fingers under your wraps, cupping your center with a moan. You rocked gently, eyes wide at the cresting feeling of his fingertips on your wetness.

Marc smiled slowly, greed burning alongside his lust. He watched your expression shift as he softly stroked your folds, shuddering into waterfalls of pleasure. A shimmer flickered around you, enhancing the flush that decorated your cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, watching as you rocked harder, whining into his neck. "I know, almost there."

Marc took another bite of your neck, suckling the fragranced skin. His own need surged strongly, forcing his hips to roll against yours. The dripping heat of you squeezed at his fingers, the suckling sensation enough to destroy the last of his dignity.

Ignoring the public view of this debacle, Marc shoved his fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back at your honey that dripped onto his suit. You were a wreck, heaving and mewling in his arms. He bucked against you, wrenching his cock free. Your eyes widened at the size, and he took a moment to bask in your awe.

Without warning he sheathed himself smoothly, drawing a long moan from your ruined throat. Hot, thick, saccharine pleasure slurred through his delirious mind. Marc thrust up, reveling in the feeling of your cunt. You molded to him perfectly, the soft pink of your walls clenching and fluttering divinely.

"Good, good, good holy ff-fuck-" Marc purred in your ear, shoving you back against a stack of crates. You sighed in pleasure, a cascade of gold shimmer landing on your collarbones. The heady scent of musk and sunlight further emboldened him. Pushing past the ache in his knees, Marc thrust harder, stroking against your depths with primal need.

You huffed and whined, pulsing another wave of shimmer. The lustful haze in your eyes glowed, dewy tears decorating your lashes.

You looked beautiful.

Marc rocked and groaned, hands fisting in your cloak. He couldn't stand - pulling you on top of him as he collapsed against the wet ground. You whimpered, riding him furiously. The halo of pleasure glowed hot and needy around you, warming his skin to boiling. The suit slipped away, revealing listening muscle beneath.

"More," you breathed, moaning brokenly when he slammed you down, hands crushingly tight against your thighs. "More-"

Marc felt his pleasure spiking up too fast, all too fast. He yanked you up, biting back a groan at the strings of slick dripping off his pulsing hard length. The cool night air stung against his sensitive cock, the cooling wetness prickling gooseflesh.

You whimpered protest, scrabbling to return to the heavenly fullness. He smacked your ass, delighting in the burst of glitter that ricocheted. Pulling you onto his face, he took a greedy mouthful of your syrupy mess, licking and sucking in your scent. Above him, you moaned louder, thighs clenching around his face.

Marc stuttered a whine as he felt your strength around his neck, thick tongue plunging deeper. He could feel everything, the wet gummy walls of your cunt trembling at each stroke. The musk that saturated his face smelled of honey and thick, hot summer. It glazed his eyes over, hips undulating into nothing.

His strong hands groped and grabbed at your ass, pulling the tender flesh as waves and waves of shimmer fell onto his skin.

"M...Marc," you stuttered, grabbing onto his hair. "Marc oh god."

A gushing wave of wet flooded his mouth. He refocused, lapping up every drop. The sinful glide of his tongue at your clit splintered heat up your spine, arcing and bucking your spine. You whined high and sharp, riding his face until he shoved you off, mumbling incoherently.

You quivered and sighed, laying in a pool of golden pleasure. Marc had ignored the ache in his core too long. Pawing you back under him, he slowly sank into your freshly soaked cunt, smiling lazily with the overwhelming heat. He felt drunk, rutting into your heat, focused on nothing but pleasure and drawing as much of your beautiful reactions as he could.

Chest heaving with every punching thrust, you hiccupped and whimpered, pleading for mercy with your eyes.

"Good girl," he groaned," good girl, taking it all, good girl." Another moan tore from his throat.

"Give me more."

His demand was insistent, and you swallowed nervously, trying to think past the hypnotizing pace of his hips over yours.

"Wh-what?" you asked, voice high and thin. Marc growled, shoving into you harder, hand wrenching you over onto your stomach.

"Give it all," he spat, smacking your ass harshly. You cried out, shuddering back into his punishing pace. That divine heat spiked higher, another wave of shimmer blanketing the dewy skin of your back. Marc groaned in satisfaction, palm colliding with your supple ass again. He groped you, massaging the flesh and rubbing the shine hard into your skin.

"Sl-slow down," you panted, "slow down I can't breathe ah Marc-"

He folded himself over you, slamming you into the street. Asphalt burned into your cheek as he rutted heavy and hard, hot mouth sucking at your neck. The growls he bit back vibrated against your back. You could feel him harden even more, thrusts becoming shallow and messy.

He needed to see it, needed the proof of your submission. More of the glowing, hot warmth, that sucked him in like a whirlpool and spat him out in a wave of shining dust.

Flecks of gold had rubbed into his skin with the friction. Greedily he smacked you again, grabbing a fistful of your soft flesh.

Slick flooded out of you, slipping obscenely against his length. With a last stuttering whine, Marc spilled into you, bucking and whimpering into your overheated skin. His mouth was insistent and hot, suckling at your jaw. Once the shrieking orgasm had calmed, he settled for mouthing aimlessly, drinking up your pleasured warmth.

Ra's heavenly light basked on your face, blissfully dazed and listless.

The cold night settled over the two of you, intertwined against the wet stones. Marc shakily pushed to his knees, pulling out of you with an obscenely foul sound. You quivered, trying to recollect your thoughts.

Marc gazed down at the mess you had become. Drenched in sweat, cum and golden light, he could feel himself harden again.

A dark voice purred in his ear.

My turn, cabron?

*deep breath* AAAAGHHH I NEED TO EAT HIM

tags: @krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @sharin4readers

comment to join xox

[bi-panicatthedisco]

Random incorrect twst first-year quotes I saved

Deuce: Throw lamps at people who need to lighten up, and throw handles at someone who needs to get a grip!

Ace: Throw a refrigerator at someone who needs to chill!

Yuu: Throw scissors at someone who needs to cut it out!

Jack: Throw a clock at someone who needs to get with the times!

Sebek : Throw matches at someone who needs to get fired up!

Epel: Throw a brick at someone to kill them!

Yuu: Time for plan G.

Jack: Don’t you mean plan B?

Yuu: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties.

Epel: What about plan D?

Yuu: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.

Sebek : What about plan E?

Yuu: I’m hoping not to use it. Deuce dies in plan E.

Ace: I like plan E.

*when the Squad drops food*

Deuce: Eh, oh well.

Epel: FIVE-SECOND RULE!

Ace: FUCK!

Jack: *just gets more food*

Yuu: *drops to their knees and mourns the food*

Sebek : *eats the food off the ground*

*the Squad at Disneyland, in the teacups*

Sebek, Jack, and Deuce: *spinning a little and talking*

Epel, Ace, and Yuu: *flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming*

Epel: The floor is lava!

Jack: *helps Sebek onto the counter*

Ace: *kicks Deuce off the sofa*

Yuu: *lays on the floor*

Epel: ...Are you okay?

Yuu: No.

Jack: Man, they look like a real handful. How do you deal with them?

Yuu, watching Sebek screaming, Ace trying to set a sleeping Deuce on fire, and Epel choking on air: I don't know either.

Deuce: We need to distract these guys

Ortho: Leave it to me

Ortho: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.

Yuu, Ace, and Epel: *Immediately begin arguing*

Jack, watching in horror: Oh this. I don’t like this. I don't like this at all.

'Can I copy the homework?'

Ortho: I can help you with it!

Deuce: Yeah, sure.

Yuu: Bold of you to assume I did the homework.

Ace: lol nope.

Epel: Wait, we had homework?!?!?!

Jack: *Read 5:55pm*

Yuu: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat?

Ortho: >:O language

Deuce: Yeah watch your fucking language

Epel: OKAY WHO TAUGHT DEUCE THE FUCK WORD?

Ace: 'The fuck word'.

Sebek: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time

Deuce: Oh my god they censored it

Epel: Say fuck, Sebek.

Ace: Do it, Sebek. Say fuck.

Yuu: Well, aren’t you all a rag-tag group of adventurers with unclear goals and good hearts! Oh, let me guess: you’re out to save the world!

Jack: Well, actually, that sounds like a pretty fair assessment.

Deuce: More or less, I guess...

Ortho: That sounds awesome! Let’s do that!

Epel: I’m new here, but I am open to the concept.

Ace: I thought that’s what we were doing, guys, come on!

Yuu, walking into their house: Hello, people who do not live here.

Ace: Hey.

Deuce: Hi.

Jack: Hello.

Ortho: Hey!

Yuu: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only!

Epel: We were out of Doritos.

Ortho: Hewwo.

Ace: Hihiiiiii!

Sebek: Greetings, Humans.

Jack: Three kinds of people.

Deuce: I want pudding.

Jack: Four kinds of people.

Yuu: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS?

Jack: Five kinds of people.

Yuu: Would you slap Deuce-

Ace: Yes.

Yuu: I didn't even finish!

Ace: Sorry, continue.

Yuu: Would you slap Deuce for 10 dollars?

Ace: I would do it for free.

Deuce: Rude...

Epel: Remember, when burying a body, make sure to cover it with endangered plants so it’s illegal to dig up!

Epel: Make sure to follow me for more gardening tips!

Grim: Tomorrow’s the Cooking Contest. Yuu always tells me one thing every year. They say, “You might win if you’d stop eating your entry!” But how would I know whether it’s an award-winning dish without tasting it first? This may be a problem humanity will have to grapple with for eternity…

Ace: It’s funny how well you and Sebek get along. Didn’t they hate you at first?

Yuu: Sebek hates everybody at first. It’s their way of reaching out to people.

Deuce: Where's Epel?

Yuu: Don't worry, I'll find them.

Yuu, shouting: Jack sucks!

Epel , distantly: Jack is the best person ever! Fuck you!

Yuu: Found them.

Yuu: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone.

Grim : Mine just says "Grim no."

Yuu: I want you to apply it to every possible situation.

Yuu: I have an idea.

Jack: A good idea?

Yuu: Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Ortho: You believe me?

Yuu: Ortho, you’re the last good person on this planet. I‘d believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning.

Yuu: I give up. I am so tired.

Ace: Get the emergency supply!

Ortho: *carries Grim and places them in front of Yuu*

Grim: *smiles*

Yuu: AND I AM BACK BABY, LET’S GOOO