#she has her module finally!

[stelladess]

Pretty hyped for the new event that got announced. Thorns is a character I have always liked but he has so little story content unfortunately, so getting more is nice. Also the pirate vibe to the event is good, I am also fond of "sandships" as a concept, plus you can see Elysium and Weedy down there on the deck.

Making Thorns the Lodestar an alchemist is a perfect choice, it is gonna be interesting to see how they handle his gameplay though. Tin Man is already a strong character often worth using over many of the strong 6 stars in the game, and now we get a 6 star of his subclass. So Thorns is either gonna have to be really really strong or a minor enough upgrade that resource management wise it will not be worth going for him over Tin Man. I expect the first to be the case, but that he is broken more in a Ines type way and less a Logos or Wis´adel type way.

Arts fighter modules is the modules I have waited the most for, mostly for Guardmiya. So that is very exciting too. Image contains the creepy rhombuses and also Theresa style thread so I think this might be kind of a mind blowing module story:

And since Guardmiya´s talent is pretty great even fairly minor buffs to it would be pretty big of a deal. So I think this might be a pretty great module overall, especially with how surprisingly big the buffs on Medicmiya´s module were.

Also I just really really love the design for Thorns new look:

The black and white and alchemy things almost gives me an Ex Astris vibe (Thorns designer also did the character designs for that game) which I am really into. It seems he might have done something to his right arm too? Curious to see where this leads.

[pedrasacorn]

Pairings: Jason x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, head injury

Summary: self indulgent,

“Hood—” your broken voice cuts through his adrenaline rush, echoing through the dark, damp alleyway.

He holsters his guns quickly, “Hey hey hey—hey sweetheart. Look at me.” He brushes the blood stained hair away from your eyes, “There she is…I gotchu sweet thing.” His voice feels so distant, morphed by the modulator in his helmet into something you don’t recognize.

Your eyes start to wander to the mess of blood. He blocks your sight with his body, “No…You of all people, don’t need to see that,” He cups your cheek, tilting your face up, “That’s not for you okay? You keep those eyes on me.”

He removes his gloves. Although his bare hands are clean, the blood is always there.

His fingertips barely touch your cheek, just enough to ground you.

The red of his helmet warps as tears blur your vision. He quickly swipes them away. “That scumbag is not worth your tears.”

His eyes follow your tears as they mix with the blood on your face. Not your blood. He grimaces.

God nothing bad should ever get the chance to touch you. Yet here he was with his palm cradling your face. He, is a hypocrite.

“I’m taking you to my safe house, s’that okay?”

Your throat feels too raw to speak. So you nod.

The world around you tilts, before strong arms wrap around your shoulders, “Easy there sweets, I gotcha.”

He scoops you up. This man who you’ve seen toss full grown men like rag dolls—still surprises you because you weigh nothing. You feel like you weigh nothing, but you’re not holding yourself. Wait he weighs…you to him weigh…you weigh to him like…which one of you weighs nothing?

“Jay I don’ feel good.” You croak.

“Shh I know sweetheart, I know. Almost home.”

You barely register being set down on the bathroom counter.

He unclips his helmet, and tosses it to the floor. Something stirs within when his green eyes meet yours.

“I saw it,” Your voice trembles as unshed tears choke you, “the blood.”

His brows are furrowed with concern, his full bottom lip is almost a pout. Angels above he has never looked softer. It helps sooth every bit of reluctance now that you can see his face again.

Your eyes feel heavy.

His thumb brushes over your brow, “Open those eyes f’me. Please…” You squint at him as he brings a small flashlight to your eye line.

You knew this one, you’d watched asmr videos of it.

“Concoction.”

He huffs through his nose, a smile lilting his mouth, pulling at the scar above his lip. “Concussion sweetness. Follow the light.”

You do so halfheartedly, not much of an overachiever right now. “S’con-cuntion?” Your tongue feels heavy, clumsy in your mouth.

“Yeah…s’okay though I’ve had plenty of my own. You’re staying here tonight.”

The cotton filling your brain makes your nod feel weightless.

A warm washcloth is brought your cheek, you lean into it happily letting it melt the bite of the cold alley still clinging to your skin. God you can’t remember the last time someone touched you like this.

“You with me pretty girl?” He croons, as he wipes the dried blood from your brow, and cheeks.

You nod, almost dazed.

Tears blur your vision, but he doesn’t try to stop you from crying, just patiently wipes them away with the cloth.

Contently closing your eyes you whisper, “Your hands are soft.”

He is careful not to wear his heart anywhere near his sleeve, and somehow you’ve coaxed him into wearing it on his face. “You’re soft.” He murmurs.

The blood is finally gone.

He sets you down on his bed, keeping you propped up on the bedpost, “Don’t lay down yet.” He coaxes.

You focus on the coolness of the wood, until the bed dips next to you.

“I’m gonna help you get dressed, in the least mortifying way for you possible. I’m so sorry but also…” his eyes rake over you, “I’m not letting you catch the disease that killed the dinosaurs.”

Touché. Who knows what Gotham has cooked up in her petri dish.

“S’okay, m’clothes feel gross.”

He nods curtly before oh so gently lifting your sweater over your head, quickly swapping it for his tshirt.

It smells good—like spring—but you wish he’d given you one off his back. It’d smell like him.

You hold up the shirt to keep it out of contact with your pants. As careful as diffusing a bomb he unbuttons them. “Lift your hips f’me.” He holds you steady, one hand on your hip as the other tugs them down your legs. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as you lean your body weight against him.

“Ya good like this? I have pants they’re just…large.”

You let the shirt back down, it thankfully falls past your hips. “M’okay.”

You’re weightless again as he lifts you, gently laying you on the mass of pillows.

“Oh hallelujah.” You sigh.

Something brushes your nose, you pry your eyes open to be met with his.

“Swallow these.” You wash the pills down with the bottle of water he presses against your lips.

“You’re gonna hate me for the next 24 hours.” He gently brushes the hair out of your eyes with his thumb.

“S’okay ’cause I love you even when I hate you.”

He huffs amusedly. It’s not the same love he feels for you, it can’t be.

“Yeah…I love ya too.”

———

A/n: I stayed up way too late so the concussion yapping is just me trying to figure out what I’m trying to say

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Jazz Fenton, after years of fixing her brother’s injuries, becomes a Doctor with an inclination towards behavioral health and psychology- In order to make the difference she wants to see in the world she joins Dr. Leslie Thompkin’s practice. 

Jazz Fenton, M.D. has spent years of her life doing research, doing the hard work and the emotional labor, and finally, finally, she’s joining a practice she can feel 100% confident in. She’s goddamn good doctor and she wants to make the biggest impact that she can. 

Dr. Thompkins (who insists that she call her Leslie as they’re colleagues now), is a kind woman, sharp as a tack and keeps her practice open at odd hours to help the most unfortunate. It took some time for them to bond and trust to be built, but now Jazz is being allotted a few night shifts here and there. 

It’s incredible. Jazz gets to spend time with the kids who come in and really talk to them (in addition to getting them antibiotics, heating pads and pokemon themed bandaids) to help equip them with a few coping skills. Her passion for psychology never disappeared after all, but the expansive knowledge of how to heal the human body has made her find a sense of fulfillment like no other.

Having proven herself and worn Leslie down, Jazz now takes up about 1/3 of all the night shifts in the month. She’s hoping to get to 50/50 by the end of the year but she’s content with what she has. Danny keeps odd hours anyway so calling him after work on her walk home can happen any time of day and he will always answer enthusiastically. 

It’s a particularly busy night before he comes in. The Red Hood. 

He was known for being an ally to Leslie, despite being on contentious terms with the Bats, but Jazz had never asked directly. Never one to turn away a patient with bullet hole wounds, she hops into action to get his wounds cleaned, sewed up and gauze wrapped. She’s handing him a sheet (an Infographic! Dani made it with her! Graphic design is her passion!) on how to care for his wounds when he first seems to recognize that she’s not Leslie. 

“No, Of course not. I’m Dr. Fenton. I can’t blame you for not remembering but I did introduce myself as you bled in the entry way. You’re Red Hood, right?” 

“Hm. Didn’t realize the practice was expanding. Where can I find-” He grumbles before pushing her hand aside from where she had still been supporting his shoulder.

“Hold on there, mister. You’re going home, you’re following this infographic and you’re going to get some sleep.” 

“Lady you don’t know-” His voice modulated ton came across antagonistically. As if he was trying to intimidate her. Ha, Jazz rolls her eyes at the inclination.

“Who I’m talking to? Who I’m dealing with? You’re hilarious. I can eat you vigilante’s hero complexes for breakfast. Tell me who I’m calling to pick you up and then you can say thank you.” Jazz snaps at him. It really had been a long night but his whole dialogue thus far is making her a bit batty. 

“Oh really Doc? You know Leslie’s tough shit, and from what I can tell you’ve got nothing on her-” 

“Trying to make me feel insufficient when I just saved your life? That’s cute. I’m sure a lifetime of abandonment by both of your parental figures gave you that. I’m also sure that you inherited this desire to prove you’re not going to be dependent on anyone who wants to help from whoever got you dressing up in tights to fight crime in the first place. Again, I’d love to talk at length about how predictable you-” 

“Bwah- wait- I’m Predictable? You’re probably some nepobaby who had parents who told her she could have the world-” But Jazz cuts him off with hysterical laughter- he couldn’t be further from the truth. Her parents loved her, but nepotism? With what, the ghosts? If anything she got that from Danny, but he doesn’t need to know about her ghostly titles. 

“You’re just some guy who came back from the dead and made his trauma everyone else’s issue. So shut it. And tell me how I’m getting you home from this clinic.” She seethes though her voice stays devastatingly level with each word. 

Speechless for a moment, he eventually relents to Jazz that he’s already called for help on the comms but it will be hours before they can come for a pick up. The sun had already come up and the night had been over for most of them before Hood had walked into trouble. She groans and the realizes the time for herself and the empty clinic around them.

“Fine. My shift just ended anyway. I’ll get you home in one piece and I swear to all the ancients that you’d better follow the directions on the infographic.” 

And that’s how Jazz ended up calling her brother while supporting the weight of a grown ass man (who no longer wanted to talk to her) on her walk home. 

The next time Red Hood appears in her clinic, he’s brought a dozen roses in addition to the cut on his neck that definitely needs to be pressurized like ASAP. Did he stop for the flowers on his way to the clinic? He’s going to pass out from blood loss! She doesn’t even like roses!

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part one)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

note i know most of my readers follow me for rafe fics so i hope y’all can bear with me indulging in a fluffy and angsty (and eventually spicy) summer romance with the sunshine character that is zach 🙂‍↕️ all my love to @juniebugg who inspired me to write about him ilysm 💘

» masterlist

Once you’re finally sitting down in the main lodge, a massive wooden cabin nestled in the center of the campground, you feel like you can take your first real breath since you arrived.

The morning was chaos. You made it to check-in just in time and met your cabin-mate Ami, who you learned is also new to the job.

Then, you quickly changed into your new bright orange staff t-shirt, which is so bright orange that it hurts to look at, and chatted with her as you rushed over for orientation.

Now, you’re settled on one of twelve wooden chairs facing the grand fireplace, set in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, which boast a cobalt blue lake under a cloudless sky.

Campers are set to arrive tomorrow morning and today is dedicated to preparation. You’ve already done countless training modules online before arriving, so today will be all about learning what’s left.

You hope you get a chance to explore the place before it starts teeming with preteens, because the photos on the camp website don’t do the grounds justice.

Your interviews were over video call and today is the first time you’re seeing the stunning campground in person. It’s stretched out on a wide expanse of greener-than-green pine trees, rustic buildings, and pristine soccer fields.

This job is your best case scenario for the summer. You can’t wait to spend seven weeks in one of the prettiest places you’ve ever seen and gain confidence in your athletic skills while coaching kids in your favorite sport.

As a center back on your college’s girls’ soccer team, you feel your best when you’re out on the pitch, but the pressure of the past school year was hard to navigate. You hope that teaching kids excited about soccer will remind you of why you like it so much.

As Zach sits in the front row, he notices the smell of this place never changes. It’s woodsy and brisk. It smells like comfort. But he’s pretty sure he’s biased. Camp Summit is sort of a haven to him and has been since he was a kid.

The chatter in the lodge has grown louder as more and more counselors settle into their seats, but once the camp directors walk up to the front, the noise wavers.

Tom and Ruby offer a kind welcome and then, like they do every year, quickly jump into training.

After two hours of going over the how-to’s on welcoming campers, facilitating activities, walkie-talkie etiquitte, and establishing rules, they announce that everyone can head to the dining hall for lunch.

“We won’t force you through any awkward icebreakers,” Tom says to the group, “so, we encourage you to get to know each other over lunch. We have a good mix of vets and newbies this year. We want you to be friends with your coworkers. But before you go…”

He looks over the room.

“We should mention,” the director continues, “that we have a strict policy against anything more. It can get unprofessional and inappropriate when counselors date each other.”

“Is that legal?” Ami whispers to you. “They can’t, like fire us for that, right?”

“You like someone already?” you amusedly ask your new friend.

“I might,” she says with a smile, her eyes on a dark-haired guy sitting ahead of you. You quietly laugh, glad you’re already so comfortable with the girl you’ll be bunking with.

“Aren’t you guys married to each other?” a girl behind you calls out.

The way that Tom and Ruby laugh tells you that they are, and that the counselor who shouted that must be a vet, already familiar enough with them to make comments like that.

“Yeah, but directors can do whatever they want,” Ruby jokes with a lighthearted shrug. You look down at their hands to see wedding rings. “In all seriousness, we hate having to enforce it, but please, no dating.”

Once counselors slowly rise out of their seats to go to lunch, your eyes land on a tall, messy-haired stranger standing at the front, who starts a conversation with the directors.

Maybe you shouldn’t tease your cabin-mate, because when you see his charming smile, you think you might have a crush of your own.

Tables are arranged in a neat grid in the dining hall, with a big buffet table prepared at the far wall.

You line up, noticing Ami a few people ahead, already striking conversation with the guy she pointed out to you.

You slowly inch forward with the line as counselors start to load their plates. You realize just how many people were in front of you when you get to the table and see one fork left.

You pick it up and turn to see only one person behind you. It’s the guy you noticed back at the lodge. His blue eyes sweep over your face. He’s even cuter up close.

“There’s only one left,” you say, holding out the fork with a small frown.

Zach stills when you look at him. You’re so pretty that it’s like he’s buffering. That’s the only way he can think to describe it.

You’re in the same orange shirt every other counselor is wearing and such a harsh color shouldn’t look this good on anyone, but it does on you. He reads your name-tag.

And then he realizes you said something. He completely missed it because he was too busy staring.

“What?” he asks.

Your eyes flit down to his name-tag hanging on his lanyard. Zach, in black marker, punctuated with a smiley face. His tag is worn and scratched up, a hard contrast to how new and shiny yours is.

“There’s only one fork left,” you clarify, a soft laugh in your tone. He looks dazed, a gentle crease between his brows, almost like he wasn’t expecting to see you even though you were standing directly ahead of him.

“Oh,” he says. He looks past you to the table, his lips screwing up. “It’s cool. You can have it.”

Zach gazes at you again, a smile on his face now that he’s feeling a bit more grounded.

“I’ll find one. I…” He crosses his arms, feigning pompousness. “I have connections around here.”

“Yeah?” you play along.

“Oh, yeah. I was a camper until I aged out,” Zach tells you. “And I’ve been working here since I was 16, so I have friends in high places.”

You laugh again. That explains why he seemed so comfortable with the directors back at the lodge. He’s clearly been here for quite a few summers.

“I can tell you’ve been here a while by the state of that name-tag,” you tease. He looks down to tilt up the worn out plastic rectangle hanging over his stomach, his bottom lip jutting out.

“Poke fun all you want, but you don’t know how impressive it is that I never lost this,” Zach replies. “Name-tags go missing all the time. I bet you’ll lose yours.”

“I thought staff were supposed to be friends,” you say. “You’re already betting against me?”

“You want some advice?” He leans just a little closer, his tone fake-serious. “It’s actually very cutthroat here.”

“So, the be friends with your coworkers stuff, that was all talk?” you say with a gasp, mirroring his playfulness.

“All talk,” he echoes with a smirk.

“Wow,” you half-whisper. “Thanks for the advice.”

You share another smile with him, already sure your crush on him isn’t going away. He’s friendly and kind of goofy and probably has all the girls after him. You wonder how seriously he takes the no dating rule.

Then, you turn back towards the table, surprised at how quickly your mind is running away from you.

After you load your plate with food, Ami calls you over to a table with a few other counselors. You get to know a decent amount of other staff, including Malcolm, the guy your cabin-mate is openly flirting with. He seems to be just as into her.

It’s a long afternoon of training and once you step out of the lodge, you feel like you can breathe again. It was a lot of information at once and the thought of wrangling nine campers on your own feels a bit overwhelming.

But at least for every activity for the first two weeks, newbies will be paired with vets. That gives you some relief.

The sounds of birds chirping and wind blowing through the trees fill your ears as you walk towards the staff cabins hidden behind the dining hall. Your shoes dig into the dirt and you breathe in the smell of pine and earth, feeling a sense of peace settle into the bones.

Despite the tinges of anxiety, you feel grounded here, like you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

As you finish unpacking with Ami, a coworker comes by to tell you that the counselors are going to have a bonfire after sunset. You set up your room and both head towards the lake once the sky starts darkening.

Zach is arranging logs in the fire-pit, kneeling on the ground while Malcolm leans close by. No other counselors have joined yet, and he’s glad because it’s taking embarrassingly long to set up the fire.

“Just let me know when you need the lighter,” Malcolm says.

”I could use some help on lining the kindling up,” Zach tells him.

“I think you’re doing great on your own.”

Zach snorts a chuckle. His cabin-mate and best friend of two years always tries to get away with doing the least amount of work.

“Is this the party?” Ami calls.

Zach turns to see you walking towards the pit. It gives him a chance to drink you in completely, the sight of your figure making his cheeks burn.

“Just getting it started,” Malcolm says. “This place would fall apart without us.”

You and Ami chuckle, settling on one of the logs.

“Us? It looks like Zach’s the only one doing any work,” you say.

“Thank you!” he says with a sarcastic sigh, looking up to smile at you. Your gazes hold a bit longer than they need to.

“Want any help?” you ask.

“All good,” he says. “I’m used to carrying the team.”

“Cold,” Malcolm says. “Strikers and their egos.”

“You’re a striker?” you ask Zach. It tracks. Strikers tend to be on the taller side, and you practically had to crane your neck to meet his eyes when you spoke to him before lunch.

“Yeah, you?” Zach asks.

“Center back,” you reply.

“Most important position,” Malcolm adds.

“Jeez, I wonder what you are,” Ami says with a laugh. “What was that you said about egos?”

The fire starts to slowly blaze and Zach stands up, exhales tiredly and scratches his forehead. It causes his shirt to ride up and expose an inch of his stomach.

Even under the dark blue sky, the flames only offering dull, flickering light, you can’t help but notice the v lines carved into his skin.

You look away. You feel like you’re practically thirsting over him at this point. You’re convinced that the fact that fraternizing between staff is forbidden is what’s making you even more tempted to stare at him.

The four of you continue to make small-talk as more counselors start to join. You learn that Zach and Malcolm share a cabin and that they play together on their college’s team, a school only an hour away from yours.

You also notice Malcolm jokingly calls Zach a nepo baby at one point, but before you can ask why, the conversation stirs in a different direction.

Soon after, a few counselors rough-house dangerously close to the fire. It’s only for a moment, but Zach perks up.

“Be careful around there, alright?” Zach says.

“Relax, dad,” one of the vets says. “We will.”

This is the only place in the world where people tell Zach to relax. He feels a sense of responsibility here. He’s sort of an unofficial babysitter, keeping everyone in check.

You notice his dimples dip into his cheeks. He’s obviously used to being teased for being the dad of the group.

You find it a good time to privately ask him about his other nickname, the staff chatter and wood crackling loud enough so only he can hear you.

“Why’d Malcolm call you a nepo baby?” you ask.

“Oh,” Zach says with a chuckle. “Ruby and Tom are my aunt and uncle. I’m not really a nepo baby, though. I don’t get any special privileges. The opposite, actually.”

“Opposite?” you ask, amused.

“They feel way more comfortable getting mad at me than any of the other staff,” he admits lightheartedly.

“Who would get mad at you?” you joke.

“I know, right? I’m adorable.”

It’s way too easy to flirt with him. This is going to be hard.

As the night goes on, you notice Ami and Malcolm slowly drift closer towards each other, laughing and talking. Eventually, they rush away into the dark.

Admittedly, the thought of sneaking off in the night with a cute guy is kind of exciting. You look over to see Zach noticed them leave, too.

“I think our cabin-mates are about to hook up,” you say quietly.

“On the first night, too.” He shakes his head, pretending to be disappointed. “It happens every year.”

“Do they actually fire people for dating?”

“I’ve seen them get close,” Zach says. “But people hide it well for the most part. Honestly, I think most do it just because it’s against the rules.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” you say with a laugh. “It’s the whole forbidden part of it. Tell people they’re not allowed to do something, and guess what they want to do?”

“Something,” he says, earning another laugh from you.

You wonder if he ever has broken this particular rule, but it’d be too forward to ask.

“I wouldn’t risk it,” he offers, looking at the fire. You’re pretty sure he’s just giving you advice, but you take it as an opening, the curiosity killing you.

“So, you never have?” you ask.

“Nope.”

Over his many summers working here, Zach’s had crushes on other counselors, and he definitely has one on you, but a fling isn’t worth losing his job and letting down his family.

He owes a lot to his aunt and uncle. He wouldn’t disrespect their rules, no matter how pretty the new girl is.

When he looks over at you again, at the way the flames are casting shadows over your features, he corrects himself. Pretty is an understatement; beautiful is more fitting.

He almost suggests you don’t take the risk of dating either, but it’d be purely selfish. He doesn’t like the idea of seeing you in a summer romance with another guy.

And he feels insane for already feeling hypothetical jealousy, but he’s never clicked with a girl this quickly before. You’re sweet and interesting and you get his humor, and he feels like he couldn’t not like you if he tried.

“So, what brought you here?” he asks.

“Interview answer or real answer?”

“Real answer,” he says with a smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Playing at the college level is a lot more pressure than I expected,” you admit. “I want the experience and obviously the pay with this job, but mostly, I just want to be reminded of why I like soccer so much. Honestly, I lost my confidence in my skills this past year and I’d like to get it back.”

You’re surprised at how open you’re being, but something about him makes you want to be. He gives you a sense of safety. You can tell he’s kind-hearted.

“One of the best parts of working here is that you get enough downtime to practice,” he tells you. “I’d be happy to help you on your defense if you want.”

Your stomach numbs imagining it. It’s such a sweet gesture, especially because you’d just learned that he’s on a full-ride athletic scholarship. You know he’s good.

“Thank you,” you say. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“If you’re looking for a reminder of why you like soccer, you came to the right camp,” he replies, his smile bright and sincere.

“You really like it here, huh?” you ask, kind of in awe of him.

“I owe a lot to this place,” he says.

You make a note to yourself to ask him to elaborate on that later, as another counselor takes his attention with a question about tomorrow before you can reply.

You look back at the fire and you promise yourself that you’ll just be Zach’s coworker. At most, his friend.

You won’t risk getting even close to dating. You don’t want to lose your job. And you certainly don’t want Zach to lose his, especially because it seems important to him to follow the rules.

Besides, maybe he has a girlfriend already. You can’t imagine a guy like him being single. And maybe he’s not even into you like that. He could just be very friendly.

As the fire dwindles and counselors start to retire to their cabins, Zach leaves and returns with a bucket of water to extinguish the remaining flames.

You’re not sure why, but watching him be so hands-on with no expectations to be thanked for it makes you like him even more.

“Which cabin are you in?” he asks you, looking over his shoulder. You hope he didn’t catch you staring.

“Four,” you answer.

“We’re neighbors,” he says. “I’m in five. I can walk you back, newbie.”

There’s a chance he’s just being nice, but even though it’s against the rules, you hope it’s more.

You check your phone to see it’s just past ten o’clock. The moonlight is bright as you and Zach walk towards the staff cabins.

You’re chatting about how beautiful the campground is and he grins as he looks down at his feet. He loves this place and hearing someone else appreciate it feels nice.

When he looks up, he stops in his tracks. You follow his eye-line. There’s a shirt hanging on his cabin’s doorknob.

“Oh, man,” he whispers.

“Does the shirt on the knob mean what I think it means?” you ask.

“If you think it means walking in there would make me see something I can’t ever unsee, you’re right,” Zach answers.

You chuckle. You’re definitely going to ask Ami about the details of her hook-up with Malcolm later. And you feel an obligation to also remind her that the no-dating rule is serious.

“I’ll give them ten minutes, then I’m knocking,” he says. “You don’t have to wait with me.”

You know you should go to bed and get rested before the craziness of tomorrow. But being around Zach makes you not want to.

“I can keep you company,” you offer. “I’m pretty wired anyway.”

“Thanks,” he says with a sincere smile. It makes your heart flutter that he seems just as happy to spend more time with you.

“So, what’s there to do around here at ten o’clock?” you ask.

Zach rakes his hair back, gazing out at a soccer field in the distance as crickets loudly chirp around you.

“If you’re looking to burn energy, we can do some of that practice we were talking about,” he suggests. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

“You sure you’re not too tired?” you ask.

“Nah. Let’s go,” he says. “But be warned, when I coach, I’m ruthless.”

You laugh, already well aware of how far from the truth that must be.

“Consider me warned,” you joke. “Lead the way.”

(part two)

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[theonottsbxtch]

TEACHER'S PET PT.4 | CL16

an: final part let's go!! can't wait to hear what you guys think about this and many thanks to @iimplicitt my beloved for writing the smut scene since i absolutely suck at it.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: smut mdni 18+ only, infidelity, oral (f), fingering, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy x)

Charles leaned back in his chair, eyes on the academic papers scattered across his desk, though his attention was elsewhere. Across from him, Professor Gasly was rambling on about departmental logistics, something about reallocating teaching assistants for the next term. Charles nodded occasionally, keeping up appearances, but his mind was already on the ticking clock, counting down the minutes.

Six o’clock was approaching. Too slowly.

He glanced at his watch, trying not to make it obvious. 5:58.

Just a few more minutes.

"And, of course, there’s the issue of the undergrads for next term," Pierre was saying, his voice a steady drone, punctuated by the sound of a page flipping over in his notepad. "You know, I’ve had a number of students in the seminar expressing interest in your modules. You’ve built quite a reputation with them."

Charles gave a noncommittal hum, his mind drifting. He hadn’t been able to focus on much all day. Not after that kiss. The memory of it was still imprinted on his senses—the taste of her, the heat of her skin under his hands, the way she’d looked at him with that intoxicating mix of desire and defiance.

She’ll be here soon.

As if on cue, a movement outside the window caught his eye. He shifted his gaze, and there she was.

She stood just outside his office, her figure outlined by the soft glow of the hallway lights. Her hair was slightly tousled, lips parted as if she was catching her breath. She hadn’t bothered with her usual careful posture—her shoulders were relaxed, almost languid. He could see the anticipation in her stance, even from here. Her eyes darted toward the office door, and for a brief second, their gazes met through the glass.

His pulse quickened.

Pierre, oblivious to the shift in Charles’s attention, continued his monologue. "Of course, I was thinking about restructuring the curriculum for our electives. There’s a student in your lecture—I think she’s in one of mine as well—what’s her name? Oh yes, Miss. Impressive work ethic. Top marks. One of those who really stands out."

Charles turned his head slightly, glancing at Pierre. His colleague followed his line of sight, and Charles knew immediately he’d seen her standing outside.

"Ah, speaking of," Pierre said, his tone slightly more interested now. "That’s her, isn’t it? Always punctual, always prepared. You’ve got a meeting with her, I assume?"

Charles felt his throat tighten, though his expression remained composed. "Yes," he said evenly, trying to maintain the professional front. "She needs help with an assignment for another module. I promised to take a look."

Pierre glanced back toward the window, where she still waited, her body bathed in the soft glow of the evening light. His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, his eyes subtly sweeping up and down her figure before he turned back to Charles with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, she certainly has the kind of focus we like to see," Pierre remarked, a thin smirk playing on his lips. "You don’t come across students like her every day."

Charles’s jaw clenched, though he nodded, forcing himself to keep his tone neutral. "She’s dedicated," he said, his voice a little lower than before.

Pierre leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, clearly in no hurry to leave. "Very dedicated," he agreed, still smirking. "Maybe she’ll volunteer to be your TA next year, she’s a good one."

Charles’s eyes flicked back to the window, where she had shifted her weight, crossing her arms, the smallest hint of impatience in her stance. The way her blouse clung to her frame made it impossible for him to focus on anything Pierre was saying.

He needed to get this over with. Now.

"Pierre," he said, cutting into the professor’s musings. "I’ve really got to get started with her. We’re on a tight deadline."

Pierre chuckled softly and stood up, collecting his notepad and pushing his chair back. "Of course, of course. I’ll leave you to it. Tell Miss I said she’s doing excellent work."

Charles nodded, already standing as Pierre made his way to the door. As Pierre opened it, he gave her a polite nod on his way out. "Good evening, Miss," he said.

She responded with a quiet, "Good evening, Professor Gasly," her voice steady, though her eyes were firmly on Charles as she stepped into the office.

Pierre disappeared down the hall, leaving them alone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that filled the room was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

She stood in the centre of the room, her gaze on him, unblinking, waiting for him to make the next move.

Charles took a slow breath, the tension in the air between them building as they regarded each other. The boundaries they’d already crossed lingered in the space between them, ready to be shattered completely.

Without a word, he gestured toward his desk, though he wasn’t entirely sure either of them intended to sit.

"Close the door," he said, his voice low, firm.

She didn’t hesitate. The door clicked shut once more, this time locking them in the room together with all the desire and recklessness that had been simmering since their last encounter.

It was six o'clock, and they both knew exactly what they were here for. Charles’s gaze met hers. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken desire. She stood in the centre of his office, her eyes dark with intent, and without a word, she slowly moved toward his desk.

Charles’s pulse quickened as he watched her, the anticipation humming in his veins. She didn’t hesitate—she just sat on the edge of his desk, her posture casual, yet there was nothing casual about the way she looked at him.

Her legs crossed at the ankle, her skirt sliding just slightly up her thighs as she perched on the edge of the wooden surface. The soft glow of the lamp on his desk cast her in a warm light, but it was the heat in her eyes that held him captive.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. There was no need for words right now.

Instead, Charles moved toward the windows, crossing the room with deliberate, measured steps. He could feel her eyes on him the entire time, watching, waiting. His hands gripped the cord of the blinds, pulling it down, and in one smooth motion, the office was sealed off from the outside world. The blinds fell shut with a quiet thud, the last sliver of daylight vanishing, leaving them enclosed in the dim intimacy of the room.

When he turned back to face her, she hadn’t moved. She still sat on the edge of his desk, her hands resting casually at her sides, but there was a fire burning in her eyes, a challenge, an invitation.

Charles’s breath came heavier now, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him, but he didn’t resist it. He crossed the room until he was standing right in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath had quickened, mirroring his own.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, she raised a finger to her lips, silencing him with nothing but a quiet shh.

The move caught him off guard, but he didn’t fight it. He stood there, frozen for a moment, as she leaned forward, her fingers curling around the end of his tie. She tugged on it gently, just enough to pull him closer. His breath hitched as he allowed himself to be drawn toward her, the distance between them shrinking until there was barely any space left.

And then, before he could process it, her lips were on his.

The kiss was hot, urgent, a collision of need and desire that made his mind go blank. Her hands twisted in his tie, pulling him even closer as her mouth moved against his with a hunger that matched his own. There was no hesitation this time, no second-guessing—just the raw, electric connection that had been building between them for weeks.

Charles groaned softly against her lips, his hands finding her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her skirt as he pulled her against him. The feel of her body pressed to his sent a jolt of electricity down his spine, and he couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, tasting her, claiming her.

Her legs parted slightly as she shifted on the desk, drawing him in closer until he was standing between them. Her fingers moved from his tie to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, her hands insistent, needy. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent sparks through him, each touch driving him further over the edge.

He let out a low, throaty growl, his hands sliding up her sides, feeling the softness of her body under his palms. Her skin was warm, inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of it, to lose himself in the feel of her.

But she wasn’t passive in any of this. Her hands were everywhere—his tie, his shirt, his hair. She was guiding the kiss now, setting the pace, her lips moving against his with an urgency that made his heart pound in his chest.

She kissed him deeper, harder, like she couldn’t get enough. And neither could he.

Charles’s hands slid up her back, tangling in her hair as he tilted her head back, giving him better access to her lips, her neck. He kissed a trail down her jawline, his breath ragged against her skin. Her hands were pulling him closer still, tugging at his shirt, her nails grazing his chest through the fabric.

His self-control was unravelling, faster than he’d expected. Every touch, every kiss was a reminder of just how far they’d already crossed the line. And yet, instead of pulling back, he was sinking deeper, his body pressing into hers, his lips trailing down her throat, tasting the softness of her skin.

She moaned softly in response, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter, her body arching into him. The sound of her voice—low, breathy, filled with need—sent a surge of desire through him that was impossible to ignore.

He was on the edge, teetering between reason and pure instinct, and all it would take was one more moment, one more kiss, to push him over.

And then the sound of his own ragged breath reminded him where they were. His office. His desk. The world was just outside that door, but right now, it felt like they were the only two people in existence.

His lips hovered just above hers, their breaths mingling as they both paused, the reality of their situation crashing over them for a brief second.

Her hands were still on him, her fingers tangled in his shirt. His own hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her waistband. They were both caught up in the moment, knowing they should stop but unable to find the will to do so.

The only thing that broke the silence between them was the quiet, unsteady beat of their breaths.

"Slow down," Charles muttered against her lips, his voice husky and ragged. His breath came in shallow gasps as he gently pulled back, his hands slipping from her waist. He stepped away from her, creating just enough space to catch his breath, though the need still burned in his eyes.

She blinked, her chest rising and falling quickly as she looked at him, clearly reluctant to stop. Her hands hovered in the air, as if unsure of what to do now that he’d created distance between them.

Charles took a steadying breath and stepped back toward his chair, his hands running through his tousled hair. He didn’t break eye contact, though, not for a second. The heat between them hadn’t lessened—it had only intensified, simmering just below the surface.

He sank into his chair, his tie still loose around his neck, his shirt slightly undone from where her fingers had been. His gaze never left her as he slowly leaned back, legs parted, watching her with that dark, hungry look that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mon Ange, viens la," he said softly, his voice a low, velvet command.

She hesitated for only a second before lifting her leg towards him, her body still thrumming with the tension that hung in the air. He reached out, his hand curling around her ankle, and slowly guided her leg up, placing her foot on his knee.

She balanced herself, her breath catching as she felt the warmth of his hand on her calf.

Charles's fingers moved with deliberate slowness, unbuckling the strap of her shoe. His touch was light, teasing, as he slid the shoe off her foot, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet thud. His hands lingered on her skin, his thumb brushing soft circles over her ankle as he looked up at her, eyes heavy with intent.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice roughened with barely controlled desire. "What you do to me."

Her breath hitched at the way he was looking at her, the intensity in his gaze making her knees feel weak.

His hand slid up her calf, slowly, agonisingly slowly, as though he was savouring every inch of her skin. He leaned forward slightly, his lips grazing her ankle in a featherlight kiss, barely a whisper of contact. It sent a jolt of heat through her, her body tightening in response.

"I’ve been thinking about this," he murmured, his mouth brushing the curve of her calf now, kissing a path higher. "Since the moment you walked through my door."

Her fingers curled into the edge of his desk for balance as his lips travelled upward, pressing soft, deliberate kisses along her leg. His hand slid higher, gripping her thigh just enough to make her breath catch, as his mouth moved slowly, achingly slowly, up the inside of her calf.

"You make it impossible to focus on anything else," he whispered against her skin, his breath warm as he kissed higher still, his lips now nearing her knee. "When you sit in my class, all I can think about… is this."

She felt her pulse quicken, her body responding to every word, every kiss. Her skin tingled where his lips touched, each caress leaving her more breathless than the last. The intimacy of the moment—the slowness, the tenderness—was almost overwhelming, the way he was worshipping her with his mouth and hands.

Her hand, which had been resting on the desk, slid down to his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she watched him, unable to look away. He was taking his time, drawing out the moment, making every second feel like it was teetering on the edge of something deeper, something reckless.

Charles kissed the inside of her knee, then paused, his lips hovering over her skin as he looked up at her. His eyes were dark, filled with a kind of raw hunger that made her shiver.

"But you need to understand something," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Once we go further, there's no going back."

He kissed higher, just above her knee, his hand still gripping her thigh gently. The sensation sent waves of heat through her, her body practically buzzing under his touch.

"Do you want that?" His voice was rough, but the question was deliberate. He needed to hear it, needed to know.

She swallowed, her heart pounding as her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulder. For a brief moment, she hesitated, the weight of the situation hanging heavily between them. But then her eyes met his, and all the hesitation melted away, replaced by the undeniable pull that had been simmering between them for weeks.

This was what she wanted.

Instead of answering with words, she leaned down, closing the space between them again, her fingers sliding up the back of his neck, into his hair. She pulled him to her, their lips crashing together in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

His fingers dug into her thighs and the warmth of her mouth against his was overwhelming. This moment in his office felt existential, as if infinity was laid before him so he could experience everything life had to offer him in the form of her body. Charles didn’t know if he was getting ahead of himself, or maybe he was just a hopeless romantic, but this felt like more than lust. More than hormones and lingering glances. More than just a one time thing. 

She was so soft yet every touch was electric, making each of his nerves vibrate in anticipation as he slowly pushed out each of her knees. A light gasp escaped her mouth, the hot breath invading his senses and he couldn’t help the way his lips tugged up at the sides. Pulling away from her mouth was one of the most difficult things he had ever done given the way her lips were swollen and glistening, her eyes fluttering in a daze. 

He kept eye contact with her as he leaned down, slowly kissing up between her thighs, his mouth open and leaving a wet trail that made goosebumps erupt up her skin. She was trembling against him, sensitive and anxious and he nearly laughed if it wasn’t for the slight look of concern that furrowed her brows. Charles left one last kiss at the apex of her thigh before stopping. 

“What’s wrong, mon ange?”

She swallowed thickly, her pupils blown wide and eyes glowing in the darkness. “Nothing, it’s just,” she took a deep breath, blushing slightly in what was clearly embarrassment. “No one has ever really done this before.”

Charles tilted his head to the side, not quite sure what she was getting at. “You’ve never…had sex before?” If she hadn’t, that was fine. Everyone’s life moved in different stages but he needed to know how careful-

“What? No, no.” She covered her face with her hands and let out a nervous laugh. 

Charles began to rub soothing circles into her legs, wanting her to be as comfortable as possible when she was with him. He wanted her to give him everything, and he’d give her his soul in return if she’d take it. 

“Hey,” he gently grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down, kissing the backs of both as he looked at her. “Tell me what's going on.”

She sighed, biting at the inside of her cheek as she debated. A few moments later the words spilled out. 

“No one has ever gone down on me before.”

Charles blinked at her as if someone had just slapped him. Not being able to wrap his mind around how not one of her past flings ever offered. Or maybe none of them were good enough for her to want them to. He went to open his mouth to say something but she kept going.

“You don’t have to.”

This time, it was Charles’ brows that furrowed in concern. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that I— don’t worry about it.”

“Logan has never done it, has he?” Her boyfriend's name was sharp in the quiet room, an uncomfortable reminder of how wrong this really was. 

She didn’t say anything and Charles squeezed her hands. “Has he even offered?” She looked away from him, biting at her lip before eventually shaking her head.

“No, he hasn’t.”

Charles let out a long sigh as he watched her with such strong intent it made her shift slightly where she was sitting, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red if possible. 

His hands let go of hers, falling to her thighs as he slowly trailed them upwards, fingers disappearing under the hem of her skirt and he watched as her breath hitched. Charles continued to watch her as his hands explored further, pushing her skirt up around her waist and a barely audible prayer left him as his eyes caught sight of the white cotton panties she was wearing. She was wet, that much was obvious from the damp spot that could be seen and he felt as if the world had stopped moving just for the pair of them, the universe giving them a small moment of infinity. 

He leaned forward, kissing her navel and his hot breath danced over her covered pussy and she trembled against him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Sir,” her voice wavered, thick with anticipation and lust. 

Charles' eyes flicked up to hers, his mouth hovering over where he knew she needed him most. “Please, mon ange. Let me do this for you.” He sounded desperate, and by god he was. She was the air that he breathed and he needed her permission to do this or he thought he might drop dead by tomorrow. Driven mad by all the what if’s and the way his name might sound when she moaned it. 

She stared at him for a tense moment before nodding once.

He didn’t hesitate as he lowered his mouth right over her clothed clit, rubbing circles into it with his tongue and her hips bucked up into his face as a surprised shout left her. One hand dug into his hair while the other slapped itself over her mouth. 

Charles worked her with his mouth with the fervour of a man who had just had his first taste of salvation. Desperate to chase more and reach heaven, the sounds leaving her throat despite how hard she was trying to keep quiet were a twisted form of a holy prayer. Blessing him over and over again.

Her hands were twined in his hair, tugging in a way that made the pain deliriously pleasurable as she yanked him closer. 

“Please,” she panted, not sounding quite like herself but the slight rasp to her voice could be equated to a siren leading him to his downfall. Perhaps she was. “Please, sir.”

As much as he adored the term, the sick satisfaction of it and how wrong it was, he wanted to hear something else fall from her pretty lips. 

“Say my name, ma chéri. Then ask me again.” He pressed a kiss to her clit and gasped sharply.

“Charles, please.” She pulled on his hair so his eyes could meet her’s, and there was a glimmer of determination mixed in with the storm of lust. “Give me everything.”

“Everything?”

“I want it all.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, perhaps it was something primal, something that he hasn’t even dared to explore, but his hand wound itself around the strap of her underwear at her hip and yanked until the sound of fabric ripping echoed in the room. His mind was consumed by her, the feeling of her skin and what she would taste like with no barriers left. The line they had crossed was forgotten and blurred in the distance. Irrelevant.

He placed a hand beneath each of her knees and lifted, spreading her wide for him and he was sure he would come undone right there and then. Charles was already painfully hard and just looking at how wet she was for him was enough to make him come. But he needed this to last and he would kill himself if she didn’t enjoy every moment of this night together. 

His eyes flicked up and held hers as he pressed the flat of his tongue at the bottom of her entrance, licking a long stripe up before closing his mouth over her clit. Revelling in the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head and his name tumbled out of her mouth like it was a mantra that would lead to salvation. 

Her nails dug into his scalp, any self restraint she had long forgotten as she moaned and pushed her hips closed to his mouth. Slipping into delirium as his tongue circled her clit in tight circles. A scream nearly tearing through her as two of his thick fingers sunk into her cunt with no warning, the even thrusts of them had her panting.

Charles felt like headed. Hoping to any higher power that this was real and his mind wasn’t playing cruel tricks on him. She tasted devine and she was constantly clenching on his fingers, begging for more. Begging for a release. 

He was so hard it was painful, one of his hands sneaking down to give his cock a hard squeeze. Anything for some relief. Charles wasn’t helping his own case as he inserted a third finger, crooking them up and hitting that spot that made her scream his name as she came against him, liquid and cum spilling out and he wasn’t letting a drop get wasted as he continued to eat her out. Lowering his mouth to her entrance and his fingers trailed up to her clit, not letting up and she convulsed in over stimulation.

“Charles, oh my god!” Her legs tried to snap themselves shut but he didn’t let up. He felt crazed and she let out a guttural sound as she came again. 

He finally pulled back, a delirious grin on his face and his chin shining from the aftermath as he watched her fall back on her elbows trying to catch her breath. 

“That was… oh my god.”

Charles stood and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet, darling.” Her breath caught as her eyes followed the movements of his hands. Watching in what seemed like admiration as he shrugged his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. She seemed more entranced with his hands when he began to undo his belt however, her attention apt as Charles slowly pulled it free from the loops and undid his zipper. 

When he finally rid himself of his trousers and the cool air from the office hit his cock he shivered, the tip was leaking and clearly desperate for release. Charles stepped closer to her, closing the distance and he slowly pushed her onto her back, not caring about the stacks of paper that fell to the floor. 

Leaning down, his breath danced across her neck and he smirked into her skin as she shuddered against him. “Mon amour,” his voice was low, gravely. Not quite familiar. “I am going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He entered her completely within a breath, the action brutal and unforgiving but with the way she moaned and clenched around him, he knew she loved it. Charles kissed her neck before straightening, grabbing hold of her hips and pulling back, watching in sick satisfaction as his cock slammed back into her. 

She was moaning his name with no care in the world, her screams mixed with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against each other. She was everything to him. She was all he could think about. All he could feel. His existence was in her hands now and he’d never be able to get enough of her. Not until the day he dropped dead and even then he would long for her from the grave. 

The sharp sound of a phone ringing felt like a tuning fork struck right against the ears drums. Charles didn’t stop, though. She didn’t even seem like she noticed, her head still thrown back and mouth agape as he continued his relentless pace. 

His eyes strayed to the lit up screen.

Logan.

His contact picture glowing up at him, the American smiling brightly with his arm draped over your shoulder. 

Charles shouldn’t have done it, but he didn’t regret it either as he hit the answer icon and tossed the phone to the side. 

“Fuck, Charles I’m going to come.“

“Let it out, mon amour. Give me all of you.” His hand snaked down between their bodies, rubbing tight circles into her clit and he watched in pure adoration as she came on his cock. Charles followed not a moment later, her name echoing around the room followed by their heavy breaths as he collapsed on top of her. 

The air in the room was thick, their ragged breaths the only sound breaking the silence. She lay sprawled on the desk, still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her hand slipped from Charles’ shoulder as he rolled off her, his own breathing just as uneven. The remnants of their reckless act were scattered around them—clothes on the floor, papers thrown askew in the heat of the moment.

For a split second, everything was still.

Then, the door creaked open.

Both of them froze, eyes darting toward the door, panic seizing her heart like ice.

There, standing in the doorway, was Logan. His eyes, wide with shock, scanned the scene—the two of them barely dressed, her legs still exposed from where her skirt had been pushed up, Charles’ shirt hanging open, his tie askew. The mess on the floor, the heavy air, the undeniable truth.

Logan’s face shifted from shock to something worse—a mixture of hurt, disbelief, and fury.

“Wow.” It was the only word he could muster, low and bitter, dripping with betrayal.

Her breath caught in her throat, panic surging through her body. She scrambled off the desk, her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through her chest. “Wait—please, I can explain—”

But he was already turning, shaking his head in disbelief as he backed out of the room, his face contorted in pain.

“No, don’t—wait!” she cried, desperately grabbing her blouse from the floor, pulling it on hastily as she stumbled after him. Her hands were shaking, her mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix what couldn’t be fixed.

Logan didn’t stop. He walked out of the door, his pace quickening as he stormed down the hallway. The echo of his footsteps sounded deafening in the otherwise silent building.

“Please! Just let me explain!” she called after him, her voice cracking, but it was as if he couldn’t even hear her.

She was halfway down the hall when she caught up to him, grabbing his arm and turning him toward her. “Please, let me explain. It’s not—”

“Not what?” he snapped, his voice sharp, full of anger and pain. He yanked his arm out of her grip, his eyes cold as they locked onto hers. “Not what it looks like? You think I’m stupid? I saw everything. I heard and now walked in and saw you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t even finish the sentence, like it was too painful to put into words.

She swallowed, her throat dry, her chest tight with guilt. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, I—”

“You didn’t mean for it to happen?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You didn’t mean for what to happen? You didn’t mean to fuck him behind my back? Or did you just not mean for me to find out?”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her chest tightening painfully. She didn’t know what to say. There were no words to make this better. No explanation that could undo what had just happened.

“And what, he’s a better man than me?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice quieter now but filled with a kind of desperation she hadn’t heard from him before.

She froze. The question hit her like a punch to the gut. 

“I—” Her voice faltered. She didn’t know how to answer.

Her hesitation was all he needed. He let out a bitter, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Logan turned to leave again, his movements stiff, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t walk away. I didn’t—”

But he was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until the sound faded into silence.

She stood frozen in the hallway, her heart still pounding, her breath shallow and uneven as Logan’s figure disappeared down the dim corridor. It was as though she had been cast out—left stranded in the wake of her own betrayal. Her mind screamed to run after him, to beg for forgiveness, to undo the irreversible, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground.

With trembling hands, she turned back toward the office door. The room she had once thought of as a sanctuary now felt like something else entirely—an altar, a place of confession, a place where she had surrendered too much.

When she pushed the door open, the heavy silence greeted her, thick as sin. Charles sat behind his desk, utterly unbothered by what had just transpired. He reclined in his chair, his shirt still undone, a cigarette lazily burning between his fingers. The soft tendrils of smoke curled upward, like incense rising from a ritual long completed.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, the weight of it slamming shut like the gates of something holy—something she was now forever barred from.

Charles watched her through the haze of smoke, his eyes sharp, reflective. His mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile, as if all of this was inevitable—as if the fall had been predestined. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke coiling in the air like the whisper of a prayer.

“You’re back,” he said quietly, his voice smooth, almost like a benediction.

She stood in the middle of the room, the guilt burning in her chest, her throat tight with everything she couldn’t say. The weight of her own sin felt unbearable now, but Charles’ eyes held her captive, calm and untroubled, as if nothing sacred had been broken.

“I ruined everything,” she whispered, her voice fragile and cracked, like glass about to shatter.

His gaze stayed steady on her. “No,” he said simply, his voice low, like a confession offered in the stillness of a church. “You didn’t.”

She blinked, confusion crossing her face. How could he say that? How could he be so certain when everything felt so wrong? Her world had crumbled. The altar of her relationship, her conscience—it was all in ruins.

Charles extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray, his movements slow, deliberate. He stood up from his chair and walked around the desk with the grace of someone who had already seen the ending, who knew the story was written long before they’d ever acted it out.

When he reached her, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes tracing her face like he was reading her soul.

“He’s out of the picture now,” he said softly, almost reverently.

Her breath caught. The way he said it, like this was some divine plan, made her chest tighten. “I didn’t want this,” she whispered, the lie trembling on her lips, tainted with uncertainty.

Charles’ smile widened, though there was something dark in his gaze. He reached out, brushing a thumb against her cheek, his touch tender but loaded with something more—something dangerous, something tempting. “Didn’t you?”

The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of her unspoken desires. He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing as though they were locked in some secret prayer, a communion that only they could share.

“You wanted this,” he whispered, his voice low, like a psalm of temptation. “You wanted me.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as the truth stirred within her. She had tried to deny it, tried to resist, but standing there, under his gaze, she felt stripped bare—her defences falling like the last walls of a crumbling cathedral. He saw her, truly saw her, and it was terrifying how deeply he knew her desires, how easily he could pull her into them.

She shook her head weakly, as though she could shake off the truth, but the words faltered. The pull was too strong. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, her voice wavering like a confession whispered in the darkness of a confessional.

Charles’ eyes darkened as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his voice a hushed, dangerous promise. “You’re free now,” he murmured, as though he were offering her salvation.

The weight of that word—free—hung in the air, almost sacrilegious. Freedom wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like falling.

He stepped even closer, his hand finding its way to the small of her back, pulling her against him in one fluid motion. She felt her knees weaken, the space between them vanishing as his lips hovered just above hers, his breath a ghost of temptation on her skin.

“No more pretending,” he whispered, the words slipping between them like a vow.

She felt the heat of his gaze burning through her, igniting something reckless, something she couldn’t control. And in that moment, she realised there was no turning back. The fall had already begun.

Charles’ hand trailed down her arm, his touch soft but insistent. He was pulling her in, and she was letting him. She wasn’t running. Not anymore.

And when their lips met, it was more than a kiss—it was an offering, a surrender. His lips moved against hers slowly, deliberately, as if savouring the taste of her guilt, of her desire, as though it was all part of some twisted prayer they were both too willing to say.

But the peace that should have followed never came. Instead, it left her breathless, hollow.

She broke away, her mind spinning, her body trembling with the force of it all. “But he…Logan” The words were a last, desperate plea for redemption, but even she could hear how weak they sounded.

Charles didn’t hesitate. His grip on her tightened, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “He’s gone now. It’s just us.”

There was something almost triumphant in his voice, something darkly satisfied, as though he’d been waiting for this all along. He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes, his expression unreadable, save for the gleam of possession in his gaze.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice like a prayer. “And I don’t intend to share.”

the end.

comment if you'd like to be tagged in my works

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 2

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Murderbot Diaries series (All Systems Red, Artificial Condition, Rogue Protocol, Exit Strategy, Network Effect, Fugitive Telemetry, System Collapse, and other stories) by Martha Wells

Endorsement from submitter: "Asexual and agender main character. In later books side characters are revealed to be in poly relationship."

"As a heartless killing machine, I was a complete failure."

In a corporate-dominated space-faring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. For their own safety, exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids. But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

On a distant planet, a team of scientists is conducting surface tests, shadowed by their Company-supplied ‘droid--a self-aware SecUnit that has hacked its own governor module and refers to itself (though never out loud) as “Murderbot.” Scornful of humans, Murderbot wants is to be left alone long enough to figure out who it is, but when a neighboring mission goes dark, it's up to the scientists and Murderbot to get to the truth.

Science fiction, novella, series, adult

The Masquerade Series (The Traitor Baru Cormorant, The Monster Baru Cormorant, The Tyrant Baru Cormorant) by Seth Dickinson

Tomorrow, on the beach, Baru Cormorant will look up from the sand of her home and see red sails on the horizon.

The Empire of Masks is coming, armed with coin and ink, doctrine and compass, soap and lies. They’ll conquer Baru’s island, rewrite her culture, criminalize her customs, and dispose of one of her fathers. But Baru is patient. She’ll swallow her hate, prove her talent, and join the Masquerade. She will learn the secrets of empire. She’ll be exactly what they need. And she’ll claw her way high enough up the rungs of power to set her people free.

In a final test of her loyalty, the Masquerade will send Baru to bring order to distant Aurdwynn, a snakepit of rebels, informants, and seditious dukes. Aurdwynn kills everyone who tries to rule it. To survive, Baru will need to untangle this land’s intricate web of treachery - and conceal her attraction to the dangerously fascinating Duchess Tain Hu.

But Baru is a savant in games of power, as ruthless in her tactics as she is fixated on her goals. In the calculus of her schemes, all ledgers must be balanced, and the price of liberation paid in full.

Fantasy, epic fantasy, politics, secondary world, series, adult

[threepandas]

Bad End: Winter's Victory

Cigarettes in this world were different. Odd, I guess. I had never really paid attention to the smell of cigarette smoke, before I ended up here, but I knew it hadn't been? Exactly... well, pleasant? I guess? Not to say that all the ones that existed here WERE, mind you. It was still smokey. The cheap ones an overwhelming incense. They called it "stepping out to pray" for a reason. You ended up smelling like you spent hours in a temple during prayer.

But the smell that lingered here? Clung delicately to cloth and the walls? It was more of a... warm spice. I could never place which ones. There was, yes, a smokey undertone, but? It more or less added to the complex almost taste scent of spices and tea. Dark and rich. Lingering. The sort of thing that takes time to develop.

The entire house was like that. Well, compound really. Austere and ageless, time did not seem to touch the inside of these walls. Did not seem to dare try. It was a blessed relief. A place of respite. All soft, dream-like edges and beautiful gardens. Meandering halls and tasteful, understated art. Peaceful company. Good food and tea.

A lingering smell of smokey spices.

My sister was up to her Protagonist shit again. It was... exhausting. I knew, intellectually, I should be back home. Playing my part. The ever supportive Big Sister archetype. Endlessly kind. Endlessly patient. Supportive to a fault. Smiling and smiling no matter WHAT bullshit nonsense that child pulls. No matter HOW she shames our house or causes trouble I must undo.

But honestly? I can't. I just... can't.

The idiotic little shit SLAPPED A PRINCE. Thank the heavens it wasn't one of the Emperors favorite sons or we'd all be dead, but still! Who the fresh hell taught her that was acceptable?! No. Just.... No.

Let Father deal with this for once. If he insists on spoiling and infantilizing that child? HE can reap the rewards. Her MOTHER can parent for once, instead of sitting around being generically "perfect". I am not there. This is beyond my pay grade. Frankly? I don't even HAVE the power to smooth this over. I could, technically. But not at any cost I'm willing to PAY.

Not for my sister's "she not like other girls", "oh? How interesting", fucking MOMENT.

No WONDER the Elder Sister character disappears in the later half of the royal route, only to turn back up in the palace. She's a freaking Consort! To a letch! Powerful one, yes. But STILL! And all just to protect a sister who not only doesn't notice? But doesn't even attend her wedding?

No.

ABSOLUTELY Not.

I lift the (frankly beautiful) cup of tea I was served to drink while I wait. Breathe in it's rich, soothing scent. Let the steam curl against my face as I stare out the open sliding doors at the fall garden. It borders on too cold for this... but not quite.

The tea is warm. The snacks are warm. I was brought a beautifully embroidered blanket to rest across my lap. Have a robe draped over my shoulders. It is... meditative, almost. Just me and the quiet sigh of vibrant leaves on the breeze. The world muffled. Warm dispite the cold. Ah... the garden really is... so beautiful....

I let it soothe me. Drain away my anger and frustration at the world. Running water, birds in the trees, insects. The silence is so wonderfully full. Alive. I have to keep my mind from bitterly comparing it to constant dramatics filled mess of the gardens at home. Focus on the here and now. This is NICE. Focus on this.

Quiet, near silent footsteps approach. Gait even and steady. Most men his age meander or shuffle, but like the home he keeps? Kaito seems almost untouchable by time. As though not even the Gods dare. I honestly don't blame them. He can be quite commanding when he wishes. Good thing he's rather laid back.

"Come to escape the treasonous?" A modulated voice teases. Wry and dry as salt mines. "Your fool sister is aware that actions have consequences, yes? Or has that idiot father finally succeeded in spoiling her back into infancy? Traditionally, we do not let such young children wander."

Kaito's voice isn't terribly high or husky and low. It is... smooth. Controlled. Like running your fingers across fine fabric. I could honestly listen to him read a phone book and be pleased. He would have made a killing as a voice actor, in my first life. Or reading audio books. Something.

"No retort? Witty defense? Oh dear. You are exhausted, aren't you, my friend?" He noted, dropping the teasing edge. Stepping inside the viewing room and calmly sliding the door shut behind him, I could almost feel him observing me. "When was the last time you slept? Properly. You're a mess, my friend, look utterly exhausted. Has it become that bad?"

Worse actually. They keep doubling down. Doing stupid "girl power!!!1!", poorly thought out, works in a 21th century DEMOCRACY but sure as shit NOT HERE, so called "power moves". I was? So, so fucking tired. Legitimately scared for the servants at this point. Because, honestly? Let stupid reap it's own reward. I TRIED. I was dismissed and ignored. Taken for granted.

Accused of JEALOUSY!

Like? Oh, HELL NO. I know exactly where THAT train of thought ends. I've read enough of the Genre to cut THAT shit off at the pass. Not Today, Satan!

So? Fuck um. I Tried. But I REFUSE to set myself ablaze to keep the ungrateful warm. Especially when they have both coats and just want to roast marshmallows. But... the SERVANTS? They are innocent. Wrong house, shit masters. Half are basically indentured! Much to my outrage.

We HAVE the funds to pay them better. But do I control those funds? Dispite doing ALL THE WORK? Managing the House? No. Of course not. THAT would be Protagonist's mother. And we really need that money for more jewelry and pretty outfits for her daughter. Fuck the household, I guess.

Things are... likely to get bad.

Because I have made the painful, painful choice? To let GO.

I can't keep holding up the house. I am NOT Atlas. Was not granted a second chance, just to throw it away. But at the same time? The servants. Not the enabling, vindictive, lapdogs that circle my family like vultures. The ACTUAL servants. Gardeners, cooks, maids. The no one's that they will not remember.

Somebody has to protect THEM. It must be me. Or no one else WILL.

I'm hoping Kaito will help.

Please, heavens, let this be enough to help. Then... THEN I can figure out how to protect myself. Hopefully. Maybe. Though I am probably running quickly out of time.

"Dear one, are you with me? You are drifting. I need you to come back. Focus on me. The sound of my voice. Can you hear me? Do you see the leaves? Focus on their color. See the reds and yellows beyond them. Like fire, is it not? Can you smell the tea? Dear one, what kind is it? Come here. Back to your body. That's right..."

Smooth and soothing. Closer then what felt like a blink ago. Huh. Yes. The leaves are quite lovely, aren't they? And... and this is red cliff, first harvest, right? Ah. I'm still so bad at telling certain types of tea apart. How mean. He knows this.

.....my brain feels mushy. But back in my body. I manage to scrounge up the edges of a smile. Gods, I am so tired. Worn so thin. But I... I can't rest. Not yet. Kaito kneels beside me, too dignified and reserved to show the full weight of his concern. But it practically howls from his body language. The sheer closeness he has allowed. I must have truely scared him there.

I would tease him, about using my notoriously bad memory of frankly near identical teas against me... but I just... just can't.

There isn't enough energy left in me. I think the soothing nature of his home, his company, has been my undoing. My brain has finally declared me safe enough to break down. Ha ha... perhaps that is why I've been avoiding coming here for so long. I knew I would break down. Would not want to leave.

Unspeakably rude of me.

"The rumors have not done the situation justice, it seems. You seem at your wits end. My dear, you cannot continue like this. Please, let me help. I realize it is overstepping any number of boundaries... but..." the weight of his concern; the words he was struggling to find, to phrase the unkind more palatably, hung between us. "Please, my friend. You are struggling. I can not bear it."

I felt exhausted tears well up. Days of being overwhelmed. Threatened on all sides. Wondering if today would be the day, that the royal gaurds kicked down our gates and executed us all. Struggling against the blindly arrogant and willful actions of my family. The very SAME family that treated me as more of a secretary then as any kind of kin.

Where would I be? If I had not met Kaito, all those years ago? Visiting his cousin, who was marrying a friend of my cousin. Even then, I was desperately trying to keep the name of our family from being filth. My father could not tear himself away from the whims of my sister or his pretty new wife. My grandmother somehow uncaring, tyrannical and doting, indulgent and yet strict.

I was the ONLY ONE who could and WOULD bother to represent us.

Was called frivolous and silly for it. For "seeking parties" to go "play at". As though it was not stressful. As though it was not far beyond my training and skills. Only the concerned eyes of cousins from other houses and guidance of matriarchs from BETTER houses, let me survive at ALL.

Grandmother still does not understand why she no longer gets invitations. Why her name is mud in the eyes of other elders. They did not take kindly, to her abandoning her granddaughter to do HER and HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW'S job for them. But... there I was. Doing my best. Decorated like a little doll, uncomfortable and quite.

Kaito didn't even need to speak to me. Would never have approached such a nervous, unchaperoned child. Forget being simply a young unmarried girl. I was quite LITERALLY a girl. A child. He never would have so much a acknowledged my existence normally. It simply wasn't done. He was after all, an unmarried man of considerable power.

Still is.

But he needed to speak with his cousin. Who, quite rudely, would NOT take a hint. Too wrapped up in his new bride. Thus forcing Kaito to come over. Bless him, he still tried to politely ignore me. So as not to put pressure on a nervous child. But, once again, Cousin Dense As A Brick struck. Introduced us before merrily swanning off to go talk with friends, taking his wife, my cousin, and ONLY CHAPERONE with him.

We were both baffled and aghast. Horrified. It was the sort of gods awful that somehow found its way back around to being funny. Granted, only because we were in a highly visible location surround by other part goers. But still. Why don't you just? Pick me up and dump me in his LAP next? Good gods man.

Needless to say? The roasting was merciless and immediate. He escorted me to a friend of his. Terrifying woman. We had a grand time roasting terrible behavior and I learned SO MUCH. They were Hilarious. Clearly appreciated having an audience who could actually grasp their sense of humor. I left with letter buddies.

Acquaintances that became friends.

Kaito became my single BEST friend. A refuge, a mentor, a confidant. I trusted... TRUST, the man more then any single soul I've ever met. It helps, I guess, that he meets me where I AM not where he assumes I SHOULD be. Doesn't baby me. Infantalize me. Nor does he treat me in any way that would set off a "creep" alarm in my head. He's just... Kaito.

All cunning eyes and slight smiles, dry humor and cutting wit. Ever the rougish yet refined strategist. Bad boy of the highly polite. All the high court ladies still sigh over him.

Grey eyes that bordered on black filled my vision. That whisp of soft silver hair that never wanted to stay put, forever falling across his brow. My view of the garden cut off. When had he moved? Had I drifted back into my head again? It seemed so.

This close, I could not help but notice his eyelashes were still the rich dark of his youth. Few strands of silver yet touching his eyebrows. He'd had a beautiful shade of black hair it seems. It was rather striking....

A pinch on the back of my hand. Bright pain lancing through the fog. Kaito's hands cupped mine, kept me from jostling my cup. Stopping me from dropping now cold tea into my lap. Taking it from me gently, he set it aside. Thumb rubbing the skin he had abused. His face was apologetic.

"And that marks the second time you've drifted away on me, dear. I'm afraid I'm no longer asking. I'm will be helping. This is entirely unacceptable. What in the gods name have those idiots done to you?" His voice was soft. Attention focused on me. I felt... felt so very fragile.

Not weak. Fragile. Like glass under strain. Bones near their breaking point. That final support beam struggling with weight beyond its abilities to bear. He was treating me like I was wounded. Was I? Perhaps I was. I certainly felt that way.

I just... just wanted someone ELSE to take care of it all.

Just for a bit.

Was that so wrong?

I was TIRED. Felt the tears coming back. Here I was, coming to a dear friend, about to ask him to take on a burden for me. Risk enraged royalty just to protect the innocent. Being unspeakably emotional and RUDE. And I... and I... I just....

"Shhhhh. None of this. You've done so much. Have been so, so brave, my girl. No more. It's alright. I'm here. I'll take care of everything." He soothed. Soft and unbearably kind. All I could do was nod. Agree. "There we are, good girl. You'll stay here for now, all right? No more stressful journeys to that house. I'll send someone to gather your things. We can have everything dealt with after a rest."

His hands, boldly, came up to cup my cheeks. I found I didn't care. It felt nice. His palms warm and dry, gently cradling.

I wouldn't be able to stay. He knew that. I knew that. It simply WAS. We weren't related, weren't married. I had brought no chaperone. I... gods, I wanted too. Badly. But I couldn't. I just needed help with the servants. Told him as much. Words rambled disjointedly between us as I struggled to get them all out.

"Ah, but the solution then is simple, isn't it?" He said, looking almost amused. "You just need to marry me."

Blinking, the thought didn't quite process. My confusion clear enough on my face for him to continue.

"Every time I see you, you are suffering some fresh new indignity from that house. Some brand new insult. Isn't it better here? I know you enjoy it. The servants adore you. I adore you." The hands on my cheeks shifted, just slightly, barely daring to let their thumbs stroke just slightly."

"I would give you everything, dearest."

This... did not feel political. Nor some ploy to just protect the servants, offered by a dear friend. When... when had things changed? I knew for a fact, he held no such interests in me as a child. I'd seen him kill a man over the mere suspicion of such things. Yet... it's also not like I'd grown UP in front of him. We talked mostly over letters.

It was harder to remember my physical age through those. Since I didn't exactly talk or write like the child I had appeared. And talking to each other, being friends with each other, for going on a decade... certainly WAS a good foundation for a relationship, wasn't it? I didn't know any more. How old... how old even was I?

His hands were so warm.

Felt strong and reliable, cupping my face. A reserved and refined (if a bit mischievous), pillar of strength that I could finally lean on. Offering up a tempting dream world where I wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to deal with troubles or reality. Just... just endless, beautiful, painting-like peace and serenity.

No more drama... ever again.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Didn't I deserve to rest?

Who else, really, could I even see myself marrying? Realistically? Some untested lout? Character suspect and temperament unknown? What prospects, what LOYALTY, could they even offer? Would they even respect my boundaries? Could they ever hope to match his knowledge of my likes and dislikes? Could... could I ever hope to TRUST them? Like I did, Kaito?

I felt my expression soften. Decided to be a little bold too. Leaning forward, I let my hands come up to lightly grip his arms. Still so corded with muscles. The man never did skip out on his training, be it archery or swordsmenship. My forhead rest lightly against his, that wayward strand tickling my skin just a bit. His breath smelled of those smokey spiced cigarettes while his skin, which I had never dared take note of, smelled of daily things.

He held so perfectly still, as though afraid to spook me. Seemed startled by my boldness. How cute~

I couldn't stop the grin if I tried.

"Yes, yes, mock the old man. Impertinent minx. So scandalous!" He teased, finally unfreezing after gathering his thoughts. That plotting spark back in his eyes. "Whatever shall I do? My guest takes advantage of me! Oh dear, oh no~ I fear for my honor! You will have to make an honest man of me, I'm afraid."

The laugh burst out of me, feeling a lot like relief. Gods, I'd missed this. Just... just sass and light hearted teasing. Droll humor and wit. No nightmare politics or angry royals. No trying to manage the unmanageable. Not responsible for any but myself. Yes... yes this was exactly what I needed, wasn't it?

Honestly? FUCK the Plot. FUCK the Protagonist and her nightmare social blunders! I was gonna get OUT of that house. Live for ME. Marry a nice, reliable man. Have a beautiful home. Maybe get some pets. Eat snacks! Laze about and enjoy the gardens! Have some gods damned PEACE for once! It sounded perfect.

I told Kaito there were no take backs. Congratulations on the terrible idea! I was HIS problem now. Have fun with your new, future in-laws!

Laughter was the best thing I'd felt in weeks. One of the maids I liked was already on standby and ready to lead me to a guest room. We bickered light heartedly, him groaning in exaggerated ways about his TERRIBLE fate of having to deal with IDIOTS! Oh, Darling, how COULD you?! Ha! Suffer.

It... gods, it was beautiful. Dreamlike. A perfect, story book solution to my woes.

Really, if I did not TRUST Kaito so much? I would have been suspicious.

But I did.

So I left with the maid, a smile on my face. Relieved. Happy. Engaged to a "good man". The most TRUSTWORTHY man I knew.

Thus, did not see, like a mask, his expression slide away. His open body language close off, like then slamming of a crypt door, locking the dead back inside. The warmth draining from the room as I left it, as though I had taken every trace with me. Leaving only the cold, cold THING behind. One that wore the face of a man.

A handsome man, yes, but an empty one.

One that was Not Pleased.

"I distinctly recall," his voice cutting the silence like an assassin slitting a throat, sudden and violent yet just as impersonal. "That I ordered her not to be bothered. For you to get rid of that... thing, in a timely manner."

Shadows dropped from the roof. Then too their knees. Kneeling, loyal unto death, before the one that commands them. Many are injured. They do not shake, for all that they have failed. Will likely die for it.

"Give me one good reason to let you live. A single one." The empire's spy master, the Winter Ghost, asks the room at large. Picking up his beloved's tea cup, considering it as he talks. He almost wants to destroy it. So no one else can ever use it. Touch it with their filthy hands. "Well?"

His assassins continue to kneel. Silent. There is no defense for their failure.

Three die instantly, the rest are not so lucky.

He decides to keep the cup.

Running his thumb along the rim where her mouth touched it, he steps out, closer to the garden and slides the door shut. It truely is a lovely view. Behind him, his servants behind the familiar work of cleaning up. Kneeling in the dirt before him, the next set of assassins.

"Let me make my self clear this time. I don't care how you do it, how painful or how slow, but they are to be gone by the time I am wed, understood? If that useless chit or her idiot father darken my door, you will long for the mercy that is death. Get out. And do not DARE fail me."

A quite chorus of confirmation, then like leaves... scattered on the wind.

He was named winter victory. For his mother's success in seizing control of her poor, late, husband's house. Born into the cold, it has always remained. Is it any suprise he covets warmth? In any form he can have it. Every form.

A pity though... that he won't be needing his plans.

She would have made a beautiful widow.

[entitled-fangirl]

I know you made her your riduur.

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din finds his little clan held captive by Moff Gideon with the Darksaber. He intends to do anything to get them back.

Warnings: kidnapping, mention of blood, fighting, threatening

Author's note: I'm a huge sucker for protective Din, so any requests of that is more than fine by me...

Masterlist

..........................................................

The door slid open to a sight Din never wanted to see.

Moff Gideon held the dark saber above the Mandalorian's clan.

Y/N and Grogu.

The two were in cuffs, the child in the woman's lap.

When she saw the familiar beskar, she let out a breath of relief, "…Mando…"

He stepped through the doorway slowly with his blaster pointed at the man. But he knew it did no good.

"Drop the blaster." Moff Gideon commanded.

When Din hesitated, Gideon lowered the blade closer to the woman's head. 

The soft white glow from the saber illuminated the woman and child's faces, only spotlighting their concern gazes on the Mandalorian.

But Din could barely see it through the red anger that was clouding his vision.

"…Slowly."

Din obeyed, setting the blaster on the hard metal floor.

Y/N shifted in her chair, "Don't… please."

But Din didn't care. 

As much as her frail voice made his stomach drop, he would do anything to guarantee that he could keep hearing her voice forever.

Even if that means surrendering.

"Now kick it over to me."

And Din did so. He pointed to his family, "Give me the kid and the girl."

"They are just fine where they are."

Just to tease the beskar-wearing warrior, Moff Gideon menacingly brushed the blade back and forth, mere inches from the girl's head.

She grimaced slightly, looking down at the child.

Moff Gideon didn't care to even look at them, "Mesmerizing, isn't it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan. Oh, yes. I know you've been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything."

Din shifted his weight to his other leg, as he contemplated what to do.

"Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo. And that only two weeks ago did you make this pretty girl your riduur."

Din's voice hardened through the modulator, not only tired of the situation, but angered by the mention his weaknesses. "Where is this going?"

"This is where this is going: I'm guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me or, more accurately, this." He held the saber up. "See, but I'm not there. And I imagine that they've killed everyone on the bridge, the murderous savages they are. And now, they're beginning to panic.

"You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword… has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne."

Y/N's eyes shift up to Din at this information. She takes note of the light glow that reflects from his armor.

"You keep it." Din says immediately, "I just want the girl and the kid."

Moff Gideon tilts his head in consideration, "Very well. I've already got what I want from the kid. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood. This child is extremely gifted and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy."

Din finally lets his gaze move to the woman and child. He takes notes of the small cut on Y/N's cheek, the unshed tears that sit in her eyes. The child seems unscathed enough, but his eyes are just as saddened as the girls.

"I see your bond with the child," Gideon continues. "Take them."

Din steps forward.

Moff Gideon's voice becomes low, "But you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways."

Din nodded, moving to his little clan.

Gideon stepped forward to let the Mandalorian do so.

When his gloved hands connected with Y/N's, Gideon ignited the saber, swinging it right into Din's back.

Y/N had never been more thankful that Din wore beskar. 

He grunted at the impact, immediately blocking the next swing with his armored arms.

He managed to get the battle away from the two hostages as he lured Moff Gideon into the hallway. 

As much as Y/N wanted to help, she knew she was in no state to do so. And she could help Din the most by protecting the child.

She stood up with him in her arms, moving towards the sound of the saber hitting beskar.

She stayed in the doorway, watching the two fight.

Finally, Din got the upper hand and kept his spear pointed at the defeated Moff Gideon who slouched on the ground.

The dark saber had been thrown from his hands, and now resided on the floor near Y/N. She hesitantly picked it up and pocketed it.

"You're sparing my life? Well," Moff Gideon smiled, "This should be interesting."

Din took a moment to remember the girl and child. He turned to see them standing in the hall a few feet back. He motioned them towards him.

Y/N immediately walked to him.

Din managed to get the cuffs off both of them, and only then did he relax.

His hand wandered to Y/N's cheek, lightly grazing over the cut there.

She leaned into his touch, "You came for us…"

"Of course I did. I made vows to you, and I intend to keep them." He lets his eyes wander down her frame, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, hugging the child to her, "We're just fine. Are you… are you alright?"

His helmet moved just barely in a nod, "I'm alright now."

She smiled, reaching into her pocket with the arm that didn't hold the child to retrieve the saber. "Here…"

If only she could've seen his own matching smile under his helmet, "Thank you, cyare."

He turned back to Moff Gideon, letting his voice harden once more to the warrior he was, "Let's go."

And just like that, Y/N felt safe next to the man who would kill anything that stood in his way.

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[thefruitypebblescastleoftorment]

Ask game for CoS DMs (because you know we all want to talk about our campaigns)!

How much of your campaign is RAW, how much is other people's homebrew, how much is your own homebrew?

How long has your game been going? Is it finished or unfinished?

What did your players do with Doru?

How did things shake out in Vallaki? Who's currently in charge of the city (if the city is still standing?)

What's the biggest curveball your players threw at you? Or just something wild/funny they did?

Did you make any NPCs more sympathetic than in cannon? Or less sympathetic?

What's your named character death count so far? (Players, friendly NPCs, villains.)

Did your players try to romance any NPCs? (Successfully or unsuccessfully?)

Did you genderflip any characters, or make anyone more queer?

Is there an NPC who's minor or forgettable in cannon that ended up playing a huge part in your game?

What, in your opinion, is the wildest change you made from cannon?

What is your favorite part of the RAW module? (Or one of them, if your favorite part is something big like "the tone" or "all of it.")

How did you play Strahd? What's his attitude towards the party, Ireena, the world in general?

How did you play Ireena? Did she stay with your party much of the time, or did they stow her someplace while they went off adventuring? (Or did she get kidnapped early on?)

Did your party attend dinner at Ravenloft? How did it go?

Did you leave in or take out some of the more unpopular parts? (i.e., Mordenkainen, Something Blue, Strahd always coming back after being killed.)

How did you handle the more problematic content?

Which NPC (or NPCs if its multiple) is your favorite to play?

Who is your party's fated ally? Did they successfully meet? How do they feel about your party?

Did your party reach the final fight yet? Who was with them? Did Strahd die, or did the dark lord of Barovia prevail once more?

[vadersassistant]

Irresistibly Yours One Shot (Darth Vader x Reader)

Summary: (Y/N) has been hiding across the galaxy for a year, attempting to flee her husband alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi, but now it is over. When the Sith finally tracks her down she must make a choice, continue to live a lie or leave with the man she loves. Takes place during Kenobi with altered events. Reader is previously a Jedi married to Anakin Skywalker.

Warnings: Make out session, mentions of sex, slight violence (not towards reader)

A/N: The poll I made landed in a 50/50 between suited Vader and nightfall Vader so I'm giving you the best of both worlds. In which, Vader wears the suit and mask, but he can take it off and looks like the Anakin we know and love.

“You have to go,” I demanded, turning away from the door in horror.

“(Y/N),” Kenobi pleaded.

“He wants me Obi-Wan, we don’t have a choice,” I reasoned. “You know he will continue to harm those people until I come out from hiding.”

“He’s going to try and take you.”

“And I’ll try and throw him off my trail, at least one of us needs to escape.”

“I understand,” he said, after a moment of silence.  “Goodbye, (Y/N).”

“May the force me with you Obi-Wan,” I nodded to him, saying the old phrase intentionally.

“You as well.”

I watched him enter the secret tunnels in the back of the workshop before it slid shut, and audibly sighed. I knew it was hopeless, it wasn’t possible to ever escape him. I couldn’t, not with how well he knew me. A part of me didn’t even agree with Kenobi, as he still believed in the Jedi and being heroes. I had changed, and their morals didn’t resonate with me any longer, not since the fall.

My body shook, as I ran as hard as I could once opening the door. It was loud on purpose, everyone standing in the little street seeing me and yelping in surprise. I saw the inquisitorious point in my direction, calling out my action for their lord. I could feel it, even though I couldn’t see his face beneath the mask. I could feel that he was looking at me, the two of us making eye contact for the first time in a year. He was massive, even taller than before and stronger than ever, right on my tail as I fled. I was quick, my legs carrying me into the maze of shipping crates and dirt from afar. I should have been quieter, but I knew that wouldn’t do much. He could track me in other ways, like the force.

His cold presence clung to my shoulders as I ran between the mounts that acted like walls. I needed to throw him off, but I knew it was impossible. He was too intelligent, too quick. His steps were twice as much as my own, the force connection that bound us inseverable. My heartbeat picked up, so much so I could hear it as if it were right in my ear. My hands were trembling lightly from the thrill of fleeing.

“There is no escape,” his modulated voice said, but I couldn’t tell where it came from.

“I’ll never join you,” I whispered.

The Sith was nowhere to been seen. I backed up, returning to my original pace and attempting to find him again in the pitch black, even though his suit was the same color. He hadn’t ignited his saber yet, although it didn’t make much of a difference, since I hadn’t ignited mine in months. In truth, I hadn’t touched a thing related to the Jedi in a year. All of it, including the force, I severed myself from, up until he started hunting me down.

He invaded my dreams, doing everything in his power to get to me. When he came, it wasn’t painful, it felt amazing, too good; feelings I only experienced in his presence. He tried to pleasure me, sooth me and coax me into joining him, promising to save me from Kenobi. He abused our connection from our time as Jedi’s, seeping into my conscious and speaking to my thoughts, ghosting my body with his invisible touch. Every time I thought of him, I thought of the past. I told myself I didn’t love him, but we both knew it was a lie.

“Really?”

I knocked into something hard, strong hands coming around my upper arms. They kept me in place with ease, essentially locking me in my tracks. I looked up and swallowed, knowing I was done for.

“Vader,” my breath was short. I wouldn't call him Anakin.

“My dear,” he said.

“I am not your dear,” I tried to back up, but it was no use. My chest tightened, feeling his thumb rub my skin comfortingly.

“Yet you are weakening in my hold,” he spoke sweetly, opposite of his reputation. If anyone else rejected him, they would be dead, neck snapped, I knew that.

“You’re a liar,” I said unfearingly.

“You are the only one lying here, (Y/N),” Vader replied. “Don’t deny me any further.”

His voice lit a fire across my entire body, smooth yet so deep I could have lost it right then and there. It took everything to keep my composure, a fake stubbornness still trying to hold up across my face. I wanted so badly to do a million different things. A part of me thought to leave, to escape and flee once again. But another part of me wanted to follow him, leave Kenobi behind, and go into the depths of hell.

“I will never join you, Sith,” I used his new title as an insult. “Now let go of me.”

“Your thoughts betray you, my love,” Vader said. "I feel your conflict."

“I hate you.”

“Hate is not an attribute of a Jedi, or you,” he entertained. “You are too caring to hate.”

He was right, always right, and knew me far too well. I sighed aloud, as he still held me and I could just feel the victorious expression through his mask.

“I married Anakin Skywalker, not you.”

“Anakin Skywalker still remains, but only for your pleasure,” he rebutted. “I am here, waiting for you, my dear. You and I can overthrow the emperor, become the galaxies newest destined rulers. Leave Kenobi and set yourself free, do what we both know you long to. We are mean't to be together.”  

I looked into his helm, hoping that I might see his eyes through the blacked-out visors. My lips parted just slightly, breathing hitched as my hands rested on the Sith’s chest. You could see it, Vader's muscles breaching the clothes he wore. The armor fitted his broad shoulders perfectly, hands so skilled and trusted. My head dipped, succumbing to what I truly thought.

“I’m supposed to kill you, to try and run away.”

“I know,” he leaned forward, his mask hovering over my head.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to do this,” I my hands turned into fists, pounding on his chest in frustration.

“But you don’t agree with Kenobi,” he finished.

“I don't."

“So, join me, my dear,” Vader coaxed, placing a leather glove on my jaw to tilt my head upward.

I breathed deeply, my pupils slowly dilating while taking him in.

“Take the mask off."

Surprisingly, the Sith didn’t argue. He let go of me and slipped his thumb around the rim of the helm, like he needed to turn something off. A hissing sound followed, confirming my suspicions, and he lifted it above his head carefully, dropping it onto the ground. I watched it fall, clinking on the ground as if he didn’t care for it. My eyes slowly trailed back up, seeing his true appearance in what felt like forever.

His hair was the same length, wavy and brown, yet in the face he had grown so much. His jawline was even more developed, the scar still remaining on the right brow. The most prominent feature was his eyes, gold with red rimming the irises. His gaze was more alluring than before, a look I easily got flustered from. He grinned at me checking him out and let out a sexy and low laugh.

“Still have the same effect, don’t I?” Vader asked, his actual voice being used.

“Even better,” the words formed before I could think.

His robotic arm curled around the back of my head, the two of us enclosed on the space between. I slid my arms between his neck, kissing him deeply without hesitation. It felt like a war between hell and heaven, holding my breath for as long as possible while taking the Sith in. The further we went, the worse it got, to where I wrapped my legs around his lower waist and he held onto my ass. We would take short breaths touching each other as much as possible during it, enjoying as much as we could, the both of us starved from one another.

It was no surprise Vader got the upper hand, trailing his lips over to my cheek and down to my neck. He carried me over to a tower of crates, one sitting alone in front of the stack, sitting me down on it gently. I leaned back as if it was a wall, and sounds slipped from my mouth naturally. They were rare to come by, not having heard them in months, my husband well aware. I felt Vader smile as he got onto the crate as well and trailed his hand up my thigh to my top. He was straddling me, making me feel like I was weak, and it was to die for.

More whimpers left my lips, and I knew what he wanted. The Sith fiddled with the zipper of my jacket, remaining eye contact with me while doing so. I could feel his hot breath against my skin, forcing me to shudder as he started to take my clothing off. I wanted him so badly, feeling his cod piece harden against my thigh, but we both sensed something nearby. The two of us froze, silent as his cloak shielded me from anyone’s line of sight.

“Obi-wan is near,” I whispered.

“He has come back to try to take you away from me,” Vader said, his hands now placed on both sides so that I was caged in. It was protective, the look in his eyes possessive.

“We must go, you have to have a ship nearby,” I told him.

“I do, follow me,” he nodded.

I slid off the crate, slightly upset we had been interrupted, but there wasn’t time to think about it. Obi-wan would never forgive me if he saw this, and I preferred that I remained on good terms with him. Vader called for his helmet with the force, it quickly suctioning to his hand and then being placed on his head. I kept up with him, weaving through the maze of construction until we got closer to the town. It seemed that most of the Imperial forces had been ordered to leave, Vader having called them off unsurprisingly.

The people that once lingered around were all inside, sleeping away in fear from what happened. Behind all of the buildings was a ship, the shadow of it coming into view from around the corner. It was the infamous Tie-Fighter the Sith always flew in, extremely well developed and luxurious. He lifted up the hatch with a wave of two fingers, offering a hand politely to help me up onto the top. It was only when he got in first and sat down that I realized where this was going.

The ship was small, meant to be a one seater and easy to maneuver. Vader took off his helmet once more before shooting me a suggestive look and patting the inside of his leg. It created little space for me to sit in his lap, but I didn't think much of it, all I knew was that what had stopped before was about to resume.

LMK what you all thought about this. I honestly can't decide which Vader I like more so this was very fun to write

[that1emowitch]

here me out

AU where instead of doing the whole red hood thing, jason just stays with the all caste. he finally meets the batfam when the justice league is facing a threat and need the help of the all caste. could be pretty good angst, since it directly disproves every shitty thing bruce said about jay, and bruce realises that his son was alive like way later than in canon

also it's a crime that jayessence basically doesn't exist, there are 11 fics on ao3. i want jayessence and competent!jason pls

That'll be so interesting, ur right! I'm definitely gonna go read RHATO issues again so I refresh my memory (if there r any other issues with the all-caste story PLEASE lmk cuz i have a very tumultuous love/hate relationship with RHATO lol)

I think Jason would've been happier, with the All-Caste. Talia would've visited him when she could (let's make her a mom not a pedo), Ducra would've trained him in every single war form she knew, putting hum on a path to surpass even her

Essence and Jay would've been her top students (if u don't mind, could u pls give me a lil recap on what Essence's story is? I kinda got confused in that part. Was she banished? She's one of the Untitled, technically, is she not? I don't rmbr 😭)

But basically, Jayessence! I've never read a fic about it or written one, but I've always thought it was an interesting dynamic! It'd be fun to try writing it out. Maybe I'll make a happier AU, where Essence and Jason train together under Ducra, both of them named her heirs. That kinda makes them play-fight with each other which ends up with them kissing. Oh god Jason would be so smitten by her, he'd pretend to be annoyed but he knows she's a goddess, knows she could kill him in a blink, knows his blade could kill her—but they both choose to love. AAHHABSBSHS I'm dying

Then the Untitled attack.

I love Ducra so much, she's their BAMF Granny, so let's not kill her. Maybe instead, she is kidnapped, in hopes of getting Jason and Essence to surrender (They know these two could destroy them). And at the same time, the Untitled are also attacking JLA outposts, for a reason I'll come up with later. Bruce remembers, back when he trained under the League, Ra's mentioning evil beings of this type, immortal and unstoppable by all but the All-Caste. Hence they seek their help.

And with Ducra gone, Jason and Essence are in charge, and they have to meet with the JLA—with Batman, Superman, and WW, specifically.

Jason makes sure to cover himself completely. Puts white nose generators in his mask and chest plate to ward off Supes. Makes sure to double, triple check his voice modulator. He cannot risk them finding out his true identity.

Not when he's finally recovering from his past as Robin.

I'm imaging they work together for a while, with everyone noticing the Red Hood (would he still be called Red Hood, if he never returned to Gotham? Maybe? Maybe he was reclaiming it, as a way to heal himself instead of for getting revenge) basically everyone notices RH being antsy around Batman. The amount of effort he puts into concealing his identity, unlike the other members of All-Caste. His name being Joker’s old name, something deeply meaningful to Gothamites.

Batman thinks RH is a reformed Gotham villain, who he's dealt with before. He thinks that's why RH doesn't ever face him, doesn't look him in the eye. He feels bad for him, but is strangely proud (just feel like mentioning, the thing about Batman is, he cares SO MUCH. About everyone. He feels sorrow when they lose themselves to their insanity, feels guilt over it. And he feels pride when they bounce back, grow better, like Harley Quinn did.) Like, this man, this absolute machine, clearly well honed and trained, who seems more than capable of taking on the entire Justice League by himself. Clearly he has experience.

Essence helps Jason through it. Soothes him at night when he has panic attacks, because his Dad is two rooms away from him. Helps him cope. Helps him calm down.

Then one day in some battle, one of the Untitled fatally injures Jason, and Batman is the only one nearby. Batman takes a hasty decision, rips Jason's mask off to save him.

And freezes.

That... that's his son. He looks older, more scarred, but thats... that's his SON!

(ALSO another addition: when they find Ducra she's like "uncuff me, and I'll show you just who Essence and Jason learnt from" BAMF!DUCRA FOR LIFEE)

Sorry for the rambling I just kept getting ideas and I kept writing lol

I promise I'll write this as a proper story as soon as I can, thanks so much for the ask! As usual, lmk in the comments if you'd like me to tag u in updates, also feel free to share any ideas u have! I'm just writing what yall want to read that makes me happy hehe

[a-shade-of-blue]

Today I want to introduce you to Sarah (@sarah-abo-hwidi), who is also an English literature student and we both share a passion for performing on stage. However, while I managed to graduate with a BA in English, Sarah's university in Gaza was bombed and completely destroyed.

Sarah is only 20 years old. She should have been enjoying her university life. Instead, she and her parents, her brother and her sister are now displaced and living in a tent that does not shield them from either the bullets, the cold or the rain.

Sarah hopes to continue her education. She is a very talented student and has managed to secure a scholarship at the Mary Immaculate College in Ireland to do a BA in English Language and Literature. This scholarship is only awarded to 4 people a year!

However, she cannot continue her studies without your help. While she plans on getting a student visa once the Rafah Crossing opens, as you all know, evacuation fees are very expensive. Moreover, with the high prices of basic necessities like food in Gaza, money in the family is dwindling quickly. This is her only chance to get a good education, this is her only chance to save her family, and her fate is in your hands.

This campaign is vetted by association! Sarah is a former student of Mahmoud Khalaf (@/supportgaza) (#151 on their verified fundraising list by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi). I've been asked by Mahmoud to write a post for Sarah because she has very limited access to the Internet, which really hinders her ability to reach out to people.

Low Funds! Only €955 raised of €50K target! (2%) Last donation was more than 24 hours ago!

The Tumblr I know is packed with lovers of literature, writing and consuming stories and fanfiction and poetry, keeping our favourite works alive by circulating it again and again. Please show some love and extend a helping hand to Sarah, a fellow literature student. I wish for a future where Sarah is not logging on to Tumblr because bombs are falling around her and she needs to ask people for help; I wish for a future where Sarah is on Tumblr because she wishes to share a piece of her writing, or because she is looking for a good piece of fiction to read like so many of us. Let's do our part to make this happen.

tagging for reach

@thesadnessrabbit  @marthamaxing @scarlet-curls @bloobluebloo @cheshiure @ruharchive @elyserie @masterofindecision @shady-mc-muffin @vague-humanoid @neverstopblowingup @b-0-ngripper @nnnnnnnnnnnnnnsposts @kaijubluu @fleshdyk3 @innovatorbunny @truffleskies @not-a-hawk @indignantdessertbirds @theelkmaiden @areawest @angrydonutdestiny @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sivavakkiyar @anneemay @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @comrademango

@mccromy @betamaxpnk @autisticthassarian @butchlaser @pinkprimrose05 @simping-4-venti @gothhabiba @paintedplum7 @neon-draws-sometimes@moominsnufkin @sealsdaily @sporesgalaxy @ilovelifetbh @pigswithwings @wormzandgutz @tlirsgender @apas-95

[orcasoul]

That Time Again

A/N: Just a little (well it was intended to be little, but, oh well) drabble here because I can't help but think how Din, spending most of his adult life alone when not with the covert, and not knowing much about a woman's cycle, would be embarrassed when he accidentally thinks she's injured and feels bad for embarrassing her too. I think after the initial awkwardness, he'd be such a sweetheart about it ☺️

Warnings: Fluff, mention of periods.

Word Count: 1,333

The hunt didn't exactly go to plan, screw that, it was an epic failure! You and Din had just managed to get away by the skin of your teeth! You'd never been so relieved as when you saw the Razor Crest come into view, Din lowering the ramp by his vambrace. Once safely inside, with the ramp secure, you slump back into the cold steel wall, enjoying the icy chill seeping through your top into your sweaty skin as you catch your breath. "Well that didn't go well," Din panted as he leaned against the opposite wall.

"No shit," You shake your head through a half chuckle, half moan, "So what's the plan, now?" With his breathing finally under control Din stands tall, every bit the confident Mandalorian, even when he's not trying to be. It just naturally oozes from him. "He's scared and desperate now. He knows we're after him, so he'll keep running. I just didn't expect him to have so many men protecting him. But I'll get him, don't worry about that." Raising an eyebrow, you counter, "You mean we'll get him." "No!" came Din's curt and authoritative relpy, "It's too dangerous for you now."

"Din...," you begin protesting but he continues. "I've been doing this a long time, so trust me when I say I have to do this alone. This one just got much more complicated. I can't focus on the target and protect you at the same time. We're lucky we got out in one piece." Reluctantly you agree, but can't help but feel butterflies in your belly at Din's protectiveness of you. It's at times like this that you think, maybe he does feel the same way.

Locking that thought away you push off of the wall and begin to walk away when you hear a modulated gasp and feel Din's gloved hands grip your shoulders, stopping you in your place. "What the-," "You're hurt!" Din's voice quavers as panic grips his chest. You turn your head, utterly confused, trying to see where he's looking. What the hell? He's looking at ...my arse? "What? I'm not hurt. what are you talk-," Oh shit! Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn red as you realise what has happened.

You spin around, slowly backing away, trying your best not to stammer, but failing miserably. "Its n... not what you... you think. I'm... I'm fine." Din straightens, surprised by your weird response. "You're not fine, your bleeding. Let me-," "No!" He stops at your raised voice. "I'll take care of it. Trust me it's nothing." "It's not nothing." Now Din is raising his voice, clearly frustrated which in turn is making things worse.

Maker can't he just let it go? Can the universe do you a favour and open a black hole to swallow you now? He's really going to make you say it, isn't he? "Why won't you just let me help?" Din's asks exasperatedly, walking closer to you as you back away. "Cause it's nothing!' you insist, your stomach in knots. "Stop saying that!" Din blusterd. You drop your head into your hands, pressing the heels into your eyes, embarrassment burning through every inch of you. "For makers sake, Din! It's my period, okay. I've bled through!"

Silence follows your outburst, causing you to look back up at Din, who's stood stock still, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was a statue. "Oh...," he mumbled, awkwardly. "Yeah... 'oh'," you scoffed. "I... I'm sorry... I didn't mean-," "It's okay," you blurted, right now not knowing what was redder, the blood on your trousers of the blood in your cheeks, "I'm just... gonna... go," you pointed over your shoulder to the fresher. As you shower, you realised that you'd been so eager to escape that situation that you'd forgotten to bring clean clothes with you. "Aw, shit," you grumble to yourself. Well, hopefully he'll be in the cockpit.

You open the fresher door, peaking around carefully. You've already had one embarrassing moment today, you don't need another. To your relief, you're alone. You sigh and look down, and that's when you see the neatly folded pile of clean clothes on the floor, right in front of the door. You smile as you pick them up, taking them with you into the fresher to change. Once you're clean and presentable, you head up to the cockpit, knowing you can't avoid each other on such a small ship. So you'll have to, as they say, suck it up. But when you open the door, your met with an empty room.

"Din?" no answer. "Din?" you shout louder, but still, no answer. That's odd. He never leaves without telling you. Maybe he's just as embarrassed as you? Maybe he can't face you right now? Before you can dwell on it any longer, you hear the ramp lowering. You slide down the ladder to the hull to see Din walking up the ramp with a brown paper bag in hand. He stops a couple of feet in front of you, the atmosphere clearly awkward.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you, Din-," you begin, desperate to dissipate the discomfort between you both. "Please don't apologise," Din lifts a hand to stop you, "I'm sorry. I didn't realise.... if I'd known, I wouldn't have...," Din clears his throat and slowly holds the bag out for you to take. "What's this?" you smile as you take the bag and look inside. Your heart melts at the sight. Inside, there are sanitary towels, tampons, a moon cup, heat up gel packs, pain relief and even a big bar of chocolate.

You feel like crying. Kriff, this man is so sweet and so kind. Could he be any more perfect? If you hadn't already fallen in love with him, you would have now. "Din...," his name leaves your mouth in a whisper, while holding in the tears. You look into his visor, hoping you're making eye contact. "You didn't have to do this. Thank you! This is... so sweet of you." "I wanted to help," he replied, softly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you earlier," he added after a moment. "It's okay," you shrug, feeling the embarrassment melt away by the second. "I think we were both a bit embarrassed."

"Yeah," Din chuckles, his shoulders losing some of the tension in them. He still feels bad about the situation, but seeing your eyes light up at his gift means the world to him, just as you do. Damn it, if only he could tell you how much he loves you. He's fearless in every aspect of his life, except when it comes to you. "Look, I don't claim to know much about 'this'," he emphasizes, "but I want you to know you don't ever have to feel awkward about it around me. We're a team, and if there's anything you ever need or anything I can do to help at this time, you can always come to me, okay?"

Your eyes soften even more and you're sure you're looking at Din like he'd hung the stars right now, but you don't care. You want him to know how much you appreciate his kindness and scincerity. "Thank you, Din. That means a lot." You can't help the beaming smile on your face right now. "You know...," you begin, teasingly, "for somebody who says he doesn't know much about 'this', you sure knew what products to look for."

"Well, I might have asked the lady working in the store if she could help me pick out the best things," Din confessed, in a playful tone. "And this?..." you wave the chocolate in front of his helmet, grinning like a fool. Din shrugged and you just knew he was grinning under his helmet too. "She also said some women have cravings, so I thought, best be prepared." "We're sharing this," you tap the bar against his breast-plate. Din chuckled, shaking his head in amusement, "Whatever you say, Cyar'ika."

[freelancearsonist]

when the sun came up, you were looking at me

➔ Din Djarin x gn!Reader - 2.4k

➔ A bounty on your head and a bad ship wreck are just a few of the circumstances that have you questioning if you and Mando will ever be out of the woods.

➔ Rated PG-13 for curse words that are probably not canon in star wars, reader is generally able-bodied but otherwise is completely a blank slate, mando is probably ooc but we’re all a little delusional here, lots of blood, i don’t actually know how concussions work and we’re taking some broad liberties with injuries here.

➔ this is another submission to @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! (if you're reading this kel ily <3) this fic is non-linear so pls bare with me - the timeline will make more sense at the end!

You keep your head down and walk quickly, ignoring the frantic heartbeat of city noise surrounding you as your legs carry you down a dim street.

This is the last place you want to be right now. Even with your cloak’s hood drawn up around your head, you feel too exposed.

The apothecary is a very little hole-in-the-wall type place; you walk past it twice before you finally locate it. The facade looks like it’s about to crumble, and the single window is caked in a thick layer of dust. It looks like it’s been abandoned for decades, rotting with the telltale signs of neglect.

The storekeeper inside looks even worse. She’s a decrepit little woman, squat and skinny, white hair brittle and tangled. Just looking at her makes you want to slowly back away and apologize; say you have the wrong building and run away as quickly as you can.

This is the only shot you have, though; the only place that won’t immediately call the authorities when you step through the door. If you get picked up, everything is fucked.

With a deep breath, you swallow your nerves and summon Din to mind. You think of his easy, authoritative tone and you try to emulate the confidence that modulator always used to convey.

You hear the crash before it happens.

It’s unlike any sound you’ve ever heard before. A high pitched whistle in combination with the deep, metallic scrape of mechanisms working overtime.

And then you feel it. It shakes the very earth you stand on, sends tremors and shockwaves up your legs all the way to the crown of your head. Even after the ground has stopped trembling, your fingertips tingle with the sensation.

You grab a blaster and you run.

You know before you even find it that it’s Din’s ship. There’s a churning, nauseous wrench in your gut and you just know.

There’s so many thoughts swirling through your mind that it doesn’t feel like you’re thinking at all. Your body simply moves on autopilot, like you’re watching a holovid. You traipse bravely into debris and ruin, locating the crumpled remains of the cockpit.

All that beskar is a damned curse, because he blends right in amongst the crumpled and twisted metal of what used to be a functional ship. Stolen, sure, but functional all the same–and the only one either of you had. 

But you push aside your anger, because he isn’t responding. You’re calling his name and shaking his chest and he’s just laying there. Not joking about you smudging his armor, not breathing a little heavier at the sound of his name on your tongue like he always does. He just lays there, limp and unresponsive, and you’ve never been more terrified in your life.

There’s smoke and everything feels hot, but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, adrenaline surges through your veins and you start dragging him. More than two hundred pounds of bulky man and armor but it doesn’t matter because if he dies like this you’ll never fucking forgive him, never fucking forgive yourself.

You drag him out of the wreckage and dump him unceremoniously on the grass, and then you get really scared. He hasn’t made a single noise, hasn’t even tried to help you with his weight.

You thump a little harder than you should on his chest, desperation outweighing any logical train of thought. “Din, wake the fuck up!”

It’s the slightest of movements–just a barely discernible turn of his helmeted head–but it’s enough. 

“Where are you hurt?” You beg, plead, cry. “You have to tell me where you’re hurt, I can help, but you have to tell me.”

His neck is just the littlest bit exposed, but it’s enough. You see scarlet red rivers tracing paths down corded muscle, and it makes your gut clench so hard you almost get sick right then and there.

“You have to take it off,” you whisper–your hand comes to rest at the side of his helmet, the only thing between living and dying at this point. “You have to take it off, Din, I can’t do it for you.”

His fingers twitch indecisively at his sides, and you realize with a gut-wrenching pang of fear that he might not be strong enough to do it himself. 

Or, even worse: that he might rather die than show you his face.

As soon as you’re back out the door, your body tremors with a sudden wave of previously repressed anxiety. You want to break out in tears, but you can’t yet. If there’s ever a time you have to be strong, it’s now.

You tuck the bag of supplies underneath your cloak and draw the fabric tightly around your torso as you walk back down the street the way you came.

You don’t think the storekeeper alerted anyone who shouldn’t know about your presence here, but you walk as quickly as you can anyway. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

The ship is old and barely functional, but it’s the best you could scrape up on short notice. It works well enough for these little in-system supply runs, even if it does shake a little more than is comfortable when you take off and land.

After what happened to Din, you swore you would never fly again. That promise went pretty short-lived.

“You’re late. Again.”

You’re used to the deep, gravelly tone of his modulated voice by now, but that doesn’t stop the shiver that works its way down your spine.

“I’m sorry,” you say, as meek as you can sound. You set a bundle of herbs and vegetables down on the counter, hoping the offering will appease him at least a little bit. “I found a garden and–”

“And you shouldn’t be going that far alone.” His voice is firm, there’s no room for negotiation.

“Din, I–”

“Don’t. Argue.” And there’s just something about that authoritative tone that makes your traitorous heart seize in a way it shouldn’t. “You are in danger. I brought you here to protect you but I can’t if you keep running away.”

“I wasn’t ‘running away’, I just wanted to be helpful.”

But he’s not budging–not on this one. “You can’t be helpful if you’re captured or killed.”

He stands towering next to you, so solid and imposing. He sets his hands on his hips and you hate the disapproval radiating from him. More specifically, you hate that you’ve disappointed him.

Your voice sounds small, meek–you hate it. “I didn’t do it, Din.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re a galactic fugitive with a bounty on your head.”

He’s not wrong, but it makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle defensively anyway.

“You said we were safe here. You said we could lay low here until my name is cleared and no one would find me.”

“If you follow my orders,” he adds firmly. “You’re reckless and it’s going to get you killed.”

“I’m restless!” You correct, throwing your hands up in the air. “I hate being fucking… cooped up! I want to go out, and I want to do things, and I want to be able to take care of you the way you take care of me!”

There’s a heavy moment of silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. You know as soon as the words are out of your mouth that you’ve said too much, but you don’t know how to backtrack now.

“I can take care of both of us.” His voice is so much softer and gentler, you almost think you’ve misheard him. Surely you have, because it’s only been a few weeks since he rescued you from certain death–since he decided the price of the bounty on your head wasn’t more valuable than your innocence–and he’s been a stoic enigma the whole time. Always quiet, always imposing. You’ve never been able to get a good read of what’s going on behind that visor, so you’ve always assumed there wasn’t much.

Maybe you were wrong. You so desperately want to be wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, stepping a little closer. Approaching him like a wounded animal, terrified of scaring him off. “I’ll be more careful.”

And you hear it–the hitch in his breath through the modulator at your proximity. You’re closer than you’ve ever been before by choice, and he knows it.

“Good.”

He turns on his heel and retreats into the back room of the little cottage you’ve commandeered and fixed into somewhere livable, and you can do nothing but slump in defeat.

He barely gets the helmet over his ears before he passes out, but it’s enough. Your hands catch the heavy beskar before it can slide back down over his face and you pull it the rest of the way off to toss it safely out of the way.

You’ve seen little peeks of his skin before–mostly his hands when he tugs off those heavy leather gloves–and you know right away he’s too pale. His face is completely drained for color, and again you feel that uncomfortably sharp twist in your gut. But you tell it to fuck off and your hands spring into action, desperately trying to find what’s wrong.

There’s a small yet jagged piece of metal sticking out of his neck, right under where the helmet's protection ends but above where the neck of his shirt would normally sit. Just the smallest strip of exposed skin, but it’s enough. Luck wasn’t on his side today.

You have to pull it out to get a better idea of just how deep it is, but your fingers are so slick with his blood that you can’t get a good grip on it. That’s when the frustration kicks in and your eyes well with tears; your blurry vision only makes you more frustrated, until you’re helpless and sobbing into his stomach.

But you feel it–the slow, unsteady rise and fall of his chest. He’s fighting, but he needs your help. You need to get it together because you’re the only chance he has.

You take a deep, unsteady breath and wipe the blood from your hands–and then you reach for that jagged piece of metal again.

You have to sit in the cockpit of your rusty, scavenged ship for a moment to catch your breath after you land safely and in one piece. You’re not even scared of crashing, you’re scared of dying and leaving Din alone. Din, who believed you when you said you didn’t commit the murder you were charged with. Din, who took you to the safety of this mostly uninhabited planet and assured you that no one would find you. Din, who swore that he would protect you.

Din, who has yet to wake up since he fainted lifelessly in your arms.

The metal wasn’t imbedded that deep, thank the Maker. He lost a fair amount of blood over it, but not so much that he couldn’t recover, and it didn’t knick anything too important that you couldn’t stitch back up even with your unskilled hands. 

It’s the concussion that worries you. You’re certain it’s not the first he’s had, but it’s definitely got to be the most severe. His skull must’ve bounced around in that damned helmet like a stray pinball. You’re able to take a small amount of comfort from the way his pupils retract when you lift his eyelids, at least, but that comfort wanes with each passing day that he doesn’t wake up.

This is your third time returning from that shady little apothecary on the next planet over, but it’s the first time his eyes have been open when you come through the door.

And for one horrible, gut-turning moment, you think he’s dead. He stares so blankly at the ceiling that you want to fall to the floor and die yourself.

But he hears you approaching, and his eyes flicker over to you. Those deep, chocolatey brown eyes that you’ve come to crave meet yours for the very first time and you start to sob with relief.

You push his back firmly against the mattress when he tries to get up, and you shake your head when his lips part around unspoken words. You just need to cry right now, so he lets you.

Everything comes up all at once–days of panic and fear, days of never knowing if you would ever hear the sound of his voice again, days of tears that you haven’t cried because you haven’t allowed yourself to. It all comes to a boiling point and spills over the edge of the pot, and poor Din just lays there and lets you cry into his chest because there’s nothing else he can do.

It takes longer than you wish it did for you to regain some composure, and when you finally pull away you’re feeling a little more than self-conscious about the very apparent display of emotion.

He must sense it, and even though his face is unreadable, he catches your hand before you can retreat too far.

“H-helmet?” He croaks, throat dry with misuse.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’ll go get it. I… I didn’t see your face, as far as this is concerned. You’re safe with me.”

But he doesn’t let go of your hand when you step to retrieve the helmet–if anything, he squeezes it tighter.

“S’okay,” he whispers hoarsely. “K-kinda… feels ni-ice.”

And it makes your heart flutter in a way it shouldn’t. That not only is he letting you see his handsome face, but he might even be enjoying it.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” you murmur as you start to remove the bandage from his neck. It’s healed down to a thin line now–the bacta’s run its course, and it’s faded to a simple scar. It could be years old if you didn’t know better. “I… I was so scared.”

“M’sorry.”

And you laugh, because it’s so ridiculous that he feels the need to apologize. It’s so ridiculous that he could think you’re upset at him for getting hurt when all you feel is pure, unadulterated relief.

He takes a deep breath and catches your hand again. “Saved me.”

“You saved me, too,” you murmur–before you can think about it, you ghost your lips in a feather-light kiss over his knuckles.

His eyes flutter shut from that minimal amount of contact, but it’s enough. He’s okay, you’re okay, and it’s enough.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[hazelsmirrorball]

We Aren't Partners | Hazel Callahan

summary: Hazel Callahan has a love hate relationship with another gotham vigilante. The only way to fix their relationship is with thanksgiving leftovers parings: Red Hood! Hazel Callahan x SpiderWoman! Reader warnings : English isn't my main language, so excuse any mistake! authors note: This is based on a one shot I did a few years ago. Hope you guys enjoy, this will probably be multiple parts if you guys like it. Thank you once again for reading. Lot’s of love. 

The cold air consumed Y/n’s body while she jumped from roof to roof. She tried to keep herself warm but it was impossible. The cold holiday breeze was upon them and even though she had been swinging left and right all that movement didn’t stop her  body from getting cold. When she finally found the person she was desperately searching for, she  smiled and felt her body get completely warm. Y/n sneaked up to Hazel  hiding behind her back the surprise she had for her. Y/n took small steps attempting not to catch her attention. 

“You do know I can feel you’re here, right? There’s no need to sneak up on me. You’re not that discrete. I can spot a annoying spider from miles away.” she scoffed into the darkness, her tone rougher than usual. Y/n rolled her eyes, her shoulders dropping in disappointment. 

“Happy Thanksgiving! My dear Red Hood. It’s great to see you too,” Y/n responded sarcastically while sitting next to Hazel on the edge of one of Gotham's buildings. She wrapped her own body in a hug trying to warm herself. 

“ I didn’t even know Thanksgiving was today,” Hazel muttered while looking at the view in front of her, not even glancing at Y/n once. Which was the complete opposite to what she was doing, Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off Hazel. If Y/n could, she would admire Hazel for a lifetime. 

“Well, remind me to get you a calendar for christmas then, sweetheart,” she replied with a giggle leaning towards Hazel to hear her better. Hazel moved a little to the side leaving space between them, not in the mood for Y/n’s touch.

“I told you it wasn’t professional you calling me pet names.  Wait, didn’t you say you had a party tonight an…”

“Red Hood, actually listens to what little old me has to say? That’s quite surprising,” Y/n asked while bumping her elbow on Hazel’s side. God, she wished she could see her face.

“As I was saying… Don’t you have a place to be instead of annoying me? I bet your family would love to hear you annoy the living shit out of them.”

“Well actually I do but, I decided to leave really quickly to bring you something. They won't mind me disappearing for a few minutes, they are quite used to it by now,” She took the item from behind her back and placed it neatly on Hazel’s lap.  

“What 's this?” Hazel asked, looking down at the container. Hazel’s gloved covered hand softly grazed on top of it, inspecting it like it were a bomb. 

“You told me a few weeks ago that you didn’t have a place to spend thanksgiving. I invited you to my family’s thanksgiving party and since you denied wanting to keep your identity a secret, I decided that I should bring you some food from my house. My parents make loads of  food and it’s Godsent so, there you go.”

Hazel stayed quiet. The only thing that could be heard was her rough breathing due to her voice modulator. Of course she had a place to go on thanksgiving. She wasn’t going to tell the girl that she had million invitations falling at her feet after she told her she didn’t have anything to do on the holidays. Hazel had decided not to, she wasn’t in the mood to be thankful for anything and she knew as soon as her family got there she would be instantly annoyed so Hazel opted for the option of going to the Wayne Manor. 

Hazel also had Y/n’s offer, as much as she tried to push the girl away, it was impossible. Hazel worked alone, Red Hood wanted to work alone but found herself with her trailing behind. Y/n was nice, nice to everyone, nice to her. Hazel didn’t want to ruin that, she was too pure for this world and everything Hazel touched ended up being horribly wrong.

 So the seven times Y/n had invited her to her family's thanksgiving party, Hazel had said no. Her main excuse being her secret identity, which she easily resolved by telling Hazel that she would show her identity to make her feel more comfortable and if she still didn't feel safe she could come in her suit.vWhich Hazel also denied.

“Thanks” Hazel responded softly while turning to look at her. Hazel wished she could look at her face to see what she was thinking.

“I expect you to review the food a one through ten and the container.”

“What about it?” she asked, not understanding completely what Y/n was implying.

“Bring it back, so I can give you more food on another occasion. If you don't, there's no more food for you,” She said softly.

“Don’t you have other containers?” Hazel asked, turning to her completely. 

“Well, this one is special. It’s red, because you’re Red Hood. Get it?” She responded laughing hard.

“You know it's not funny when you have to explain the joke.” Hazel responded sarcastically while rolling her eyes.

“Tough crowd. I have to go but enjoy your food, partner” Y/n responded while running away.

“We aren’t partners!” Hazel yelled while looking down at the container in her hands. She slowly looked at the small note placed on top of it and smiled.

A little piece of my family for you, no one deserves to spend the holidays alone. If you don’t have anyone to spend Christmas with, you can gladly come over.

love,

your favorite spider partner.

Thank you for reading! xoxo.

[mizusnose]

This might be a weird request but can you write a Mizu fanfic where she has a bad habit of biting pens and in class (uni) she’s concentrating rlly hard and her pen accidentally bursts leaving her mouth an inky mess which makes everyone fall for her 😭 I’m like bouncing off from the doctor au and competency kink

Physics. It’s the only thing keeping Mizu from a perfect 4.0 GPA. She doesn’t know how she’s gotten 50% on all of the quizzes thus far, but the first exam is coming up, and if she wants to keep her scholarship, she has to ace it.

But the textbook is a bore, and the homework modules don’t give thourough enough explanations on the correct answers. So lecture it is.

She picks a seat in the front of the lecture hall. Less distractions could help, right? Halfway through the class about optics and electrostatics, she can feel herself finally starting to understand. She grins around the pen dug between her canines.

Mizu has always had a thing with her mouth. Didn’t like the way her left sharp canine was crooked, ever so slightly. Didn’t like the slant of her lips or the pink of her gums. So she developed an awful habit of trying to whittle it all away, usually with a pen or pencil or gum. It had developed, somewhat, into an oral fixation of sorts.

So, just as she’s getting ready to take an important note about electron movement, reaching for her chewed-up pen between her lips, it breaks.

And bursts.

The ink is thick around her mouth and spills around her chin and flecks catch onto her fingers where she holds the pen.

She curses, and the lecture hall quiets. It’s not a large class since most of the lectures fall on a Friday afternoon, and nearly everyone is headed back home for the weekend or pregaming for the night ahead.

“Everything okay?” The professor asks, uninterested and seemingly exhausted.

“Fine.” Mizu says, standing and making the mistake of trying to wipe the ink away. Instead, it smears across the bottom of her chin, creating a wipe of spilled black ink on the bottom of her face, “Fuck.”

She’s left her phone on her desk, so she turns and bends towards the lecture hall to grab it and is surprised to see the eyes of every single student on her.

It’s unnerving, so she grunts as she quickly stands and leaves to clean up. Oddly, when she returns, she can feel eyes on the side of her face for the rest of the lecture.

Weirder still is when multiple girls go up to her afterwards and ask if she’s okay, if she needs makeup wipes, if she has an instagram account. Their eyes drawn to her mouth, the stain of ink on her lips, her tongue.

Mizu agrees so she can escape quicker and suddenly finds herself at the end of multiple dates. She quickly becomes a campus crush and gains the reputation of being both hot and awkward.

She may or may not use her knowledge of her raise to fame in the bedroom. Usually, she likes eating girls out the most, so that they can come more from the image she makes: the bottom of her face being smeared in their wetness.

———

im glad we both enjoy liquid-splattered mizu content. thanks for the ask :)