#(((this came up because i referenced the possibility in a fic and now i'm like OKAY BUT WAIT THAT WOULD BE REALLY FUNNY)))

[aparticularbandit]

Don't kiss a synthezoid in the winter.

Your tongue will get stuck.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Hi! I was the anonymous requester who you said your new fic coming out forever my heart sounds like! If possible could you make it separate so I’ll have more to read! Also if you could add Kylian being her first everything like even kiss!

This is the longest fic I've written up to date and I'm beat. Sorry it came out a little later than I planned.

Love Heals

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — request: «Ok please make this long again but maybe something with Kylian where reader had a really hard life working full time sometimes overtime and multiple jobs with an abusive family while going to school like her sister would bully her, mom abuse her and dad was neglectful and her jobs were terrible too like she has burns from working fast food and him being emotional and shocked because she is so happy all the time and her finally deciding to tell him after a long time like something like a fight or something like he proposes to her makes her tell him and how she is scared to trust him and tells him shes looking to get married»

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 11.k

Warnings! ANGST!! Abuse, abusive family, injury, violence, burns, referencing to past hurts, depictions of violence, insecurities, anxiety, trauma, self-conscious reader, anxious reader FLUFF! lots of comfort, protective Kylian, he would kill for you, mild smut at the end, unprotected sex, soft sex, soft Kylian

The restaurant was busier than usual tonight.

Every table seemed to fill as quickly as it was cleared, and you found yourself darting between the kitchen and the dining area without a moment to catch your breath. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices blended into a chaotic symphony around you.

The only thing you could do to get the orders done on time was to run. Your feet were aching in pain, you were so tired you felt like collapsing to the ground. Your hands were shaking, you were holding three plates in one hand.

Despite the ache in your legs and the fatigue weighing down your shoulders, you pushed forward. You had to.

This is how your typical day went— gruesome, tiring, a relentless cycle of exhaustion that demanded everything you had to give.

As you hurried past a table, a customer’s voice cut through the chaos, harsh and dismissive.

“Hey!” the man shouted, “You messed up my order again.”

You froze, the plates of food suddenly too heavy to hold. Your heart sank as you turned around to face the angry customer. You immediately recognized him. Sam.

He had come to the restaurant a few weeks ago and tried to flirt with you. You turned him down, and ever since, he had made it his mission to make your life a living hell.

He comes in every day and just harasses you, knowing you can't really do anything about him because he's a customer.

You're usually good at handling the situation, most of the time just letting him run his mouth. Mostly just insults and catcalls. You endure it. But he's been ordering drinks all night, and the restaurant is packed.

Using all the patience you could muster, you took a deep breath and made your way to him. “I apologize, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

“I said you messed up my order, bitch,” he growled.

You flinched at his tone, feeling the familiar sting of shame. But you kept your composure. “I apologize for the inconvenience. May I know what you ordered so that I can correct the problem?”

Before you could take note of his order, he stood up. “Fuck you,” he sneered. He threw the glass of liquid at you. The strong alcoholic smell tells you that it's whiskey.

The cool beverage soaked your clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of the burns you received earlier from the grill. You didn’t even notice the pain anymore, the stinging sensation was normal now.

“Get m-me a new... new drink!” he continued. His voice grew louder, and you could hear his slurred words. Drunk.

You could feel eyes on you, but you tried not to look anywhere. The customers and the waiters were all staring. You felt the hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

"Excuse me." You heard a man's voice from the table next to Sam's. You looked over. A tall, handsome man was looking at you with concern.

He was seated with a group of friends, all of whom had stopped their conversation to watch the unfolding scene. The man stood up, his presence commanding immediate attention.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice calm yet firm. His eyes, kind yet resolute, met yours for a brief moment before shifting to Sam.

Sam sneered at the newcomer. "This doesn't concern you," he slurred, his words barely coherent. "This is between me and her."

The man stepped closer, his posture unyielding, his body shielding you from Sam's view. For some reason, you felt safe with him here. "It does concern me. You're being abusive, and that's not acceptable."

Sam's face twisted in anger. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he spat, trying to push the man away. But the man didn't budge.

With a calm yet authoritative voice, the unnamed man responded, "I'm someone who won't stand by and let you treat her like this." His tone was steady, unwavering, and it seemed to cut through the drunken haze clouding Sam's mind.

Sam glared at him, his drunken bravado faltering. "Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?" he challenged, though his voice wavered slightly.

The man glanced around, noticing the restaurant manager approaching with what seemed to be a concerned look. But you knew better.

Richard’s never cared for your well-being or any of his employees, for that matter. He was a money-hungry man who only cared about the restaurant’s reputation and how much money we were bringing in.

Working for him was a nightmare, but you had no choice. This was the highest-paying job you had and the only reason why you could pay your tuition for the semester.

He approached quickly, his eyes flicking between Sam and the newcomer, assessing the situation.

“Is everything alright here?” Richard asked, his voice tight. His eyes were piecing daggers at your form, and you subconsciously cowarded into the man standing next to you.

“Actually, it’s not,” the man said, turning to Richard. “This customer has been harassing your staff. It needs to stop.”

Richard’s expression hardened, though he managed a tight smile. “I see. I’ll handle it from here.” He glanced at you, a warning in his eyes, before turning to Sam. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Sam’s drunken rage flared again. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m a paying customer!” He shoved his chair back, nearly toppling it over, and lunged at Richard. But before he could do any more damage, the stranger intervened, stepping between them with practiced ease.

“Let’s not make this any worse,” the man said calmly, placing a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’ve had too much to drink. It’s time to go.” As he said that, two men from the table he was previously sat at stood up to join him, their presence reinforcing his authority. Sam looked between the three men, his drunken bravado quickly dissipating into defeat.

Richard, seizing the moment, nodded curtly. "I'll call you a cab," he said, signaling to one of the other waitstaff to assist. Sam, now subdued, allowed himself to be led away, grumbling under his breath but offering no further resistance.

The tension in the room slowly dissipated, and you felt your shoulders sag with relief while your stomach turned with dread. Richard was going to make you pay for this. For losing a customer. For causing a scene.

The tall, handsome man turned back to you, his expression softening. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his eyes scanning your soaked clothes and the fatigue etched on your face.

You nodded, though your voice betrayed you with a slight quiver. "Yes, thank you. I’m sorry you had to get involved."

He shook his head, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. "Don't be. No one should have to deal with that alone. I'm Kylian."

"Y/N," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Kylian said warmly, his eyes never leaving yours. He was about to say something else when Richard interrupted.

"Y/N I need to speak with you, now," Richard barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kylian must've seen the fear in your eyes because he stepped closer to you, almost shielding you from Richard. Your heart fluttered at his gesture but you knew what would happen if you didn't listen.

You reached out a shaky hand and tapped him on the shoulder, your eyes silently communicating that you were okay. He stared at you for a second analyzing your features before nodding slightly and stepping out of the way, making you face Richard again.

Richard’s eyes narrowed at the interaction, wondering How you knew Kylian Mbappé. But decided not to say anything. He looked at you. "Go change your clothes. Meet me in my office in 10 minutes."

You nodded looking at Kylian one more time before scurrying away.

****

Kylian watched you leave, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. Something about you tugged at his heart, drawing him in.

He had first noticed you when he came in. You were a small, maybe 5'0. Your hair was dark, but he could tell it was dyed, your natural color peeking from the roots. You had soft eyes and full lips that seemed to curve into a smile every time you took an order. Your uniform hung loose on you, he could tell you were thin, but not in a healthy way. He had to do a double-take when he saw your name tag.

Y/N.

For some reason, it causes butterflies to erupt in his stomach. He decided then that before the night ended, he would talk to you. Charm you. Get your number.

He spent the whole night watching you as you bustled around the restaurant, taking orders and delivering food with a grace that belied the chaos that seemed to surround you.

And then he saw Sam. The way he talked to you, the way he treated you, made Kylian's blood boil. He had been about to intervene when you came over to Sam’s table, and it was then that he noticed your arm.

Peaking just out of your sleeve was what looked like a burn. It was red, fresh. The sight made his heart clench. What happened to you? Did it hurt?

When Sam started yelling at you, Kylian knew he couldn't stay seated anymore. He stood up and had to fight the urge to punch Sam in the face when he threw a drink at you.

The restaurant bustled around Kylian as he watched you hurry away. Without thinking, his feet moved to follow you, but Hakimi caught his arm. "Hey, where are you going?"

"I just... I need to make sure she's okay," Kylian said, his voice filled with concern.

His friend raised an eyebrow but nodded, letting go of his arm. The look on Kylian's face was unlike anything he had ever seen. The pure concern in his eyes was so heavy that it took him back. He had never seen such desperation in the man. All to follow you.

Kylian nodded and made his way towards the back of the restaurant, following the path you had taken.

Meanwhile, in the small staff restroom, you stood in front of the mirror, trying to steady your breathing. The whiskey-soaked uniform clung to your skin, and the cold, damp fabric made you shiver. But the chill didn’t compare to the icy fear that gripped your heart.

Richard was going to be furious. You had to figure out how to calm him down before it was too late. You pulled off your uniform and began to change, your hands shaking as you tried to button up your spare shirt. You were so tired. Your body felt like a weight was pressing down on it, making it impossible to move.

A knock at the door startled you out of your reverie. “Hello, are you okay? Do you need any help?” a deep voice called out.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you realized it was Kylian. You quickly finished changing and opened the door, revealing him standing there, concern etched on his face. His eyes softened as he took in your appearance, still damp from the spilled drink but now clad in fresh clothes.

"Hey," he said gently, eyes scanning your figure for injuries. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

You managed a small, grateful smile, touched by his genuine concern. "Thank you, I'm okay," you replied softly, though you couldn't hide the lingering unease in your eyes.

He nodded, his expression serious yet comforting. "Is there anything I can do?" Kylian asked, his tone sincere.

Before you could respond, a sharp voice interrupted from behind him. "Y/N, my office. Now." It was Richard, his impatience palpable.

You glanced nervously at Kylian, who met your gaze with a look you couldn't decipher. You forced a weak smile before hurrying past him towards Richard's office.

****

Kylian stood rooted to the spot, watching you disappear down the hallway. His stomach twisted with worry. But then he heard Richard’s voice, his words barely concealed by the thin office door. Kylian felt a knot of anger in his chest as he heard Richard berate you.

You were fired.

Kylian clenched his fists, barely controlling the urge to barge in and set Richard straight. But he knew that would only make things worse for you.

As soon as he saw you leave Richard’s office, he made his way over to you. “Are you okay,” he repeated. It's all he seemed to ask you since you met him. It made your heart flutter how much he cared. Even if he didn't know you.

You looked up at him, your eyes red and puffy from crying. He felt his chest clench with regret. If he had known Richard was going to fire you, he would've never left you alone. “yeah, I'm fine, ” you sniffled, forcing a smile.

He reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. Your skin was soft, delicate. You froze at his touch and he quickly removed his hand.

Contrôle toi, mon vieux, c'est pas le temps. He scolded himself.

The air became awkward as you stared at each other. His fingers itched to touch you again. He cleared his throat breaking the silence. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice low. You shook your head.

“No, I’ll be okay.”

Kylian sighed. He couldn't leave you like this. “Can I at least drive you home?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

You hesitated, your instincts telling you to refuse, but the exhaustion in your body won you over. "I... I guess that would be okay," you murmured.

Kylian's face brightened with relief. "Great. Let me just grab my things."

As he walked back to his table to collect his belongings, you took a moment to steady yourself. Tonight had been draining, emotionally and physically, and the idea of spending a few more moments with him was strangely comforting.

You didn't know what to make of Kylian's attention, but right now, you would enjoy every bit you could get.

Kylian returned quickly, his friends giving him knowing looks as he walked away. He led you to the door, a protective hand gently guiding you out of the crowded restaurant.

****

The car ride was quiet, with the only sound being the soft hum of the music playing from the speakers. You couldn't help but stare at Kylian as he drove.

He was handsome. Tall and lean. His skin was dark, a soft brown. His eyes were brown, the deepest you had ever seen. He had nice lips and a sharp jawline.

He looked back at you every now and then, checking that you were still there. The gesture made a warmth bloom in your chest.

Never had anyone stood up for you the way he had. A complete stranger at that. Even though you had just met, and it was stupid of you to get into a stranger's car and let him drive you home. You had never felt more safe than in this moment. With him. Beside him.

You wanted him to keep driving, take you far away from everything.

The halt of the car jolted you out of your trance. Kylian looked at you, his eyes soft. "We're here," he said. "Is this your house?"

You nodded, not wanting to get out.

Kylian got out of the car and walked around to open the door for you. He took your hand, helping you out, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You didn't want him to let go. "Thank you for everything," you said softly, shyly glancing up at him.

He smiled, his lips curving up and his eyes twinkling. "Anytime Y/N."

And with that, you turned around and made your way to the house.

****

Kylian watched as you disappeared behind the front door. His chest felt heavy, his thoughts consumed by you. He missed you already.

He had never felt this way about someone before. The way you made him feel was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt a strange pull towards you, a feeling he couldn’t explain. All he knew was he wanted to spend more time with you. He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to hold you.

Kylian made his way back into his car, starting the engine and pulling away from your house. His mind was whirling with thoughts of you.

Just as he pulled into his driveway he remembered something. He never got your number.

****

It was weeks before you would see him again.

This time at the bookstore you worked at. He walked in with a teenager by his side. And judging by the uncanny resemblance between the two, you could tell they were brothers.

You felt your stomach drop at the sight of him. Before he could notice you, you quickly fixed the scarf around your neck where your father's handprint lay fresh and prayed to God your concealer was thick enough to mask the bruise on your face.

You busied yourself behind the counter, stealing glances when you could. They were in the school supplies section, browsing. His brother was animatedly discussing something with him, his gestures mirroring Kylian's in a way that was both heartwarming and bittersweet for you.

You smoothed your scarf nervously, a habit that now concealed more than just your attire, hiding the marks you hoped no one would notice.

As they approached the checkout, Kylian looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Your throat felt dry and your knees grew weak. The stare he was giving you was an intense one. One that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You stayed like that for a while. Just staring at each other. His brother stood beside him oblivious to the unspoken exchange, chattering on excitedly.

Then he smiled. It was a gentle smile, one that made you feel warm. He began to walk towards you leaving his brother behind to do more browsing and approached the counter. Your heart pounded in your chest and your mouth felt dry.

"Hi," he said, his voice soft. His eyes searched yours, looking for something. But you didn't know what.

"Hi," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. He leaned forward on the counter, his body angling towards you in a way that felt like a secret. You felt his scent surround you. It was spicy and musky. Your chest fluttered in response.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he said, his voice filled with a longing. Your heart skipped a beat. The tone of his voice, the way he was looking at you. It was almost overwhelming. Never had someone regarded you with such care, such intent.

You felt like a flower being basked in the warm sunlight for the first time.

You managed a small smile. "Yeah, me too," you said, your voice small.

He smiled back. Your stomach clenched. You love his smile. Love the way it made you feel safe, wanted.

He looked like he was about to say something when his brother interrupted him, holding a stack of supplies. "Kylian, come pay for this," his brother said. Kylian nodded, reaching for his wallet.

As he began to unload the stuff from his brother's arms onto the counter, his gaze locked with yours again. He didn't speak but instead held your eyes with an intensity you couldn't understand.

You managed to break the contact by looking down and started to ring up the items.

When you were done and Kylian had paid, his brother thanked you. His smile was sweet and genuine. Kylian looked at you, his eyes searching yours.

You felt like he was trying to say something, but he didn't speak. Instead, he reached out and took one of your hands in his. His palm was warm. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the contact.

"Can I have your number?" he asked, his voice filled with hope. You felt a warmth spread in your chest at his words.

You froze at his words. No one had ever asked you for your number before. At least, no boy.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. The idea of giving out your number both excited and terrified you. Did you really want to be his friend? As your stepmother always said you tend to bring more harm than good into people's life.

And Kylian was such a good person.

Could you really burden him like that? Suffocate him with your baggage. You weren't meant to be loved. Clearly. After all even your own father didn't want you. Why would he?

You knew that once he got to know the truth about you he would run for the hills. You didn't want to get attached to him only for him to leave you. Heck, you could already feel yourself tearing up at the thought.

But then, looking into Kylian's earnest eyes, you saw something different. Something you both desperately craved. The need to be loved. To be seen.

Slowly, you nodded, your heart racing. "Okay," you managed to say, your voice barely audible but filled with a newfound resolve.

Relief washed over Kylian's face, followed by a soft smile that lit up his features. He's so beautiful, you thought. He handed you his phone, the screen already lit up with the phone app open. With trembling fingers, you entered your number, feeling nerves twisting in your guts.

"Thank you," he said sincerely as he took back his phone, typing a quick message to ensure your number was saved. Your phone pinged beside you, the screen lighting up with the message 'Hi.' from an unknown number. You couldn't help but smile.

Unbeknownst to you, Kylian saw it. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever met. And he's met a lot of women. It was no secret to the world that Kylian Mbappé was a heartthrob, sought after by many.

But in that quiet moment at the bookstore counter, he gave himself to you. Mind, soul, and hopefully if all goes according to his plan, body.

He was yours.

He emptied out the space in his heart and placed you there, a refuge from the stormy world you knew too well. It scared him what he was ready to do for you. After all, he didn't even know you.

And yet, in that instant, everything felt right. His instincts, usually so finely tuned on the field, told him that you were worth the risk.

As he glanced at his brother, who was waiting impatiently by the door, Kylian knew he had to go, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.

"I have to run," he said reluctantly, his voice tinged with regret. "But I really want to talk to you more. Can we meet sometime?"

His question once again made you hesitate. But looking into his soft brown eyes made you melt. So you decided right then that you would enjoy his company for as long as he wanted you and would mourn his loss when he would eventually leave.

You nodded, unable to hide the smile that crept across your face. "Sure," you managed to say, feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness.

"Great," he replied, his smile widening. "I'll text you."

With that, he squeezed your hand gently before turning to leave with his brother, who was now calling him urgently. You watched them walk away, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you—hope, disbelief, and a hint of fear.

As the door closed behind them, you leaned back against the counter, replaying the brief encounter in your mind. Could this be real? Was this some sick prank your stepsister was playing on you?

The last thought wasn't far-fetched considering all the other horrible things she had done to you. But for once you hope with all your might that it wasn't.

You glanced at your phone, seeing his message still displayed. The word "Hi." seemed to hold so much promise.

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be happy.

****

The weeks that followed were amazing.

Every time your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian, your heart skipped a beat. He was surprisingly persistent, often texting just to check in, share something funny, or ask about your day. Each conversation felt like a lifeline, a small escape from the turmoil of your daily life.

It felt good to have someone care.

You met Kylian a few more times after that encounter at the bookstore.

He would invite you to charming little places tucked away in the quieter parts of the city, where the two of you could talk for hours without interruption. Where you could forget the bad shit in your life and simply enjoy his company.

Kylian was easy to talk to, his presence soothing and his laughter infectious. He listened with genuine interest when you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours as if you were the girl person in the world. The only thing that mattered.

He introduced you to a side of life you had never known—A life you had only ever dreamed about. A complete contrast to the coldness you were used to. A glimpse of what could be if you dared to dream.

But as much as light Kylian brought into your life, doubts gnawed at you.

How long until he left you? How long until he saw the bruises you couldn’t hide? The pain you couldn't mask?

You feared the day he would look at you with pity or, worse, regret. Each time he texted or called, a small part of you braced for disappointment.

But that day never came.

Instead, he surprised you. Time and time again. Like right now.

You stood outside the bookstore, your breath fogging up in the cool evening air. Kylian had texted you earlier, asking if you could meet him after your shift.

His messages were usually funny and easygoing, but this one had a sort of seriousness that made you nervous.

As you waited, you replayed last night. He had Facetimed you late into the night, just to chat about nothing and everything. Like you usually did, but something was different that time. He was flirting with you.

At first, you thought it was just your imagination. How could Kylian Mbappé possibly have a crush on you? But as the night wore on and the playful glint in his eyes and compliments got more and more obvious, you couldn't deny it anymore.

Not with the way he looked at you through the screen. The way his voice softened when he said your name—it all pointed to one undeniable truth.

One you were too afraid to face.

"Hey," a familiar voice called out, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned to see Kylian's head peeking out of his G-Wagon, waving at you. His smile was as bright as ever, making your heart race.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. You walked over quickly, excited.

As you approached the car, he opened the passenger door for you, always the gentleman. "Hop in," he said, his tone cheerful but with an undertone of something more serious.

You settled into the seat, the warmth of the car contrasting to the chilly evening outside. Kylian glanced at you, his eyes lingering on your face a moment longer than usual. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softening.

You nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a bit tired from work."

He seemed to accept your answer, though his eyes still held a hint of concern. "I thought we could hang out at my place," he said, starting the car.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Sure," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flurry of emotions within you. You had never been to his place. The idea of spending time at his place felt both thrilling and intimidating.

The drive was filled with easy conversation, Kylian telling you about his day at training and a funny story about Hakimi and Ousmane. You laughed at his stories, feeling more at ease with each passing minute.

It wasn't long before you arrived at his apartment, marveling at the modern building towering above you. Kylian led you inside, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a touch that made your skin tingle.

His place was spacious and elegant, filled with personal touches that made it feel warm and inviting. You noticed photographs of his family, friends, and teammates scattered around, giving you an intimate glimpse into his life.

"Make yourself at home," he said, smiling as he gestured to the living room. "Want something to drink? Water, juice, maybe some tea?"

"Tea please," you replied, settling onto the large plush couch. You watched as he moved to the kitchen, his movements fluid and graceful. It was hard to believe that he was real sometimes. You felt lucky that you got to know him like this. See him like this.

When he returned with two steaming mugs, you accepted yours gratefully, wrapping your hands around it for warmth. He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat from his body.

"So," he began, his tone casual but his eyes serious. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Oh, no.

Your heart skipped a beat, anxiety creeping in. Was this it? Was this him leaving you? Telling you he didn't want to be friends with you anymore?

But instead of delivering bad news, Kylian's expression softened, his gaze gentle yet determined. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you," he said sincerely, his voice quiet in the cozy ambiance of his living room. "And I want to be honest with you."

You held your breath, unsure of where his words would lead.

"I like you," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "More than just as a friend."

Your heart pounded in your chest, disbelief evident on your face. What?

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he confessed, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "About you. And every time I do, I realize how much I care about you. Want to be with you." He reached out, gently holding your hands in his large ones.

Your mind reeled, trying to process his words. Did he really mean what he was saying? Or was this all some cruel joke?

You glanced at him, your eyes meeting his, searching for any hint of it being a lie. But all you saw was sincerity. The same sincerity you had come to know from him.

He truly believed what he was saying. But how?

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Your chest fluttered at the thought of him liking you romantically.

"I mean I want to be with you," he said simply, his eyes holding yours. "As your boyfriend if that's something you want too."

Your heart pounded harder at his words, and you felt a rush of emotions flood through you—surprise, joy, and a lingering trace of fear. The idea of someone like Kylian wanting to be with you romantically seemed almost too good to be true.

"I... I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to steady it. You looked down at your hands, unsure of how to process your feelings.

Kylian squeezed your hands gently, his touch reassuring. "You don't have to say anything right now," he said softly. "Take your time. I just wanted you to know how I feel."

His words were comforting, his presence grounding. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze once more. "I... I like you too," you confessed, "But... I don't know if you should." Your voice was shaky as you whispered the words.

Kylian's brows furrowed at your words.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. His concern was evident in his eyes, but there was also a determination that showed he would be easily dissuaded.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking. "Because... because I'm not... I'm not who you think I am," you admitted quietly, feeling vulnerable. "There are things about me... things I haven't told you."

Kylian listened attentively, his expression softening as he waited for you to continue. "I have a lot of baggage," you explained, choosing your words carefully. "And... and sometimes things happen that... that I can't control." You glanced down, unable to meet his gaze. "I don't want to burden you with my problems."

He was silent for a moment, processing your words. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, soft, loving. "You're not a burden," he said firmly, lifting your chin gently so you had to meet his gaze. The intensity in them made your heart beat faster. "Whatever you've been through, whatever you're facing... you don't have to face it alone." His eyes searched yours. "I care about you," he continued softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "And I want to be there for you, in whatever way you'll let me."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "But... what if... what if you find out things about me and you..." Your voice broke, the fear of rejection clawing at your heart. You couldn't lose him. Not with how well he treats you. How he makes you feel. You need him.

Kylian's expression softened even more, his eyes desperately trying to convey the deep affection he felt for you. "I'm not going anywhere," he said gently, his words filled with conviction. "I want to know all of you, Y/N. The good, the bad, everything." He paused, giving you a moment to absorb his words. "If you'll let me."

You searched his eyes, finding only sincerity. You were so used to people lying to you that you had become a master at sniffing it out. But his eyes held no lie. Only truth. A truth that made your heart explode.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be real. A chance at happiness you never thought possible.

"I... I want to try," you said finally, your voice wavering. You cleared your throat and repeated, "I want to be with you."

A smile spread across Kylian's face at your words. Yes, he thought doing a little victory dance in his head. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands still gently holding yours. "Thank you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you for giving us a chance."

The stare between the two of you grew heavy, a longing for something more.

As if sensing your thoughts, Kylian's eyes dropped to your lips, his gaze lingering there a moment before moving back to meet your eyes. "May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought of his lips on yours. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible but dripping with need.

Without hesitation, Kylian leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was a slow, tender kiss that sent shivers down your spine and made your heart flutter in your chest. Your first kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in him, your hearts beating in tandem.

When the kiss ended, it left you breathless, Kylian smiling against your lips. "You're mine now," he whispered, his voice filled with affection. "And I'm never letting you go."

****

The warm air from the heater greeted you as you walked further into your house. You were just coming back from the library after completing a group project that was due next week.

It had gone well, despite the stress the people you were working with brought you.

Your mind wandered briefly to Kylian, as it often did now whenever you found a moment of peace. You guys were official now. And every moment has been nothing but pure bliss.

You finally felt like you were starting to understand what happiness was.

You closed the door behind you sighing with relief, grateful for the warmth after enduring the cold at the bus stop. You missed the first bus and had to wait for the second one in the freezing cold. All you wanted now was to get into bed and text Kylian until you feel asleep.

You were taking off your shoes when you felt it. A hand yanking the back of your hair, pulling your head backward. You tried to scream but a slap silenced you.

"Thought you were smart, didn't you?" your stepmother spat, her voice filled with malice. "Thought you could fool us? You whore!" She let go of your hair, giving you a hard shove. You stumbled backward, landing on your hands and knees.

"So this is why you've been coming back home with that stupid smile on your face every day. You're fucking Kylian Mbappé," she hissed, her eyes blazing with anger.

Your heart sank.

How did she know? Had your stepsister told her? How did they find out?

You had to get out of there or they would...

You scrambled to your feet, ready to run, but a kick in your stomach sent you falling back down. Your stepmother loomed over you, her eyes wild with rage. "You fucking slut!" She kicked you hard in the ribs. "You little whore!" She kicked you again, making you double over in pain. "You will regret ever looking at him," she threatened as she continued to beat you. You were powerless against her kicks and slaps.

She stopped finally, panting. "Get up," she snarled, her voice filled with hate. "Now!"

You struggled to get up, your body screaming in pain. Your stepsister was watching you with hatred in her eyes. She was holding your phone. The same phone that had the lock screen image of you and Kylian from a recent outing. His arm was around your shoulders, both of you laughing at something silly he had said.

The picture had been taken by a fan who had asked to take a photo with Kylian. But she had noticed him put his arm around you, and instead of asking for a selfie, she had snapped a photo of the two of you instead.

It was your favorite picture, something you looked at whenever you needed to be reminded that all of this was real. That you weren't dreaming. That someone like Kylian truly cared for you.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you watched your stepsister throw your phone on the floor, her heel stomping on it.

The screen shattered under her heel.

You wanted to cry, but you were too scared. You had seen the anger in your stepmother's eyes. You knew you would be dead if you cried.

"You'll pay for this," your stepsister sneered, glaring at you with all the hate in the world.

You yelped as your stepmother grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. "You'll learn your place," she snarled, her breath hot against your ear. "And we'll teach you."

A whimper escaped you as she dragged you toward the basement, your stepsister following close behind.

You knew what was coming.

Your heart raced with fear as they dragged you towards the basement, the familiar dread tightening your chest. Each step hurt you as they dragged you down them. They would leave bruises that would last weeks. You know this from experience.

Your mind raced looking for a way out, but finding none. There never was. But for some reason, you held out hope.

The basement door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room that smelled of dampness and decay. This was where they often took their anger out on you, where their punishments lurked in the shadows, waiting to be inflicted.

You trembled as they shoved you forward, the concrete floor cold against your hands and knees.

"Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. But your stepmother's grip on your hair tightened, silencing any further plea. The air thickened as they circled around you. Like vultures. Predators.

And you were the prey.

"You think you're better than us," your stepsister spat, her face contorted with venom. "Fucking him just because he's famous. Pathetic. He doesn't want you anyway, look at you."

You bit back tears, fighting the urge to scream, knowing it would only provoke them further. Her words stung more than the cuts on your body. And your mind started to believe her.

Maybe she was right.

Pain seared through you as another blow landed. In the haze of torment, you closed your eyes, desperately clinging to the memory of Kylian's warmth, his gentle words.

His face, his smile, the way he defended you against the world. You would miss him.

You knew this was the end. You could feel it.

Your body was numb and you were dipping in and out of consciousness, the pain and fear overwhelming. As darkness threatened to consume you, memories of Kylian flooded your mind.

You recalled the first time you met him, how his genuine kindness had shattered the walls around your heart. The quiet moments stolen between you, where he'd hold your hand and promise you a future where no one could hurt you. Leaving sweet kisses on your lips.

You'll miss his eyes the most, you think. Those deep, comforting eyes that always saw through your pain and whispered hope into your soul. Even now, battered and broken, he's all you can think of.

As darkness closed in, you clung to the image of him, willing yourself to survive for him, for the promise of a better tomorrow he represented.

Despite the agony, a faint smile flickered on your lips as you drifted into unconsciousness, imagining his arms around you, shielding you from the cruelty of the world.

****

Kylian was a man of instinct.

It's why he dominated on the field and off. His senses were sharp, attuned to the slightest shifts in energy around him. Never missing the slightest detail.

That's why, when he hadn't heard from you all evening, a knot of unease twisted in his gut.

You had always texted him after getting home, no matter how late. It was a routine for you. And you were a very routine-oriented person, so he knew you didn't forget.

As the hours ticked by without a word from you, Kylian's concern grew into a gnawing worry.

He replayed the events of the day in his mind, recalling your smile as you parted ways after he'd dropped you off at the library. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to his lips, but it did little to ease his growing anxiety.

He had offered to pick you but you had declined. You could tell he was tired from training and you didn't know when you would be done. So you told him you would take the bus instead and promised to call him.

He tried calling you, but each attempt went straight to voicemail. Panic began to creep into his chest, tightening with each unanswered ring. He paced his living room, his mind racing through possibilities, none of them pleasant.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, Kylian made a decision. Grabbing his car keys, he headed out into the freezing night, his thoughts consumed with finding you, needing to ensure you were safe.

The drive to your house felt agonizingly long. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, urging the car to move faster. When he finally pulled up outside your home, a chilling sense of dread settled over him. Something wasn't right. At all.

He approached the front door cautiously, his heart hammering in his chest. The warm glow of light spilled out from the windows, contrasting sharply with the darkness that seemed to loom over the house. Kylian hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to knock.

No response.

His knocks grew louder, more insistent, but still, no one answered. Frustration and fear surged within him as he contemplated his next move. With a surge of determination, he tried the doorknob, praying it would yield. To his relief and horror, it did.

As he stepped inside, the silence of the house enveloped him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N? Mrs. Y/L/N?" he called out, his voice echoing through the hallway. No reply came.

The uneasiness deepened with each step he took further into the house. Every room he checked yielded no sign of you or anyone else. That is, until he reached the basement door.

A chill ran down his spine as he slowly opened the creaking door, revealing a scene that shattered his heart and ignited a rage unlike any he had ever felt. There you were, battered and bruised, huddled on the cold concrete floor.

Unconscious.

Kylian's world froze as he took in the sight before him. His heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight of you, vulnerable and broken on the basement floor. Rage surged through him, raw and primal, as he knelt beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your bruised face.

"Y/N, baby" he whispered, his voice choked with anguish and disbelief. "What have they done to you?"

His hands trembled as he carefully lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The bruises on your skin, the cuts that marred your once vibrant spirit, filled him with a fury he could barely contain. Tears blurred his vision as he held you close, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, though he knew you couldn't hear him in your unconscious state.

He doesn't remember when or how he called the ambulance, but he did.

All he could focus on was you, your safety, your well-being. The minutes waiting for help felt like an eternity, his heart pounding with fear.

When the paramedics arrived, Kylian reluctantly let them take you, his hands lingering on yours as they wheeled you away. He couldn't bear to leave your side, but he knew he had to. He had justice to seek for what had been done to you.

He would make sure they rot. They would burn for what they did to you.

Hours passed in a blur of interviews, statements, and waiting. Kylian refused to rest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, praying silently for your recovery. He felt powerless, haunted by the image of your broken form in that basement, unable to protect you when you needed him most.

Finally, a doctor approached him with news. You were stable, physically battered but stable. Your ribs were broken and there were numerous bruises and cuts. Burns covered your arms but the doctor said they were old.

The burns he had seeen the first time he met you.

With each word that exited the doctor's he felt himself get weaker and weaker.

Just what have you been going through? And how had he not seen it? He felt like a horrible boyfriend. He had promised to protect but he failed. He failed you.

Kylian stayed by your side as much as the hospital allowed, holding your hand, talking to you, silently willing you to wake up and tell him that you would be okay.

He had called his mother the first night he stayed at the hospital. He knew he would have to leave you to answer police questions and the only person he trusted you to was her.

She was beside him the second he called. She knew something was wrong. He couldn't hide it anymore.

He had broken down in his mother's arms. Telling her everything.

She listened and didn't interrupt him once. She hugged him tighter, kissed his cheek, and whispered 'I'm proud of you' over and over. Then she sat next to him, waiting for you to wake up.

****

The first thing you felt when you woke up was his hand in yours. You blinked, disoriented, trying to recall what happened, but your mind was hazy and clouded. One of your eyes was swollen shut, making it hard to see clearly.

Pain radiated through your body, each breath sending sharp stabs through your chest. You groaned softly, the sound catching Kylian's attention instantly.

"Y/N," he whispered, there was a tremble to his words. "You're awake."

You turned your head towards him, your good eye focusing on his tear-streaked face. His fingers tightened around yours, as if afraid you might slip away again.

"Kylian..." Your voice was weak, barely more than a rasp, but the relief in his eyes was palpable.

"Shh, don't try to talk," he murmured, gently brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "You're safe now. You're in the hospital. Everything's going to be okay."

You tried to nod, but the effort was too much. Instead, you squeezed his hand lightly, a silent acknowledgment of his words. Kylian's gaze never left your face, his eyes filled with love. Anguish.

The weight of your suffering was etched deeply into his features. He wished he could take your pain away. Switch places with you. Shield you. Protect you from all this. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I should have been there. I should have known."

You wanted to reassure him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but the pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming. Instead, you gave his hand another gentle squeeze, hoping he understood.

Kylian leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if trying to transfer his strength to you. The quiet hum of the hospital room, the distant beeping of machines, and the rhythmic pulse of your heartbeat were the only sounds, grounding him in this moment.

His mother, who had been silently watching from the corner of the room, approached with a soft smile. "She's awake, Kylian. That's a good sign," she whispered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Kylian nodded, though the tightness in his chest didn't ease. He was grateful for his mother's presence. Her calm strength a lifeline in this sea of chaos. She had always been his rock, and now she would be yours. Extending that strength to you.

She turned to you and softly introduced herself, "Hi, Y/N. I'm Fayza, Kylian's mother. You're safe now, darling. We will take care of you. You just make sure you get as much rest as possible."

You managed a faint smile, your eyes tearing up at the warmth and kindness in her eyes. For the first time in your life, you felt the love of a mother.

Her words washed over you like water, drowning you in the security that only a maternal figure can make you feel. The tears that you desperately tried to hold in spilled over, tracing silent paths down your cheeks.

Fayza reached out, gently wiping them away with her palm and you found yourself leaning into her touch. But she didn't seem to mind. The room, despite its clinical sterility, seemed a little less cold with her there.

The days that followed were a blur of medical treatments and police interviews. Kylian stayed by your side.

He was there every moment he could be. Fayza took turns with him, ensuring you were never alone. Bring you food that she made and making sure you have everything you need. Especially love.

The police investigation moved forward, and Kylian was relentless in his pursuit of justice for you. He spent hours with the authorities, providing every detail he could remember, every scrap of evidence he could find. His determination was fueled by the image of you in that basement, a memory that haunted him and drove him forward.

Throughout your recovery, Kylian's teammates and friends offered their support. You were scared to meet them at first, afraid they would hate you for dragging their friend into your mess.

But they loved you. Becoming super overprotective and treating you like a little sister. They visited the hospital often, bringing flowers, cards, food. Anything you wanted.

Physical therapy was the hardest.

Your body was broken, to say the least. Fractured collar bone, multiple broken ribs, a bruised lung, and a concussion that seemed to cloud your thinking.

Everyday was a battle a war within yourself.

Kylian was your constant companion through it all, encouraging you during the grueling sessions, holding your hand when the pain became unbearable.

It was weird at first having someone care for you like that.

But Kylian made it easy.

He learned your routine, anticipated your needs, and cheered your small victories as if they were monumental achievements. His love and patience never wavered, even on your toughest days. He was your anchor.

The worst of it was when he saw your scars for the first time helping you get ready for a bath.

He had been so careful, so gentle, as he helped you undress, but the moment his eyes fell on them, his breath caught in his throat. The sight of them, a cruel testament to the pain you had endured, tore at his heart.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling suddenly exposed, vulnerable under his gaze. Ugly. He was the first guy to see you like this and you hated how this bruised body was all you had to offer. But he didn't mind.

In fact that was the moment he realized he loved you.

His fingers traced the lines of your scars, as if to erase them. To erase the horrible past that caused them. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Every part of you."

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his words. "I don't feel strong," you admitted softly, your voice trembling.

Kylian cupped your face gently in his hands, his eyes locked on yours. "You survived," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "That's strength, Y/N. You're here, fighting every day. That's what matters. And if you can't be strong, let me be your strength. Let me protect you. Let me love you."

You froze at his last sentence.

He had never said those words to you and neither have you to him. Your heart leaped in your chest at the raw honesty of which he said.

This time you didn't hesitate, didn't ponder.

You'd know for a while now that you loved him. How could you not? When he was the man that you prayed for. Your rock, your refuge, your protector, your lover. You loved every inch of this man and Finally. Finally you could tell him.

"I love you too, Kylian Mbappé."

He held you close that night, placing kisses on your shoulder as he held you from behind whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

****

Two years later...

You stood in front of the window, watching the tranquil view. The girl who reflected in the glass looked nothing like the girl from years ago. Your smile was radiant, your eyes sparkling with a happiness that only true love could bring.

Kylian had proposed to you six months ago, after the trial was over. Your family had been found guilty. Turns out your stepmother and sister were on the run. They thought they killed you that night so they fled, along with your father.

The thought of them being okay with just leaving your corpse to rot in the basement made your stomach turn every time you thought about it.

You shook the thoughts away. you weren't about to let them ruin your day. not anymore.

Your wedding was small. A private ceremony with close friends and family. You had chosen a beautiful vineyard as the setting, overlooking rolling hills and sun-kissed grapevines. The familiar scent of roses and freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the laughter of your guests.

The afternoon sun bathed everything in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows that danced along the paths between rows of vines.

Kylian stood at the end of the aisle, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that still made your heart skip a beat. He wore a classic black tuxedo that accentuated his tall, athletic frame. Looking absolutely amazing.

You really married him.

Ethan walked you down the aisle. The two of you had gotten really close after Kylian had officially introduced you. He considered you family, a big sister. Someone he could come to for advice, which he often did. He was super protective sometimes rivaling Kylian.

Which was saying something.

Ever since Kylian found you in that basement, battered and bruised, he felt this urge to always be by your side. This urgent need. It scared him sometimes, how much he loved you. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

You were his whole world. The love of his life. His last love. The reason his heart beats.

As Ethan placed your hand in Kylian's, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everyone in a warm, golden light. Kylian looked like he was glowing. You will never forget that view for as long as you live.

Now that you were closer, you realized he was crying. You smiled at your groom, feeling the weight of your love for him in your chest.

Kylian's eyes locked on yours, love pouring out of them. You knew he would love you for all eternity. And you loved him the same. You were home.

"I love you," you whispered softly, looking into his eyes.

Kylian's lips curved into a sweet smile, his voice filled with emotion. "Je t'aime, mon âme."

The officiant pronounced you husband and wife, and Kylian swept you into a passionate kiss, the cheers of your guests fading into the background. In his arms, you felt whole, complete.

And you both knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together. You had found each other in this chaotic world, and nothing else mattered.

The feel of arms wrapping around your waist pull you out of your daydream as soft kisses are placed on your shoulder. You lean back into Kylian's embrace, smiling as his lips travel up your neck.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" he asks, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn around, meeting his eyes.

"Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you," you reply honestly. "About how much you've changed my life."

Kylian's arms tighten around you. "You're the one that's changed my life, Y/N. You're my reason for living." He tilts your chin up, capturing your gaze. "And I promise you, mon amour, that I'll love you until the day I die. That I'll make you happy for all eternity. Je t'aime." He seals his promise with a burning kiss.

The type that leaves your skin burning and heat pooling between your thighs.

His arms around you grow tighter as his kiss grows deeper. Soon he's walking you backwards to the bed. You fall on your back with a laugh but it's silenced by another kiss.

He starts to take off his shirt. You can barely think straight at the sight of his abs. Even after two years of having him to yourself you still get weak in the knees. Your panties already damp from that kiss.

His lips start traveling south as he pulls up the shirt you're wearing(his), exposing your body to him. The softness of the bed comforts your back as his heavy form press more into you. You gasp into his wet mouth, feeling his covered hardness press against your thigh.

His hands push up your shirt and massage the softness of your tummy on his way up to your covered breast. He backs from your lips to look at your fluttering eyes. “Can I?” his voice deep with lust and adoration for you, no matter how many times the two of you do this, he’s never lost the habit of asking.

“Always,” you whisper against his swollen lips, pulling him back into your lips. He lifts your shirt over your head and unclasps your bra, rubbing his thumbs over your harding buds. You moan from the contact into his mouth, a soft groan from his throat in response.

“Kylian,” your voice goes up an octave from the fire of his touches.

“Trésor,” he responds, kissing down your chin to your neck, placing soft kisses into your supple skin. “Je t'aime.”

His fingers slip down to the hem of your panties, pulling them off in one quick motion. He kisses down your belly, placing light kisses all the way down to your inner thigh. You whine, spreading your thighs in invitation.

“Patience, my love,” he chuckles, his breath fanning over your covered heated core. “I want to make you come on my tongue.”

Your eyes flutter close at his words.

He tugs your jeans and underwear off, discarding them somewhere in the spacious hotel room.

His grip is tight on your thighs as he gets down so he's at eye level with your cunt. He groans at the sight, wet and inviting.

A treat.

He places a soft kiss on the folds before taking in as much of you as he can into his mouth. He's good, really good. Your body arches and twitches with every moan ripped from your throat.

He's messy too, with loud slurping and quick inhales mixed with groaning coming from between your legs. You get louder as a coil begins to tighten in your gut, feeling his lips wrap around your clit, sucking it feverishly.

"You taste so fucking good baby. Mhm, love this pussy. Love you." He whispers against your folds. The vibrations send sparks flying throughout your whole body. You can feel yourself getting closer.

A white heat floods your senses as the coil snaps, reaching your toes as you spasm. Kylian drinks up every drop, getting drunk on your taste, chuckling as you push against his head to get him away.

He sits up, chin glistening with your arousal eyes locked on yours, and wipes the excess off with the back of his hand, smirking down at you with lust-blown eyes. “You’re so fucking pretty like this, mon coeur,” He leans down and kisses your neck, nibbling on your skin, making you gasp and whimper.

“Kylian,” you whimper as he presses your leg against your chest. His smile flatters once again, the indents of his nails on your skin now noticeable. He hovers over you, his body covering yours, your small frame drowning in him.

His hand trails down and your eyes follow. He wasn’t small by any means of the word, very much the opposite. Girthy, long, and beautiful. You love every inch of him.

You place your hand against his jaw, bringing his attention to your face. Flushed, teary-eyed, lips puffy and bruised. “Please, I need you,” you whisper, voice already showing signs of another orgasm. Just the thought of him inside you was enough.

He leans down and kisses your nose, pressing his forehead against yours. And with a nod, his weeping tip pushes past your folds and is embraced by soft, clingy gummy walls.

He groans at the feeling, kissing away the tears of pure pleasure that break from your lashes at the intrusion. “You're so tight. Feels so good. Putain,” he whispers into your ear, holding you close as he pushes in. His towering form shadows the lights from your eyes, the difference in size making your head dizzy.

He lets out a startled moan as his hips slam into yours, listening to your guttural moans. “Merde, breathe, breathe baby,” he coos, massaging the tensed muscles of your stomach and hips.

You’re not a virgin by any means but with him, it always feels like the first time. It could have been his size, it could have been that he was the only man to have you. Or maybe, it was because this connection meant more than sex.

You're enveloped in his love. This is otherworldly. Nothing could ever make you feel like this. Feel this good. Nothing. No one.

You giggle and that giggle turns into a laugh, Kylian staring confused, eyebrow-raising.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh but I’m just so in love with you,” You smile, rubbing his arms and pulling him closer. And you mean that with every fiber of your being. You never thought you'd be here. In the arms of the man you love. The man who loves you. It's bliss.

“I love you,” you say again to his shocked face, nothing but the truth in your eyes. You wiggle your leg out from under him and wrap them around his waist, heels tapping his toned ass. Kylian shivers before engulfing you in his embrace, tucking his face into your hair.

“Say it again,” he whispers, rocking his hips into you.

“I love you,” you groan, bliss shooting up your spine. His pace was slow, deep.

“Again,” he hisses, you said it again and again and again, with each time his thrust increases. His breathing is shallow and the wet sounds of your bodies echo through the room. Your poor neighbors. “I love you,” he chokes out through his pants and moans.

The heat of his body invades yours and you feel like you're melting into each other. Sweat from his chest drips onto your lashes and you blink it out, moans bouncing off the walls as his pace quickens, more forceful, slamming into that spot deep inside of you.

“Ohmygod,” you squeal, “Kylian–I-” he slams his lips into yours swallowing all of your sounds. His voice pitches up as his moans increase, breathing heavily onto your face.

His pretty face scrunches up as a loud grunt rips from his mouth, the warmth being dumped inside of you sending you over, clamping down on him harder, gaining a wince from him.

He places his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged as he stares into your eyes before collapsing onto you, spent and satisfied. His weight comforting, grounding.

You lay there for a while, you rubbing his back as he places kisses on your neck and whispers praises in your ear.

And to think that you would have this forever, have him forever. The thought brings a smile to your lips and you kiss his shoulder.

This man was your everything. your love, your protector, your soulmate. you were his world, his heart beating only for you. He healed you with his love.

Your Kylian.

-Bianca🌻

[empress-simps]

harry oneshot based on the song gold rush by taylor swift?? i always associate that song with him because no joke he captured my entire heart and soul he's so... i can't even begin to describe him.

maybe this could take place during 6th year/hbp and the reader secretly grew to have a deep admiration for him since the triwizard tournament. she yearns for him, holds him in a higher regard than practically anyone else at that school, but doesn't dare to pursue the crush because he is simply too unattainable. and harry, although nobody knows, quietly returns the feelings, viewing her in the same "gold rush" light. (ngl i'm imaging the reader to still be filipina and ravenclaw but really, it's up to you :D)

i think i'm rambling at this point but some details i thought of are stuff sort of relating to/referencing the lyrics like "At dinner parties / I call you out on your contrarian shit" meant engaging in witty conversation with harry during the slug club's dinner parties... and yeah that's it xx

Tbh, I can relate; I associate songs with a character that captures my heart🏃🏻‍♀️🫣 I also listen to songs when I write fics, it helps me think and get in the mood (also feeds my delusion-) Now, I haven’t really listened to gold rush, I sat down and listened to it, (I’m a mirrorball and archer girlie) I hope I did this fic some justice, Thank you for requesting, honey! Sorry it took so long😣 (You’re making me fall in love with him honestly)

Glint of Gold

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem! Reader CW: None that I could think of. Possibly some typos/grammatical errors as I literally published this the second I finished writing. Summary: You’ve always felt entranced with the boy who lived- You held Harry in such a high regard it seemed that he belonged in the stars. Harry, who was marked by destiny and burdened by battles, sees you too- a glimmering presence in his gloomy and stormy world, a rush of gold in a grey.

Harry James Potter; the boy who lived. The beacon of light, hope, and resilience. His very name was a symbol of survival against immeasurable odds. It was no wonder that he was admired, he has this talent for pulling people in.

In the eyes of the world, he was the chosen one, the hero of a story still being written. But to you, he was Harry—just Harry. The boy with the lightning scar, the untidy hair, and the earnest eyes that held galaxies of unspoken emotions. You saw beyond the legend, unearthing another layer to the boy who laughed and loved, who felt pain and loss.

You know everybody wants him. Everybody wondered what it would be like to be noticed, loved, or be deemed important to him. It is a certain thought that made negative emotions swirl inside you, but who are you to judge? You’re one of those people, it would make you a hypocrite.

In the golden glow of the great hall, you watch him across your house’s table. Murmurs of hushed conversations were strewn across the vastness of the hall, clinking of silverware across the tables was nothing compared to the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears as your eyes were met with his.

You tried to deny it, but you wanted him. It might sound stupid but the only thing that’s holding you back is the fear of the unknown, the what-ifs swirled and haunted your thoughts. What if he saw you as nothing more than a fellow student? What if your feelings were as invisible as a Disillusionment Charm?  What if you were just another face in the crowd to him? The idea of rejection was paralyzing.

You’d rehearse conversations in your mind, imagining witty banter and shared secrets. Yet, when faced with Harry’s actual presence, your tongue would twist into knots, and you’d blurt out something absurd like, “Did you know that Hippogriffs can dance the waltz?” Making Harry chuckle and you a blushing mess as you stammered the next words that came to mind.

You were known for your wit, yet words failed you every time you tried to speak to him. He was Harry Potter, and you were just another student who admired him from afar.

“Harry’s quite good looking, yeah?” Your friend casually comments, eyeing you as she eats some of her pudding for dessert. Your eyes widened, feeling your heartbeat quicken, words spewed out of your mouth, desperately trying to defend yourself.

“Huh?!? I wasn’t looking at him- honest!”

Your other friend shot you a knowing look, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/n.”

But as you lay in your bed that night, staring at the canopy above, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to the possibility of 'what if he knows me? Likes me?'. The thought sent a thrill through you, a rush of adrenaline that felt like flying. You imagined the softness of his smile, how the warmth of his hands holding yours will also warm your heart, and the way your name sounded when it rolls off his tongue.

Being invited to Professor Slughorn’s Slug Club dinner party came as a surprise for you. Although you were delighted since that would mean you’ll have an excuse to mingle with other students (read as Harry, lol.). The room buzzed with chatter, but none of that mattered as you were immersed in the conversation between you, Harry, and the other students.

You finally found your voice, leaning in, a mischievous glint was present in your eye. "You know, Harry," she teased, "for a guy who's all about breaking rules, your take on potions is pretty out there."

Harry's laughter was infectious, the kind that made you want to join in. "Yeah?" he shot back with a smile, “Well, I've never been one to just follow the recipe. Where's the fun in that?" She couldn't help but laugh too, he leaned back, arms crossed, a mock-serious look on his face. "You could say that. I'm all about stirring things up. Literally."

For a moment, the world felt like it was yours and Harry's alone.

As the year progressed, your moments together became a series of stolen treasures—a glance, a smile, a conversation that lingered in thoughts. Each encounter was a brushstroke in a larger portrait of what could be, a potential future painted in hues of hope and yearning.

You clearly understood the weight he carried on his young shoulders with your intelligence. And he, in turn, recognized the light you brought into his shadowed existence. It is a contrast of light and dark, a blend of strength and softness.

There was never a dull moment when you had class with Gryffindor students, especially in Charms. Watching him from afar, you stole glances, heart like a fluttering moth drawn to the flame of his presence. So, when Professor Flitwick announced he will pair students each from your house and the Gryffindor’s, you felt your heartbeat thud quickly. Even more so when he announced you would be paired with the Golden Boy himself.

The next day, you found a note tucked into your Charms book. It was written in a messy scrawl that you'd recognize anywhere—Harry's handwriting. "Meet me by the lake after dinner?" it read. Your heart leapt. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something.

Under the moon’s silvery glow, you ambled your way to the Black Lake. The crumpled note in your pocket with Harry’s handwriting was smudged due to you reading it countless times. You waited for him patiently, looking at the moon, humming and trying to keep yourself occupied. After what seems to be like an eternity later, he arrived. His hair was ruffled, looking like he had just run from the Gryffindor tower all the way to your location. His silhouette framed by moonlight; your heart somersaulted.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice soft. “Thanks for coming, I wanted to talk.”

You nod, feeling your tongue suddenly heavy with words unsaid. “About what?”

He bit his lip, a habit of his that you noticed he tend to do when he’s nervous. “You know, the important stuff.”

And then, he pulled out his Charms textbook—the pages worn and dog-eared from years of use. “I thought we could go over some charms we need to perform for Professor Flitwick,” he said. “You know, practice makes perfect.” Harry shrugs, offering a smile.

Your heart skipped a beat. “But we’ve already mastered almost everything.” Raising your eyebrow, you protested. “Why revisit it?” Harry’s eyes sparkled.

Because it’s not about wand movements or anything of the sort. It’s about bridging the gap between us.  Harry thought.

“There’s one thing the textbook doesn’t teach,” He confesses, trying to calm his pounding heart.

“What’s that?” you raised an eyebrow.

He hesitated, then slowly and surely cupped your face in his hands. “The magic of connection,” he said.  Then, he kissed you—a soft, lingering kiss. The Charms book lay forgotten in the grass. Pulling away, he smiles, taking your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles.

“I don’t know what our future holds,” he starts, “But I do know I want you to be in mine.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

The Golden Boy was no longer a distant constellation. He was here, real, and beside you; the sole witnesses of the exchange are the moon and the black lake.

It wasn't a grand declaration, but it was real and honest, and to you, it was everything.

[xxavengingangelxx]

As the Rush Comes 1/1

Ya'll! I posted this fic a while ago. It was the post that took my Tumblr virginity. However, I was dumb back then and I'm still dumb now, honestly and I thought Tumblr had a low word limit so I removed some scenes like a director in a movie that's too long and I think that really took away from the quality of the story.

With Graves coming back, I figured now was as good a time as any to repost this. Although this time, I'm posting the whole thing. It came to me after a reading a fic by halfmothhalfman on AO3. Beginning is kinda boring but it sets things up for some good smut ;)

Summary: A female mercenary and Graves meet in a bar. @bellgraves because you asked for it ;)

Tags: Porn with plot, gun kink, hair pulling, borderline hate fucking, friends to enemies, blood and injury, shooting, top!Phillip Graves.

Tagline: You had 74 hits under your belt. A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

TRIGGERS: Alleged/referenced child abuse, referenced suicide/self-harm, triggers for domestic violence, possible character death. MDNI, 18+ only.

-

I hate you.

That was the first sentence you said when you were 3 years old. You screamed it, shrieked it, to this towering man standing right in front of you. While you don’t remember exactly what had transpired, you know that you both were standing over your parents’ dead bodies and that your pajamas were sprayed red. The man in front of you did not know how to respond. It was almost as if he had never been around children so young.

You were perceptive like that even when you were 3 years old.

Sirens in the background seemed to pull the large man out of his reverie. You saw panic in his green eyes despite the fact that the rest of his face was covered in a black mask.

Then he took you.

***

And the rest is history. You learned from him later that he grabbed you because the police were on the way, you were clearly verbal, and you might make a good witness. He admitted later that he had not been around any children much less raised one. My childhood was a shithole, he would tell you.

He told you eventually that the initial plan was to avoid doing the ‘hit’ when you, a toddler, were in the home but that the timing had not given him any other alternative. He mentioned his boss told him that if the child, you, were in the home, to avoid doing it in front of you. But if shit hit the fan, then, hell, he said he had been given the green light to get rid of you, too.

He told you many times, sometimes when he was drunk, that there was no way he could kill any child, much less one that’s not even school age. So he did the only thing that came to him. He eliminated the witness without killing you. He couldn’t just throw you into foster care or abandon you because then you could be a witness. Plus he mentioned to you a lot that foster care was fucking awful. You learned that when you spent almost 6 months in foster care after he was accused of abuse. He’d burned your fingerprints off when you were 10 and the teachers were shocked when they tried to do a science project that involved fingerprints. You denied abuse, saying you were a disturbed child (you really were disturbed so it was half truth) who’d done it to herself. You were happy to be home with him however dysfunctional the home was.

He raised you. He raised you the only way he knew how. He actually never really abused you. Sure he’d beat the shit out of you if you acted up. You tried running away once and he almost put you in the hospital with the beatdown he gave you. He smacked you across the face if you got smart mouthed with him. You saw your first murder/hit when you were 10. But you didn’t consider that abuse. You considered it being put back in line. He raised you and taught you the only thing he knew.

Murder for hire.

He’d given you the name Raquel, after one of the avenging angels of heaven. You never knew your real name and to be honest you didn’t really give a fuck. You were apparently born in California and he hauled you all the way to the miserable, lonely town of International Falls, Minnesota to grow up. No one would bother looking in the nation’s ice box.

Businesswise, all you knew is that he was paid by someone else. He was hired by different people to do different hits. His own boss, your boss’s boss, ran a PMC on the side or so you heard. That was your goal: to be a PMC contractor. You’d been all over the world with your job with countless identities. But PMCs got to go to the really fun places. You’d sniped once or twice but wanted to do it more often.

So now you did what he did. Kinda. You’d have to work your way up the ranks. You’d been killing since you were 18. He was ‘nice’ enough to not make you kill before you were 18. Besides, you’d be fuckin’ sloppy anyway. At least when you both thought you were about 18. You did not know your actual birthday and neither did he. Neither of you gave a fuck. You had 74 hits under your belt, all done in the last 15 years. About 5 kills a year and the rest off to do whatever the hell you wanted whether that be party and get drunk (no drugs allowed or you risked getting a target put on your back) or whether it was nothing in a hotel room. You needed 100 hits to be considered for PMC.

A man named Phillip Graves would make 75.

You never asked the why. You never asked if they worked for him before and they had gone rogue. He made it a goal to not let his soldiers know about each other in case he had to order a hit on one of his own. The why was simply not important.

So, Phillip Graves. Someone above your boss had ordered the hit.

You were told to be careful, that he was the CEO of his own PMC. He was dangerous, you were told. You’d have to be on your toes.

I want to make your 75th special, he had told you. Try not to die. We could use a woman in the PMC. Ya’ll get to do stuff men can’t. And definitely do not let him recruit you. It’d be treason to me. Pays $50,000.

The hit was not ‘immediate’ which meant you needed to gather some basic information from him. When the final order came down for the hit to be carried out to “full term” you were to kill him. But not until then.

***

You initially met Phillip Graves in a bar.

You wore something revealing. A hot, tight black dress with thigh boots. Your hair curled over your shoulders and you had your fuck me makeup on. One of the ways you would attract your mark’s attention was to wear a black silicone wedding ring. And it worked this time, too.

“Your husband know you’re here?” A man with a Southern drawl called from behind you. Before you faced him your smirked to yourself.

“I’m not married,” you snapped, turning to face him.

“Coulda fooled me,” he shrugged and nodded towards the ring on your finger.

“Maybe I wear it to stop creeps like you from talking to me,”

“Ain’t gonna stop me, sweetheart,” he moved to sit on the stool next to you, removing dark aviator sunglasses. His blue eyes shone even in the low light of the bar. “Are you?” His cologne smelled intoxicating in a way. There was a slight smell of…gunpowder.

Hot motherfucker, ain’t he?

“Nope,” you replied.

“Name’s Phillip,”

“Ariel,” you lied.

“I’m just gonna ask, ma’am,” he started eyeing your body up and down without shame. “Are you for sale?”

You scoffed. In a way, you thought.

“What makes you think that?”

He huffed a laugh.

“Pardon my language but you’ve got fuck me written all over you.” His eyes focused on yours, looking for a reaction. “Hell several men in here are actively eye fucking you.”

“You mean that disgusting fuck in the corner?” you signaled to an overweight 50 year old eyeing you like you were prey. “Ugh,”

“He seems like the rapey type,” Graves added. “You can either hook up with him or me,”

“Or neither,” you rolled your eyes. “And no I’m not for sale, sir.”

“Sounds good to me because I don’t pay. If I see someone I like I get ‘em.” He paused. “Even if that means using force.”

You scoffed. The only reason you took him half seriously if because this is Phillip fucking Graves. “You come off a deployment or somethin’, man? You seem desperate.”

His blue eyes flashed anger and you could swear he was resisting the urge to smack you across the face. He seemed like the type that didn’t have a problem hitting women. Or killing them.

“It’s been longer than I’d like,” he admitted.

“Whatever,”

“Playin’ hard to get?” his blue eyes were dilated now. He liked the thrill of the chase.

“Start over,” you snapped.

You saw when he gritted his teeth. This man was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted to.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he smirked.

***

You led him back to your motel room.

You didn’t have to wait or ask for him to get things started.

He shoved you against the door, one of his hands tangling in your soft hair and the other gripping your ass in an almost bruising grip. He detangled his hands from your hair and your ass and then used them to tear your short dress from the bottom up.

“Asshole,” you breathed. “This was expensive, dick,”

He ignored you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiking you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands went back to your hair, gripping it tight and pulling hard, causing sharp pain and making you hiss.

His teeth grazed your throat. If wanted to he could’ve ripped your throat out with his teeth. You had a fleeting thought, wondering if he’d ever done that to someone. If he had ever ripped a man’s throat out. His mouth moved to your pulse point. You felt him grin when he felt your accelerating heartrate. He bit and sucked. You were sure he’d leave bruises.

“No marks,” you retorted. “I don’t belong to you,”

“No, you do tonight,” he breathed.

He continued biting, sucking. Your boss would call you a fucking whore with a smile on his face when he saw.

You had never been afraid to sleep with the men your killed. It was weird in a fucked up kind of way. Your boss, also known as your caregiver when you were growing up, had never laid a hand on you that way but he’d mentioned many a time that women can use their looks to bait when men usually could not. It was one of the reasons he wanted to accelerate you to your 100 kills…to get you into that PMC. You’d feel a rush when you finished off men as they slept off their tirade. You’d call it a rush coming and it released only when they were dead.

Graves wouldn’t die tonight, though. But he would eventually.

Flirt, fuck, repeat until the order came in to drop him.

You were tossed on the bed roughly, bringing your mind back to the present. He finished ripping your dress open, saying something you didn’t quite get because no sooner than he tossed you on the bed he had unclasped your bra and started biting and sucking your breasts, again leaving hickies and bruises. He got lower…lower…

And lower. He made quick work of your underwear, his hot breath hitting your sex and making you sigh.

“I said, you’re sure moaning like a whore,”

And with that you wanted to hear him beg.

You shoved him, shedded the rest of your clothing and walked towards him. You then knelt in front of him and he was clearly confused by the way you went from shortly dominating the situation to submission. You knew Graves…at least enough about him…to know he got off on being in control. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun.

Your trembling fingers unbuckled his military-style belt and that was when you noticed his sidearm. You were tempted to grab it and just fucking kill him then but not yet. You didn’t have the orders. You easily worked the belt off but he grabbed his sidearm out of your reach.

You got on your haunches, appearing even smaller before him. You look at him through your bangs, through your lashes (real lashes not that fake shit), and you feel your mascara and eyeliner running, initiated by your sweat and the rain outside. You parted your lips slightly and he sighed, his blue eyes barely visible because his pupils were so dilated.

“I don’t trust you, sweetheart,” he grabs his sidearm and yanks it from the holster. Shit…you might have to kill him tonight.

You pouted, attempting to manipulate him.

“You seem like you’re into dark shit,” he grumbled as he freed his cock, the tip of it leaking precum and standing inches from your lips.

“What’s that mean?” you whispered as you licked your lips.

He aimed the sidearm at your head. “You sure as hell know what to do,” he hissed, his other hand stroking himself. “Get to it. Now.”

“Sick fuck,” you mumbled. You took him into your mouth quickly, knowing no man would willingly shoot a woman giving him head in the head or anywhere else. Teeth could be deadly to a man in more ways than one.

“No sicker n’ you,” he moaned. He kept one hand on his sidearm against your head and one hand then tangled in your hair.

You felt as he got harder and harder in your mouth. You moaned around him and he hissed, the vibration apparently rubbing him the right way. It was fucking hot. Here you were sucking cock with a gun to your head. You didn’t mind. Phillip Graves was attractive unlike most of the men you’d handled.

His hand started loosening on his sidearm and you took that as you doing your damn job right. His hips were thrusting into your face and you felt him hitting the back of your throat. Tears escaped the sides of your eyes as you almost, almost gagged.

It was at that point that he tossed the sidearm on the bed to grasp your hair with both hands. He effectively started facefucking you. But that was where you drew the line. He still had his uniform pants halfway on and you gripped the thick fabric, preventing him from bruising your throat. You stopped it all…you stopped using your tongue, stopped using your tongue piercing to get him even harder.

“Beg,” you said after you pulled away from him. His cock was angry…red.

“Bitch, you don’t get to tell me—” he grasped your hair and threw you onto the bed again. “You dress like a whore, you get treated like one.” He climbed over you. You found it hot he was still in uniform and you were totally naked. Well except for your knee boots. Hell, he still had the vest under his shirt on. “I don’t treat a lady like this, but you…”

He settled between your legs, his hot cock rubbing your entrance. You moaned like a porn star because you’d started getting wet the moment you saw him. He was hot. And the fact that you were going to end his life not long from now got you hotter. So easy to manipulate men…

He didn’t even bother preparing you. He slammed in to the hilt, making you cry out.

“Whatever, slut,” he snapped. “Take it.”

He reached for your wrists holding you down as he rammed into you. His eyes looked down on you, focusing mostly on the way your breasts bounced as he fucked you…hard.

He was hitting that special spot inside of you. One few men knew to hit. He ground against you, rubbing your clit in between you both. You had never understood women who couldn’t cum from vaginal sex. How could you not?

You wanted to break your hands free from his iron grip. You were sure he’d leave bruises on your wrists, something else for boss to tease you about. You’re fucked up, he’d likely say. But he never complained because you always got the job done.

You felt that heat building up deep inside of you as he continued his relentless thrusts. He was thrusting faster, deeper, harder. When he leaned forward and bit your lip with his teeth (and drew blood) that pushed you over the edge.

You cried out in his mouth. You finally got your hands loose, tangling them in his short hair. You wrapped your legs around his waist, as you rode out your orgasm. You moved your hands to scratch his back but you felt only unform and Kevlar, no blood like you would have liked.

He broke loose from the kiss, moving to leave another mark just under your jaw.

He followed with his own climax shortly after. You felt him throbbing inside of you and it was at that moment that you realized ya’ll hadn’t even considered safe sex. Not that you cared. Hot men got a pass on that. Ugly ass men had to wear condoms.

His breath came in hurried gasps as he rode out his own orgasm, pulsing inside of you all the while.

“Fuuuuck,” he groaned. He stilled his hips and hovered over you, his dirty blonde hair ticking your breasts.

You were both hot, both sweaty, and you had several marks all over you. Proof of his dominance. It was almost like he wanted to mark you so no one else would touch you. He wanted you all to himself.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed as he pulled out of you and collapsed next to you. “I said no marks.” You observed marks on your breasts and that the bony part of your wrist already had a light blue tint, promising a bruise.

He scoffed, rolling off the bed. All he had to do was pull his pants up and secure his belt. He secured his sidearm next.

“What’re you doing about…” he trailed off.

“About what?” You sat up, your body aching in protest. You felt his essence sliding out of you and onto the cheap motel bed.

He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly appearing shy. “You know what.”

“Pregnancy?”

“I’m actually looking to settle down and have a kid,”

His eyes widened and you saw panic in his blue eyes. His blue eyes had lost the indigo color they had when he had been fucking you. You wondered if that would be the same look in his eyes when you killed him. You weren’t sure yet if you’d use a gun or a knife but the orders said the mark has to be within arm’s reach so that meant no sniping.

“Kidding,” you laughed. “I don’t want no fucking kids.” You sighed before adding, “I’ll get Plan B but I have an IUD.”

He sighed in obvious relief.

“Leaving already?” you asked as he started for the door.

“You know what kinda relationship this is gonna be,” he replied, not even bothering to turn around. He opened the door. “See you next week?”

“Count on it,” you smirked.

***

It had been exactly 30 days since you met Phillip Graves when the ‘full-term’ order came through. You’d learned the basics about him. Some of his habits, that he was ex-military, that he owned his own company although he refused to tell you where he worked.

So you met him at another that Friday night. The Friday night. You met in different places, sometimes hundreds of miles apart. But all were close to a base. The bar was usually filled with uniformed men looking to have a good time and relax. It was colder then and so you wore tight jeans with knee boots. A beanie covered your normally cascading hair. It was sleeting outside. And it was about to turn into snow.

“Hey there,” he drawled.

“Graves,” you smirked.

”It’s gonna be hard to peel you out of those jeans,” he eyed you up and down. Little did he know you did not intend to take your clothes off for him this time.

You followed the typical schedule. Some drinks and then you both left to go to the nearby motel. It’s not like you had a home to take him back to. You’d lived in hotels and motels and extended stay inns since you were 18.

It had started to snow and you watched some of the small furry white snowflakes landed in your loose curls of hair.

“After you, ma’am,” he smirked, holding the motel room door open.

“Such a gentleman,” you purred.

“Not for long,” he sneered.

You had set an alarm on your phone. You’d timed it to go off right before he dragged you to the bed like he always did at least once a week.

“Ugh, my fucking boss,” you pretended to be annoyed.

“What’d you do?”

“None of your business,” you responded to his question about what you did for a living.

“Whore out apparently,” he laughed.

You glared.

“Let me text this asshole and then we’ll get down to business,” you smiled.

“I’m gonna take a piss then,” Graves said nonchalantly as he walked to the bathroom.

Perfect.

You heard as he took care of business, flushed and then went to wash his hands. His back was to you. Foolish move.

So you grabbed a 9mm you kept in your large purse. A 9mm had more recoil than you liked but it definitely got the job done. Especially at close range. You wanted to look in his eyes when you killed him. You didn’t know why he was on a hit list but he had apparently pissed someone off badly enough to want him killed at close range. You’d have to aim for the head because he had his heavy duty tactical vest on today. The one with the wires for communication, the antenna folded several times over. It had an American flag and a patch that read B-23. You suddenly regretted you hadn’t had him use zip ties with you in your month together.

He looked in the mirror and…the cat was out of the bag.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he laughed. “You were too good to be true.” He turned and walked towards you.

You raised the 9mm.

“Don’t do that. Don’t. Do that,” he warned. He had a different look in his eyes this time. His hand brushed his own sidearm, almost as if he didn’t take your threat seriously, like he knew he’d kill you before you ever got the chance to even try to kill him.

You scoffed. He was a military man. He knew orders were orders.

“You work with a PMC? Or are you a hired slut with a gun?”

“None of your fucking business,” you said through gritted teeth.

“No one needs to get hurt here.”

“You know one of us has to get hurt.” You paused before you added, “mortally so.”

“Let’s not do this,” he said calmly. He knew that his heavy duty vest would catch almost any bullet you fired at his chest.

You shook your head.

“Why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation?” He demanded. “It’s not.”

“You’re right it’s not,” you stood strong. “I can’t fail. I’ve never failed. He always told me I don’t want to find out what will happen to me if I fail. He just said I’d wish I was dead.”

“Leave,” he snapped. “I like you but I will hurt you if you so much as try.”

You scoffed internally because none of the men you’d killed had put a fight.

You clicked the safety off and before your finger could go from straight to curled over the trigger, he lunged.

Suddenly you found yourself flat on your back with the back of your head hitting the thin, cheap, disgusting carpet with a thud. You saw black spots in your vision. You immediately came back to lucidity. Passing out would be certain death. Or Graves escaping.

“Get off me, you asshole!” you screamed. All the extra gear he had on made him heavier than he already was and some of the gear was digging into your ribs.

He didn’t respond. Instead Graves easily straddled you and pinned you down the same way he’d held your wrists down when he’d fucked you. He leaned forward, his dirty blond hair falling over his forehead. He easily peeled your fingers off the gun and tossed it out of reach.

You shouted, “Ugh, bastard!” before you wrapped your right leg around his waist, feeling bruises forming from his gear. It was usually a lot easier for you to wrap your legs around him but not tonight. Luckily your heels gave you extra height. You dropped your heel on the small of his back, where it was not covered by the vest.

Momentarily startled, he eased his grip on your wrists. You eased your right hand out of his grasp and punched him right in the face. He full on growled with fury as he fell sideways a bit and you shook your hand from the pain, knowing you’d broken something. He stumbled again so you put your right leg in between the two of you and kicked, pushing him off you.

He stumbled, falling sideways once more. “Bitch,” he growled lowly. This was a tone you had not heard from him before. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I’ll watch the light leave your eyes.”

You reached for a knife you kept in your boot and taking advantage of the fact that you were both still on your knees, you lunged and sliced.

Graves almost yelped. He pressed his gloved hand to the open cut on his face. On his right cheek. It was sure to scar. Not that it would matter since you’d be killing him tonight. You’d go to his funeral. You were actually going to miss him. If only you’d sliced lower than his right cheek you would have sliced his throat.

“Motherfucking bitch,” he snarled when his fingers came back with his own blood. “Walk away!” he roared. “Last fucking chance before I rip you to shreds.”

“I told you I cant,” You replied simply. “One of doesn’t get any older than tonight.” You reached for a small pink Beretta you kept in your leather jacket pocket. It was your go-to if things got too hot. And things were HOT right now. Not sexually so but dangerously so.

He got in front of you so fast you barely registered.

How did a man that large move so quickly?!

You felt him full on punch you with a closed fist across your face and you heard a sickening, nauseating crack as blood gushed from your nose. A choked sob escaped you despite your attempts to hide it because holy shit he hit you hard. Like he would hit a man. You were losing and losing badly. You stumbled but he then gripped your right arm in a hold.

Another second and he had broken your arm…easily.

You screamed because fuck it hurt and it forced you to drop the gun.

Your boss and caregiver had forced you to be ambidextrous with all your weapons and you silently thanked him for that now.

You reached for your second to last weapon. Another knife. You got it in your left hand and sliced towards him, almost catching his throat when he again attacked you, assaulted you, almost ripped you apart (like he said he would) again. It was so close you yelled out in anger, frustration. You’ve been close two fucking times now.

Two loud bangs and flashes threw you off.

Things blacked out for a second or to and…

You were back on the floor again, on your back, your head hitting it a second time. You immediately spat and coughed blood when you tried to take a breath. You felt a red mist fall on your face and chest. Your ears were ringing, painfully so and you vision had black edges.

What the hell had happened?! Your mind went into panic, something you’d never really experienced before. Your brain switched to a more primal state of survival.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” he repeated a line he’d said earlier. “You there?” he drawled as your hearing went in and out, all while painfully ringing. “That was a big mistake. It did not have to be like this.”

You barely heard him over the ringing in your ears. And…were your ears bleeding?

“Sunovabitch,” he muttered. He said you’d made a grave mistake and some dark part of your mind laughed insanely, because his last name is Graves.

“I don’t usually kill or punch women but you’re an exception to that,” he said cooly. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

You saw him blurrily but you still saw him as he picked up both your firearms and your knives. He then walked up to you. He was getting hurried in his movements. While this was a shady ass motel with gunshots all the time, he knew he couldn’t be found anywhere near there when the police eventually came.

He then grabbed your jacket and dragged you closer to the motel door. You left red streaks as he crudely hauled you. He tossed you into a corner. Probably so when he walked out you wouldn’t have a clear view on him.

“Sorry, soldier,” he commented. “Should’ve kept an eye on the 9 I made you drop earlier.” He laughed. The sadistic bastard laughed cruelly and he added, “Shot with your own sidearm.”

“Kinda a shame,” he continued, his eyes glinting as they caught the bright neon streetlight just outside your room. The blood on his face was now running down his neck, to his shoulder, staining his uniform and vest. It look bright red in places and dark red in others. “I mighta hired ya for some of my less challenging jobs.”

It was probably the first time in your adult life you started crying. You likely had a pleading look on your face. You felt tears of frustration, of pain, or red-hot anger fall from your eyes and slide down the sides of your face. They landed in your hair and they were tinged red from the coughed up blood on your face.

He slipped your Beretta into a pocket, saying, “souvenir,” as he grinned callously. You expected him to hold it to your head and finish you off. You were going to make him look at you when he killed you.

But he turned away.

“You’d better kill me,” you gasped. The effort sent you into a gasping and coughing fit and you were again covered in your own blood. You swore on your fucking life this man would die if you survived this.

He turned back towards you and easily grabbed your cellphone from your jacket pocket, kneeling beside you. He rested one of his knees on your ribs, making you really start crying. You couldn’t stop it…it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

“Unlock it,” he demanded of your phone. He held it just out of your reach, almost as if he wanted to see you suffer. “You put up a good fight but fight’s over.”

Cruel, merciless bastard.

You were dying tonight so what the hell. You used your left index finger to unlock the phone.

He creepily knew right where to go. His rust-red fingers danced over your screen, his blue eyes shining bright with the screen’s light. Your screen would likely be caked with your blood and his blood. At least you’d made the great Phillip Graves bleed.

That scar on his face would make sure he never forgot you. But then again if your survived, the scars that would litter your body (the gunshot wounds, the plates probably required to repair your arm) would make sure you didn’t forget him either.

He showed you the screen.

He had gone into your text messages and somehow found your boss’s number.

He had typed: Come get your girl’s body. -Graves

And he hit send.

“You’re very likely as good as dead,” he said before he clicked his tongue. “But if they get to you in time, stay the hell away from me.” He reached down, grasping your hair with a ferocity he had not before. He raised you off the floor and you were pretty sure you lost consciousness for more than a few seconds. But he waited for you to open your eyes again before he asked, “We clear?”

You nodded despite yourself. Hell no you intended to make him suffer if you survived.

“Good,” he drawled. “If you don’t die tonight, I’ll fucking slaughter you if I see you again.” It sounded like a promise. “I’ll have one last fuck and then I’ll paint the fucking walls with your brains.”

He got up and tossed you your cell phone on your chest. You’d seen that curiously enough, weirdly enough he had dialed 911. He stood back up. The movement of air as he stood resulted in scents of blood, sweat, cologne, and gunpowder being sent your way. Usually it was hot. Tonight it almost made you gag.

You tried to roll into the recovery position on your side and you screamed as it felt like your inside were on fire. The phone slid off your chest onto the floor.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You ignored it. You looked for something, anything that could kill this son of a bitch. Like an attack dog you’d been conditioned since you were a child: Either finish the job or die trying. He had your Beretta and your 9mm and both knives. There was no way you could reach your last resort weapon. He was taking no chances and giving you nothing to strike back at him with. He knew you better than you gave him credit for.

Besides, he was gone.

The 911 operator kept trying to get in touch with you.

You tried to say you’d been shot but could only gasp for air, choking on your own blood. Being in the recovery position helped you not choke and gag as much but you were sure you had bad internal bleeding. You vomited the alcohol you’d recently drank, the liquid burning your inside wounds like lava. Something primal in your brain fought for survival and wanted you to reply to that 911 operator.

You set your head down on your left arm, cradling your broken right. You sniffled because fuck…fuck…FUCK. Phillip Graves had mopped the floor with you. He had beaten you within an inch of unconsciousness and then shot you. All in the span of less than 5 minutes. You’d been cocky, so sure you could manipulate him with sex and seduction. It had worked for all the other men.

But not Phillip Graves. Speak of the devil because you heard him start his pickup truck parked just outside the motel room window.

You opened your eyes again, not knowing how much time had passed. You then noticed something…your 9mm. You thought you were hallucinating so you tentatively reached out for it, choking back a sob of pain and misery. You’d been crying at this point so you gave up on trying to hold back tears. You gripped it with trembling, bloody, sticky fingers. So he hadn’t taken it. When did he drop it or set it down? You had no idea.

“I’m sending police and ambulance to your location,” the 911 operator’s voice echoed in your head and it seemed to reverberate forever.

You ignored her. You grasped the gun and pointed it to the left side of your head on your temple. You angled the gun downwards because you knew that made it more likely for the bullet to take out the basic part of your brain that controlled breathing and heartrate and blood pressure. You squeezed your eyes and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. You then saw that the son of a bitch had ejected the clip and the bullet from the chamber.

“Motherfucker,” you whimpered in a whisper.

Your phone dinged. A text message.

You better fucking explain yourself, Raq. What the hell kinda message was that? You lazily read the text message from your boss. Graves better be KIA. Another text bubble. Just because you grew up with me doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass and put you back in line if you failed me. You couldn’t reply and didn’t want to. A phone call from your boss. Another text message as you wavered in and out of consciousness. You blinked through tears and saw him text again. Answer your fucking phone. Yet another text bubble. You’re pissing me off, Raq. Answer me. I need a sit rep.

Oh well. You were likely going to bleed out anyway.

A fucked up end to a fucked up life. If by some miracle you survived, you might have to go rogue. Missing in action because there would be a hit on you for the failed job. Phillip fuckin Graves would die if you survived. That much you promised yourself.

But you were dying. Fast.

At least it was looking like you wouldn’t find out what happened if you failed.

***

I honestly don't know if she's alive or dead ;)

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 49

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

What would you do if you walked in on Donnie like how @inky-spikes drew him for this week's chapter art?

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Excuse me while I get incredibly mushy; you may known my rise origins, disastisfied with content, setting out to write my own love story, but did you know that I had never properly interacted with a fandom before? Why would I? I'm the type of person to only want to do what i want. This doesn't mean I'm not open to possibiltise, I love a good time saver and the truth, but most often, I just stay my funky little coruse. Then I received a piece of fanart.

I've always told myself, if you get fanart then you've made it. Well, I didn't know how much I had made it when I started talking to @unknownfanartist

It is not hyperbole when I say that I can credit everything about where I am now to my Contessa. Sure, I have my writing, but she gave me my community. Her friendship and the many others I hold dear now, she was the one who gave me every single one of those oppurtunties.

How does someone pay that back?

I've written her fics, is that enough?

It never feels like it.

I wouldn't be surrounded by anywhere near as much love if it wasn't for her. I wouldn't have found the people who bring me joy if it wasn't for her. My rise obsession probably wouldn't even be where it is today without her.

How do you pay that back?

I can't.

I can only use my words to show and say how incredibly thankful I am that you came out of the woodwork to draw little old me a scene from my silly little turtle fic. Contessa, I not only dedicate this chapter to you, but I have written it as an homage. I've jammed it with as many refrences to your work as possible while also slipping in some of your usual mannerisms.

Merry Christmas and thank you always.

P.S. @morning-sun-brah that includes you too because you opened the Pragma Elysium gates. I remember fondly waiting on pins and poodles to await your little updates. I have an ode to you here as well!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: bra removal, clit rubbing, breast teasing

You were shamelessly staring at your boyfriend.

In his usual spot on the couch, he was hunched forward in a way that made you worry about even his softened shell. With your phone on one knee, he had his tech gauntlet folded up to his face where code was spinning around his wrist. On your device's screen, a battle was flicking and flashing with all sorts of attacks. Attached by some unseen cord, data from the game was being sent right to Donnie’s gauntlet where he was studying it.

You adored him.  

It didn’t matter that he didn’t care about video games or understood anything you were talking about; he was a trooper. When you’d mistakenly gotten into this mobile game for its characters, he’d listened without judgment as you yammered on about the designs. Every time you thrust your phone into his face to show him something, he indulged your delight. When you left him for hours on end as you combed through the story line, he simply busied himself with other things while only occasionally disturbing you to remind you to hydrate or something similar.

Not quite as obsessed as Coral, who’d already spent an obscene amount of money on the game. You kept playing relegated to once a night for sanity's sake. Your plan had worked for about a week until it became increasingly necessary for you to put forth actual effort into the battles if you wanted to keep progressing. One too many rules and all sorts of caveats, you’d gotten by on sheer luck until it ran out. With Coral barely able to keep her mouth shut about what was to come, you’d been forced to buckle down and study.

Scheduling the evening to figure it out, Donnie was buried in a project designing something on his own and hadn’t minded in the slightest. Armed with the wiki, you began the tedious study of combat logistics. Cramming for what felt like hours, you adjusted your team in all the recommended ways and restarted said battle only for it to yield the same result. Having back-ups prepared, you switched around your character’s positions and began anew only for the timer to run out even sooner. Unable to accept what was happening, you reverted to the original team. In a mystified stupor, you watched a greater failure and somehow worse result. Spurned, you spent the next 30 minutes in an ever deepening spiral as your losses piled on one after the other. 

It didn't make sense. 

You did everything right. 

You followed all the suggestions.

By the time you scrambled over to Donnie, you were sure the look on your face was a horrified one.

It thankfully hadn’t worried him, but he’d abandoned his work to help you immediately.  

All found him sitting, examining the game’s code, and mumbling something about DPS and buffs.

You wanted to kiss him nearly as much as you needed to win.

The latter winning out by the tiniest margin, you watched on with building affection until he turned toward you.

“While the damage ratio may appear the same, the actual amount dealt by your opponent is being randomly generated within a certain range.”

“So the RNG gods are frowning upon me?” You sulked.

He hummed with some altruistic form of sympathy.

The current match ended with another loss. “I guess I’ll just run it over and over until I get the right number.”

“Or…” Donnie flicked his data wheel and then hit restart on the fight.

You sat up and watched as the same attack patterns went by, but this time you were dominating.

Donnie tapped the screen to dispel a few debuffs and you won.

“Yes!” You leapt and he caught you while lifting your phone out of the way. “Thank you! Thank you!”

He allowed you to ply him with kisses. “I can adjust the code accordingly.”

“Cheating?” You asked with your lips still to his cheek.

“You won’t be caught. A few imperceptible lines.”

“Done!” You removed yourself to give him space.

He chuckled and brought back up his screens to apply whatever he had in mind.

Back to watching him, you couldn’t help but muse over how his deviousness had been watered down. This once wretched villain now hacked mobile games for his love and your heart overflowed. He had done undeniable bad, but in only a year he came to lavish in his choice. Living finally came to him easily and you were overjoyed to be a participant of that journey. 

“Hey, Don.”

“Hm?” He had a small smile on his lips as he ran a new battle and studied the metrics it produced.

“Can I be the villain?”

“Of course.” He spun his code. “What do you covet, my dearest? We’ll put on a great heist.”

“I want to steal from you.”

He still didn’t look as the battle was won once again. “Something other than my heart?”

You had to put your face in your hands.

He was in a good mood which proved fatal for your heart.

Peering between your fingers found his smile spread wide. “You goofball, that’s not what I meant.”

“Done. Do tell me if you have any other issues.” He offered you your phone. “How then?”

“Thanks.” You hugged your device to your chest. “You like it when I pull one over on you.”

He slowed, clearly going through his memories.

“What better way…” Giving your game a parting goodbye, you left it on the cushions in favor of crawling towards him. “… then at your own profession?”

He sank into the couch to receive you. “In no demeaning way, in a no hold’s barred scenario, I’m not sure you’d be able to.”

“No?” Lifting onto your knees, you straddled him.

You saw his fingers twitch from where his arms laid out across the back of the couch.

You cradled his jaw and inched forward until your lips almost brushed his. “All the times I deceived you?”

“Underestimation.” He murmured, resisting to close the gap.

“Afraid?” You tilted your head and ghosted your mouth against his.

“I won’t fall for goading.” One of his arms slipped from its perch, but didn’t come around you.

“Test it then. What do you have to lose?” You gave him a protogenic kiss.

“Nothing I suppose…” He chased you for another chaste press.

You nosed along his jaw. “I’ll try to steal from you.”

“Everything mine is yours.” He sighed contented.

You pulled back to stare at him dully. “Roleplay.”

“You make a captivating honeypot.” He caught your hips and yanked them down for a grind.

You chewed your lip as your eyes rolled back. “N-not that.”

“Explain.” His grip loosened, but you felt his fingers at the ready.

“A game of keep away. See how much you still have in you.”

“You don’t believe I’ve gone soft.” He studied you.

“No, but I’m your weak spot right? How will you fare against me?”

His expression opened up for genuine surprise. “Fascinating…”

“See what I mean now?”

“Yes.” He urged you off his lap and you reluctantly tucked in beside him. “I won’t be going all out.”

“Worried about my safety?” You asked.

“Those aren’t terms. That’s a fact.” He adjusted his pants.

You flicked your gaze down to check what he'd fixed and he tapped a digit to your nose.

You swatted at him and he chuckled. “Clear mind. If someone were to steal from me, I’d employ all means necessary to get it back.”

You nodded remembering he’d mentioned something about that when revealing his backstory.

“I could torture you, but in ways you already know.”

“Not edging!” You whined, throwing your head back.

“The prize is sex then. Not a means to be utilized.” He offered his hand.

You took it with a squeeze. “Okay… Is this just an ‘if I win’ sort of bargain?”

He looked up to the ceiling in thought. “Let’s both win.”

“Even if I’m not successful?” You leaned your head against the couch and stroked his thumb. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Never.” He returned and seared an intensity into your eyes. “You’ll have gone up against me and survived. That’s clout enough.”

“I’ll be able to go to the Hidden City and brag at some bar?”

“You would most certainly be taken to meet someone’s boss if so.”

The honesty with which he’d said that9 brought your head up. “Oh…”

“What a way to meet Big Mama.” He rolled his eyes.

“Not doing that.” You gave an awkward laugh.

“A dry spell to enhance the achievement?”

“No sex until… when?” You worried over the last time such a restriction was implemented.  

He pressed your hand open to pair up his fingers to yours. “Two waves. One week to steal from me, we rejoice as soon as you do. Then another if you can keep it from me, broken if I find it.”

Giving a Vulcan salute to match him, you opened and closed the ‘V.’ “I win, you win.”

“Even, no harm. We stave off the pain of last time.”

Trying to foresee pitfalls, you slid off his pads to thread your fingers. “It sounds good… Is there something specific I should take?”

“Your choice.” He dipped in for a quick peck. “It’s all yours regardless.”

“Menace.” You whispered against him.

His smile said he agreed.

“Wanna start after a little…?” You pulled on his hand.

“Very much so. Yes!” He shifted the tide to pull you to him.

-

Donnie was in the shower.

It had only been a few hours since the heist begun and, having spent most of it in bed, he’d left you to rest while he washed up. Waiting to hear the telltale sound of the shower hitting a body, you snatched the closest thing to you and stowed away into the kitchen. Slamming the tap there on, you ducked down below the counter.

“Shelly?”

A single curious buzz came from your tech gauntlet.

“Mess with Donnie’s implants!”

A confirming buzz responded.

“Okay… Uh…” Turning over Donnie’s much larger gauntlet, you were sure you had previously seen it in some kind of smaller form. “Darling Protocol… shrink?”

The metal sat useless in your hands.

“Darling Protocol small!”

You shook the long band.

“Shorten! Reduce! Condense! Little! Mini!”

Staring, you resisted the urge to chuck it out a window.

Your wrist buzzed with interest.

“No, I have to do this. I feel bad enough I already asked for your help, but the stupid protocol is voice activated.”

More buzzing occurred and you could tell it was S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. wanting to know what was going on.

“It’s a… game we’re playing. I’m the villain and I’m trying to steal Donnie’s tech gauntlet, but it’s too big!”

Your band was silent and you ignored it in favor of the frustrating one.

“I don’t understand… How does this thing get all compact?”

Upon the last syllable, Donnie’s gauntlet shrank to the size of a watch.

“Synonym stickler.” You grouched before raising up.

“Darling protocol…” You tried to think of the way he’d say it. “Disengage tracker.”

Nothing happened, but you almost figured it wouldn’t.

“Oh, Darling Protocol sleep mode!”

With its holographic display, it looked like nothing more than a glorified bracelet. You couldn’t remember having ever seen Donnie charge the thing. It seemed indestructible and waterproof, but he had removed it on several occasions as you did yours. Since the apartment was fully under his command, he only really needed the device when he left.

“Can he track you now…?” You wondered, turning the object over.

Buzz. Buzz.

“You’re not supposed to help-! Wait, I got it?”

Buzz.

“You’re not doing it, right? Swear to me. I need to be the one.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Yes or no!”

It was impressive how much sass S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. could inject into a single vibration.

“… Yes you’re doing it or…?”

Donnie’s computer lit up.

Walking over to it, you saw  S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s little icon waiting there with annoyed impatience and a taping foot. “Hey, you updated your avatar to look like your new body!”

‘Thanks for noticing. You like?’ The little avatar did a twirl.

“I do, it’s very cute.”

He gave a gentlemanly bow.

“Did you help me?”

‘Now you ask a yes or no question?’ His lids lowered with put on irritation. 

“Shelly, please. I’m in a hurry.”

‘And I wasn’t busy? It’s 9:37pm on a Thursday.’

“Oh…” You lowered your gaze and pulled the gauntlet close. “That’s true. I’m sorry.”

His avatar appeared at the bottom of the screen with a wagging finger. ‘It’s a joke. I can be in up to 14 locations at once, no probbles!’

“Only 14?”

He snickered. ‘You’re right. It’s been a while since I last calculated. Should I test it? Dare me!’

“Some other time, I’m really sorry for assuming you’d be at my beck and call…”

‘You didn’t assume wrong, but accepted and, to clarify, I did not tamper. You got the correct bypass.’ He threw his hand up and a little log with a time stamped list of commands last executed appeared.

“Awesome, thank you!”

‘Have fun and fill me in later!’

“Will do!”

He saluted before he disappeared along with the light of the machine.

Looking down over the tidy desk, you scanned the surface. You had seen enough movies to know that hiding something in plain sight was one of the best ways to pull off a grift. It needed to be somewhere that didn’t attract attention and was easily overlooked. Finding nothing where a cylinder of metal could disappear here, you kept your feet moving as you rounded the apartment. Shower still going steady, you felt the urgency as you imagined he was nearly done washing himself off. From the paintings that adorned the walls to the coat rack near the door, nothing appeared right. Ready to return to the kitchen and unearth some rarely used pot, a glimmer of something caught your eye.

Slowing, you stared and had to study the space until you caught the source. Standing at his post stood the astronaut that had been forced back into your possession when you moved in. The metallic film on his visor threw an errant beam, but up close your body shadowed the piece. He hadn’t been altered much since his stay and, in fact, had mostly been forgotten about. A mainstay in the space now, you flipped his little visor up and down a few times to hide his haunting face.

Thinking it over for a moment, you gave a smile before digging your claws into the hinge. With little effort, the plastic snapped off and you set the toy back on the shelf just so. Making several adjustments so he was exactly as he was, you then moved to drop the miniaturized tech gauntlet over his face. It took twice the amount of fiddling, but you eventually got it to sit and turned in a way that looked similar to his true brim. Stepping back, you tried to recreate the light flicker effect, but it wasn’t the same. The metal had a different sheen than the plastic, but you smiled. Deeming it a cute first try, you imagined Donnie would probably find it in the next hour.

With evidence to dispose of, you wandered back to the kitchen long enough to throw the visor away. You imagined you’d at least keep Donnie on his toes with this little stunt and wondered if you should steal something else as a double bluff. Sleep tugged against the thought so you returned to bed with a giddy feeling. The dopamine rush reminded you of your game and you gave into the delusion that it might inspire you. Jumping in, you found dominating the battles to be infinitely more fun. Almost forgetting all about the roleplay, the story in your game finally progressed and you ate up the new dialog until Donnie emerged.

“Your turn.” He spoke casually as he rounded the bed to his side.

“Mhm, in’a minute.” You tapped viciously on your screen to get rid of some little dust bunny enemies zapping HP.

Not seeing as much as hearing, Donnie approached his side table and stopped. “Really?”

“Yeah, almost done.” Clearing the field, there was a burst of text that signaled some victory. “Ah, this is so great. Thanks again!”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You let your phone fall flat on your chest and turned to look at him.

“My gauntlet.”

“Your-” You blinked wide before the recognition struck you. “-what?”

He threw his weight on one hip to stare down at you, bored.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You salvaged a little dismissive persona. “I’m going to shower.��

“Technicality.”

You sat up and threw your legs over the side of the bed.

“This feels…”

He held his pause a little too long so you turned to look over your shoulder.

He was waiting there with a blasé expression. “…uninspired.”

You shrugged. 

“Wallet, keys, phone. Infantile.”

 “Oh no.” You dulled your voice for faux worry. “You must have misplaced it.”

Donnie sighed before bringing a hand up. “S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. I assume?”

“No.” You gave a sharp retort.

“He leaves a trail.” He raised one of his brows and you watched the whole apartment take on a faint purple light.

Standing and looking over your violet tinted skin, you turned a hand over to hear Donnie make a noise of confusion. “Find your trail?” You exaggerated your own brow at your boyfriend.

“He could have used the door.” Donnie grumbled, walking into the next room.

Knowing that’d be right next to where you’d stashed the gauntlet, you smiled at how you'd gotten the timeline right. Giving right up, you went to take your shower. You sometimes worried about the other tenants, but you loved how your apartment never ran out of hot water. Soaking up all ill gotten glory, you emerged a steamed bun and ambled out in a fluffy towel to find Donnie sitting on the bed with a laptop you’d never seen.

“What are we hacking tonight?” You mused and meant to sit down next to him. With your muscles liquefied, you let yourself fall over and bumped your wet head up against his bare thigh.

He made an irritated noise and jumped. “What did you have him do?”

“Who?” You rolled your head to look at him.

“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.!”

It was a blow to your relaxed form. “I didn’t get Shelly’s help. In fact, I called him up just to tell him that.”

“Then how did you-?” He cut himself off with closed eyes and pinched the bridge of his snout. “Darling Protocol.”

“Took awhile to get the right words. At least you didn’t program the codes in.”

“I’m changing that.” He started furiously typing.

“No, come on!” You playfully whined and grabbed at him.

He leaned away from your touch. “I’ll bind the print outs. I estimate a 24 volume set.”

“What did I even graduate for!?” You bemoaned and wiggled off the bed to get into your pajamas. “Now here's your torture.”

“I’ll print it so small you'll need a magnifying glass.”

“The horror.” Pulling your towel off, you rubbed furiously at your hair. “What are you doing?”

“Locating it.”

“Fun. I assume there’s trackers in everything, but me. Is there one in the couch?”

The only indication Donnie heard you was a little smile quirking the corner of his lips.

Leaving him to his task, you finished getting ready for bed and, as you were about to tuck yourself in, you found him sat in the exact the same way. “You gonna sleep?”

He stopped by extending his fingers and holding them over the keyboard. “True.”

“What?”

He closed his laptop and turned to you with a heated stare. “For the time being, you’ve earned your first prize.”

You giggled as he came in with kneading fingers to your waist and a kiss to your cheek. “You’re wonderful, but can I bank it?”

He kissed a few more times until you would relent with your lips. “Suit yourself.”

“Do I get to keep it after you find it?”

He perked up and released you. “It’s close.”

You rolled your eyes into laying down. “Sure it is, Don. Answer please.”

“It’s… not?” He stared you down.

“Donnie.” Your pillow was beckoning you.

“This was not discussed.”

“Banking?”

“Multiple thefts.”

“I figured it balanced.” You snuggled down into the sheet. “Each one you find is a win for you too.”

He made a satisfied sound as he thought it over.

“Goodnight kiss if you’re going to stay up and obsess?”

Holding on for a few more seconds, he collapsed down beside you with enough force that it bounced your head from your pillow.

“Hey!”

“I suppose it’s no rush. I have the entire time you’re at work.”

“Mhm.” Your lids felt heavy.

He kissed your forehead and moved the laptop in his grasp. “I have to put this up.”

“Where’d you get that, anyway?”

“Mm, don’t worry about it.” He almost nuzzled your hairline, but found it damp so he hopped  out of bed to put the laptop away.

-

Waking first found you oddly calm. Consciousness came comfortably and recognition over what had occurred the previous night drifted to you. Capturing it with open eyes, you watched your partner’s sleeping form before dragging yourself out of bed. You’d make him breakfast for a change and, in only a slightly hunched stupor, you shuffled over to the kitchen. It was there, with the hidden object just across the room, that you had to keep reminding yourself over and over not to look. Checking would make it obvious. You needed to own this. You’d stolen from him, successfully so far, and that was the whole point of being bad.

You had said you wanted to be a villain.

Was that relegated to one nefarious act?

Pulling out a frying pan to make scrambled eggs, you pondered this query.

Villains were supposed to be evil, but Donnie had never struck you as truly bad. Doing a mental timer as the metal heated up, you folded yourself against the counter to stare at the egg carton. Wondering about the colloquial bad egg, it wasn’t something you could always tell by looking. One that was truly rotten would smell, but that didn’t mean all the bad ones stank. Instead, there were tests, things like floating it in water or getting it all the way to your lips. Nothing in the world was so black and white.

Flicking your gaze to the clock, it was about time so you spread a bit of butter to prevent sticking. Adding the eggs in, one crack at a time, you stirred them to make the scramble. A bit of toast sounding like a nice addition, you switched course. Lowering the heat and you left the eggs for a new appliance. Getting a toaster, you slotted the bread in and looked back over the bar. Clear across the apartment through sheer curtains, your egg was still tucked into his carton. Mostly a cozy lump, putting him in water revealed little other than it calmed him like a balm.

Life was the test of proclivities.

Everyone came in all kinds.

The world shades of moral grey and you fit into that same bland color palette.

Slowing at the thought where you hadn’t moved, you gave an amused puff of air.

How did you fit into all that?

You had been called good and bad over the years with a varying sense of hyperbole. For the average person, you imagined this wasn’t the sort of thing people applied to themselves. They read it in stories where the characters were exaggerated and it was usually clear who the antagonist was. The balancing scales weighing your heart to a feather was mythos. 

Turning around with the toast giving an almost done, you scoured the cabinet as quietly as you could. Slipping a bowl free with only a minor clink of ceramic, you set it down and riffled for your cereal. The type of food Donnie often chided you as not actually being suited for breakfast, you poured a bowl and unplugged the toaster just as it seemed it would pop. Switching between tasks, you plated up the eggs meant for two on one plate with the toast and then splashed a healthy amount of milk into the cereal bowl. Situated, you then sauntered back to bed and over to your partner's side.

He was facing outward which helped as you parted the curtains with your plate. Holding it up towards his snout, you watched the tiniest wrinkle as the scent of breakfast invaded his dreams. Within moments he was blinking awake and humming with slurred affection over you having made breakfast.

“I’ll leave yours here.” You told him warmly.

He hummed having been given the space to wake and you left the cereal behind to go eat your eggs in the living room.

You had just about gotten through your usual portion when you heard a snort of disdain. Trying not to laugh around the tines of the fork, you traded it for a point of toast.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

Silence chased you and you put on your best pious pose as you waited for him to approach. It took a moment, but he appeared, standing nude and with the bowl clasped in one hand. Flowing a gentle current of irritation, he waited for some type of explanation.

“It’ll get soggy.” You offered.

“It’s already soggy.” He bit back.

“Shame. You were too slow I guess.” 

“You didn’t even leave me a spoon.”

“No?” You scooped another forkful of eggs into your mouth.

“Your ploys continue to be childish.” He turned to the kitchen and disposed of his breakfast.

“Crazy these kid games are landing, huh?” You chomped down on toast.

There was another minor bout of silence before he turned the tap on.

-

You were assaulted by your boyfriend as soon as you got home from work. Squeaking at the sudden intrusion, you almost thought it was a hug before his hands roved right into your clothes. Trying to fend him off as you were still half in the hallway, you were no match for his speed and strength.

“Donnie, what are you doing?!” Your voice warbled as he yanked your shirt straight up your body. “Stop, stop!!”

“Where is it?!” He growled, tugging your shirt down to bring you to his squat eye level.

“Where-ah!” Sliding into your pants he squeezed your ass cheeks. “Q-quit!!!”

Several angry clicks sounded in your ear until he lurched backwards, ready to pounce again in a moment’s notice. “My gauntlet! You took it with you! On your person!”

“I didn’t!” The reply popped out of you before you could grab it.

“It’s not here!” His eyes continued to scan you.

“It’s not-?!” You might have felt confusion if your blood pressure hadn't plummeted at the sight of  downy stuffing on the ground.

Stepping forward and pushing your angrily clacking partner out of the way, you found the apartment turned upside down. From the couch, where he’d ripped it to shreds, to the kitchen, where all the cabinets were open and leaking, you knew the bedroom had to be in a similar state.

A short, rattling breath emerged from your lips as you did a slow rotation. Not hooking on it, but passing by, you saw the little astronaut standing a proud protector on his lone shelf where he hadn’t been disturbed.

The spaceman had failed at one job and succeeded in another.

Some protector. 

“Donnie, what the fuck!?” You shoved him.

“Where is it!?” He was immobile.

“That’s the point!” You shoved him again and he relented a single step for your sake.

“Yes, but it doesn’t make sense! You had no planning! You had no time! Without S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s help how could you have-!?”

You slammed your palms into his plastron over and over.

He made a few irritated snorts until he let you push him back several steps.

“You are being such a jerk!”

A light bulb went off for him. “You did plan.” He walked away and you were left to stew with your coat hanging off one shoulder. “You proposed the scenario. You must have been plotting. For how long?” He walked up to his computer where all sorts of models were running.

“It was spur of the moment!”

Without a keyboard, lines of information were being written at an alarming rate.

“Donatello!”

“Depending on the length of time you had, any number of scenarios could have been implemented. If I take into account-”

Slamming the door behind you, you stormed back down the hallway and toward the elevator. “Shelly! Ugh, I know this is last minute and we just talked about it, but…”

Buzz!

“Wanna go get dinner?”

The single vibration nearly rocked off your tech gauntlet off your wrist.

-

“So being villain was fun for ten whole seconds.” You rolled the liquid in your glass where you were plopped down on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s couch and had just finished catching him up.

Similarly aerating his wine, he held his goblet up as if he were making a toast. “Dump him!”

You snorted and had to scramble not to spill.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. repeated himself with a cheer that did cause wine to slosh out. Only for him, a mechanical arm appeared out of his back and wiped the liquid straight out of the air before it could fall.

“Woah…” The sound came out of you as your glass neared your lips.

“I’m sorry, but I’m having a blast right now.”

“I can see that.” You chuckled.

“Pizza at a real dirty restaurant, whine session with wine, like this is the thing! I’m doing it!”

“The human thing?” You asked after a sip.

“Yes!” His eyes turned into stars.

“I mean, you’re crushing it.” You turned and looked around what was a quintessential bachelor pad. Though the layout was identical to Donnie’s preference, the rooms themselves looked like movie sets. With a proper clutter budget, clothes were strewn about just so, little knick knacks made the space feel homey and there were even dirty dishes in the sink. “Did you have someone over?”

“Huh? No. Why?”

You gestured around with a sweep of your glass.

“Oh, pfft. That’s all me. I like to mess around and I like the way the space is. Feels like me, ya know?”

You softened. “Yeah.”

“I stole the dishes.” He pointed.

“Why?” You shook your head at how ridiculous he was.

“I don’t wanna clean the kitchen.”

“So, don’t use it!”

“I didn’t!” He chirped.

“You just wanted the sink full.”

“It looked lonely.” He tipped his head, commiserating.

“You know I thought this place was going to be nothing but a charging port.”

“Ew.”

“Right?”

“That is what dad gave me, but I ordered a bunch of stuff as soon as he left.”

“He’s ridiculous.”

“Dump him!”

“No!” You kicked at S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and he let it connect for a metal thunk. “Ah!”

“Oops.” He leaned forward to study your leg. “You good?”

“No, yeah, sorry. I just forgot cause usually…”

“People dodge.” He snickered. “Not people.” He reminded you and then poured himself over the back of the couch. “See those clothes there.”

You looked where he was pointing. “Sure.”

“None of those fit. Those are just for decoration, but I have been trying new ones since I can now!”

“Fashion show?”

His eyes sparkled and he tossed his glass behind him where it smashed into the wall.

“Shelly!”

“My house, my rules!!!” He screamed as he launched himself, fists in the air, over the couch and into his bedroom.

Modeling several looks from something grungy where he’d smeared black oil under his eyes to something preppy enough for a country club, he was twisting in a simple t-shirt and jeans when he dropped right out of his purchasing process explanation for something else. “So, where’d you hide it?”

“You know.” You were draped over the couch.

“Yeah, but pretend I don’t.”

“That’s a secret.” You grinned.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gasped. “In my own dojo!”

“I know!” You lifted a scandalized hand to your mouth.

“It’s wild though.”

“That he didn’t look there? Yeah.”

“Huh? No, but he kinda did.”

“What do you mean?” You lifted up.

A screen appeared in your face showing Donnie right next to the door in your apartment. Borderline feral and nearly crawling around on all fours, you watched him storm by the astronaut with his head on a constant swivel before he disappeared out of the camera's frame.

You let out a single satisfied laugh. “Dummy.”

“You can barely tell on the feed.”

“It looks good in person too. The only thing is it goes all the way around. If he had moved it, he’d have seen it wasn’t right.” You twirled a finger in demonstration.

“Why’s Major Creeponaut duct taped? Did you try to shove it inside?”  

You chuckled. “Nah, that was from our first kiss.”

“So gross!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. screamed at the ceiling. “Tell me everything.”

“Do you want to know or not?” You laughed.

“Not at all. Tell me.” He took a few hopping steps over before he plopped down, legs crossed, in front of you.

“When a mommy and daddy love each other very much…” You began.

“Stop, stop!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. threw his arms out in waving embarrassment.

“They have the urge to-!”

“No, seriously stop!”

You blinked, waiting.

“You’re getting a message.”

You stared at him for a moment before you turned. “My phone’s on silent from work…”

“So?”

“How do you know?” Looking around, you searched for your bag and found your device.

“How do I explain…?” He rocked to one side. “I can hear the other electronics near me? Kinda like how you hear voices.”

“You’re not tapping in…?” You stared at an increasing number of messages from Donnie.

“I might be like dad, but I’m not dad.”

“It wasn’t comparing you to Donnie...” You thumbed over the preview which was an apology. “You literally stole dirty dishes.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. let the comment sink in before he started laughing. “Oh, true that!”

-

Returning home, your boyfriend once again met you at the door. This time without the attack, he sullenly apologized and you gave him a proper hug. Kissing him back to a baseline mood, he scooped you up, carried you through an immaculate apartment, and to a freshly made bed. He set you down only to curl up in your lap where you rubbed his carapace as he opened up.

“I can’t… leave without my gauntlet.”

“Don’t you have another?” You spread your nails out for an even scratch.

He gave a heady hum and rooted closer to you. “Sentimental.”

“That one’s special?”

He nodded into your thigh. “There’s three more like yours, but only one of mine.”

“Tell me about it.”

Slouching, he sighed. “Not a first, but one of my more important inventions. A universal remote of sorts, it was my backup for my goggles.”

“The ones that short circuited?” You kept one hand to his carapace and used the other to brush the scarring on the side of his head.

He nodded. “I’ve never replaced it. I’ve been upgrading the original.”

Your hand stopped. “That’s… how old is it?”

“Older than S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.”

“I didn’t… know.”

“I didn’t mention.”

“I’m sorry…”

He shook his head. “No, me.”

You patted him. “That’s not withholding, it wouldn’t come up. Do you know how old my phone is?”

“Yes, I know the model.”

“But did I get it the year it came out?” You tilted your head to glimpse his face.

His eyes moved as he thought that over. “Did you?”

“No, two years after. I was so mad; they released the next gen like a week after I got it.”

He didn’t make a sound, but squeezed you.

“Want it back? I’ll take something else.”

He thought for a long moment and you went back to giving him scritches.

He made a little hum before he spoke. “Is it safe?”

“Very.”

“I’ll make do.”

“You sure? It’s really not a big deal.”

He shook his head and reluctantly rose up. “You were successful. I want to honor that.”

“This wasn’t supposed to make either of us uncomfortable though.” Your hand dragged up to his shoulder.

“I’ll survive.” He kissed your hand with confirmation. “Besides, I’ve moved on to the next stage.”

“You’re not looking for it anymore?”

“Oh, I am, but I’ll need information.”

“Shelly’s records are closed and you didn’t find anything at the scene of the crime.” 

His head tipped back and forth as if weighing the options. “Typically I’d move onto kidnapping, extortion, torture, blackmail…”

You stared at him with a growing gaze. “I’m in for quite the week.”

“You think me relentless now?” He almost purred as he leaned into you.

You hummed in return, not taking the bait of his lips.

“Tomorrow.” He confirmed before pouncing on you to shove his carapace back under your digits.

-

Your morning began with retribution for yesterday’s breakfast. You were served what looked like a normal meal, but the orange juice had been all pulp, the eggs were covertly stuffed with shells, and the bottom half of your toast was burnt to a crisp. Laughing at the forethought, you got yourself cereal and he did an amused peacocking as he readied for his day.

Being the first to the bathroom, you hid his toothbrush in the shower.

He found it soon enough, but you heard him knock a few things over in the process.

Getting dressed found he had left all your clothes pristine, but had swapped all the drawers where they usually sat.

Laughing over how he must have prepared that one the previous day, you scurried to the door with a premonition. 

“Wait.” He trailed after, getting his head through a sweater.

You held a guard on your shoulders. “What?”

He made a timeout symbol and you relaxed. Pulling you close, his hands dug into your lower back as he languidly kissed you. Melting into him, you felt his hands move against you before a jingle sounded and he ran. 

“There was a time out!” You chased after him and your keys.

“I timed it back in.” He ducked around the bed. “Return my gauntlet!”

“Never!” You pivoted and charged the kitchen.

“Damnit!” You heard him leap. 

“No! I was here first!” Banging your body against a cabinet, you covered the drawer containing the spare with your body.

You screeched with laughter as he hooked an arm around your waist to lift you out of the way. “You should learn to use your opponent’s power against them.” 

“Or!” You got hold of the keys before letting your body go slack. It shifted his hold and gave you a momentary break. Just long enough to drop down to the ground and break free, you crawled the few steps out from where his long legs impeded him from making another grab. “Bye! See you after work!” You cheered and exited the apartment to him giving an annoyed huff.

-

The next few days found an escalation in what you referred to as the school yard bully ploy. Keeping it playful, it amounted to a prank war the likes of nothing you’d ever experienced. The back and forth sabotage was quickly subverted by your boyfriend's intelligence. Not able to hack your systems, he’d happily entered your bosses where he’d rearranged the entire calendar for the day. The ensuing mess reached throughout the company and IT was none the wiser to whatever was happening. It meant meetings with clients were missed and memos seemingly disappeared. You survived until lunch, nothing outright destructive, but it felt like pure chaos when you called Kaleb.

Your next plan of sneaking hot sauce into his food wasn't going to cut it.

With Kaleb's engineering background, your chill friend had whipped up what he referred to as a pie throwing robot in what seemed like too little time. It meant a detour after putting out office fires and meeting him at a pastry hop. There you ordered for the lot of you as a payment for your friend’s help. He’d attached spindly metal to your bakery box and sent you on your way with another request of pictures.

Promising it, you headed home with the box in tow and entered the apartment in a feigned huff. “I can’t believe you.”

Donnie spun around, smirking in his computer chair like a cartoon villain.

“I got you something still because I’m so nice!” You spoke loud and haughty.

“Pass.” His gaze narrowed on the box and though his lips turned it down, his eyes tracked you with interest.

“Suit yourself. I would never hurt a defenseless pastry.” Setting the container on the counter, you held down the little switch in the back that temporarily stopped the mechanism. You then opened the box wide so Donnie could see and picked out a croissant before closing it back up. “I’ll have your banana caramel roll for breakfast tomorrow then.”

He perked up.

Walking around and munching on your croissant, you looked at him. “Was I ruining dinner or you?”

“Take out.” His eyes were glued to where you’d just been.

“Nice, I’m ordering that place that always messes up your order.” You juggled your treat with your phone.

He made a noise of little interest as he crept over to the box.

You chewed your lip and tried to cover it with the pastry. “You gonna want the same thing?”

“Your choice.”

“Gizzards it is.”

He shot a sour look at you and you chuckled in a scroll.

Looking at it from all angles, he checked to find you trying to pointedly ignoring him.

A testing sniff to the air said he picked up on the promised treat inside and the quiet that followed indicated  your care in having Kaleb using layers of gloves had helped to cover your friend’s scent.

Cracking the lid for the softest scrape of cardboard against itself, he peered inside.

You switched over to your camera and prepared to record a video.

Finding the inside laden with treats, he opened the lid further just as you brought your phone up to track him.

In a flicking snap of metal, cream flung out and splattered across Donnie’s chest and chin.

Little snickers leaked out of you as you stepped up to record him fully. “Good, right?”

His lips were set and he opened the box further to examine the mechanism.

“Kaleb made it. He’s a prank king.”

“My regards.” Donnie grumbled, passing your phone a glance and grabbed his cake.

-

“I’m switching tactics.” Donnie announced the next night.

“What’s next?” You asked, hanging up your jacket. Thankful for the reprieve not because you’d been scorned, but simply because you were running out of ideas. 

You moved over to him.

He received you by holding out his hand.

You took it and he pulled you straight into a waltz.

Spinning with a flip of your stomach, you settled as he led you around and around.

“I’ll try my hand at seduction.”

“Is that new? I’m pretty sure I’ve fended you off before.”

“Sexual advances.” He clarified, his face neutral as he focused on the dance steps.

“Versus… what?”

“Romance.” Coming to a close, he lethally dipped you.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“I don’t know how you’re supposed to outdo yourself.” You mumbled as he was slow to right you.

“I won’t be.”

“You’re building this up.”

He flicked a gaze at you and walked you over to the computer.

The usual plain purple background was displayed on the cluster of monitors. You looked them over before checking with him.

In a flick of his finger, you watched a large document appear. With little charts and tables, there was a bulk of words that he enhanced. Starting you at the top of the page, it read like a scientific paper, but the content was about touch limitations. Slowing after the third line, you turned to him with recognition. “This is from…”

Donnie didn’t respond and used a finger to slide to a specific paragraph. “’I find myself at a loss…’”

He was reading it aloud from memory as he stared directly at you.

“’I crave Y/N’s very being. Even as I know myself to despise contact, I find an impenetrable ache. This malady should be isolated and quarantined. This is not something to be studied. This is an ailment. A manifestation of a higher power sent to devastate my person. I consider this a visceral attack. I fear I will not recover. I’m already too far gone and therefore all data previous should be discarded. No longer the impartial party I can usually hold my standard to, I also cannot share this research with anyone. It would be revealing my heart, one that I thought had long stopped beating. It yearns now, cracking free layers of debris built up for its own protection. I will not survive this onslaught.’”

“This isn’t what you told me…”

“No..”

“You wrote this… back then…?” You were still reading over exactly what he had just spoken.

“Yes.”

“But the experiment…?” Hitting the end of the paragraph, the next picked back up with tedious data.

“I made it sound like I was doing it for your benefit.”

You nodded, your heart a steady thrum.

“I lied. This is the first recorded instance of my affection for you.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying.”

“I was.”

He hadn’t gotten any closer, but you turned to gawk at him as if he’d made some big move.

“…Care like that. It rips you apart. Rearranges your sense of self. The reason it is labeled ‘crush,’ but for me it was more.”

“Donnie…” Your insides swirled a confused mass. Though he'd since admitted his early interest, he never let on to the depths

“Do you know how long this document is?”

You looked for a little page counter, but not only could you not find one, you weren’t sure how accurate it’d be with the many tables. “No?”

“Over ten thousand words.”

You paled.

That day at the Thai restaurant, he’d spent an entire meal conveying it.                   

That must have been the shorthand version folded even further down.

“How long did this study last?”

“A week…? Or something like that. You said I was novel and sort of gave up.”

“I said many things. To you. To myself.”

“What are you saying now?”

“That I was a lost cause the moment you tried to steal my lunch.” He appeared in your face.

Your skin felt alit. Not with fire or chill, but something new. Surges of blood refreshed your body in a cleanse just for him. Prepared on a cellular level, you stepped closer with an innate shyness that you couldn't place.

You were reformed, but the you of the past emerged.

His fingers ghosted your cheek like you were too precious to touch.

It made your jaw wind as if tortured by yearning.

“I won’t say it.” Another waft of his hand urged your head to tip back without contact. “Not under these circumstances, but this is the closest yet that I’ve come to a confession-”

You kissed him.

A crushing force, he smiled into the exchange before wrapping around you.

You broke between presses for a needy ask. “My win… I need to cash it in… Now… Right now… Please?”

He nodded against your lips and steered you towards the bed.

Fumbling together you shoved at each other’s clothes until you turned to lead. “I top.”

“For the record, this isn’t-” He interrupted himself as your top hit the ground and he kissed down the new real estate of your shoulders. “-what I intended.”

“Yeah, no gauntlet for you. Upset?” You asked as the backs of his legs hit the bed.

“How could I be?” He smiled as he fell back with full confidence.

A trust fall into the mattress, he caressed your form as you crawled up to him. Kissing him senseless into the sheets, he handed himself over to your desire. An odd mismatch where only you held the mad fervor, you kicked off the rest of your clothes. Straddling him nude, you stared down at his wobbling form and he returned the gaze with abject adoration. Melting under it and wondering if this is how he felt back then, you stole his lips for the thousandth time and tried to put care into undoing his wraps.

He caught your wrists for a momentary reprieve and kissed your knuckles to calm you. Only stoking the fires, a whine escaped your throat and he reassured you with a squeeze to your arms that he was there; he wasn't going anywhere. Burying the need into him, you kissed and nipped down to your mating mark before you bit into it. His head rolled at the move and you felt the faintest insistence of his hips below yours. Not having the leverage to grind him, you instead focused on clenching your teeth with a minor gnaw until his skin broke.

You earned your favorite honed chirp.

Stomach doing backflips, you needed yourself stuffed to prevent more. Only shimmying his pants down enough to reveal his erection, you rose up adjusting his shaft at your entrance before enveloping him in one swift drop.  He exhaled sharply and you tossed your head back for a mewling noise as some basal itch was scratched. Rolling your hips into riding him, his jaw fell slack as he watched you. With his hands loosely holding the thick of your hips, he stared up as if cradling some precious treasure.

If his gaze were any indication, you were long sought and nearly unattainable. Feeling jittery, each rock sent tingles up your spinal cord. Lapping at your brain stem, misfires indicated waves of emotions, each drowning the next. From confidence to devotion, he poured them into you, not through your connection, but his gaze alone. His cock a superfluous peg there to keep you tethered and it was his face that was stirring on your ministrations.

His lips parted.

He spoke a short phrase in another language.

“No…!” You cried, grinding down hard onto him.

“It’s not proper.” He elucidated, grabbing your hands for a reassuring squeeze.

“You can’t just say it in another language like that!”

His eyes shimmered as he spoke it again in an entirely different way.

“Donnie!”

He had another and another.

You renewed your efforts, trying to stop him with your hips alone.

It only spurned more languages off his lips as he spoke his adorations in all the ways, but the one you understood.

“So unfair!” Your pitch rose several octaves as you grew close.

“I know.” He slipped out of a foreign tongue before dipping right into another.

“Then why!?”

“I won't say it like this. Not for some gambit!” He tugged down on your hips and you felt his knot expand.

“Shit, we’re g-gonna-!”

“Together!”

You could only scream his name as you both came. Body arching back to accommodate as much of him as possible, you heard a thousand words fly off his lips. Some a rehash of things you’d heard, he proclaimed a universal language of love.

Not coming down, but instead tapering off, he was slow to rise up and hold you. Moving deliriously with him, you found a limp press of a kiss before burying yourself into his neck.

Loosely running his hands over you with a revelatory awe, he nuzzled against your skin to mumble, “You are my greatest mistake.”

-

Fluttering lashes brushed the stiff plastron you were dozing against. Cozy and satisfied, your cheek slid against the smooth surface to glimpse your partner. His eyes open, he stared up at the ceiling with an expression similar to how you felt. “You up?”

In a blink of registration, he struggled to look down at you. “Hey.”

“Thinking?” You asked anew.

He hummed an agreement and pet your back.

“Bout what?” Settling against his pectoral scutes, you let your eyes close.

“When I mess up, it’s no longer a failure.”

You made a curious sound as that didn’t make much sense to your sleep coddled mind.

“Before.” His hand stopped and spread flat. “A misstep would cause ruin. I couldn’t afford them. With any, with you.”

“We messed up a lot early on.”

“And look where that almost got me.”

“Us and almost, but not.”

“True, I'm not brooding.” He did one long languid stroke down your torso. “A consideration, late stage revelation.”

“You’re surprised?” 

You felt him nod. “This whole exercise has been one mistake after another, but none damaging.”

“Yeah, as far as mistakes go…” You drew a curve with a finger to his plastron.

He squeezed your ass cheeks and you whimpered against him.

“Sensitive…” You huffed and scooted up to bury your face more comfortably against his neck.

He kissed the top of your head. “Referring to you or me?”

“Sensitive?” You chuckled.

“At fault.” He clarified, threatening to grope you again.

You tried to squirm away from him, but there was nowhere to go.

He relented by moving his hand back to the small of your back.

“Both.”

“Shame. I was going to applaud how vile you were.”

You blew an unintentional raspberry and sat up to stare at him, incredulous. “Sure, I’m so evil.”

“It’s true.” He arched a knowing brow. “You’ve ruined me.”

“I’ve taken one thing from you and pied you in the face with help, how is that ruin?”

“You’ve taken a great blight and nearly erased the stain.”

“You did that.”

“You spurned me on.”

“You mentioned this before.”

“I believe it.”

“You’ve been wrong.”

“I’ll admit it when I realize.”

You pecked his cheek. “Can’t wait.”

-

“Intimidation is next.” Donnie told you first thing in the morning.

You were breathing in the steam of a hot drink. “Huh?”

“My gauntlet.”

“Oh yeah. I was ready to just let time run out. Only a couple days left.”

“I want to win.”

“You’ve already won.”

“I have.”

Smiling into your mug, you let both warmths fill you before you went to get ready. The usual routine, you kept waiting for him to appear as a tower of terror, but he didn’t approach. Seemingly only getting ready himself, you got a goodbye peck on your way out. Carrying the press to your cheek through your commute. You worked with little worry and made it through the trip home without complaint. With anything waiting for you behind the door, you prepared yourself with a deep breath as you opened it.

Donnie stood across the room in a readied pose.

You took your time taking your jacket off and setting your bag aside before addressing him fully.

Unperturbed by the wait, you spied the style of outfit on him that you hadn’t seen in over a year. Cool pieces that were street wear reminiscent of his villain costume, sleek black utility pants were cuffed off with sharp combat boots. The understated bottoms accentuated his show stopping top where a wrap jacket was buckled off on one side and its enormous hood bowed around his shoulders, ready to conceal him at a moment’s notice.

You sensed anticipation in the air.

“Arm of the couch.”

Looking where he directed, there were clothes there. A splash of black with some gold accenting, you slid a hand over the cotton and what felt some stiffness mixed in. “Not really scary.”

“Stand off.”

“You have to give me a little bit more.”

“Change. You’ll see.” He walked off into the bedroom.

Staring after him and feeling a bit like you walked into a cut scene unprepared, you stripped. For clothes that definitely weren’t yours, they were tailored to your exact measurement and felt the epitome of comfort. Black pants hugged your body just right, but had a flexibility that you could move freely in. Doing a testing stomp in your own shiny new pair of steel toed boots, you looked over your arms. With one bare and the other emerging from a ballooned sleeve that was attached with a ring to your middle finger, you were wearing what you could only think of as a corseted hoodie. The top had the usual loose nature with a hood, but it was cinched around your waist and was obviously missing one of its sleeves. It gave you free roving motion to your dominant hand and perfectly coordinated with reaching to your hip where a pouch was strapped to that leg. Patting the pocket found something with a grip inside.

The only piece left that you hadn’t put on was a golden yellow bandana. Similar to his, it was missing the eye holes, so you carried it along as you walked over to the partition between rooms. “Don, what do I do with the-?”

You heard a warp of metal and watched as his bo extended to full height.

“Mask, if you prefer anonymity.”

“Like a cowboy.” You mimed holding up the fabric over your mouth.

He gave a nod and readied his stance.

“You haven’t really trained me to fight…” You felt jumpy and ready to dig into that holster.

“What have I taught you?” He charged forward, clearly holding back.

Using the golden mask, you blocked his bo as he telegraphed his swing.

“Not bad. Deflect would have been better.”

Twisting the fabric and tossing one end over the other, you looped it around his staff and yanked it to the side.

It brought his face up to yours.

“Mano e mano! I get it now.” You grinned.

“Tell me where my gauntlet is.” His voice husked.

“Never!” You lowered your center of gravity and twisted your arms around the mask to spin the staff.

He let it get sent further away.

Stumbling a few feet away from him and further into the bedroom, you panicked as he turned for another strike. A flick of his gaze hit your hip and you dug for whatever weapon was there. Finding two objects inside, you unceremoniously got one into each hand and then threw your arms out in a readied way that you had seen Leo do. The flick extended something and you had to glance down to see you were holding two extendable batons. “Are these legal!?”

He dropped his act for a moment to give you a bitterly sardonic stare.

Puffing up in annoyance, you charged him and he blocked with ease.

Though you had no idea what you were doing, you could feel his expertise. Through each swing, he was also leading you in what to do next. Teaching on the fly, he emboldened you to push harder. It culminated in a dancing duel around the apartment where you exchanged blow after blow. Neither of you once getting physically struck, you knew he could disable you in a heartbeat. Instead, it was about the battle and the heat to it. Charged from exhilaration and exertion, you pushed him back until he flipped over the couch.

He landed on the toes of his good foot on the coffee table and balanced his staff perpendicular to his body on his other raised knee to appraise you with an overflowing expression.

Further boosted by his pride, you squared for a stronger stance and lifted your batons. “Give up?”

“Yield and tell me where it is.” He responded coolly.

“Eh.” You gave a little shrug. “Don’t wanna.”

“Suit yourself.” With only the slightest dip, he launched, almost brushing the ceiling and you had to squander a few steps back. Losing your footing, he landed a force around you with his bo. The staff pressed across your front and, in a twirl that blurred your vision, he shoved upward. It manipulated the batons clean out of your hands and pinned your wrists above your head in one fluid movement. “Mercy?” He teased hot breath along your jawline.

Able to feel the staff with your fingers, you feigned your most pitiful expression which he ate up. Something you’d known from groping it before, it took only a quick slide for you to find the telescoping mechanism. His staff collapsed above you and you kneed into his stomach. Holding back since there was no air to press out and its firm surface would only damage you, you instead used it as a pressure point to throw your weight into him. Having lost his hand hold, it was just enough to throw him off and you both fell back onto the floor.

He scrambled for leverage and you fought to grab his hands. A silly squabble to an outsider, you caught a wrist of one hand and a single digit of his other to force them to his throat since you couldn’t manage over his head.

Leaning over him and panting, you smiled. “How about you beg?”

His grin grew wicked and you couldn’t steel yourself in time as his knees kicked up and his thighs slammed into your ass. It popped you forward until you were almost straddling his face and broke your grip. Swift, his arms swept downward to lock onto your thighs, but you dug your knees into the sides of his shell. Throwing all your weight to one side, he only caught one hip before you crushed said arm to the ground as you rolled. Momentum put him momentarily on top before it continued and you were the victor once again.

Kicking a foot out, you caught a sprawled limb under your boot and crossed his body to exert the rest of your force on his other arm. “Well!?”

He gave a breathy laugh. “Well done, where’d you learn that?”

“I didn’t. Full luck.” You giggled at him.

“I want you.” He purred.

A little shudder wiggled your hips. “Don’t cheat like that…!”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“A trick.” You pursed your lips.

“Tempting, but not that.” He whispered softly as himself and then projected his voice to show he was back in character. “Why fight when we could work together?”

“I betrayed you, stole from you, what’s to say you won’t do the same to me?” You put on your best glower. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“You also can’t end me like this.”

Shifting your boot where it was digging into his arm, you looked over to find he was right. He could probably break this entrapment now, but under the guise of the battle all you could do was continue to pin him. “Give me your staff as collateral.”

“It’s behind you.”

Staring him down for a long moment, you jumped away and scrambled to get it.

He was slow to sit up and show you his hands.

You extended his staff and kicked your lost batons away where they slid somewhere into the bedroom.

“To an exceedingly beneficial partnership.” He grinned.

“I’ll listen and nothing more.” You waited for the turn coat and got to your feet.

His hands stayed where you could see them. “A change of scenery?”

You adjusted your posture for a question.

The far finger on one of his hands came to his thumb. 

You held his staff ready to whack him.

He turned his hand over and snapped.

The lights went out.

Backing up where it was suddenly pitch black, you heard several pieces of furniture move until the lights came back on to a far lesser degree. It took a few adjusting blinks, but you found the sofa and coffee table had been pushed flush to the wall with the door. In its place sat a lovely round table, set ready for a romantic dinner. Around the room were now candles, all lit for a flickering honey amber glow.

“Wha-?” The bo loosened in your grip.

“I take my partnerships quite seriously.” Donnie stood ready in the kitchen.

“You…” At a loss, you walked over to the table. “You… uh… could have… poisoned it?”

“How does that benefit me?” He gestured for you to sit. “It would not reveal the information I seek.”

You collapsed the staff and sat down in the chair across from him. “From fighting to wine and dining?”

“I play to my advantage.”

“No scruples.” You looked over your place setting and the cutely folded napkin in the center of your plate.

“Some may say.” He turned and you noticed a large strange contraption on the counter. It just barely fit under the upper cabinets and had the look of a mini fridge. Grabbing a metal handle, it had an unlatching mechanism and it clicked to open. A puff of steamy air poured out and he reached in to remove two plates. A gourmet looking meal, he walked them over and exuded power.

You felt like you had already lost as you pulled your napkin into your lap.

He set your plate down without clinking the china and passed you a coy look.

You returned it with an unsure one and he simply smiled as he placed his own plate down. Smoothly taking his seat and flicking his napkin for placement over his legs, he scooped up a knife and fork to address you. “I see talent in you.”

“Should I be flattered?” Your mouth watered as the smell wafted up.

 “Up to you. I would be.”

“Such an ego.” You cut into a steak medallion and marveled how your knife slid through it like butter.

“When one can back it up?” He took his first bite and watched you while he chewed.

“What do I get out of it?” You smeared into a sauce and when you put it in your lips you had to break character to swoon.

He did the same to savor your reaction.

Clearing your throat, a little embarrassed, you tried the sides next. “Well?”

“Besides my tutelage?”

“Yes.” Turning your head from the bite, a happy little moan leaked from you.

You heard a little rhythmic thump and he was forced to readjust his posture.

Your heart somersaulted.

You could see a faint dusting to his cheeks. “You’d have my everything to command. My empire shared.”

“All for some gauntlet?”

“All for being the first to deceive me.”

There was something about his face.

That phrase was both in character and not.

The weight of truth shifting the scales, you had to openly gape.

That couldn’t be possible, could it?

No, he had scars to prove otherwise.

“Donnie-”

“Flukes.”

He read your mind and felt yourself sharply inhale.

“Not praying on naivety, jumping on a moment of weakness, or making a move while I was already down.”

You had to rest your fork and knife on the edge of your plate.

“You named your intent and executed. I am at your mercy. You are the first and only.”

Vision shifting, you returned to your plate and took a few bites in rapid succession to stave off your closing throat.

Across from you, you could feel his smile as he continued to dine the same.

You made it about halfway through before you went for a drink to find there wasn’t one.

He scrambled up and into the kitchen where he quickly returned with two full glasses.

Your smile felt like it took up your whole face.

You loved him.

Taking in the space along with a sip, you returned to him with the intention of giving your answer.

“I must have you.” He interjected before you could.

“You’ll over do it.”

“Impossible.” He dabbed his mouth before rounding the table.

He knelt in front of you and your entire body constricted.

He’d already said he wouldn’t confess his love under this guise so you hoped that extended to a proposal.

“What are you doing?” You held onto the pieces of your voice.

“There will always be more.” He held out his hand and you slipped yours into it. “My affections for you have no limit. They will continue to grow as long as you give them even the slightest attention. I’m bewitched and at your mercy.”

“which you didn’t call it earlier.” You almost felt bad interrupting his speech.

His grin said he didn’t mind. “Show my devotion under duress? When I can present of my own volition?” He brought your hand forward for a chaste kiss.

You melted. “You’re showing me your whole heart. Don’t you want to leave something to the imagination?”

“No. I only want you.”

“You’ve missed something.”

He dropped his sweet nothings to stare with genuine surprise. “What?”

“You already have me.”

He surged forward and caught you in a kiss. Draping your arms over his shoulders, you stoked the flames for a more tender press and he melted against you. Stealing as many as some unknown appropriateness allowed, he eventually retreated reluctantly. Parting with an extra peck to your knuckles, he held your hand as he crossed the table to return to his seat.

“I’ll need that to finish this amazing meal.”

“Sweet sorrow.” He mused, letting go.

You sent your lingering blush to your plate and took a few more bites.

“I may have jumped the gun.” He had a normal candor to his voice and you assumed the role play was over.

“Yeah?”

“I meant to do that with dessert.” He seemed a little irritated and bit his fork a little too hard.

“What else did you make?”

“Soufflé.”

“Shut up.”

“One vanilla, one chocolate.”

“Did they both turn out?”

“Hadn’t fallen last I checked.”

“I’ve never had a fresh one!”

“I hope to do it justice.”

Grinning, you hurried to finish your meal and he cleaned his plate. He then cleared the dishes for you and refreshed you with a glass of water which you sipped as he went to get the next course. “What is that thing?”

“This?” He set the plates down and gestured to the box. “A warmer to maintain the food.”

“The plates weren’t hot.”

“Smart technology.”

“Are the soufflés in there?”

“Yes, I have concerns about the scent transfer.” He readied for the hot air as he opened the door. “Hm.”

“How is it?”

“Haven’t fallen, but the smell…”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He whisked two large ramekins out and your eyes shot wide in excitement at the fluffy overflowing desserts.

Getting up on sheer instinct, you walked over to him and he set them down on the counter for you to inspect. “If I poke it will it collapse?”

“Best to do with a spoon.”

“Fine, fine.” You feigned throwing your hands up and headed back to the table. “Oh, yeah!”

He hummed a questioning response as he approached.

“You won, let me get your gauntlet.” You passed the table heading toward the door.

“The dessert…” He sounded sullen as you left him.

“What about it?” You grabbed the gauntlet off the astronaut and turned.

His limbs sank and you watched the soufflés tip in his grasp.

“Ah, Donnie!”

They hit the floor before you could reach him.

“What happened? Why?!”

“Do that again.”

“What?” You surveyed the damage, steering clear of stepping in the fallen dish.

“Again.”

Unaccustomed to that bitter heat, you shrank a little into yourself.

He didn’t relent so you returned to the astronaut and hovered.

“Place it.”

You set it down as it was, nerves shaking your fingers.

He stared hard at you until you had to break eye contact.

“Pick it up.”

You did so and were slow to walk it over with your eyes glued to the ground.

“This whole time…” He sounded a step away from rage.

Feeling worse than the dessert looked, you held out the gauntlet.

You felt the weight of it leave your hand.

It brought anxious words to your lips. “I-I never thought I was outsmarting you. I just thought… you hide things in plain sight. It’s a trope or something. I wasn’t trying to humiliate you. I didn’t think it was clever. I’m sor-”

Something brushed your arm.

Having not seen it, you looked up to find him standing beside you. He wasn't facing you and was instead staring down at the table with an unreadable expression. Feeling hopeless, you watched as he reached out and caught the table cloth. Wincing in preparation, he gathered up each edge slowly and methodically. Everything on the table tipped and fell including your water which splashed before he tied the whole thing up into a giant bundle.

“Donnie, please-!”

Grabbing the knot, he tossed the entire sack into the kitchen where the dishes shattered inside.

“Donatello!”

He addressed you and you froze under the scalding heat pouring off of him.

Knees feeling weak, he held out his hand and on pure instinct you slotted yours into it. With the faintest pull, he led you the step to the table where you got the sense he wanted you to sit. Turning within his grasp to do so, you hopped up at nearly the same time he dropped to his knees. His name on your lips again, you almost spoke it when his fingers slid behind your ankle as if you were a porcelain doll. Something infinitely precious, he brought your left foot up and set your boot on his thigh. He then began the exceedingly careful action of unlacing your boots and you could only watch him with growing interest.

With one final tug, he pulled the lace free and only then worked to remove your boot. A slow rock to release it from your foot, he was just as careful in setting the shoe aside. Hooking the top of your sock with an attentive digit, he rolled the fabric down until your foot was free.

Your nerves flared as he cradled your arch.

You hadn’t had a chance to shower after the whole work day or from the following workout. “D-Don, wait!”

Ignoring you, his face lowered and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your foot.

Sparks shot off at the delicate nature and he lifted only a few centimeters before placing another.

Your thighs pressed together and he continued his trek up until your pant leg stopped him. He then left you only to repeat the same process with your other foot. By the time he reached your hem a second time, you were love struck. Painting your utter being, you sent the adoration down to him where you saw it returned as he closed in. Coming up like you willed him to, he stopped short and a complaint died on your lips.

Fingers barely brushing your hips, he found your waistband and traced it toward the center. Not fully touching as if you’d shatter with the slightest pressure, he got the button undone and the sound of the zipper going down unraveled your mind. Hips trying to meet his hands, he left your fly down and moved to tuck his digits into your hem. Your arch helped and he used the space to shimmy the fabric down.

Slow and deliberate, he took your underwear down with the pair as he peeled the bottoms from you. Twitching with each inadvertent graze, it was the absence of lust that was your undoing. Pants pooling around your ankles, he removed the fabric one leg at a time before he neatly folded the clothes. Setting them aside as if they were precious garments, he gazed up at your legs as if he had never seen you uncovered before.

A creature unlike any other, his hands hovered, afraid to sully your perfection. Squirming to try to meet him, he avoided you with a near clinical nature until he ditched his research to feel you anew. Starting right where he’d left off on your right foot, he explored with his lips and snout as he tasted every inch of your flesh. Rounding the entirety of your calf before he would move upward, you were panting his name by the time he hit your knees. Nuzzling at the sound was the only indication he was aware of you. He worked your round thigh and avoided the area between your legs.

Shuddering as he mouthed up to the joint of your hip, he descended again and you almost wished you were a mermaid. Something with a singular lower body, you wanted him to continue forward instead of having to reset. A beached siren, you would sing him a sweet melody if only he would abandon his ship and offer himself up to you.

Moving through the same steps, this time when he reached your other hip socket, his hand extended in a testing brush of your cotton top. Tracing the gold boning in your corset, he skipped over your chest for drawstrings. Toying with the aglet, he removed himself from you and appeared to hover in your face. Sensing him like one would a hummingbird and fearing he’d disappear, you reached out.

He caught your hand and you waited with a weak whine in case he’d push it away, he instead pulled it close. Curling your digits to cup his cheek, he leaned his weight there while staring love into your eyes. Lips parting for a shaky breath, he gave a little nod before he turned to nose and kiss your palm. Needing more, but unable to extrapolate, you watched him put your hand back where you had been gripping the table’s edge for dear life.

He shifted focus with closed eyes as he reached behind you to undo the corset’s ties. The fabric soon loosened and he followed the hem around to the side. Lifting your arms, ready for him, he pulled up with the same rolling move to bunch the fabric as much as it would allow. Boning prevented much, but he got to your armpits before he adjusted his grip to flip the top off of you.

Feeling a sweep of relief that air-cooled skin granted, he was slow at receding as if it brought your being into focus. Wanting to scream that you were already his possession, his arms disappeared around your back again and you readied yourself for your bra to be removed. A silent pop, the fabric let go of its hold on you and he traced up feathered touches over your shoulder straps. Sliding them off one at a time, by the time the band unseated from below your breasts, you were gnawing on your now raw lip.

Thumbing over your chin to stop you, a mewl leaked out and his eyes watered at the sound. Wanting to soothe him or do anything other than hang on, you couldn’t wrench your fingers free as he knelt once again. Following up his predetermined path, he planted rows of kisses across your stomach. Yielding an immediate crop, you were on your back of your own volition and he only continued to sow.

Reverent to a fault, he filled the expanse of your torso without shifting to erogenous duty. Your breasts were simply more skin for him to trace. Etching your soul to paper for use in great academic discovery, he diverted course as he hit your collar and shifted to your left shoulder. Arm detaching from you for his own use, he curled his fingers under your wrist to lift further as he worked his way down. Feeling it in your very veins, you mourned what you did not know you needed. Something beyond you and of a higher existence, you could only tell for certain that it wasn’t sexual.

Infinitely more, the signals crossed in a way you couldn’t repair. Not made for his actions, you could only tell that what was between your legs felt inappropriate. Your leaking desire made a mockery of his work and you despised that it wasn’t within your power to stop. Wanting to be a pious vessel for him, your being quaked as he seared off each of your fingertips with a kiss.

Knowing that meant one more round, your head lolled as he returned to your chest. Making a V, he trended the other direction across your right shoulder and, in a swerve, your head bumped his. It knocked him out of his stupor where he briskly rubbed his cheek to yours. An animal-like contact, you returned with as much as you could before he deemed the interaction satisfactory and continued his work.

A puppet without strings, he sought your joints as he kissed across your other arm. Once carved and now painted, you moved for him. A master of none, he was reveled in you though he’d been the one to drain you of yourself. He animated through his lips and you only wanted for him to use you more. Feeling useless without him, he capped off the ends of your digits and appeared again, that roving elusive bird.

You thought you might fall over and he must have noticed because he grabbed your shoulders. Mentally thanking him, your head tipped forward and you felt him push. Odd as he had been more interested in operating around you, you resisted the move until you realized how you were being piloted. It was a turn and you felt doused in the fact that he hadn’t been able to reach your back.

“I can’t…” Your whine hit your ears.

You couldn’t move.

You’d plummet over the edge.

You’d leave this world.

You needed his anchor.

“You can.” He spoke warm beside your head.

Feeling a deep throb within your body, you couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken.

His voice now a foreign one, you shook your head and he let it fall to his shoulder.

“You can.” He repeated with a nuzzle.

A strung out noise pulled from you, you heeded his direction and he got you turned around. Edging you to curl forward and expose your spine to him, you imagined he would flay off chunks of your meat like a fish. Carving skills learned from years of training, he’d yield perfect filets and sear them off with only salt for flavor.

His lips hitting the base of your neck, you unintentionally cried out for the blade. None came and instead he kissed the worries away with each baked press. A toasted stone, it helped ground you and, as he filled out the expanse of you, some of your sanity returned. Tickling toward the center of your spine and downward, it caused muscle groups you’d long forgotten to contract. A writhing mess by the time he inched around your hips, he had to hold you down because you kept trying to rise off the table.

When he left you for a momentary reprieve, it felt like a breath. The first after near suffocation, it was a deep respite of illumination. Drinking in enlightenment, the rustling of fabric signified the change of being. Reality was being swapped and you were an autonomous being. As much of a fact that was, you also couldn't help your tether to Donnie. Newly born, his forging was of his responsibility. 

With a show of hands, he returned, standing, and picked up at your hairline. Moving up to your crown, you rolled your neck back to give him access as he worked his fingers into where his lips could not. Soon staring at the ceiling with some sort of sight, something moist barely tapped the top edge of one of your butt cheeks and your eyes widened as you placed it as his cock.

 He was not so innocent.

You were the same.

Keenly alive, you broke free from the last of your bindings and left him. He watched on, a painting of a mortal who’d tasted ambrosia and you the god doomed to fall. Your back turned to him, you got on legs that you knew would hold you. It was your body to command and the you who only moments ago thought otherwise felt like some curse you'd broken free from. 

An immortal unfairly imprisoned, his existence shifted as you stood nude and powerful. He was no master and had instead come to possess you momentarily. He was an ear to coax and despite your allure, he'd been the one to free you of his own violation. Shifting your weight from hip to hip, your head lifted high as you finally turned to him.

Whatever expression you wore destroyed what was left of him.

Caught having touched what no mortal should, a pathetic chirp exited his body and you approached.

Falling like a tower, he was forced to kneel as you towered over him.

Save for his eyes glued to yours, his being screamed of his lowly station.

A smile picking up your lips, he chirped again, even more pitiful, as you finished your approach. Where he looked up at the object of his worship, you shifted your weight to your right foot. Lifting the left that he started all this with, you touched the tip of your big toe to his pectoral scutes. Spurned by your being, he crumpled backward as you exerted pressure.

Placing the full force of your foot to ensure he’d stay down, he squeaked his compliance and you removed the appendage to regard the whole of him. Laying on his carapace, he spread with full submission and his cock swayed to flag you down. Regarding the organ with the affection that one might give an old childhood toy, you traced the line of his plastron to his face. Gaze piteous for his transgressions, you walked the side of him before moving to place a foot on either side of his head.

It gave him an unencumbered view of your sex and you watched him regard what was above him like a rare bloom. One only fated to have its petals spread once a century, you adjusted your stance a final time before dropping down. Knowing this to be his only chance, he caught your thighs as you sat on his face.

Tipping the bowl back to drink your everything in, your knees hit the floor and you cried out as his tongue pressed into you. Scorching heat of your defiling fall, you were sent further forward. You imagined he gave up breathing in exchange for this moment and you were forced to slap a hand to the floor to keep from doing an outright somersault. Eating you out like his very life depended on it, your other hand buried into his mask, pulling on the fabric and you shoved down the top of his head to make sure he served your ethereal being as he should. 

Nails bit your thighs as his snout nudged your clit. His tongue still buried, the appendage felt endless as he siphoned all he could. Your life force tied directly to his, your orgasm felt like it was coaxed by fate. Something needing to culminate to prove that both of you still existed in your current forms, the winding felt like a woven cloth. Made by the fates, the spool rotating for the world’s loom, you shouted.

His only signal, you ground down into him, snuffed out the last of his breath. Cumming only for your pleasure, you allowed your body to spasm and your voice carried the necessary tune. The design of which was orchestrated by him and you felt him still as he drank in the sound along with the last of your juices. Feeling weak and cut off from the god’s might, you slumped, arms no longer made to bear a load of mortality.

You were rising from your fall and it made no sense until you felt him readjust his hold. Dizzy and drunk off your own supply of chemicals, you slacked above him. Moving further, you were deposited onto the flat of his stomach and when his plastron pressed to your sex, you gave an overtaxed jolt. He chirped sweet nothings and aided in your come down until you were again clay for him to mold.

Formless, he searched for your shape, afraid to touch in case the wrong form be built. Reverted to your essential dogma, you needed to help your mate. Your hands rose on this instinct and you watched them as they moved to grab your own breasts. Rolling the fat sacks in your hands, they took what had to be the right shape so you left them. Trending downward, you squeezed bits of yourself, pinching skin and molding what had yet to find its place. Leading down your body and to the little pool you created over his stomach, a touch down into your sex cemented the last of you.

Ready to be fired, he was brimstone and his kiln sat at attention behind you. Lifting on clay limbs, they held your form up long enough to deliver it to the fires. There you dropped and felt yourself split in two as his cock plunged into your body. A snarl ripped from your partner and you felt weak as his Hephaestusian powers awoke. The volcano itself, he sought to overwhelm you. It was all too much and the words you formed made little sense. The foreign tongue couldn't reach you and you were trapped in the lava flow. 

He hadn’t moved. 

You had only been tossed in for your first fire in an attempt to set, bone dry.

Now paled and ready for the final cook, your hands appeared in your vision. Curious spread digits, they reached out until they found the ridge of his pectoral scutes. As soon you made contact, his own flew up to catch your wrists as if you'd mistakenly committed some great taboo. Afraid of what that might be, his face contorted as your body moved with his. His distress troubled you and you meant to soothe him. Reminding you of your connection, you clenched his cock and the twine paining him snapped.

A vibration revved so intense you saw the minor quiver of your fingers. Lifting one hand up to observe the phenomena, it disappeared up close and you frowned. Looking down to see the other hand still shaking, your brows scrunched as you tried to make sense of where the source was. Far stronger than your tech gauntlet, it seemed to stem from where you touched Donnie. Having seen him just injured, you felt like a bother for putting that jittery sensation onto him.

You'd have to let go to save him.

He still had your wrists cuffed so when you tried to retreat, he wouldn’t let you.

“Let go…” You protested.

He shook his head.

“What?” Your lips felt lame.

He pulled hard on your hands.

It tugged your digits up until your fingertips curled over the edge of his plastron. Skimming the skin above, you felt his chest oscillating at a higher frequency.

The vibration was coming from him.

Now searching for the exact source, you encircled his neck to find it there along with a guttural purr echoing from his throat. “I don’t understand…?”

“Churr.” He could barely get the word out as the sound swallowed up his voice.

“Churr.” You repeated the incantation and he gave a smile as the power turned up.

Hands now another connection point, this churr shook your very bone structure. The circuit completed, you again clamped down on his cock. He squeaked through the churr and you felt yourself descend. Not letting you traverse the depths alone, he encircled you as you finally began to ride him. A drag of your hips churned the water into a whirlpool that threatened to swallow you whole. Your partner, a devolution of chirps and churrs, disturbed the fluidity and kept you afloat until he forced you upright.

Folding overtop you, his knees kicked up as your backrest and you were buried into his chest. Feeling whole, your limbs wrapped around him as you rocked together. A pump to keep the water filling your vessel from sinking the ship, the back and forth exchange staved off the storm. Calypso christening your union, you felt like crying and the thought manifested tiny water droplets. Confused as your face wasn’t wet, you searched for the new leak and found it on Donnie's cheeks.

Brushing furiously to shoo the invaders away, you saw love as the source of the well. Forever bound, the overflow sought your ducts until you  dripped with little commiserations. Closer than ever, he brought your foreheads together for further commingling. His churrs echoed in your ears and quieted all useless noise. It slowed time until neither of you rocked and resorted to the smallest grind.

Depths plugged satisfactorily, the micromovements were only meant to maintain the connection. Growing weaker by the second because you had all you needed, you kissed and it felt like something new. Whether it was the roleplay or his new ability, your lip lock enhanced and he waxed poetic; there was no upper limit to his love. Soaring on the thought, it was amongst a thousand shallow thrusts that you came.

Having had no warning of your orgasm, when it struck, you drowned in the many tears. Something silent beyond guppy gasps, your wrenching signaled his own. Mind lost to the white noise of his churr, your wringing forced him to join you. His breath, his vibrations, and his cum brought true silence as your existence had been fully excavated. With Donnie’s locked knees as the only thing keeping either of you upright, you slacked against one another. Toasty, you allowed yourself to sleep, just like that.

- 

Waking was brought about by a jostle to your body. Wanting to doze for many more hours, you frustratingly found the room much darker than you’d left it. Many of the candles had burnt out while a few hung on, flickering with their last breath. Your head rolled to find a clock. You could almost see the one in the kitchen and, though it was upside down, you thought it read sometime after midnight based on the shape of the digits.

It meant you’d been like this for hours and it was Donnie who struggled to rise. Breaking the calcified seal of your hips brought an ache that cemented the time frame and you both groaned loudly to free yourselves. Uncoordinated and a mess, you fell away from one another. Weak and not wanting to lie on the floor a second more, you were the first to get on your hands and knees where his spent leaked down your legs.

Feeling like a filthy animal, you dropped your ass down and let his cum drip to the floor as you forced your bearings. They didn't come readily and you had to tap reserves. Summing all you could, you noticed a ramekin laying on its side. Reaching for it, its cool touch helped with your bearings and you turned it to find some kind of gooey mixture inside. There were spoons once, a far thought reminded you, but their absence meant you had to forage. With half open lids, you caught a nearby chair to get yourself upright.

Toting your prize along with your stumbling and trembling form, you made it to the kitchen and found blessed rest against a counter. Another chill that you despised for its wakefulness, you gathered enough strength to register you were close to the silverware drawer. Wondering about the mystery mixture, you took an embarrassing amount of time to draw a single spoon from the rest. Not to be deterred by one struggle, you rushed as soon as you had a utensil and plunged it into the dish. Getting a solid scoop of white fluff, you brought it to your lips for a burst of sweetness.

“Can… I have… one?” A raspy voice sounded beside you.

Looking with surprise, you found Donnie the source and wondered what had happened to have ruined his throat in such a way.

Unable to place it, you delved out another scoop and held it up to him.

He had to hold himself with one hand to the counter, but he leaned toward enough to take the bite and relished it without releasing the spoon from his teeth.

“That’s my soufflé.” Your own voice wasn't near as destroyed, but sounded thin upon listening. 

Frowning around your utensil, he allowed you to pull it out only to ask something. “You… don’t… want… some of… this…one?” He shook another ramekin.

“Chocolate.” You remembered as pieces started to assemble.

He nodded and scooped a spoon for himself out from the drawer that had been left open. Trying his gathered treat first as you had, he made a bitter face. “Cold…”

“So’s this one.” You noted, leaning into him to await your bite.

He took a while getting a good amount onto his spoon before offering it to you.

Like him, you held it with your teeth before the flavor made you release. “It’s good.”

He got out a repulsed grunt before he was struck with what looked like a migraine.

“You okay?”

“That’s… your first…” He grouched.

A laugh shined brightly through the dark before you realized it was coming from you.

He returned it with a smoker’s enthusiasm and you got your strength up by feeding one soufflés. It got you both ambling, unwashed, toward bed. In the morning you knew you would hate the decision, but until then, the mattress felt incredible. Amongst soft sheets that only wanted to soothe achy bodies, you snuggled in and found Donnie hadn’t been as close behind you as you thought. Searching for him reluctantly, you watched him trail up with something in his hands. Not huge, but an odd shape, he set it down with enough force that you couldn't help but get a good look at it.

He took his miniaturized tech gauntlet and placed it, like a visor, on the astronaut's helmet.

The toy was undoubtedly cursed, but the little guy had shown a higher aptitude for this sort of guard duty. Ruminating on his line of work, you let sleep take you as your partner collapsed by your side.

NEXT

You know my many merry holidays and thanks go out equally to my darling betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[inksandpensblog]

What's the gladiator au?

An Animator vs Animation AU that won’t be seeing the light of day in fic form anytime soon for numerous reasons, the easiest of which to talk about being that the scope of the project grew to outstrip my capabilities at the time and now my focus is on other projects that I'd like to complete before attempting to tackle this one again, if ever.

(It's also what I'm referencing in this post. I wonder how many people a day reblog that post without knowing it's me vagueing myself about an AvA AU.)

But it was the first AU I ever came up with for this series, and I did get the first arc roughly plotted out! It would go something like this:

The plot kicks off when Orange and Alan discover that a weakened, post-Showdown Chosen has been captured (by sticks with a bone to pick about his and Dark’s rampages, though Alan and the color gang don’t know this at the time) and is being held at a "gladiator ring" or "arena" on a special-access server or website, run by human mods and admins but catering to spectators both stick and human.

Chosen is the arena's “special feature,” forced to fight in grudge matches against sticks seeking vengeance for what he and Dark did. To this end, a large screen over the ring where he fights is constantly displaying footage of Chosen and Dark destroying various stick-populated spaces. (This was before I realized that Chosen and Dark are never seen destroying stick-cities, only web pages...some of which happened to be populated almost exclusively by sticks). Nobody knows about The Showdown except the people involved in it. Nobody knows who created Chosen or Dark.

The arena keeps Chosen under control using these remote-controlled cuffs, which can do many things, including: electrocute him, force him into ragdoll-mode, control the potency of his various powers on a scale (some sticks actually want a real fight and aren't just there to beat up a muppet), and turn his powers off altogether (yes this is different from just scaling them down all the way; it's like the difference between lowering your volume to zero and just pressing the mute button).

The color gang call Purple in to help them plan a rescue, since he has familiarity with these gladiator spaces (I changed the backstory I had planned for him in this AU after AvM29 aired, so the one fic I actually have posted for this AU has been retconned, but Purple having familiarity with gladiator rings is maintained). This culminates in Yellow opening a backdoor into the arena so that Orange can sneak in as a spectator to rescue Chosen, with Green going along to keep lookout. Orange makes Green promise that if anything goes wrong, she won’t wait up for him and will retreat through the backdoor first. Green has every intention of keeping this promise.

Before the rescue is launched, Purple takes the quartet aside and tells them that there might be other sentient sticks held prisoner by the arena, and…not to tell Orange. Because he suspects that Orange would lose focus on rescuing Chosen in an attempt to rescue everybody. Purple tells them this because many arenas are supposed to be underground, and if they get discovered, there’s a very real risk that the humans will cut their losses and just delete the whole thing. Sticks or no sticks. So Orange needs to carry out this rescue as quickly and subtly as possible, no deviations.

Orange eventually locates the ring where Chosen’s grudge matches are held, and learns of Chosen's and Dark's past for the first time as he catches sight of the destruction footage. He feels conflicted about this new knowledge; finding out that the guy who saved the lives of you and your friends was once a bad dude and was once partners-in-crime with the bad dude who murdered you is pretty shocking. But Orange puts his feelings aside for the moment, rallying when he realizes that this info gives him an opportunity to get close enough to Chosen that he'll be able to grab the guy and get him outta there.

So Orange proclaims that he wants a grudge match against Chosen, showing off his scars from the Showdown as evidence of his grievance. All the other spectators that Orange interacts with have been absolutely charmed by him since his arrival (while Orange just hates every moment he spends there), so this ploy works and soon enough he’s down in the ring with Chosen. As the match goes on, Orange makes noise about wanting “a real fight,” so whoever controls the cuffs begins slowly allowing Chosen’s powers to scale up.

This goes great until Orange realizes that Chosen doesn’t know how to hold back in a fight. (Orange assumes that Chosen, having recognized Orange, has realized that this is a rescue effort. Chosen has not realized that this is a rescue effort.)

Before Orange can get punched in the nose, though, Alan enacts phase two of the rescue by…striking for copyright over Chosen. This sends an alert to the cuffs, which immediately force Chosen into ragdoll mode (literally as he’s about to punch Orange in the nose, for maximum drama), and fights across the entire arena screech to a halt as everyone realizes that an outsider has located their little operation. Orange picks Chosen up and the two make their getaway while everyone's too busy disputing the copyright claim to notice, meeting up with Green and fooling a staff member into disabling Chosen’s ragdoll-mode on the way to Yellow’s backdoor.

On their way out though, the arena catches on. The human mods discover Yellow’s communication channel and begin interfering with it, cutting off all remote contact between the color gang. It becomes a physical battle as stickfigure staff and a few of the spectators begin trying to apprehend them, and Green gets separated from Orange and Chosen.

There’s a pause in the fight when a human mod tries to end Orange’s task and all it does is make Orange angry. Chosen takes this opportunity to grab Orange and launch them towards Yellow’s backdoor. They’re almost there when whoever is controlling the cuffs toggles Chosen’s powers off altogether and starts tasering Chosen into oblivion as a last-ditch effort to stop the two from leaving, but by that point they’re close enough to the backdoor that Orange can grab Chosen and drag him through. He shuts the door and it locks behind them. Chosen is dealing with Showdown-levels of exhaustion by this point, so Orange piggybacks him to the PC, unknowingly leaving Green behind since she was unable to fulfill her promise of going through the door before him.

So ends the first arc!

After this point the AU becomes a lot less solid ideas of what will happen and a lot more vague ideas of what I want to happen. I discovered the hard way while trying to plot it out that I'm not very good at juggling multiple concurrent character arcs, especially if the characters in question aren't interacting regularly with each other. I'm also not very good at judging how much time certain plot developments should take, which left me in an awkward position as far as puzzle-piecing everyone's character growth and plot progression together into a neat chronological line.

There's also the fact that...I couldn't figure out what goals certain characters were supposed to have, after this first arc, which made it hard to write for them in any way that would advance the story instead of just dragging it along. Plus there were certain worldbuilding aspects that I...wasn't really savvy enough to try integrating into a story because I had trouble understanding them on a base level myself. A lot of it was having trouble figuring out where to start, or not knowing what info I even needed to begin working.

So yeah, this AU is on the backburner for the forseeable future.

If you have any questions about it though, I'd love to share some development notes! Feel free to ask me if you're interested.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Hi Lovie!!!

So I gotta ask, for your fic, are you planning on doing the pregnancy and birthing that JC wrote in the script, a more human birth, or something else entirely????

And if you do go with JC’s bringing style, does Kayla know about??? Or is she gonna be there while Ronal gives birth and then is just absolutely shocked like

Hiii, hun! Short answer: I have no idea 😂

To link what you're referencing to, here's a post I saw recently about it, and if there are more official sources please let me know.

I believe the link is likely a theory and not canon, but I know everyone's talking about it, so now I am, too lol. I am curious about the whole birthing pod/sack we saw in the leaked script and I do have some questions regarding that. Let's get into it:

Is that canon? Is that for sure part of a script for a future film or was it cut from the second one? And are we sure that it's from James Cameron and not just someone on the internet who claims it's the script?

I promise I'm not trying to be rude, I'm just curious. I don't know where the leaked script originally came from, only that everyone was tweeting and blogging about it. Is the source viable? Please someone tell me where it originated from.

So whether or not that birthing pod/sack thing is true, it makes me curious because of this excerpt that's taken from the Atwow Visual Dictionary:

So Metkayina births sound awfully similar to normal water births on Earth, so my question is: is the baby born in the sack/pod first, and then they pop it in the water before bringing the baby up for air? OR, do the Forest Na'vi just have vastly different births compared to the Reef Na'vi? OR the leaked script isn't real and the Na'vi childbirth is the same as humans with possibly a longer gestation period.

An excerpt from Avatar Wiki:

Na'vi are monogamous creatures and the process of their reproduction is similar to Terran mammals, as they do possess genitalia; however, though they nurse their young and possess belly buttons where they were once connected to an umbilical cord, the Na'vi are non-placental, thus the details of their internal biology ...

And while the leaked script states that the mother nurtures the pod, this is also what the wiki has to say:

A female Na’vi will typically produce from one to ten offspring, often spaced widely apart in time. Female Na'vi have two breasts and nurse their infants for up to four months. Directly after birth, newborn Na'vi perform their first instance of tsaheylu with their mother to form a strong emotional bond and with her, then they are brought to the Tree of Souls to connect to the Pandoran collective consciousness for the first time.

In the interview with JC I have linked above, he talks about the mother and child being connected with tsaheylu for the third trimester but doesn't mention the pod/sack in question. From what I understand, the baby is born like a normal mammal in the second trimester and then stays connected to the mother for the third.

All I know is this: Every book source I own for Avatar (both visual dictionaries and the Activist Survival Guide) never mentions the pods/sacks that have been recently brought up. And yes, I know James says he's been changing some of the original lore and what-not, but I'm wondering if this was one of them.

In conclusion: For my fic, I think I've already changed a lot of what JC imagined for pregnancy on Pandora. Since I didn't know how long Na'vi women could be pregnant, I headcanon it to be a long time, which is why Ronal isn't close to giving birth in my fic.

I haven't decided what I'm going to do about it yet, mainly because I'm hesitant about whether or not the "leaked script" is viable or not. I'm excited for A3 regardless because it's likely going to be answering A LOT of questions for us 😂

[gobblinhours]

Thin Line Commentary

I've never done this before, but @alchemicallymoon made one for their Agent 32 fic, (which can be read here) so what the hell, seems like an interesting idea!

And fun fact, the whole idea for this fic was spawned because I cannot smile, I just press my lips together into a Thin Line (title drop)

Biggest thing to note: How long it took to write. I thought that it would be around 5000 words and I could get it out by Thanksgiving.

This was not the case. The original roadmap was Eight & Four -> Eight & Three, with a one-day time skip in the middle. But then I had an idea to make it less abrupt, so I integrated Off the Hook into it, before realizing I was leaning into Eight's relationship with Pearl, at the cost of Marina, so I had to make another scene with Eight and Marina to even things out. (leading to this post) Then I figured I should throw in a little bit of positive interaction between Pearl and Marina, which luckily was easily able to be adapted into something subtly referencing Pearlina at the end.

Then I realized that someone had to stay back to commentate over the radio, and if Three and Eight were going to go into a kettle together like I planned, someone else would have to be in the story. I'm not confident in writing Cuttlefish or Sheldon for extended periods, and I already utilized Marie for a joke, so Callie was the most viable option.

And she worked surprisingly well! She and Eight bounced off of each other as if they had been friends for years, even though at this point in time this was the first time Eight had spent any time 1-on-1 with Callie, and she was a great foil to Three, with both examples leading to slapdash photoshop jobs. I had them run through a kettle, (24, for obvious reasons.), and fun fact: That was written as I played through it with a charger, albeit with two people and an increase in skill.

After that, I finally was able to get Three and Eight together, although by that point I was already over my estimate and had to cut out a plot point to save time and energy. (Three and Eight get sushi together during the evening with a Three name drop!) Luckily that was at the very end of the fic, so that fact, combined with the fact that I had no idea how to bridge the time gap except for a shopping montage, which seemed like too much of a cut for me, so I chopped it down to lunch, turf war, and video games. In the end, the roadmap ended up more like Eight & Four -> Eight & Pearl -> Eight & Marina -> Eight with Pearlina in the background -> Eight & Callie -> Eight & Three.

The biggest time loss besides IRL business was finding ways to connect the scenes together organically, as I didn't want to overutilize line breaks. I spent days unable to think of a way to connect them, (the kettle run and lunch being especially egregious) to the point where the once-liberal Thanksgiving estimate was now a speck in the rear-view mirror. The second biggest issue was writing a turf war, as I realized that fight scenes (specifically choreography) were not my specialty. (Also why you don't get to see Eight play generic-brand DDR) I can visualize it in my mind, but I can't put it into words. Hopefully with practice that can be fixed.

Overall, this is the second fic I've written that I was 100% proud of upon release, possibly due to the anxiety that came from accidentally posting it early drowned out any perceived issues, which happened with my first fic, which is the other one I was satisfied with. (my one complaint is that I couldn't come up with a good name for Callie to use in a chatroom, because agentFUN was already taken and I couldn't come up with anything else.)

Overall, I'm surprisingly happy with the quality of this, and I doubt that I'll write anything close to this length and quality, at least for a while. And while I know that I did say that I would write another Agent 24 fic next, this has drained me of any motivation to write anything focused on this ship, and I need time to recover. But I have plenty of non-24 related ideas, and motivation still flows within me. The most anyone should expect for a bit is occasional updates to my microfic dump, but that by no means means that I am not going to write anything big again, just taking a break from more time-consuming projects, as I spent over a month on this, and the added pressure of having people vote on this didn't help at all, so from now on I probably won't do that.

But even though it was absolute hell to write, it was oddly satisfying to work on, and it feels weird not having to think about what to write next.

[wexhappyxfew]

hiiii shannon! i hope you're having an amazing day :) how about ginko and cottonwood for the tree themed ask game? attdc of course!

@xxluckystrike BLU!!! hello friend! thanks so much for stopping by the askbox! :) i'm doing pretty well, thank you! enjoying the cozy, snowy vibes of the day and chilling out before my semester starts up. i hope you've been well too! i will happily answer these two more than anything - this ask game writing list seemed so cool so thank you so much! <3

Gingko: What part of your story is the oldest, has stuck around from that original idea?

So the 'oldest' part of And Then The Dawn Came is actually the prologue! I have been someone to always write in order, I don't know what it is, I just have trouble writing out of order, so I sat down and cranked out a prologue in probably January 2021 when the idea first hit and it ended up being the actual prologue of the fic because I loved it so much!

Here's it linked on AO3!

And quite possibly my favorite part of it; not only are we introduced to a few BoB boys, but also Esther, my main, including two intriguing secondary OCs who play massive roles in the fic, Millie and Rolande (who in my opinion, are quite funny together)!

A fav snippet:

" Crickets do not sing when they know what is near." the Maquis member whispered," They know more than we know." Mildred swallowed quickly, her throat feeling dry suddenly as panic settled into her bones. Disturbances sent crickets quiet, just like how it sent birds flying through the air. They'd do anything to get away, to hide, to make their presence unknown to whatever was causing the disturbance. Her stomach lurched when she glanced towards the Maquis member and found her already staring at her with her piercing brown eyes, a gloved finger held to her chapped lips, sharp eyes dead-set on Mildred. 

I would say the vibe of the fic in the prologue starts off mysterious and ominous, with this eerie vibe about it that can't quite be deciphered in my eyes at least? And then it enters with it quite sunny and bright and rough-and-tumble training in Chapter 1 - so we break from that ominous prologue and don't come back to that vibe until Esther and Mercy hit D-Day. I would definitely say it is a very intentional approach for specific reasons for the fic. (Okay, I'm done now lol, this got long-winded haha)

Cottonwood: What event has the most impact throughout the story, leaves it's trace in many scenes?

So with ATTDC, I wouldn't say there is one specific, catalyst event that leaves a lasting impact, but I center the entire story and build-up around D-Day. As previously mentioned in the above question, I talk about this 'ominous vibe', specifically with D-Day, which is very much the intention and feeling I'm going for. So, when the D-Day chapters come out, in my mind, they're the most important and intentional parts of the story, and therefore long-lasting (and constantly referenced thereafter) - we meet the handful of OCs I've eluded to, and their interactions with Easy Co., and Esther and Mercy. The entirety of D-Day and its events are what the whole of the story is focused on, both before and after, and the entire atmosphere of that period of time in the fic has been one of my favorites to experiment with! I'm so excited to continue to work with it + the characters involved.

Blu this was so fun genuinely thank you! It helped my brain to actually write it out and think about it all! So truly, thank you! I appreciated you sending some questions in! :)

If anyone is interested, the ask game is [here]!

[bensonnstabler]

season 4 episode 22 is a blueprint for the lewis talk change my mind

i don't know if anyone has made this comparison before, but michael gardner of 4 x 22 is william lewis Lite™️. he is innocuously charming, psychologically manipulative, acts in his own defence to intimidate witnesses, has an affair with his lawyer and quote cragen "has a hard-on for olivia".

there are some very common hallmarks of 1.0 bensler in this ep, including protective!elliot (after gardner lays one on liv and we get possibly one of my most favourite tropes in drama [bad guy gets roughed up and they blame it on "accidental" trips and falls. yes i am referencing that scene in a scandal in belgravia and i'm sorry]) but also Big Emotions and liv driving an hour to sit sullenly on elliot's doorstep not knowing exactly was his plans were but knowingly inserting herself into his "one night as a bachelor".

if elliot came back sooner after lewis (like say in season 18/19) then i reckon that the convo they had on his doorstep in this ep could be a good indicator. it has liv being self deprecating/serving, elliot's idea of comforting her with the job (he's the job) and could easily translate or lend itself to a deeper place we'd expect them to go during such a chat

now obviously it's almost too little too late (i just wanna talk @warren leight) and if you want to read what in my opinion IS the frontrunner in the lewis chat prediction fics then head to svu-oc-obsessed's masterpiece here x

but i really want to see elliot get mad and protective and exasperated over liv's self sacrificial tendencies because god damnit if they're gonna take the next step she has to actually be in one piece to do it (it being whatever it is you fancy in this context)

tldr; this ep is a good one and set the foundation for an extended villain arc and therefore any subsequent Chat™️ between our favourite two idiots in love about such an event

full disclosure i really liked the lewis arc when i first watched it, and even learning abouts WL's exploits hasn't necessarily soured it beyond reproach. i am nervous as hell for this chat but if they keep this sort of formula as basis i believe it will come out half decent

✨️ this incoherent rambling is brought to you by holiday retail work induced delerium ✨️

[letpaimonbitepeople]

Childe headcanons pt 2

they're yoinked from my fic, so they're written a certain way

featuring PTSD, selective self-awareness mixed with self-contradiction, mild alcohol use, referenced underage drinking, guesses about Snezhnaya based on Russian culture, and shippy simping for the Traveler (I unspecified which Traveler, so you can imagine it's Lumine or Aether)

(btw I'm not about to donutsteel any of this lol, by all means use the ideas if you like them!)

————————————

He has no hangups about being naked in front of [people], provided they don't have an issue with it. Nudity is relatively normalized in Snezhnaya thanks to ice swimming and the banya.

————————————

Smiling, he drops a sashimi slice and crouches slowly so as not to startle the cat. Not that the cat was at all hesitant about sitting on his shoe this morning! He just feels, again, like his presence should intimidate the cat as much as it intimidates Fatui subordinates. Again, he reminds himself that animals just don't know any better. For that, he counts himself lucky.

[The cat] eats the second piece of sashimi from his hand. The third, too, and when he ventures to pet the bony arch of its back, it doesn't even flinch.

Why am I bothering with this?... This has nothing to do with getting stronger. I have this precious time away from the bank to do whatever I want, and this is how I'm spending it?

He searches for an excuse. He tries to glue together some prattle about an obligation for a warrior to respect the natural hunters of the world and learn from their primal pursuit of survival. It doesn't sound convincing even in his head.

The unavoidable truth is that this is what he wants to be doing right now.

It's hard to accept that. (Never mind that he often does things that have nothing to do with his ultimate goal.) It somehow makes him aware of how much he's checking that his guard is up: listening to the sounds around him, watching the shadows in his peripheral vision in case a new shadow looms in the lanternlight behind him, holding in mind the fastest ways out of this area, inventorying the advantages and disadvantages he currently has... That's reassuring on the one hand but on the other hand it reminds him why he ought to be more vigilant. He's not the strongest warrior in the world yet, and the necessity of his own lies today was proof that that weakness remains a liability despite how far he's already risen.

What he would call situational awareness submerges him gradually, then all at once. He gladly sinks.

He examines every sound and everything he can see, one by one, cataloguing what is normal so that he'll notice if anything changes. Rehearses in his mind his best options for responding to an attack if one came right now. He breathes slow and shallow to be silent—something he's more practiced at than anyone would expect—and stills his body, so that he might go unnoticed, be overlooked, and gain the element of surprise.

He measures some of the information around him by his heartbeats. They're accelerated but steady. Now that nearly all possibilities of being caught off guard have been prepared for, he feels a meditative serenity. His heart is only beating fast because it, too, has to be ready.

Something changes. All of his attention instantly focuses on it. Threat? No, it was already there and it's just a cat. It could be eliminated in no more than one second with minimal risk. Safe either way. Soft fuzz nuzzling his hand, whiskers tickling, sandpaper tongue. Safe.

Childe emerges from the familiar state. He's always more tired after than before, yet girded with clarity and reassured. Sometimes it's like a reset. Like turning over a snowglobe: the fake snow whirls, falls, and then settles once more. Usually it lasts much longer when he's alone, though. He looks down at the cat licking his hand.

————————————

He visits the Amenoma bladesmithy and, merely via open interest and enthusiasm, obtains a long talk from the forge master on Inazuman styles of making, testing, and wielding blades. He doesn't mention to the old smith that he once made a Hydro copy of a katana shown to him by another Fatuus, and that he can now guess the origins of that katana.

————————————

His next stop is Yae Publishing. In his search for books to send home, he takes his time browsing and skimming, making sure his younger siblings won't receive any unpleasant surprises. No stories where the dog dies. Who does that in a book for children? Probably someone like Arlecchino, he grouses.

Finding perfect gifts for his family is a point of principle and pride. Nothing ill-considered can be allowed to reach their hands. As long as he has any agency in the matter, he will not disappoint the last three people he hasn't yet. Someday he will, of course: someday his younger brothers and sister will learn he's been lying to them. Following that day, their love and their joyful greetings will wither, replaced by yet more wary glances and awkward silences whenever he visits. But until then...

————————————

I just want to...get my hands on [the Traveler]. If I attained the level of competence that would allow me to disarm [them], and the fight was reduced to its simplest form, testing the training of our bodies and minds against one another directly by just wrestling and grappling... That would be quite something, wouldn't it. Though [they]'d have to disarm me as well and I'm not sure that's even possible. Ohh but if anyone could do it it'd be [them]. [They]'d have to get my Vision and my Delusion. [They]'d have to get through every form of defense I have.

Eagerly he tries to imagine how it could be done. Anticipating his own weaknesses (in combat) and the possible exploitations of them (in combat) is so important that both meanings of 'anticipating' are applicable.

But he keeps getting sidetracked by an image of [the Traveler] pinning him to the ground. Weaponless, Visionless, Delusionless, too spent to risk transforming. Helpless. Maybe [the Traveler] would use Geo to pin him. There is nothing Childe can snatch away from [the Traveler] that would prevent [them] from using the elements.

————————————

The Traveler never introduced [themself] to Childe, nor [were they] introduced by Paimon. When Childe intercepted [them] fleeing the Millelith, he already knew [their] name from intel and he used it without hesitation. There was no time for the Traveler and Paimon to question it. Later, on a boat to Snezhnaya to report back after all was said and done, he decided he would never again address [them] by name unless and until he earned that right by surpassing [them].

He'd slipped up once, sort of, when thanking the Traveler for seeing Teucer safely through Liyue. But it was, as he said, his sincerest thanks, so it didn't feel right to avoid [their] name like usual.

————————————

Maybe how Xinyan called him 'brother' and he instantly started thinking of her like a sister? Hey, he lied to her just like he lies to his real siblings. His feeling of verisimilitude on that point isn't lessened by the fact Paimon started the lie this time. He went along with it and never really corrected it. Xinyan still thinks he's an adventurer from Mondstadt who had nothing whatsoever to do with her home city nearly getting destroyed.

Let it never be said, by me, that battle is the only thing I'm great at. I'm also great at going along with other people's plans, heh. And that's fine. It gets me into the center of chaos. Whether I'm a pawn in a game, an actor in a play, or simply a weapon, it all serves my goals in the end. That's the truth and it always puts him at ease.

————————————

Ahh, who do I think I'm kidding here. I've always preached a far greater clarity of purpose than I've practiced... If any of this is owed to the Onmyou Chamber, it's that the bliss of those six days of uncommon purity allowed me to forget that. To forget one's own fallibility is...the kind of indulgence I really can't afford.

————————————

He's very pleased with himself for setting up this surprise dinner. But more than that, in the brief moment between hearing the Traveler's voice and seeing [them], he's filled with a joy the likes of which he rarely finds outside of battle. Returning was the right idea, his heart assures him, and any possible objection from any other quarter is drowned in the flood of that joy.

[...]

And there's that feeling Childe got before when the Traveler smiled at him and because of him. He'd all but forgotten what it felt like. With this warmth swelling in his chest, he can't understand how he could ever forget. Only a few days and he could no longer recall it the way it really was? That doesn't seem right. But here it is, and there [they are]. "Of course!" he replies, performing confidence without even trying. It comes naturally—more so than usual—with his mood being so elevated and his doubts vanishing into the distance.

————————————

[...] and Xingqiu's name is ringing a bell. Cogs rotate in Childe's mind while he checks the bread and speaks over his shoulder.

[...]

Intel reports? No, business papers... Childe is content to take a rain check on sparring. "It wasn't necessarily tomorrow I had in mind anyway, and certainly not tonight," he says cheerfully. ...Ah! The Feiyun Commerce Guild. Xingqiu is...one of the heirs in the clan that heads it? Yes. Inevitably they've had interactions with the Bank. Hmm.

————————————

Having Ekaterina listen in on the Traveler's conversation at the Bubu Pharmacy wasn't something he enjoyed; he's not about to go out of his way to repeat that sort of thing.

Though, if someone happened to have an interesting conversation too near wherever he might happen to be, he wouldn't hurry to leave.

————————————

Dinner goes smoothly enough with everyone having food and combat to talk about. [The Traveler] vigilantly steers their discussions of the latter into benign technicalities and away from murder. It's easy to spark long debates over things like the finer points of how a specific weapon should be maintained, or how much the smithing methods really matter, or whether prototype ultra-mechanized crossbows coming out of Fontaine are any good. But even in those discussions [they have] to be on guard against Childe's tendency to digress into dangerous territory.

[They resort] to trying to signal at Childe to change the subject. Eyebrow shenanigans prove ineffective, but lightly kicking Childe's boot with [their] shoe works. The length of Childe's legs makes up for the shortness of [theirs]; [they don't] even have to slouch down to reach.

[...]

The first time the Traveler kicked him under the table—if that tap he barely felt through his boot could be called a kick—Childe didn't know why [they] did it, but it made him forget what he was talking about. The second time, he realized the Traveler was trying to change the subject. It wasn't until the fourth time that he saw the commonality between the subjects the Traveler was trying to avoid. He kept getting those nudges throughout dinner though, because again and again he dove into the deep end of his favorite subjects without thinking. Rather than shoot the Traveler any kind of look in response, whether they'd have been sulky or apologetic or otherwise, he did [them] the favor of his best efforts to make the interruptions seem natural.

————————————

Childe flicks his hands and the water flies off into suspended droplets before falling neatly into the sink.

————————————

"Well, have you ever been to the Chasm in Liyue?"

"Oh yes, I've snuck in a couple of times for work. I've even been underground, albeit not far."

"How'd you get down there with the seal still active?"

Childe winks. "Fatui secrets."

————————————

[They carefully pick] up the jacket to have a rarefied closer inspection, studying its various metal accessories and dangling decorations. [They] can't quite tell whether any of them are 'decorations' in the military sense. Altogether, it's rather heavy, at least compared to the light-weight attire [they prefer for themself]. The fabric isn't as stiff as it looked, though. The only part of it that seems to denote Childe's status as a Harbinger is not part of it: Signora had a cape or cloak with the same colors and ornamentation as Childe's sash, and Scaramouche had something similar attached to his belt that [the Traveler] never got a good look at.

Childe leans against the other end of the counter with his hands resting on its edge, watching the Traveler examine his jacket. He hasn't taken the time or acquired the supplies to sew up the rips yet. He should, or else they might get bigger. Then again, he can just have it replaced. It's pretty typical of the two very different lives he's lived to recommend polar-opposite actions to him.

————————————

The Traveler had thought he might not come back? Did [they] believe anything Childe said? Ever?

Will [they] ever take me at my word? Hah, why should [they]. [They know] how I lie to the people I love the most.

————————————

Childe laughs. It's a strong and pure sound, unlike his last one. It's the opposite of the type of laugh [the Traveler] has heard most often from him: the slightly manic one that ends sounding like he's dying or about to cry.

————————————

Being around the Traveler is a bucking horseride of highs and lows, but at least it's never boring. And, despite Childe being far more inclined to dwell on lows than he'd ever admit to anyone, the highs are convincing him it's all worth it. All of it, all the way back to the original events that set him on the path where he'd meet the Traveler. He started thinking that way at such an early point in their friendship that even he himself looks back on it as somewhat irrational.

————————————

His way of being a middle child, with three older siblings and three younger, was to compete with the older ones on responsibility. It got him some attention and praise, and if his help was taken for granted more often than not, he still got to monopolize his father's attention for long hours when they went ice fishing, and that wasn't always unrelated. He'd had a very comfortable niche in his family, in hindsight, and because of his timid nature back then, he was never a rebellious teenager. Until he was.

————————————

The surface [of his mask] is the slightest bit glossy, resembling metal. But fire is commonplace in combat, whether against element-touched monsters, Vision wielders, or just a normal human with a torch. Ceramic can be highly temperature-resistant, whereas having metal against one's bare skin is a liability when fire enters the equation.

The mask's design was left up to him. He went with something that evokes his Foul Legacy form. Of course, there typically weren't mirrors sitting around on a battlefield, and when there were, it was inside a building where transforming would only cause him problems. But, he wields Hydro. He's seen himself in water's reflections. He saw the Devouring Deep reflected in pools of blood the first time he succeeded in transforming.

The mask's craftsmanship was masterful. Light weight, fine edges, flawless glaze. Anything custom-made for a Harbinger had to be the best.

————————————

The reason that Fatui wielders of Delusions must all wear masks isn't one he understands well, but it's supposed to reduce the side effects. It doesn't cost him any fun to wear it, so he never had any objection. It limits his field of view, yes, but that just adds a small margin of challenge. As he retested a few days ago, even fighting with his eyes closed isn't what he'd call difficult; people make all kinds of noise as they move.

————————————

Back home, shoes are always taken off and slippers put on, but he's seen no slippers here. It makes sense: Snezhnaya's floors are cold and these aren't. There's something to be said for the role of culture in such things, of course. As he discovered in Liyue's traditions, it's not just about necessity.

————————————

It's time for blini. To save time he'll have to use unyeasted batter. That's fine. First, he browses the few bottles of alcohol the Traveler has on hand. He doesn't expect to find vodka, simply because it's not as popular outside of Snezhnaya as within, but there it is: one bottle, previously opened but almost full. Probably used for cooking. That's what he's going to use it for, too—just not in the same way.

The only way to cook authentic Snezhnayan food is while tipsy on vodka. That's what his babushka used to say, and who is he to argue?

He pours himself a glass of vodka and a glass of water. As he takes his time getting the ingredients and dishes together, he sips liberally from both.

Among the Fatui he was always presumed to be a lightweight, and they weren't wrong in the beginning. He arrived as a scrawny kid to work and fight alongside some of the biggest men in the world, the most hulking specimens of Snezhnayan hardiness, insulated by so much muscle and fat they claimed they didn't feel the cold. Those men could've thrown him halfway to Fontaine...if only they could ever catch him without losing body parts.

As in all things, that's what practice is for. Until he reached drinking age, he could only sneak a bottle once in a while, and he was always punished for it both by the hangover and disciplinary action from his superiors. By the time he learned how to avoid the former, the latter was no longer forthcoming.

He waits until he starts to feel the vodka before he mixes the dry ingredients, adds the wet ingredients, and whisks them together.

[...]

His dexterity is uncompromised, and it'd take quite a bit more alcohol before he'd have any problems on that front. His senses, however, have begun to dull ever so slightly, and the alcohol relaxes him just enough that the uncontrolled loss of acuity doesn't make him panic. It's a minor respite which he has never chased into an addiction. Indulging or perhaps overindulging now and again is one thing; blunting and hobbling himself with a dependency is another. Besides, he doesn't want to be like this all the time. It just makes a taste of home that much more enjoyable.

[mrs-evadne-cake]

Hey i think ive sent compliments about ur stranger things fic on here before too but skdhdk i recently reread it again (at this point i think i do come back to it once a year lmao) and i just had to come back here again because i feel like its only gotten better on the reread!!! Everytime i remember what a disappointment the recent seasons of the show have become i come back to ur fic and am always astounded by the amount of care you've put into the story and the affection you have for the characters and truly fleshing them out the way you did. Especially a big fan now of the way you tackled the question of "how do we decide something or someone is a monster" on the latest reading between neil hargrove tuning into his radio, james harrington deciding who were real people and who are the monsters who needed to be contained, and ofc the little girls who knew themselves to be monsters now because of things theyve gone through but still try their best to hang onto things they love. Something i didnt pay attention to on the first reading but now i cant stop thinking about it!!! Esp with how jonathan immediately forms a rapport with the abused children instantly because he knows what its like to inherit that monstrousness from violence thats been done to you and desperately wanting to rise above it + the sympathy w which you wrote kali genuinely put this above anything the show could put out at this point. Maybe ever because i dont think the show could truly ever commit to the political stance its first season demanded. Thank u so much!!!!! I liked how now that theres smth of a positive relationship bw hopper and kali, theres potential for a kali and sara hopper team up in the future and possibly how hopper can keep in touch if sara ever decided to reach out.

Optional question for u to respond to: in the story its constantly referenced that jonathan met steves dad at some point and that was probably when steve was told that he wasnt to hang out with the byers. Im guessing that was when joyce dropped him off that halloween cause thats when steve started finding loopholes to meet up with him? I just wanted to know if that would be a correct assumption, and i was wondering how that encounter went down lmao

(btw the choice of making jonathan and steve childhood friends + steve and nancy always being jonathans first loves and them eventually falling into that same configuration the two of them promised each other even when jonathan was the only careful custodian of that memory and never brought it up???? FUCKING INSPIRED. I've never gotten over it ever. Steve admitting in his "rewritten history" bits that jonathans smile made him feel like a bullet train????? God I'll never stop being lightheaded everytime i think about that.)

Hey i think ive sent compliments about ur stranger things fic on here before too but skdhdk i recently reread it again

You're Anon, so I don't know! But if you did I am delighted you decided to reread and tell me more! Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner! Haven't been on here a lot came back and was like...is that... a message?

the affection you have for the characters and truly fleshing them out the way you did.

I'm always so glad when this is what readers take away from it- I never wrote as a hobby before writing this (and haven't written since, unfortunately had the same ultimate feeling on s3/4 as you) but I really loved the show and characters after S2 and this was just an expression of that for sure. I'm so happy it comes through!

Esp with how jonathan immediately forms a rapport with the abused children instantly because he knows what its like to inherit that monstrousness from violence thats been done to you and desperately wanting to rise above it

Thank you! I really wanted a big part of the fic to be that no one's 'hero moment' has to be killing a monster with a bat- hell, I maintain to this day that Steve's was just apologizing in S1- and that it can just as well be empathy and kindness.

Maybe ever because i dont think the show could truly ever commit to the political stance its first season demanded.

Don't get me started.

Optional question for u to respond to: in the story its constantly referenced that jonathan met steves dad at some point and that was probably when steve was told that he wasnt to hang out with the byers. Im guessing that was when joyce dropped him off that halloween cause thats when steve started finding loopholes to meet up with him?

Yeeeeagh. I don't remember if I had a thing for this? It's been a few years. The Halloween thing is from The Wolves in the Walls which was the original first chapter of this when it was still gonna be a 5 chapter character study instead of a you know, novel. I think in the fic proper it was that his dad was just around more when he was in grade school and just started to have to leave constantly when the project really ramped up around when Terry Ives/Ken/Gloria/Alice joined and 11 was born?

I'm so happy you enjoyed it - thank you so much for the excellent take and the wonderful comment!

[earlgreytea68]

Hi! Some time ago, like earlier this year, you talked about how it is sometimes very scary to wait for a continuation of something you’ve been enjoying, be it a show, a book series, new album etc. and that you are scared for a different reasons, like, would it be as good, would I love it, how will the fandom change after that, and about a lot of other different things, that could impact your enjoyment of it. And I don’t know if you know, but you probably have seen by now, Good Omens 2 came out, and the ending of the season… let’s put it that way, if the writers of 3-d potential season would use your golden ratio of angst and fluff system, we still have a chance in the future, but otherwise… fob stuff is saving my sanity right now, it’s really a great timing, to be honest! And I like what laudanumcafe said on this matter, that who could’ve imagined, that reality would be soothing us after watching a new season of our comfort show. So anyway, now I’m going to reread the musical peterick fic of yours, because it was always one of my favourites, and it got mentioned a few times recently. Also, I would bet my actual MONEY, that if they magically decide to write a musical, and someone casually drops the name “Stumped” as a possible title, Pete would immediately run with it and stick with it until the end.

Oh, nooooooo, I'm so sorry, this whole Ask speaks of pain and I know well that feeling and I really feel deeply for you. :-(

I've seen Good Omens S1 but I haven't watched S2 yet and although I adore the book and I adore both David Tennant and Michael Sheen it isn't a fandom love for me BUT also thank you for this warning because I don't want to be sad so I'll probably avoid watching it lol

ANYWAY, I'm glad you have comfortfic to read, that is honestly for-real the reason I write comfortfic, so I'm glad it's there for you.

And I really am so sorry about the S2 thing. As you know from having referenced my previous post, I get how that is just the worst feeling. :/

(I think my post about being nervous is here, but I also wrote one about S3 of Sherlock which...we all know how that turned out lololol.)

(Also here is my post on my Golden Ratio Theory, if you're curious -- and how television series almost always mess it up.)

[the-heat-is-0n]

HI I'M ADDING SILLY AU TRIVIA TIDBITS ONTO THIS AND WILL KEEP ADDING ONTO IT SO THAT IT'S ALL EASILY TRACKABLE BY MYSELF AND POSSIBLY OTHERS

** i'm calling "alex" quackity in these notes because using his actual name when i'm referencing a CHARACTER in these little blurbs makes me uncomfy

halo!foolish calls quackity/alex/chief "q" despite their navy rankings and stuff because foolish has known quackity since the guy was legit a little kid, and because quackity liked ducks and foolish found out about it, he's been calling q "quackity" or "q" for short. also another detail!!!! foolish is a Spartan I and is 70 or 75 and quackity was part of the Spartan II program and i think is in his 30s or 40s (following sergeant johnson's and master chief's canonical age)

****AN IMPORTANT NOTE!!!! cryo exists and is critical to preserving ppl and is literally the thing that saves the entire UNSC Spirit of Fire crew when they were lost in slipspace SO DON'T GET MAD AT ME FOR USING THEIR CANONICAL AGES AND SAYING THEY'RE REALLY OLD WHEN IN REALITY THEY'RE MAYBE LIKE IN THEIR 30S-50S

wilbur/kur 'konomee's name is pronounced "koor 'conomy" and is actually the subject of UNSC soldiers' humiliation when they eventually learn of his name in passing, and dub him "wilbur" instead

instead of purple to blue like in the canonical halo trilogy for Cortana, tubbo (quackity's AI) goes from green to yellow. i'm totally not using the "color change = progressive corruption from being in the gravemind's presence for about a month + age" theory, totally not because it's my favorite theory and for the longest time i thought i was the person who came up with it first (i'm pretty sure this isn't a new theory in the slightest, i just really really like it)

i couldn't fit philza in this universe but 2/4 SBI exists and it's between the fleet master and the arbiter. i don't know the lore between the ACTUAL fleet master and arbiter - i think they only know each other from Thel 'Vadam's assignment to his fleet during what was supposed to be his "suicide mission" as dubbed by the Prophets - but fuck it i'm making them have the SBI dynamic as required by all dsmp character fics with wilbur and techno in them

I WILL ADD ONTO THIS LATER PROBABLY BUT THIS IS ALL I HAVE IN MY SILLY LITTLE BRAIN FOR NOW OK BYE IT'S 1:17AM AND I HAVE TO WAKE UP FOR WORK IN ABOUT 7 HOURS GN MWAH

Halo AU c!tntduo my beloved <33

Ok so my Halo special interest was revived one fateful night and now I’m brainrotting. Like I’ve been writing down all my ideas in my silly little notebook and now I have an entire dsmp halo AU planned out.

This would follow the storyline of Halo games 2 and 3, and would closely mirror the events of both games.

c!Quackity would be Master Chief (AU name= Alex-125 Master Chief Petty Officer) and obviously would be on the UNSC side. His AI would be Tubbo and yes I understand that canon master chief’s and Cortana’s relationship has romantic undertones but this is silly, obviously platonic cabinetduo we’re talking about (also this AU is ENTIRELY platonic I’m just putting that out there, I can’t stand writing romance in Halo fics soz that’s not how I work lol)

Here’s my character list:

- Master chief = Quackity/Alex-125

- The Arbiter = Wilbur/Kur ‘Konomee (the -ee suffix basically says that he’s part of the Covenant army, nothing too specific. However, like Thel ‘Vadam [the canonical Arbiter], he drops the -ee after the Sangheili are forced to separate from the Covenant and end up making an alliance with the humans)

- Tartarus = Eret/Fersyreus

- Sergeant Johnson = Foolish; his name would straight up just be Sergeant Foolish, I’m not using real names unless I have to cause it’s weird

- Fleet Master = Technoblade/Rel ‘Nar Zudomai (I LOVE NAME LORE so the “‘Nar” in his name denotes a high rank in the Covenant army, usually means that the Sangheili with that honorific controls a portion of the Covenant’s Navy. And the -ai suffix in Techno’s surname denotes “blade master” cause get it ha funny)

- Miranda Keyes = Niki

- Lord Hood = Sam

- Prophet of Truth = Dream (I fucking hate how I have to write this motherfucker but he’s the big bad so I can’t think of anyone else. Also his death in this AU is going to be so satisfying trust me); prophet name = Prophet of Liberty

- Prophet of Regret = Schlatt; prophet name = Prophet of Benevolence

- Prophet of Mercy = BBH or George (prophet of Mercy does fuck all in the story so he basically dies off-screen); prophet name = Prophet of Grace OR Prophet of Harmony, I can’t decide

- The Gravemind would just be the Gravemind tbh, that shit’s staying the same; I’m too lazy and also my spin. on Halo would throw a FIT for changing the canon like that

Tbh I can’t remember any other super notable names, if/when I do though I will update this list probably in my notebook or something idk lol

[monsoon-of-art]

*Blows door off of hinges* I just spent a whole night and an ENTIRE DAY looking through your Pokerus tag after I randomly found your fic on AO3 last night! And I just want to say... Hi.XD I was looking for Ingo fics to help sate the Trainman brainrot I've had since the game came out, and I've found soooooooo much more with your story. Not Ingo brainrot, funnily enough (your story paradoxically seems to have mellowed out my brainot instead of giving me more, if that makes sense?). I LOVE how your story focuses on the community/family dynamic of all of the wardens and leaders, who I always imagined as living separate from their clan to live in the places their Noble does, like Iscan. It also makes Hisui seem kinda smaller, since they can travel back and forth so quickly in a day, but I guess if the leaders can make it to Jubilfe in a few hours at the start of the day like the game implies, that checks out.

But anyway, I did want to ask two things, if you don't mind answering. First, it seems like you are giving pokemon very realistic diets to realworld animals, which I'm all for. Gamefreak seems to avoid at least OVERT references to people and pokemon eating meat(pokedex entries being where it's referenced if at all). It seems they want pokemon to be at least omnivorous tho. PLA even goes so far as to give pokemon a prefered food type you can use to bait them, with things like beans, mushrooms, honey, grains, and salt, as well as the various berries you can use. It's even implied some pokemon eat apricorns, since the spoiled apricorns are said to be half eaten by pokemon. I know realistically not all pokemon might be able to survive solely on these things, and that there might not even be enough vegetation around to sustain bigger pokemon. I'd like to hear your take on this, and more importantly how poeple in you AU feed their pokemon. Do they share the clans/Team's rations, or do they let their pokemon hunt for their own food? If they do feed and take care of their pokemon, then it would be touching to see their partners go out and try to gather food for them before they get too scared off and their humans go feral and see them as food. Or heh, Mai and Ingo's partners trying to indicate that they need meat and blood and trying to teach them to hunt weaker easy to catch pokemon, but their humans are too stubborn/trying to cling to humanity that they resist the advice and hold off until it is far too late and their pokemon run off. Not to be too critical, but the explanation that their diet changes -> they are poor hunters -> they starve and become even more dangerous is just a little too simple to sit well with me. Maybe you just didn't go into too much detail before, but I feel like there are plenty of options to exhaust storywise to lead up to that point. Second(not as long I promise) is I would LOVE to hear your(or anyone's) head canon on how someone with Pokerus would turn into a Rotom. It is literally just a ball of Ball Lightning that can enter and possess appliances. I could see that freaking out anyone that wasn't a Ginkgo Guild member and now I can't get the image of someone in Cogita's safe haven being all 'Yo, I'm a fridge now' when Dawn gets there.XD omfgusbvuou I'm so sorry for the wall of text. feel free to answer these separately if you want.DX

Wow you're right that's a wall of text alright-

So to begin with not technically a question: I don't think the clan leaders and warden eat dinner together every night. There's no way Palina can walk all the way to the main settlement in a few hours. In my mind, they meet up every few days or so to check in with the Leader (important), discuss with the other wardens, get a nice meal. There's just no way for that to be possible every night.

Secondly, as for the diet question: the short answer is just because it's more dramatic and angsty ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I'm a huge fan of werewolves and vampires and all that good stuff. TVtropes has a page called "Warm Bloodbags are Everywhere" that fits this very well. If you want a more serious answer, meat is more calorically dense than plant matter, and the clan leaders/wardens/most NPCs are just burning through calories, because transforming takes up so much energy. Otherwise it's just because it's more fun for me, hehe

Finally transforming into a rotom would suck balls because your cells would probably shift into something less corporeal, and your nervous system would go into overdrive to create the electricity needed

[charles-rxwlands]

lay all your love on me

okay!! so this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge.

this is based off of the song lay all your love on me, slowed, by putin

pairing: nikolai/reader

rating: general

tags: gn!reader w/ gn pronouns, fluff

summary: falling in love with nikolai lantsov told through several vignettes

or: mindless nikolai/reader fluff with a alina and ivan being little shits

warnings: right off the bat there's a nightmare about drowning in the ocean, and there's one (1) swear word at the end, but other than that, there's nothing

word count: 4.1k

read on ao3

constructive criticism, feedback, and reblogs are greatly appreciated !

I haven't written anything in a while, so i may be a bit rusty, but please enjoy :)

You were drowning, and also pretty damn sure you were going to die out here. Your lungs were on fire, screaming for air, but you couldn't emerge from the ocean for long enough to suck in a breath. Sure, your hand or head breached the surface every now and then, but a wave would come crashing down on you immediately after, destroying all your progress.

      The undulating waves threw you around like a football - a very pathetic one, at that. As hard as you tried to fight the current, it still insisted on moving against you (stubborn bastard), so really you weren't going anywhere. Just pathetically bobbing around in the same pathetic place. You couldn't feel your limbs - the only thing you could feel was the agonising ache in your chest. It was as if your arms and legs had frozen over along with your will to live.

      How easy it would be to just... 

...let the ocean take you...

      Suddenly, someone grabbed you by the wrist. You screamed, which was a mistake; immediately, salty seawater filled your mouth, making you gag and choke. Nevertheless, you valiantly tried to release yourself from whoever - whatever? - had their hold on you. 

      "Y/n, Y/n! Relax, darling, relax," a voice said, sounding out of breath. "It's me."

      You whirled your head around. Sagging with relief, you gasped out the name of your saviour. "Nikolai."

      "Yes. Yes, Y/n, my love, it's me. It's Nikolai," he soothed, running his hands over your wet hair.

      "Nikolai," you breathed. "Nikola-" - a wave reared up on its hind legs, ready to come crashing down onto your friend, ready to take him away - "no, no, Nikolai, NO-!"

   

You startled, eyes flying open. You were shaking like a leaf. Were you cold, or was it just the adrenaline from the nightmare still making its course? You shook your head as if to rid your mind of the dream. It wasn't real. Nikolai had saved you that night. It was fine. It wasn't real.

      But it could very well have been real, a traitorous voice in your mind whispered. Scowling, you cursed your pessimistic side. Even if a wave had separated you two, Nikolai would have fought tooth and nail to get to you again. You would have done the same. After all, you were childhood friends, and you knew better than anyone that Nikolai didn't let go of his loved ones so easily.

      He hadn't wanted you to accompany him on his journey overseas as Sturmhond. You insisted otherwise, channeling some of Nikolai's stubbornness that had rubbed off on you. ("You're not getting rid of me that easily, idiot. So let me come, unless you want me to steal your kneecaps."). 

      A half-smile appeared on your face as you thought back to the memory. Slowly, you got up from your bed. Your blanket was draped over your shoulders. You slipped out of your cabin quietly, walking down the hallway until you found yourself in front of Nikolai's room. He stirred in his sleep when you entered. The door creaked slightly, but it didn't seem like his distress was because of the noise.

      You sat on the edge of his bed. Nikolai, previously facing away, turned over to face you. His eyes were still screwed shut, eyebrows knitted together and an unhappy expression on his face. You frowned. 

      "Nikolai." you nudged him gently. "Wake up. You're okay, just wake up. It's just a dream."

      He opened his eyes, blinking at you. "Y/n?"

      "Hi," you said. A lock of golden hair fell over his forehead, and upon instinct, you reached to brush it away. He let you, not uttering any of his usual complaints. 

      "You were gone," he mumbled, undoubtedly referencing his nightmare. "I- I couldn't save you, and you were gone." 

      You shifted into a more comfortable position - your whole body was on the bed now, with your back against the headboard. He leaned his head against your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair. "It wasn't real. It's okay. You saved me - I'm not going anywhere, 'Lai."

      "Me either," he agreed, wrapping his arms around your middle. A beat of silence. Then, "Thank you."

      You were more than content to fall asleep like this. Even if it meant waking up with an ache in your neck. Judging from the way he was curled up, practically drinking in your presence, Nikolai felt the same way.

      What a feeling it was to have found solace in Nikolai Lantsov, and to know he had found solace in you, too.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

Nikolai watched from the corner of the ballroom as you laughed at one of Ivan's jokes. One would say that he was scowling, but the Prince of Ravka didn't scowl. No - he was simply observing your conversation with the Heartrender with visible distaste. He was not scowling. And he was not jealous.

      You and Ivan were smiling at each other, standing by the refreshments table, mouths moving quickly, the both of you obviously interested in whatever you were talking about. You threw your head back in a laugh. You looked gorgeous. Nikolai wanted to make you laugh like that - more than he wanted to admit.

      The last straw was when Ivan lay a hand on your shoulder, and then snaked his arm around you. You didn't seem perturbed by his touch - no, actually, you leaned into it. He bent down to whisper something in your ear that made you duck your head in embarrassment and lightly hit his chest. 

      Nikolai's glare deepened, if that were even possible. Okay, fine, maybe he was jealous. Did he even have the right to be jealous, though? It wasn't as if he was dating you, as much as he'd like to be.

And oh boy, he'd like to be. 

      Suddenly, Alina appeared at his side, seemingly out of thin air. He flinched. "Alina." 

      The girl in question had a mischievous look in her eye. Her hands were clasped in front of her, the long, flowy sleeves of her dress falling just past her wrists. The bottom half of her gown was a sparkly gold, whereas the top half was a dark blue. The two colours faded into each other at the middle, creating a gradient effect. It was a beautiful dress. You had helped Alina pick it out yourself, if he remembered correctly.

      "Hello, loverboy." she poked him in the side, grinning knowingly. "How's your crush on Y/n going for you?"

      "I don't have a crush on them, Alina, for Saint's sake."

      "Oh, is that so? You do seem... ah, what was the word... utterly whipped for them, contrary to what you just said," she said, tilting her head to the side, feigning innocence.

      "Am not," he argued. "I-," Nikolai paused, taking notice of you and Ivan walking past a couple metres away. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in your current conversation to notice him. His eyes lingered on you. He only looked away when you disappeared back into the throng of people. 

      Alina let out a triumphant 'ha!'. 

      He directed his attention back to her and glared. "Alina, I swear-,"

      "Utterly. Whipped," she mouthed.

      "I will behead you," he threatened.

      She laughed. "In all seriousness, I really don't think Y/n and Ivan like each other like that," Alina said.

      "Well, of course not," he agreed. "Y/n very clearly has eyes for me. I can't say I blame them - who could resist all this? Everyone's all over me, as I'm sure you've noticed." 

      Alina stared at him pointedly.

      "Ah, except for you, of course. You seem to be the only one immune to my charm and charisma. An odd one, you are."

       She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother," she groaned. "Just swear to me that you'll tell Y/n you like them soon. Within a week. Swear on... your dignity."

      "My dignity?" Nikolai drawled.

      "Yes, your dignity, because if you don't fess up soon, I'll have to tell Y/n about your crush on them myself," she grinned smugly, and darted off before Nikolai could retort. 

      He sighed. As he saw it, he had three options:

      1. Blackmail Alina (because of course she wouldn't give in to simple bribery)

      2. Get on his knees and beg Alina to not tell you of his massive crush (there! he admitted it; he had a massive crush on you! One that he'd been harbouring for just over a year now, too)

      3. Listen to Alina, and confess on his own terms

      All three were mortifying, and things he absolutely didn't want to do. However, the last was considerably easier to do, and came with the most benefits and the least consequences. You had already seen him through his most embarrassing moments (and he through yours) so even if you rejected him, the humiliation would be minimal. 

      And maybe he wanted to confess. And maybe there was hope that you liked him back. Nikolai wasn't stupid - he knew when people fancied him. He suspected you liked him back, but then again, that could've been wishful thinking, or maybe he was misreading the entire thing.

      He didn't even understand why he was so jealous of the way Ivan and you had interacted. Before he had fallen heads over heels in love with you, his childhood best friend, people flirting with you hadn't been a problem. He'd encouraged it, even. But now, bitterness flared up inside of him every time he saw someone getting a bit too cozy with you. 

      In short, his feelings for you had completely destroyed his facade of smooth, suave, sexy Prince of Ravka. And it kind of terrified him how poorly he hid it.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai had been acting strange lately, and it was bothering you. You feared the worst - had he finally caught on to your crush? You thought you'd been subtle until Ivan had approached you at the most recent party. Apparently, the scowl on your face as you watched Nikolai flirt with the guests had been fierce enough to kill.

      Ivan had given you (unsolicited) advice, telling you to be straightforward and direct. That was what he'd done with Fedyor, after all, and that had worked out well.

      You were pacing around your room. Ivan was perched on your bed, watching you have a borderline nervous breakdown like one would watch the view. 

      "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Ivan?" you demanded. "I'm about to make a life or death decision, and you're enjoying it."

      He chuckled. "I wouldn't call this a life or death decision, Y/n. If Nikolai rejects you, he rejects you, and it's his loss. If he reciprocates, good, and you'll be free to frolic in the meadows with him, all fine and dandy."

      You stared at him, your expression communicating, "Did you really just say that?", very clearly.

      "Okay, okay, fine, I'll be serious." Ivan relented. "Just tell him, Y/n. What's the worst that could happen?" 

      Just as you were about to respond - "Well, I don't know, what if he rejects me, things become eternally awkward between us, and our 10 year long friendship is ruined because I couldn't keep my mouth shut?" - someone knocked at the door. You opened it to find Nikolai waiting. His hair was perfectly styled, as always. He wore a dark turquoise suit jacket, and a simple white dress shirt underneath. The ghost of a smile appeared on your face; you had chosen the colour for him.

      "Hi, Nikolai," you greeted. 

      "Hello," he said. "Come on a walk with me. It's a lovely day outside, and both of us have been dreadfully busy lately - we may not get another chance to spend time together, I'm afraid."

      "Oh! Of course, just let me grab more suitable shoes- I'll be out in a minute- Ivan, move." You rummaged around your room in search of the sandals Nikolai had gifted you for your most recent birthday. Ivan flashed you a grin.

      "Tell him!" he whispered as you ducked out the door.

      You hoped you didn't seem too jittery as you took Nikolai's arm, even if your insides were filled with butterflies. He seemed deep in thought for the first few minutes of your walk. It wasn't until you were both outside that he finally spoke.

      "I hope you don't mind me asking, Y/n, but what was Ivan doing in your room?" he asked. 

      The question caught you off guard. Why was he so concerned about you and Ivan? It wasn't as if-

      Oh.

      Oh.

      "Nikolai, don't tell me- are you jealous?" you exclaimed.

      "Just answer the question, Y/n," he grumbled, which was enough of an answer for you.

      You laughed, only feeling a bit bad that you were so amused. Nikolai Lantsov, jealous. You found that incredibly funny. "Oh, I'm sorry for laughing," you apologised, even as another giggle escaped your mouth. "You don't have to worry, Ivan and I are strictly friends."

      He didn't seem convinced. "But the two of you at the party a few days ago-,"

      You cut him off. "Nikolai. I promise that there is nothing romantic going on with Ivan and I. And besides, I don't think I'm anywhere near his type."

      "Ivan likes men, Nikolai," you supplied, sensing his confusion. "Honestly, you need to keep up with gossip - he and Fedyor have been going strong for nearly three months now."

      "Oh," Nikolai said.

      "Yeah, oh."

      "And, uh, do you? Like men, I mean?" 

      You bit back another laugh. "Yes, I do. One man in particular, actually." 

      "Is that so? Care to clue me in on who this man is?"

      "You." 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nikolai's pov

"You."

      As soon as that single word came out of your mouth, Nikolai's brain short-circuited, and several alarms blared in his mind. ALERT! ALERT! THE PERSON YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH LIKES YOU BACK! 

      He was too stunned to speak, which was definitely a first. So, naturally, he didn't speak, but instead leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed chastely against yours. A pause. 

      "I- I'm really sorry, Y/n, I should have asked beforehand-,"

      "Nikolai." you took his face in your hands. "Shut up." 

      And then you kissed him, and if his brain had been short-circuiting before, this was a full blown system failure. Sparks flew inside of him, and he was acutely aware of you and you only. It was a wonderful feeling, one that he immediately missed when you pulled away.

      "Wow," you said. 

      He grinned. "I'm that good of a kisser, huh?"

      When usually you would come up with a witty response, you just smiled. It was a smile Nikolai was pretty sure he'd die to see again. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Falling in love with Nikolai had been a long process. Your simple crush developed into something deeper like a leaky faucet dripping - slowly, but steadily. And then the realisation that you were in love with him hit you like a tidal wave. Drowning you, consuming every inch of your being, but not necessarily in a bad way.

       You came to your epiphany while laying awake in bed one night after a whole day spent with the esteemed King of Ravka. It was a wonder that you'd managed to spend a whole 10 hours or so in his company without getting fed up, Tamar had teased. He did annoy you - and had today - but you bullied him back plenty enough. It was easy being with him. Easier than you were used to. 

       You loved the way his eyes sparkled after correcting someone on their use of the word 'impossible'. Loved how he devoted himself to his country so selflessly. Loved how he smiled at you so genuinely and lovingly, even when you didn't have the energy to show your love in return after a bad day. Saints, you loved him so, so much, and you were so in love with him, too, and-

       Holy shit. You were in love with Nikolai.

       You were in love. With Nikolai.

       A childish giggle bubbled up inside of you, and you sighed happily. What a feeling it was to be in love with the King of Ravka, even if he didn't know it yet. 

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

You twirled a small flower around in your hands as you walked side by side with Nikolai, your shoulders brushing occasionally. The taller blades of grass tickled your ankles, and a gentle breeze weaved through your hair. The sun peeked out from behind a few clouds, warming your face.

     Nikolai intertwined your fingers, sighing in content. He craned back his neck to meet the sunshine, eyes fluttering shut. He looked stunning, just standing there with his almost otherworldly beauty as light spilled over his fine features, highlighting every detail.

     "I'm in love with you," you blurted suddenly. "I love you, and I'm also in love with you, so. Yeah. I'm in love with you, Nikolai Lantsov."

     You gave yourself a mental round of applause for your eloquence and tact.

      He blinked. "Oh." The ghost of a smile appeared on his face, turning into a full-fledged grin when he finally processed your words. "Oh. I'm... I'm in love with you, too, Y/n L/n."

      You beamed back at him, and cupped his face in your hands. You gently ran your fingers against his cheeks, tracing a line down to the base of his chest. The fabric of his shirt was thin and soft, unlike the suffocating material his suits were made of. Lovingly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you close. Your heart fluttered. Saints, you adored Nikolai. More than you could put into words. 

      "I love you," you whispered. "I love you so much, so intensely that it consumes me, and I'm drowning in it. But instead of it being hard to breathe, it makes breathing easier. It makes everything easier." 

      You interrupted your little speech by kissing him, just because it felt appropriate, and continued. "I was so lost without you, Nikolai. I didn't realise it, because as I've proved time and time again, I'm more than capable of holding my own-" you smirked as he rolled his eyes at the jab to his overprotectiveness "-but I was. I was a boat lost at sea, floating around in the waves, with no destination and no goal except surviving. Then you came along, and gave me solace. You were my salvation. You and your endearingly stupid jokes and your wild yet grounded behaviour. You're my anchor, Nikolai." 

      He laughed, but not in the mean way. In the happy way. 

      "I would pay you back with a monologue of my own," he said. "but all I can think of right now is how perfect you are, and how much I want to kiss you."

      Your smile widened, if that were even possible. You met him midway, lips connecting almost desperately. The only coherent thought running through your brain was 'Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai.'

      Nikolai.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

"That one looks like a dragon," you said, pointing out a lumpy cloud in the sky.

      Nikolai tilted his head to the left. It was rather cute - he looked like a puppy, trying to figure out what its owner was saying. His right eyebrow curved in an upward arch (you still had no idea how he managed to raise a single eyebrow at a time), and he pouted slightly. Adorable.

      "I don't see it," he deadpanned.

      You sighed and shook your head, dismissing the cute puppy ideology. "Nevermind," you huffed. As hard as you tried to pretend you were upset with him, a smile teased at the corners of your mouth, anyway.

      "I'm sorry, darling, but I really don't!" he exclaimed, flopping back into the picnic blanket you two had laid out. Really, it wasn't even a picnic blanket. It was just a blanket. The two of you hadn't had time to find a proper one before embarking on your impromptu picnic. Nikolai, ever the improviser, had then brandished a quilt from Saints knew where. You suspected it came from Vasily's room, because who else would be pompous enough to own a red velvet blanket the size of China?

      You dramatically exhaled again. "I already said nevermind. Not all of us can be blessed with a creative vision such as mine, after all."

      Nikolai laughed. And Saints, the sound was downright melodic. You didn't even want to begin thinking about all the things you'd do to hear it one more time.

      A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Eventually, he began stroking your palm with his callouses fingers. You bit back a smile, and linked your pinkies together. A gathering of clouds mostly covered the sun - enough to allow only a bit of warm, gold light to seep out. You wondered briefly how Nikolai looked right now, basking underneath the faint sunshine. 

      The answer came to you easily, even without looking at him: fucking beautiful. 

      However, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring at him. The last time he had caught you gaping at him like a lovesick fool, he had teased you endlessly. It was ridiculous. It wasn't as if he didn't stare at you. No, actually. He stared at you all the time. In fact, he was doing it right now.

      You bit back a grin when you felt his eyes on you. But before you could tease him for it, he got up suddenly, offering you a hand.

      "Come on," he urged. "Follow me."

      "Where to?" you questioned curiously.

      He smirked. Tugged on your hand. Winked. "You'll see." 

      "Right, that's not cryptic at all," you muttered. 

      Eventually, after a minute or so of walking (and plenty of you trying to weasel more information out of him) the two of you had seemed to reach your destination. A huge tree hung above you, offering its shade. You plopped down, but Nikolai remained standing.

      Strangely, he was looking rather nervous. Repeatedly tugging at the collar of his beige button-up shirt, and kicking at the grass. 

      "Y/n, darling, don't just sit there, you're making me nervous," he whined. 

      You giggled, but stood up anyway. "I could say the same about you. What's on your mind, dear?"

      He took a deep breath, and looked you dead in the eyes. "I love you, Y/n. I love you, and I'm in love with you. I always have, and always have been. It's just- you're wonderful. And intelligent. And charming. And I am so, so glad you are my partner - in the romantic sense, and the platonic sense. If I'm being honest, I'm quite sure I'd be tearing at the seams without you to sew me back together every time I do something particularly foolish. 

      And I hope you'll always be there to ground me. Because I will always be there for you. Th-there's no other way to say this, my darling, but I'd quite like to spend the rest of my life with you, so..."

      He brandished a dark blue box from his back pocket (this probably wasn't the time, but you had to mention that you could never fit something that large in your pocket. Why did men's clothing always have bigger pockets?) and got down on one knee. 

      "Will you do me the honour of marrying me, Y/n?" he finished.

      Holy fuck. Holy mother of Saints. Holy everything. Was this real? Saints. This really was real, wasn't it? Nikolai Lantsov was proposing to you.

      A sob escaped from your throat, and you nodded frantically, not wanting him to think you were upset. "Yes," you said. "Saints, Nikolai, yes."

      He smiled. You knew that he smiled a lot, but this smile was different. Usually, he just grinned or smirked in a devilish way - this was more of a beam. He looked so genuinely happy (genuinely happy, because of you!) that it made your heart soar, and you were pretty sure you fell in love with him all over again for the second time. You'd never get tired of it, though. Not when it came to Nikolai (Nikolai, your husband-to-be!). Never when it came to Nikolai.

      You soon found yourself enveloped in a hug. He spun you around, both of you laughing (and crying). When he set you down, you could have sworn you saw his eyes welling up.

      "Now, my love, those better be happy tears," he tutted.

      "Of course they're happy tears, you stupid puppy dog!" you sniffed. "I love you."

      He beamed into your hair. "I love you, too, Y/n."

      What a feeling it was to be in love with Nikolai Lantsov, and to know that he was in love with you, too.