#inside no 9 bracket

[donotbelasagne]

IN9 episodes tournament, round 1 stats

I have created a spreadsheet based on the wonderful polls by @insideno9bracket and now I am here to give you some solid facts (it's about 1000 words long, I sincerely apologise).

First off, I looked at the general data.

The mean amount of votes per poll was a nice round 90 (to the nearest whole number), with a SD of 11.6 (quite a lot).

The mode was 83, and the median 89.5 (meaning there are a few outliers at the top).

The mean amount of notes per poll was 17 (to the nearest whole number), with 10 of were likes and 7 were reblogs (the number of comments proved to be almost negligible, with a mean of 0.25 comments per poll).

Firstly, I think this shows the general trend on Tumblr of moving away from reblogs and towards likes (a trend that other Tumblr users have made way more interesting posts about, so I won't go into detail about this here). Due to the nature of these polls, I really enjoy reading people's reblog-tags, so I urge you to reblog more next round so I have a good time lol.

Secondly, it shows that only 19% of the people who voted also interacted with the post in another way (not taking into consideration those who liked AND reblogged). Again, I feel like we can do better than this next round. I want to know why you choose the episode you choose! Give me those unhinged and insanely biased tags, reblog with propaganda of why people should vote for a specific episode! It’s what these polls are all about!

Next up, let's take a look at the most popular polls and episodes.

The top 3 most voted for polls were:

Nana's Party vs Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room (125 votes)

Zanzibar vs Paraskevidekatriaphobia (108 votes)

Sardines vs How Do You Plead (105 votes)

The top 3 most voted for episodes were:

Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room (115 votes)

Plodding On (82 votes)

The Stake Out & Cold Comfort (81 votes)

Now, the main take-away from this is how insanely popular BCDR is. It got more votes by itself, than all other polls did in total. Another take-away is the popularity of Sardines and How Do You Plead (we’ll seem them again in the “closest calls” part of this post). People really fought for both those episodes. My last take-away for now, is that we are all insanely predictable and I love that for us lol. Of course Plodding On and The Stake Out are in the top 3, of course they are. 

If we look at the most voted for polls/episodes, we of course also need to look at the least voted for (or as I’d like to call it; the bit of this post that would get Reece annoyed).

The top 3 least voted for polls were: 

Private View vs Boo To A Goose (55 votes)

And The Winner Is vs Thinking Out Loud (75 votes)

Hurry Up And Wait vs A Quiet Night In (80 votes)

The top 3 least voted for episodes were: 

Hurry Up and Wait & The Referee’s A W***er (8 votes)

A Random Act Of Kindness, Nana’s Party & Love Is A Stranger (10 votes)

Kid/Nap (14 votes)

A couple of points on this, Private View vs Boo To a Goose was the first poll to happen, which I believe is the main reason this poll received so few votes. Secondly, some of the episodes in this top 3 were just unlucky with which episode they were up against and aren’t bad episodes per se (to be fair, are there any actual bad episodes? I think not. Just popular and less popular ones). For example, The Referee’s a W***er was up against Cold Comfort (which got 91% of the votes), and Nana’s Party was up against BCDR (which got 92% of the votes). 

This brings me nicely to the point of win margins. 

Top 3 biggest win margins:

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (92%) vs Nana’s Party (8%) 

Cold Comfort (91%) vs The Referee’s A W***er (9%)

A Quiet Night In (90%) vs Hurry Up And Wait (10%)

Top 3 smallest win margins 

Thinking Out Loud (52%) vs And The Winner Is (48%)

The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge (58.4%) vs The Party’s Over (41.6%)

12 Days Of Christine (59%) vs To Have And To Hold (41%) As well as: Sardines (59%) vs How Do You Plead (41%) 

The biggest win margins are all quite straightforward; iconic episodes vs average episodes. Not much to say about that. The smallest win margins are either between two average episodes, or two iconic episodes (/documentaries).

I wonder if perhaps there could be a “golden ticket” poll at some point, to get one of these just-didn’t-win episodes back into the competition (@insideno9bracket)? 

Lastly, I looked at the most and least interacted with polls. 

Top 3 most interacted with polls:

Death Be Not Proud vs The Stake Out (28 notes)

Nana’s Party vs Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (25 notes)

Tempting Fate vs Wise Owl & The Last Weekend vs Mulberry Close (24 notes) 

Makes a lot of sense, people are very passionate about these episodes. 

Top 3 least interacted with polls:

And The Winner is vs Thinking Out Loud (9 notes)

Mother’s Ruin vs Seance Time (10 notes)

Hurry Up and Wait vs A Quiet Night In (11 notes)

It’s either because people weren’t too fussed about these 3 polls (seems unlikely, but alright), or everyone was busy when these polls came out lol. If anyone has a better explanation, I’d love to hear it. 

Some extra thoughts: 

A lot of this was more or less as I expected, though I thought The Trolley Problem would feature more heavily at the top (it ranks 10th in amount of votes). 

I cannot wait for round 2 and seeing if the current trends continue, or if new pairings will change it all up!

Please let me know if there are any other stats you’d like to see! I’ve just gone with everything I could think of, but I’m always open to doing more pointless stats. 

Thank you everyone for voting and thank you @Insideno9brackets for doing this. I’m having a great time.

[insideno9bracket]

ROUND 2: RESULTS

We lost quite a few strong episodes this time! I'm interested to see how round 3 will turn out

also rip series 6, first one to be entirely eliminated

[vagueeyes]

So last summer, when listening to the in9 pods & commentaries, I twice picked Reece up on mentioning something about Hitchcock and the "bomb under the table", but I never looked up what that was.

Last week, I watched BECOMING HITCHCOCK: THE LEGACY OF BLACKMAIL where, at one point, the "bomb under the table" was mentioned, and I finally found out what it was (and later realized this was actually a very famous quote...I'm ashamed not to have known it despite being a Hitchcock fan!!):

The last bit of that video is interesting and wasn't something I found when initially googling the "bomb theory". Reece & Steve have talked about writing moments of tension and then letting the audience off the hook with a laugh - I believe this has been mentioned in the TLOG commentaries as well (one of the live shows?).

I racked my brain for quite some time on just where this was mentioned, and it finally clicked for me today that it was in the "Private View" commentary and the "Misdirection" BBC Sounds pod. (ofc it was when discussing the murder-mystery eps!!!)

Attempted to transcribe the commentary & pod because I don't want to forget this again (forgive the terrible punctuation):

PRIVATE VIEW commentary @ 20:27

Steve: We got to this point and we thought, "Right, rather than leave the unmasking of the killer right to the very end, which would be the obvious way of doing a twist ending, we'll reveal now", or coming up – Reece: Well, then it takes the heat off it being a massive reveal at the end, because if you're getting it, it's like, well, don't worry, we want you to know at this point. Steve: Well, the fewer people that are alive, the more you're likely to guess. Reece: Yes, and also it's nice that then the tables are turned as far as the audience knowing who the killer is, but the people that are innocent don't, and then you're ahead of them. Steve: Exactly, you can enjoy that. Reece: It's like the Hitchcock thing of telling people that there's a bomb under the table.

MISDIRECTION – Inside Inside No. 9 pod @ 01:32

Steve: So, this is the fourth episode, and it centers on magic, and it's fair to say you love magic. Reece: Yes, magic. Well, we always wanted to do one sort of in that world – or I did – but I think, actually, thinking about it, one of the things that got us through it was the idea of doing a Columbo episode, wasn't it? It was a murder where you knew the person had done it and it was how they got caught. That was an appealing set up. Steve: Very often with these episodes, we're kind of holding something back, and it was great, with this one, to begin with a big action set piece and kill off a character who you may have thought could've been going on to the end. Reece: Yes, and I remember in the edit, this was long, wasn't it? It was quite long, and there was suddenly a version where we thought you could cut the beginning off and start with Neville successful, then halfway through let the penny drop that he'd done this thing. (Steve: What, so cut me out of it entirely? Reece: No, you'd have been back in it as a reveal – Steve: What, as a flashback? Reece: – as to what happened. Well yeah, then you'd have been in a flashback rather than a – Steve: Mm, I wasn't party to that decision. Reece: No, no, you were.) Obviously, it was better the way it was because then you were watching, like the Hitchcock thing, isn't it, of the bomb under the table, where he says there's two people talking about baseball, and they're talking about baseball and then the whole thing blows up because there was a bomb under the table; but then if you show the bomb under the table and then see them talking about baseball – Steve: You've got the tension. Reece: – you've got the tension, and that's sort of what we went with.

[the-original-gb-bracket]

OK. All the blogs in this special round 0 are under the cut. Every odd number is against the even below it. We'll see how tumblr feels about the bracket image this time, but I'm not posting it until this round 0 is over.

Due to not wanting to spam your feeds and also the tumblr post limit (there are 253 polls this round!), I will be spreading these out via the queue, posting 50 a day.

1: hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

2: flareon-fanart-collection

3: the-compressor

4: rat-detector-but-evil

5: cantheywinthehungergames

6: official-fluffy-posts

7: would-you-punt-them

8: dailyhomestarfacts

9: ominous-signs

10: rat-detector-24

11: throckmorton-the-skater

12: dailytricksterfox

13: identifying-dogs

14: disappointed-by-lack-of-soup

15: identifying-cat-phenotypes

16: the-real-yahoo-mail

17: alphabetcompletionist

18: guillotinema

19: bocchidaily2024

20: the-official-netherlands

21: makingyourfavesinwebfishing

22: rat-detector-detector-detector

23: yesornopolls

24: posts-i-saw-on-wikipedia

25: elvis-official

26: ebugsdotjpeg

27: crane-detector

28: word-problem-posting

29: onionpainter

30: rat-detector-fail

31: i-make-things-snakes

32: the-djavulsksilverhaj

33: onenicebugperday

34: funnier-when-objectum

35: things-that-are-weezer-blue

36: no-stupid-questions-official

37: i-identify-as-an-ominous-threat

38: mysticmagicrat

39: hot-take-tournament

40: rat-detector-8x

41: cantheykillmacbeth

42: is-this-shakespearean-accurate

43: bear-detector

44: inside-outtakes-daily

45: localairport

46: the-demonhaj

47: cat-spotted

48: suddenlyveryloud

49: probablybadrpgideas

50: your-fav-is-divorced

51: parentheses-posts

52: sans-in-heat

53: ifitwasediblewouldyoueatit

54: same-pic-of-the-blue-moon

55: mcmansionhell

56: dailykafka

57: ofishal-fish-posts

58: gimmick-spice-tolerance-bracket

59: really-fucked-up-stimboards

60: polishpriests

61: identifying-dinosaurs-in-posts

62: iloveants

63: gimmick-blog-bracket

64: the-actual-ocean

65: pointless-achievements

66: digital-slenderman

67: making-your-fave-in-fr

68: twopartposts

69: creatures-in-posts

70: not-a-trampoline-daily

71: echo-flower-from-undertale

72: e-counter

73: is-the-post-reliable

74: the-magentahaj

75: the-timeloop-tourney

76: friend-myth-kill

77: couldtransitionsaveher

78: smashorpassgilf

79: ginger-ale-official

80: is-this-fascism

81: official-boob-posts

82: los-camp-daily

83: yesterdays-xkcd

84: earth-updates-today

85: rat-detector

86: fuck-you-in-particular

87: making-you-in-ponytown

88: i-shelve-posts

89: haveyouatethisfruit

90: new-dinosaurs

91: cantheysurvive2001aspaceodyssey

92: stereosexuals-daily

93: does-this-require-cyanobacteria

94: rat-detector-333

95: mammalidentifier

96: is-your-post-grey

97: kittybroker

98: dilfs-dot-com

99: howoldisjimmycarter

100: pokemonbattletournament

101: reallybadblackoutpoems

102: unhelpfultarot

103: postsofbabel

104: the-offical-vine

105: drawing-you-as-a-critter

106: incorrectconspiracytheorist

107: arewebeholdingaman

108: the-official-chaldea

109: lowpolyanimals

110: the-real-will-wood-daily

111: i-want-tennis-ball

112: united-states-health-care

113: snailifier

114: locked-in-or-tweaking

115: the-purple-painter

116: the-actual-catacombs

117: rick-roller

118: identifying-spacecraft-in-posts

119: parappa-raps

120: inthetags

121: little-bitch-detector

122: elitegreet

123: blood-heritage-posts

124: words-that-could-be-jtoh-towers

125: scp-threats-is-back

126: ratdetectordetectordetectordet

127: fake-post-archive

128: ratdectector23

129: one-time-i-dreamt

130: could-they-win-a-holy-grail-war

131: shirtsthatgohard

132: rhinoceros-beetle-official

133: tf2heritageposts

134: pokemon-cards-hourly

135: everydayspamton

136: rat-detector-334

137: in-the-bible

138: fav-character-shroin-count

139: identifying-horses-in-posts

140: cactus-detector

141: peoplegettingkindamadatfood

142: spirit-phone-daily

143: official-mantis-shrimp-posts

144: rat-detector-236

145: whatcoloristhatcat

146: rat-eliminator

147: identifying-maille-weaves

148: the-lilahaj

149: things-that-are-not-true

150: ratdetector-x26

151: terriblerealestateagentphotos

152: in-case-i-die-daily

153: hellsite-proteins

154: good-pokemon-center-reviews

155: how-many-letters

156: characters-with-garlic-bread

157: same-picture-of-a-rock-every-day

158: costcopizzablog

159: shrimpradar

160: do-you-know-this-adhd-character

161: identifying-cars-in-posts

162: shakespearean-suffering

163: the-firey-painter

164: official-wasp-posts

165: identifying-birds

166: pale-fur-my-moirail

167: carbon-monoxide-detector

168: out-of-context-tbcu

169: sealsdaily

170: a-counter

171: counter-facts-i-just-made-up

172: linguistwho

173: validwarriorcatsnames

174: the-litenhaj

175: i-type-things

176: fr-winn-dixie

177: hellsite-hall-of-fame

178: official-hater-posts

179: miscellaneous-marios

180: content-free

181: eroticismofthemachinedetector

182: weeklycandacedrawings

183: asciicompletionist

184: the-rosahaj

185: my-hobby-is-finding-the-source

186: anarchist-chess

187: the-hex-project

188: would-you-eat-them

189: apolladay

190: hajtale

191: evilwizard

192: the-aftonsparv

193: i-give-worms

194: official-knight-posts

195: fluttershywheresheshouldntbe

196: pokemontheywouldhave

197: card-of-the-day

198: mtg-cards-hourly

199: writing-prompt-s

200: mcr5-thoughts-every-other-day

201: memes-to-show-the-past

202: ratdetectortheninth

203: can-they-lift-thors-hammer

204: rat-detectors-detector

205: is-jk-rowling-dead-yet

206: orca-detector

207: amphibianaday

208: jstor

209: dark-wil-wheaton

210: chicago-mentioned

211: critter-creature-or-beast

212: civilisation-updates

213: yeahokayillreblogthat

214: worldofultimategaming

215: maryland-officially

216: fecundinex-official

217: whoishotteranimepolls

218: towhee-enjoyer

219: official-linguistics-post

220: t-counter

221: text-inverter

222: blorbo-court

223: latinare

224: detector-rat

225: making-you-in-atlyss

226: the-turkoshaj

227: i-give-you-a-fish

228: videos-i-didnt-make

229: i-make-things-spheres

230: 1337sp34kr

231: amongus-text-detector

232: rat-detector-16

233: alonglistofbirds

234: half-fey-freak-of-nature

235: girl-detector

236: cursed-facebook-marketplace

237: mouse-spotted

238: accidental-will-wood-reference

239: dear-ao3

240: daily-pokemon-polls

241: googlyeyesonmagiccards

242: totally-france

243: baba-is-blog

244: neilcicierega-daily

245: rat-detector-detector

246: i-give-you-a-manul

247: xkcd-for-that

248: r-ominous-positivity

249: who-jumps-for-the-beef

250: ace-attorney-smash-or-pass

251: making-you-in-spore

252: binas-official

253: i-say-ok

254: rat-detector-redacted

255: couldtheycatchkira

256: connection-terminated-blog

257: identifying-typewriters-in-posts

258: ratdetector13

259: post-store

260: unitedstatesoffandom

261: booktomoviebrawl

262: same-picture-of-benson-every-day

263: bestanimal

264: poorly-identifying-cats-in-posts

265: secondbeatsongs

266: museum-place-of-guys

267: musical-posts

268: libraryofbabel-postlocator

269: todays-xkcd

270: the-gimmick-teachers

271: numberscompletionist

272: am-i-the-asshole-official

273: the-glitter-painter

274: mcr-reference

275: eggblackoutpoetry

276: shinypokemonshowdown

277: rating-shittysawtraps

278: fnaf-flags

279: translatingpostsinfrench

280: rat-detector-twelve

281: pressxtosetfree

282: the-blahaj

283: transit-fag

284: orange-content-rater

285: lichenaday

286: eatorfuck

287: i-identify-guns-in-posts

288: daily-kobold-facts

289: front-facing-pokemon

290: apple-counter

291: thoughts-of-eel

292: rat-detector-19x

293: official-crab-posts

294: its-target-official

295: making-you-in-roblox

296: the-purpurhaj

297: aita-blorbos

298: mcytblrconfessions

299: doyoulikethissong-poll

300: i-remove-color-from-posts

301: flametexting-posts

302: medici-official

303: dailyhatsune

304: litwtc-referrer

305: cat-identifier

306: the-rat-detector-couple-the-1st

307: dailyquests

308: posts-without-the-letter-e

309: the-magenta-painter

310: space-update-today

311: haveyouheardthisband

312: videogameaxolotls

313: i-make-things-into-faces

314: eial-daily

315: the-haiku-bot

316: rat-detector-84

317: ao3org

318: your-fave-as-a-fate-servant

319: would-they-survive

320: chess-rook

321: making-you-in-sticky-business

322: born-against-daily

323: catcrumb

324: birdcounter

325: wtf-scientific-papers

326: is-it-ranboos-birthday

327: herpsandbirds

328: reading-comp-wrong-answers

329: ryunumber

330: c-counter

331: randomitemdrop

332: squeakdreamsresort

333: gimmick-thief-thief

334: favevostagepoll

335: simplified-birds

336: nom-nom-counter

337: i-make-things-content-aware

338: cookieclickercookieeater

339: ca-dmv-bot

340: rat-detector-the-22nd

341: rotating-donuts-blog

342: duothelingo

343: couldtheybekira

344: etho-spotted

345: contextfreepatentart

346: svard-haj

347: fixing-bad-posts

348: starskids-twisted-daily

349: the-icy-painter

350: rat-detector-the-26th

351: jesus-holding-your-fave

352: goodpokeaniscreencaps

353: making-you-in-lps

354: finding-tv-girl

355: is-destiel-canon-yet

356: rat-detector-13

357: it-hurts-to-post

358: rat-detector-seven

359: aistobascistod

360: nether-have-i-ever

361: shit-hdb-would-say

362: objectum-culture-is

363: hitboxesonstockimages

364: black-parade-daily

365: howdotheyliketheirsteak

366: lemondemonlyrics-daily

367: its-wednesday-sparkle-on

368: king-of-the-gods-zeus

369: certifiednewyorkposts

370: jeweledmonstera

371: todaysbird

372: south-carolina-detector

373: the-disempunctuationer

374: scale-polls

375: theyshapedlikefriends

376: big-mayo-official

377: elementcattos

378: massachusetts-official

379: theshitpostcalligrapher

380: hawaii-part-ii-daily

381: fish-identifier

382: the-universe-devs

383: identifying-cars-in-art

384: snake-spotted

385: banjobebleping

386: rat-detector-the-21st

387: relevant-wikipedia-articles

388: noahbaumbachmaritalstatus

389: shark-detector

390: rat-detector36

391: gimmickblog-taxonomist

392: official-level-5

393: peeledpokemon

394: bad-time-analogies

395: bovineblogger

396: the-eldritch-skrackhaj

397: periodiccompletionist

398: soniclesbianflags

399: ohio-thestate

400: fakest-thickwoman

401: bible-word-counter

402: rat-detector-the-18th

403: gimmick-thief

404: colorpicked-flags-from-one-guy

405: three-dee-ess

406: salem-village-everyday

407: the-frightening-ghoul

408: cool-rocks-official

409: bugthingsdaily

410: how-much-yellow

411: is-it-out-of-touch-thursday

412: ditto-dex

413: todays-problematic-ship

414: how-many-purples

415: thefoilguy

416: your-fave-as-owl

417: whatsthebird

418: the-first-bank

419: accidental-homestuck

420: thingsthatcannotsaveyou

421: what-day-of-the-week

422: jamface-daily

423: househeritageposts

424: fictitious-grail-war

425: fox-detector

426: spine-gif

427: hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard

428: rat-dedecdor

429: worlds-worst-ships

430: marinememes

431: dyktvideogamesfx

432: best-u-of-feenis-program

433: official-olm-posts

434: frollosuggestions

435: lesserknowncryptids

436: random-askbox-shit

437: hands-you-a-spatula

438: alyrictoasongbythecranewives

439: transparentcatpngs

440: sideblog-with-everyone

441: the-reverser

442: rat-detector-72

443: charl0ttan

444: pokemonxniccage

445: is-deltarune-tomorrow

446: ratdetector-x11

447: official-cannibalism-posts

448: hituwithabat

449: magic-vending-machine

450: universal-posting

451: statistical-distr-of-polls

452: incorrect-guilty-gear

453: dog-spotted

454: cccc-reference-counter

455: can-they-assemble-ikea-furniture

456: moonpawmybeloved

457: dailypokemoncrochet

458: rat-detector-the-14th

459: post-uwuifier

460: incaseimakeit-daily

461: makingyourfavindti

462: willwoodoutofcontext

463: was-house-fruity

464: bozarotexts

465: textposttropes

466: i-add-ampersands-to-posts

467: free-post-store

468: rat-detector-rat-89

469: sat-a-day

470: willwooddaily

471: wouldyoudoitforaklondikebar

472: c-official

473: where-is-tom-scott-today

474: tfihwg-daily

475: littleguysdaily

476: rainworld-name-verifier

477: badjokesbyjeff

478: rat-detector-to-the-5th-power

479: identifying-planes-in-posts

480: guiltygearofficial

481: doyouknowthisdisabledcharacter

482: official-bee-posts

483: making-you-in-mc

484: rat-detector-thirteen

485: voiceclaim-polls

486: walmart-the-official

487: tf2-post-archive

488: olipopsoda

489: making-u-a-cube

490: rat-detector-15

491: identifying-guns-in-posts

492: dailyiiwheelship

493: postanagramgenerator

494: will-wood-referrer

495: punctuation-completionist

496: daily-vitamin-an

497: i-give-chess-pieces-to-people

498: left-handed-minecraft-mobs

499: colourpickingpride

500: eurovision-song-bracket

501: incognitopolls

502: self-proclaimed-brick-expert

503: shittysawtraps

504: self-ish-daily

505: i-give-olms-to-people

506: scromble

[toxicanonymity]

THE STAKEOUT

UNIVERSE: THE RAID (Dark: Stockholm Syndrome) PAIRING: Javier Peña x f!reader x Steve Murphy LENGTH: 2.6k words (9 pages) WARNINGS: 18+, captivity, handcuffs, BJ, degradation, overstim (m), dry humping, just the tip, kissing, light cumplay, creampie, ref to promiscuity (m), stavier sexual tension. NOTES: Ty @milla-frenchy for your smut ask a yr ago after jojo lmao I hope it hits like new. Ty everyone who's encouraged me and held my hand and @dark-scape for her presence. FIC RECS | MY MASTERLIST

Javi returns from the precinct, and he and Steve are in the kitchen debriefing while you watch TV on the sofa.

" Messina's not happy ," Javi says. 

"Yeah? What's up her ass?" 

Javi's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Steve's reaction. " I think it's more about who isn't. "

Steve rolls his eyes and braces his hands on the counter, stretching out his arms. He tongues the inside of his cheek as he looks up at Javi, then asks, "What makes ya say that?"

" She asked about you ." Then Javi prods, " Wanna tell me what's going on? "

Steve groans in frustration. "Nothin's goin' on." 

" Well if you don’t give it to her soon, our leash is about to tighten. "

"Why don't you do it?"

" She asked about you before I had it back in my pants .” 

“Ouch,” Steve laughs, then shakes his head.  “Nah, nothin’ but a power move. Knock ya down a peg, remind ya who’s in charge.” 

Javi shrugs. “Or she just likes that big, white-boy cock.”  He slaps Steve on the back.

Steve smirks, then his humor fades. He covers and rubs his face with one hand. "Fuck." His gaze falls on you, sitting on the sofa, pretending not to listen. 

Javi interrupts Steve’s thoughts, “We’ve gotta do some surveillance tonight.” 

“Alright,” Steve agrees, “Shifts? Whos’ first?”

“Both of us ,” Javi explains, “We can’t be outnumbered.” 

“What’re we gonna do with our pequenita?” (little girl). Steve gestures toward you. 

“Taking her with us,” Javi says. “How 'bout a field trip, sweetheart? ” 

You perk up and ask, ”Really?”

”Guess we better get her dressed,” Steve says. 

_______________

They handcuff you as a precaution, and to keep you out of view, they put you on the passenger floorboard on your knees. It’s a big truck with a back seat, but they want to keep you close. You’re not allowed to see where they're going. But they make you a deal. No blindfold if you keep your mouth on Steve's cock the whole time. You settle in between Steve's long legs, with your hands cuffed behind your back. He braces his knees around you, holding you snugly for balance. 

After a few seconds, Javi asks Steve, "What are you waiting for?" 

Steve's calves squeeze your arms as he lifts his hips to unbutton and unzip with a sigh. He isn't really hard, but the soft heft and aroma is enough to make your mouth water. 

Before the truck starts rolling, he lifts his thick shaft with two fingers and murmurs. "Here ya go, sugar." You look up at him and his eyes sparkle with half a smile. 

You open your mouth and meet the tip with your lips.  He clears his throat as you suck his shaft into your mouth, then relax. His soft cock sits heavily on your tongue, and you haven't taken it all the way. He doesn't make you. His enormous hands gently cradle your head and the back of your neck to protect you in case of a sudden stop. His legs stay snuggly bracketing you. Javi starts driving. 

You don't have to suck Steve off, the rule is only that it has to be in your mouth, but you can't help it. He feels so smooth and the taste of him is familiar and comforting. Not like Javi's, which tastes like rejection but you crave it all the same.  

His cock thickens and you let out a little sound, making him twitch. There's something about being completely helpless with your hands cuffed, being down on your knees, cradled by his legs and hands. You suck from the back of your throat, and soon enough, he's fully hard. Steve sighs. You subtly tongue him in your mouth without bobbing your head. Then you take him as far as you can in your throat and he mutters, "shit, baby."  Your eyes prickle and you wish you could see his face, but when he exhales, you can imagine his cheeks puffing.

You alternate between really sucking and just kind of suckling on it until you begin to sense he's close. "Easy," Steve warns. You calm yourself and let it rest in your mouth. He supports your head, holding your cheek in his warm palm for a little rest. You're not sucking, but with all the saliva building up, you have to swallow around his cock, and that makes his hips just barely lift with a moan each time.

Before you reach the destination, Steve cums, spurting his warm, salty spend against your throat. It’s heady and thick, the kind of load you’ll taste for days. His hips lift gently into your mouth with each burst until he sighs and relaxes. You begin to let his spent length out of your mouth, but Javi reaches over and his hand cover’s Steve’s on the back of your head, keeping your mouth full. You're still not allowed to take it out. As hard as you try to be nothing but a warm wet hole to rest in, Steve grunts and breathes shakily with the overstimulation.

When the truck finally stops, You’re allowed to remove your mouth. Your jaw is a little sore. 

“Sorry,” you apologize to Steve as he zips up his jeans.  “For what?” he winks. He dabs your mouth for you, then reaches down your back to uncuff your wrists. 

Javi says, "Good girl. Behave yourself, and maybe you can sit on a cock on the way home." 

"Jav," Steve protests and your heart falls. "Drivin' around like that's the fastest way to lose her."  

Javi holds a hand up and lowers his voice, “wait ,” looking out the window. 

Steve bends forward to get a better look. His face tenses.  “That goddamn asshole again?” 

“He’s a buyer, not a seller,” Javi reminds him. “He'll work with us .” 

“Dirtbag ain’t given us shit,” Steve replies. “Never shoulda let him off with a warning.” 

“I don’t like him anymore than you do ” Javi says with a much cooler head than Steve. "Maybe this time, he has something. Let’s find out.” 

Steve runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “And if he don’t?” 

“We’ve still got another pair of cuffs,” Javi answers. 

Steve chuckles dismissively. “He’d be out in four hours.” 

“C’mon,” Javi says and nods toward you. “Lock’er up, let’s go.”

“I won’t go anywhere,” you promise. 

Javi pauses for a moment, then looks you over and says “It’s for your own good,” before getting out of the car. 

Steve gets out and stretches, then looks around the car. His long body folds toward you at the hips, then his knees bend. He looks under the passenger seat. “M’Sorry, baby,” he mumbles. He takes your hand gently in his, making yours look tiny. He doesn’t have to coax you into offering your wrist under the seat. He cuffs you to the bar normally used to move it forward and back. It’s always pushed back as far as it can go for Steve and his long legs. 

“Be careful,” you whisper.  You know you shouldn’t care about them, but you’re scared for their safety. You tell yourself it’s because their safety ensures yours. Steve’s face softens as he looks at you. “Gonna be fine,” he tells you. His thumb brushes your temple. 

Javi watches with sincere eyes as Steve strokes your cheek. “We’re professionals,” Javi reassures you, then his gaze shifts to Steve and he raises his eyebrows in skepticism.  “Right, Murphy? Professionals.”

Murphy puffs out his cheeks as he blows out air. “Goddamn professionals,” he reluctantly agrees. His large hand slides over the top of your head. “Sit tight, sugar.” 

___________

You’ve always appreciated the tactical gear for looking so fucking hot, but this is one of the first times you’ve thought about the actual function of their vests. You’re worried about them. You imagine Steve and Javi stalking around the house with their knees bent, guns drawn. The way you saw them that first day you met. And you’re almost too nervous to think about how hot they must look.

It’s quiet, really quiet. You can’t really see, but after catching a glimpse of the ground, when they opened the door, you could picture the kind of place you were in. A dry dirt lot littered by paper fast food cups and  muddy clothes that dried like bricks into their wrinkled state. There’s probably a gutted, run-down building with no door. A building not good for much else than squatting, stashing, and dealing. There are no animal noises, no dry weeds rustling against each other in the wind. Just the faint sound of traffic. 

Your concern for them makes you think a little more than you want to about the state of your life. You didn’t consider yourself at a low point before, but Javi was right. He was wise. You could see the concern in his eyes, and the care when he said there’s nowhere to go but up. Where did he see all this going, you wondered. Would he get you clean and let you go? Where would you even go? What would you do?

It feels like they’re gone forever. Eventually, you hear a scuffle. Raised voices, three voices, muffled by the concrete. Then Javi booms, “Let it go."

They talk over each other more. 

'Javi barks, “Further!"'Javi barks, “Further!"

"I'm trying," the voice yells back from a little further away. 

Steve is exasperated. He shouts, "You can walk fine, asshole." then at normal volume, "Get outta here, dirtbag.” 

As the partners walk back to the car, they argue with each other. 

___________

“You're driving,” Javi informs Steve. Steve gets in the driver’s seat and adjusts it way back to make room for his long legs. His knuckles are bloody. He lowers his aviators to look at you. Javi opens the back door, then yours. “I was good,” you remind him.

Javi takes a deep breath. 

“Ahh, pobrecita ” Javi commiserates, and looks you over with his hands on his hips. “You’re right. You were good. Want to stretch your legs?” He uncuffs you and tells Steve to keep an eye out, then helps you out of the car. He smooths your dress for you–a futile effort, considering you’ll only be standing for a moment.

“You can sit on it later, how’s that, sugar?” Steve offers from inside the car. 

“Did I say it would be *you*?” Javi snaps. Apparently Steve had not been good. Unprofessional, you could guess. 

“The girl needs a cock and I got one. All I’m sayin’,” Steve continues defiantly. 

Javi’s jaw clenches, and he takes off his sunglasses to stare Steve down. “You wanna sit on a cock, sweetheart?” he asks in a voice like he’s talking to you, but he’s looking more toward Steve.

“What happened?” you ask in response, morbidly curious and invested in their spat. 

Javi closes the back door, takes his place in the passenger seat again, and takes off his belt, but leaves the tac vest on. He pats his lap. 

“Finally gonna give it to her?” Steve heckles, and Javi ignores him. 

“Facing me ” Javi tells you.

“Really?” Steve asks.

Javi doesn’t respond. He leans the seat back a little, helps you into straddling him, and spreads the skirt of your dress over his lap so your bare cunt is against the soft texture of his gray pants.

Steve drives. 

As though he’s getting ready to take a portrait, Javi's hands run over you, adjusting and admiring things – letting his thumb pay a visit to your clothed nipple, fixing your hair. He adjusts your weight, and his warm bulge swells under you. He admires your face and cups your cheek. When your hips move, he thumbs your lower lip, then slides it into your mouth. You suck his thumb, and his cock stiffens against you. He wants to feel you soak through his pants. His thumb withdraws, taking saliva to your chin, and he gives you his index and middle finger.

You suck his fingers, and he says, “Good.” His hips lift, and you whimper with his fingers still in your mouth.  “You really need a cock?” he asks with a skeptical squint. “Right now? ”

You bite your lips and search his face for the answer. “I can control myself,” you tell him, and his face softens. “Good girl .” 

Steve scoffs quietly, but if either of you notice, you don’t show it.

You grind on Javi slowly, tension coiling in your depths. He slides his hands under your dress and holds you closer. You breathe heavily as he begins to help you move on him. He lifts you toward him to slide his hand all the way down your crack, between your legs to your pussy. Two wet fingers drag along your dripping seam then take some of your slick toward your asshole. His middle finger teases the tight little hole.  

The tension swells, tugging at the coil in your depths, ready to let it spring free.  He pulls you tight against him, with your face near his. Your sensitive front twitches against his hardness, and your mouth falls open with a gasp. The coil of tension springs open, flooding your core with pleasure, soaking through his pants. You unravel with a moan that falls hot on Javi’s cheek. Javi takes a deep whiff, with his nose nudging your lips, then his hand wedges between your bodies to take his hard dick out of his pants. He gathers your wetness and spreads some on his shaft before holding you tight again.  The warm, smooth shaft is stiff as a rod against your dripping cunt as you slide against it. 

His nose nudges your lips again with a slow inhale, then he cups the back of your head and smashes his lips into yours. There’s nothing hesitant about the way his tongue plunges into your mouth. He kisses you deep, with hunger. He sucks you into him and moans without breaking away. His tongue claims you, and he pulls your head closer as if he can’t get enough. His energy is possessive. He drinks you in, breaking only for a moment, with heavy breaths, then his lips take yours again.

He leans back and lifts you against him. His cockhead nudges at your entrance, and he moans into your mouth. He drags his cock through your slippery slit and it catches at your entrance again. The tip nudges into you just barely, right as he begins to cum. His lips break from yours with a shudder as a hot rope of his seed spurts into your pussy for the first time. After one more, he slides his tip along your seam again, painting your vulva with the rest of his spend. 

Your body relaxes against him with a whine. 

“Shhh, you’re okay,” he says. “I’m proud of you .” 

He tries not to move you too much as he puts his dick away, then readjusts you on top of him. 

The tac vest isn’t exactly comfortable, but it rises and falls with his breaths, and you’re already fading when he gently holds your head and coaxes you asleep with another, “shhh .”

_______

Steve hands Javi a lit cigarette and Javi accepts it in silence.

“Feel better now?” Steve asks quietly. 

Javi scoffs.  

“Alright, what’s up your ass?” Steve asks, then teases, “Or is it what ain’t?”

“You’re out of control,” Javi scolds him in a near-whisper, seething about his partner’s violent outburst. 

“Hey, say the word and I’ll put it there,” Steve continues and adjusts himself. 

“Knock it off. I’m serious, Murph. Control yourself or we’re off the case .” 

“Shhh,” Steve says, glancing at your head on Javi’s shoulder. “Alright, I hear ya.” 

They ride home in silence. 

------

----

---

-

Thank you so much for reading! Your feedback means the world to me and goes a long way in keeping me going. Love y'all.

[robinminustherichard]

Clearly the solution is to get Tommy and Buck somewhere where Tommy can't run...

BuckTommy fix it with the help of dispatch & Lucy Donato.

"This is Donato."

"Firefighter Donato, this is 9-1-1 Dispatcher Josh Russo with Maddie Han. You are on shift at Harbor Station currently, correct?"

"Uh....yes? Do you--why are you calling my cellphone? What's happening?"

"Firefighter Donato there is an incoming party to Harbor Station that needs to be taken to a specific location with a member of your station."

"What?"

"Lucy...Buck is on his way to Harbor to win Tommy back, and you and I both know it's not going to go well unless Tommy can't run this time. I need you to get Buck and Tommy into a room with a lock and use said lock." A woman's voice, Maddie, cuts in.

Lucy blinks before looking at Tommy where he's staring blankly at a mug of coffee and has sighed no less than ten times in the last hour. She slowly swings a leg around and walks away from Tommy.

"Yeah okay, dispatch. I can do that. In fact, I am honored to help with this...special task."

"Great. You've got an estimated five-to-seven minutes until arrival."

Lucy eyes the supply closet that has a faulty lock on it, the one where you have to be careful not to let the door close behind you.

"On it. I'll uh. Update you accordingly."

"Thank you, Donato. God speed."

Lucy hangs up and slips into the closet, eying the wooden shelves on the wall. Taking a moment to realize how insane this is, she grabs a shelf and yanks it--allowing it and all of the cleaning supplies to come tumbling down.

"Ah, fuck!" She yells, to really sell it. She hears footsteps approaching.

"Donato? You alright?" Tommy calls, appearing around the door and looking at her and then the mess on the floor.

"Damn shelf came down." Lucy says, throwing her hands up. "Help me get it back on the wall?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, assessing the brackets and nodding. I'll go grab the drill and some screws, probably just some issues with the old mounting hardware."

Tommy disappears momentarily and Lucy pops her head out to look out through the hanger doors and sees Buckley pull up. Luckily, he seems to stay in the truck long enough for Tommy to come back and start fiddling with the drill.

"That's so weird that it just came down. What were you do--" Tommy starts, but cuts off when Lucy darts out of the door and closes it firmly behind her. "What-Donato? What are you doing?!"

"Everything will make sense soon!" She calls, and then jogs to where she sees Buckley making his way inside. "Buckley!"

Buck seems surprised to see her, distracted and looking around. "Uh, Lucy, hey! H-how are you?"

"Oh, you don't care about that," Lucy says, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind her towards the closet, "You're here to see Kinard right? Right. This way."

"Uh, well, yes but--" he tries to say, but Lucy is determined. They make it to the closet and Luck holds Buckely's wrist in one hand and the door knob in the other.

"Great! He's in here." She says, ripping open the door to a furious and then surprised Tommy, who let's out a strangled "Evan!-" when he sees him. "You two should chat. And not leave this closet until you do. I have instructions from the city to ensure it happens."

Lucy turns and shoves Buckley into the closet, his momentum sending him straight into Tommy with an oof.

"Donato, wait--" Tommy says, trying to steady Buckley and make it to the door at the same time.

"Sorry Kinard! Orders from dispatch."

"That's doesn't make any sense!"

"Uh, h-hi Tommy." Buckley's voice cuts through, and it gives Tommy pause.

"Hi, Evan."

"Can we, can we talk? Please?"

"Well," Tommy says, classic bitchy tone in full force, "I don't think I have a choice."

Buckley laughs, and Lucy's eyebrows raise. If anyone can handle Kinard when he's like that, they definitely belong together.

Lucy wiggles the door knob to make sure it's locked before calling back to dispatch.

"Hello, this is firefighter Lucy Donato, I need to speak with Dispatcher Josh Russo..."

[tmntaucompetition]

THE TOP 32 MOST VOTED AUS, AKA THE ONES WHO MADE IT INTO THE COMPETITION THIS YEAR!

After over 167 different AUs submitted, here are the top most submitted AUs! The number after the AU is how many votes they got as well.

Full bracket to come soon!

Feral Casey - 17 - azucar-skull (Tumblr)

Prodigy (Runtverse) - 12 - reagi-df (Tumblr)

Light as Feather, Stiff As A turtle - 9 - Alsfunkyalbum (Tumblr)

Dimension Hopper Leo - 9 - nights-flying-fox (Tumblr)

Impromptu Apocalypse - 7 - songdrop /calebscornerofart (Tumblr)

Until I Found You - 7 - PhoebePheebsPhibs (Tumblr)

Prison Dimension Turtles - 6 - probably-not-a-rutabaga (Tumblr)

Wanderer - 6 - vangh17a (Tumblr)

True Colors - 6 - v_albion (Tumblr)

Fangs - 6 - trilobitepunch (Tumblr)

Captain x2 - 6 - veearrifarrariboom (Tumblr)

Remember Forever - 5 - UncannyAlien (Tumblr + Ao3)

Fears Embrace - 5 - Karonkar and OwlieDoesNothing (Tumblr)

The Last Something That Meant Anything - 5 - Kinky-asexual (Tumblr)/kakey_ace (Ao3)

Sub Zero - 5 - noxvee6 (Tumblr)

Addams Family = 5 - lackablazeicai (Tumblr)

Tangled Shells - 5 - daringdaisy (Tumblr)

TMNT Story Comp - 5 - tmntstorycomp (Tumblr)

Cannibalism/Resurrection - 4 - error-core-animations (Tumblr)

Mama Bear - 4 - boots-with-the-fur-club (Tumblr)

The Monster Inside - 4 - riseleon (Tumblr)

Purple Delusions - 4 - cokowee (Tumblr)

Tizeline Separated AU - 4 - Tizeline (Tumblr)

The Neon Void - 4 - Sugarpastels (Ao3)/ SugarpastelTMNT (Tumblr)

And It All Falls Apart - 4 - LGWolf (Ao3)

No Fun In Fungus - 4 - boots-with-the-fur-club (Tumblr)

Teetlezverse - 4 - shiveagit (Tumblr)

Kid Leo - 3 - angelpuns (Tumblr)

Just Around the Corner - 3 - irequirealobotamy (Tumblr)

Even More of a Disaster - 3 - 3lectricinsomnia + teaableu (Tumblr)

The Canary Continuity - 3 - Qoldenskies (Tumblr)

Separated Leo - 3 - dianagj-art (Tumblr)

[vinelark]

For the ask game! 9 ⧽. tell us about a wip/idea that you're excited about!

okay i really only have one active wip right now, but i’ve started the early-stage pondering of another timkon au and it’s been so fun to kick around inside my head (and brainstorm with friends). it’s a somewhat canon-divergence college au with flipped identity shenanigans where this time kon’s in the know and tim’s the one caught between a civilian and a superhero.

in this story, tim isn’t a bat (yet) because his parents died just a bit earlier and tim’s guardian situation was a sudden and sustained mess. tim has been bouncing around boarding schools all over the eastern seaboard—and later a few across europe—and just got quietly kicked out of university in paris halfway through his second year. now he’s back in gotham for the first time in years, starting over at gotham u—the only school he can afford now (thanks to generous wayne foundation loans for city residents); his trust fund and company shares don’t unlock until, per his parents’ will, the day he graduates college.

meanwhile kon is taking his second (and hopefully less cringe) swing at independence + first real swing at expanding his civilian identity. as in, kon is going to college. specifically gotham u, where he got a scholarship. (all on his own merit, which tbh made bruce lowkey upset when he found out because if he’d known kon was applying he would’ve wanted to give him a scholarship directly. because bruce wants to be helpful in his simultaneously indirect and overbearing way. kon, to whom bruce is less unsettling now that kon’s little brother is best friends with damian, points out that this would undermine the whole independence thing. somehow the compromise is that bruce gets to launch a security improvement plan for all campus housing, which just so happens to come with a stipend for all undergrad students on GU property.)

i bet you’ll never guess who kon’s new randomly-assigned roommate is!

and kon is, to put it mildly, not thrilled about this. it’s an apartment setup, so at least he has his own room, but still, this guy is so annoying and baffling. tim makes it pretty clear he does not want to be rooming with anyone—even tries to get kon to move out, which means kon’s planting himself here as a matter of principle. especially because kon looks him up, and isn’t tim drake supposed to be rich?? why is he LARPing kon’s income bracket? why does he buy the cheapest, most chemical-laden energy drinks known to man, in bulk, where they take up half their fridge? why does he have such weird taste in music that it makes kon wish he didn’t have superhearing? why does he keep coming back at 3am, which isn’t even kon’s business but see the aforementioned re: superhearing? why is he so obsessed with graduating early? why did he throw away a box of ma’s cookies before kon even had a chance to open them, which is not only a federal crime, basically, but also a total declaration of war? not that kon cares at this point, but why does tim seem so weirdly accident-prone? and okay, why has superboy had to save tim from two different kidnappings in the last month?

turns out someone is very invested in making sure tim doesn’t actually get to graduate college. lucky for tim, he starts running into superboy more and more…

(the roommate part is very loosely inspired by @burins writing about what an absolute nightmare roommate tim would be.)

[ask game]

[kmlottin]

Close Quarters - Kylian Mbappe fic

Chapter 9

Summary: A physiotherapist, Y/N, joins Real Madrid to get away from her past. Only to find Kylian Mbappé, her former patient and conflict, has joined a year later. As they’re forced to work together, lingering feelings and unresolved tension lead to a slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers romance filled with workplace drama and passion.

Ly all babies 😇 lmk what you think x

11.7k words

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For the first time in months, you feel weightless.

No tension winding its way through your body. No second-guessing every glance, every conversation. No ghosts of the past clawing at the edges of your mind.

Just quiet.

The international break is a gift, ten days without watching your every step, ten days without the tightness in your chest that only ever seems to appear in his presence. Ten days without him.

And it’s enough.

You convince yourself it’s enough.

Madrid is still asleep when you wake, wrapped in the soft hush of dawn. The sky is painted in delicate strokes of blue and violet, the kind of colors that promise a new beginning. The streets are quiet, the air cool against your skin, the city slow and still, like it belongs only to you.

For once, there’s no urgency. No alarms. No messages pulling you back to work. No Kylian.

Your body feels rested. Your mind feels still.

You stretch beneath the covers, exhaling deeply, like you can finally breathe.

The kitchen is warm when you step inside. Luis moves toward the kitchen, humming to a tune played on the speaker, the scent of coffee filling the space.

Everything is easy. Simple. Safe.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Luis glances over his shoulder. “Expecting someone?”

You frown. “No.”

He shrugs, wiping his hands on a towel before moving toward the door. The moment he opens it, his brows shoot up.

A delivery man stands there, a sleek black box in his hands.

Luis whistles, turning it over. “Fancy.”

Your stomach twists. Your name is written on the label in neat, deliberate print.

Luis sets the box on the counter, grinning. “Well? Open it.”

You don’t move. You can’t move.

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing. Just some old package you forgot you ordered or some random delivery.

But deep down, you already know.

Still, your fingers are stiff as you reach for the lid. Your hands are slow. Careful.

Something was wrapped in soft brown paper, tied with a single black string. Your name is written across the top in handwriting you already recognise.

You tug the string loose. Peel back the paper.

And you still.

It’s a book. Old, familiar. A favourite. 

Persuasion by Jane Austen.

The cover is worn, spine cracked from being read too many times. The corners are soft. The pages tinted yellow at the edges.

You blink. And then you open it.

There’s a note folded into page thirty-four. You recognise the chapter before you even read it - Anne listening quietly while Captain Wentworth speaks, pretending she doesn’t feel every word.

You unfold the slip of paper. It’s short. Steady.

Let’s not waste our second chance.

Your throat tightens.

Because it’s not just a gift. It’s his copy.

His handwriting clings to the margins in pencil, quiet, unassuming. Some lines are underlined. Some are bracketed. Others have single-word notes beside them.

“You.”

“This scene killed me.”

“That’s what it felt like, wasn’t it?”

“Pg. 152 = us.”

You keep flipping.

Keep reading things you’re not sure you’re supposed to see.

Words like:

“She waited too long.”

“Don’t run.”

“Say something this time.”

You swallow hard. The book is warm in your hands. Familiar. Heavy.

Luis glances over from the kitchen. “What is it?”

You clear your throat. “Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Looked like a whole novel’s worth of feelings from where I’m standing.”

You force a smile. “It’s just a book.”

But later, when the apartment has gone still again and Luis has disappeared into his room, you sit on the couch with the book in your lap.

And you don’t read. You just hold it.

Because for the first time, you don’t feel like Kylian’s chasing you.

You feel like he’s waiting. And that’s somehow worse.

The next day is uneventful, exactly how you like it.

The apartment is quiet, apart from the occasional clink of Luis’ spoon against his cereal bowl and the low hum of the TV. Sunlight filters lazily through the sheer curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the wooden floors. It’s the kind of warmth that makes everything feel slower, like time itself has softened at the edges.

You spend most of the afternoon stretched out on the couch, an open book resting on your stomach, half-read. The words blur together as your eyelids grow heavy, the weight of stillness pressing into your limbs. It’s been so long since you’ve had a day like this, one where you aren’t rushing between training rooms, where your mind isn’t preoccupied with someone else’s recovery.

The book is gone. Tucked away. Out of sight, out of mind.

You let yourself believe it.

Luis is sprawled across the other end of the couch, lazily flipping through channels before settling on some sports documentary. The voices on the screen rise and fall in an indistinct murmur, blending into the distant sounds of the city outside.

For the first time in a while, you feel like you can breathe.

Dinner is easy, just you and Luis at the table, the occasional scrape of forks against plates filling the comfortable silence. He’s mid-story, something ridiculous about one of the players, when-

A knock at the door.

Your stomach drops.

The air tenses, the easy rhythm of the evening thrown off course. Luis pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, before smirking.

“Oh, this is fun.”

You shoot him a glare, but you’re already pushing your chair back, already bracing yourself.

And sure enough, when you open the door-

Another sleek black box.

It’s bigger this time, but still feeling light. 

Luis leans over your shoulder, far too entertained. “Damn. Another one?  Secret admirer working overtime.”

You ignore him, setting the box on the table and flipping the lid open.

Inside-

A hoodie. Not just any hoodie. His hoodie.

The one you wore that night.

The night you left.

It’s been washed, neatly folded, but still carrying his scent - like it was recently worn - clean, familiar, undeniably his.

Luis whistles lowly. “Okay, this is getting serious.”

You don’t answer, fingers hovering over the fabric, but you don’t touch it. It’s like something fragile, something dangerous. And then your eyes catch the note, a single slip of paper resting on top.

You left this behind. Thought you might want it back.

Your breath catches.

A beat passes, too long, too revealing, before you shove the lid back on.

Luis is grinning. “Still not gonna tell me who he is?”

“No.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re impossible.”

He turns back to his food, the moment slipping away for him as easily as it arrived.

But for you?

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the box. Your chest feels tight, your thoughts racing ahead of you. Because the truth is- 

You want to pretend this means nothing.

You want to pretend you don’t feel the weight of it in your hands, don’t feel the ache of memory pressing against your ribs.

But it’s hard to ignore when he’s making it so obvious.

You know exactly what he’s trying to do.

By the third day, you tell yourself you’re over it.

The deliveries mean nothing.

It’s just a game. Just Kylian doing what he does best, getting under your skin.

Besides, he’s playing a game today.

You know his routine, know that match days consume him. He’ll be at the stadium, preoccupied, doing press, surrounded by cameras and teammates. He’s the captain. He won’t have time for whatever this is.

And yet- 

Every time you hear a faint knock from the hallway, your pulse jumps. Every time a neighbor’s door creaks open, you catch yourself holding your breath. It’s ridiculous, really. But no matter how much you pretend otherwise, there’s an anticipation curling at the edges of your thoughts, something restless beneath your skin.

By dinnertime, you’ve almost convinced yourself you’re in the clear.

Then the doorbell rings.

Luis groans from the couch. “Again? This man is relentless.”

You scowl at him before opening the door, only to be hit with a blur of red.

A massive bouquet, so big you can’t even see the delivery driver behind it.

You hesitate, blinking at the absurd display as Luis lets out a snort. “Holy shit.”

“I-” You fumble to take the bouquet, but it’s unwieldy, practically spilling out of your arms. “Luis, help.”

He’s already on his feet, laughing as he grabs the bottom half, the two of you hauling it inside like it’s a piece of furniture.

The second you set it down on the table, you step back, arms crossing.

Red roses.

Hundreds of them.

It’s too much. Too loud. Too obvious.

Luis nudges one of the petals, grinning. “Hope none of my girls see this. They’ll be jealous as hell.”

You roll your eyes. “You don’t have girls.”

“You don’t know that.” He gestures to the bouquet. “Meanwhile, you’ve got a full-blown love confession sitting on your table.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “They’re just roses.”

Luis snorts. “Everyone knows what red roses mean.” He gestures at the extravagant display. “This is some expensive shit.”

You slip up before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, well, that’s footballer money.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

Shit.

You turn away, pretending to adjust the flowers, but Luis is already grinning, full of smug satisfaction.

“Oh, this is good,” he says, laughing. “How long were you gonna let me think you had a regular degular secret admirer? This man has money to burn.”

You glare at him. “Drop it.”

“Damn. Does Kylian know he has competition?”

Your stomach twists.

The words hit like a strike to an open wound, unexpected, too precise.

Your face gives nothing away. “You know nothing is going on between me and him.”

He raises his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Fine, fine.” He nods toward the bouquet. “Might wanna check the note, though.”

Your stomach tightens. You already know. But you reach for it anyway, fingers brushing against the crisp card.

I have a game today, but I’m still thinking about you.

A slow inhale. A sharp exhale.

You should throw it away.

Instead, you shove it into your pocket, fingers curling around the paper.

Luis watches you, amusement flickering in his expression. “What’s it say?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, too quickly.

He smirks. “Sure.”

And maybe if you keep telling yourself that, you’ll actually believe it.

You think maybe the roses were the peak of it.

That he’s made his point and will let it rest.

But the fourth day, just before lunch, the doorbell rings.

Before you can even react, Luis sprints to the door like it’s a race, nearly knocking over a chair in his rush.

He yanks the door open with far too much enthusiasm, then lets out a loud, amused laugh. “4 in a row, this is insane.”

You groan, trudging over just as he turns to you, grinning. “At this point, I hope he actually knows you properly. He’s probably looking at your face, thinking you’re some sweet, innocent thing, meanwhile, you’re actually evil.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up Luis.”

He waves off your tone, grabbing the sleek black box from the delivery man and wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m opening this one.”

“No, you’re not.”

But he just smirks, setting the box on the table before stepping back with a few more steps than necessary. “Go on, then. Let’s see what your poor, suffering admirer has cooked up this time.”

You shoot him a look before flipping open the lid-

And your breath catches.

Dior perfume.

Not just any perfume. Your perfume. Your favourite perfume. 

Except it’s not just one bottle, it’s an entire stock, brimmed to the top of the box.

Luis whistles lowly. “Damn. He really said never run out again.”

You don’t answer, too caught up in the memories flashing through your mind.

The scent is unmistakable, the one you used to wear at PSG, the one Kylian always claimed was too strong, too distracting. He used to grumble about it constantly, saying it lingered on his shirts, that it messed with his focus when you were too close.

And then… you remember the way he reacted when you changed it.

‘What the hell is that?’

You had frowned at him. ‘Perfume.’

‘That’s not your perfume.’

‘They stopped selling it.’

His frown had deepened, his jaw tensing. ‘That’s stupid. Find it somewhere else.’

‘I can’t. It’s discontinued, Kylian.’

He had muttered something under his breath, clearly unimpressed, but you had snapped that it wasn’t a choice, that he needed to let it go. The argument had spiraled into something ridiculous, full of sharp words and lingering tension, neither of you admitting what was really beneath it.

And now…

“I remember wearing this all the time.” You whisper.

Luis leans in, eyeing the bottles. “Wait. This is your perfume?”

You swallow hard, forcing a nod. “Yeah.”

“And you used to wear it all the time?”

“Yeah.”

“What? So they stopped selling it?”

“Luis.”

He looks at you, gaped mouth. “Hold on.” His eyes flick between you and the box, realisation dawning. “Do you know how insane that is?”

You exhale sharply, placing one of the bottles back in the box. “It’s not-”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Luis cuts in, pointing at you. “Do you know how much effort it takes to track down discontinued perfume? You can’t just buy that in a store. He had to search for this. Probably spent stupid money, too.”

You don’t answer.

Because the truth is sitting right in front of you.

Kylian is a Dior ambassador.

This wasn’t some lucky find. He didn’t just track down an old bottle from a reseller.

He remembered the perfume. He had to pull some strings. Go out of his way. Make an effort.

Luis shakes his head in disbelief. “Man. I need to meet this guy.”

“Not happening.”

He smirks. “Fine. But just so you know, if he sends a car next, I’m keeping it. No questions asked.”

You roll your eyes, pushing the box aside.

But deep down, you already know, Kylian isn’t just sending gifts.

He’s sending reminders.

And he’s making it impossible to forget.

By the fifth day, you don’t even bother pretending.

You know something’s coming.

And sure enough, right after lunch, the doorbell rings.

Luis barely gives you a chance to move before he’s scrambling to the door again, practically shoving you out of the way.

“Come on, this is my daily entertainment now,” he says, grinning as he pulls it open.

The delivery man hands him a small, sleek bag, this time, not the usual black box.

Luis squints at the brand logo, then lets out a low whistle. “Okay, this is different.”

You exhale, already bracing yourself as you take the bag and move to the table. Luis follows, watching far too closely as you open it.

Inside is a watch.

A ridiculously expensive one.

The kind that’s understated but impossible to ignore, the kind that Kylian himself would wear.

Luis leans in, eyes widening. “Damn. What brand is that?”

You don’t answer, but he’s already pulling out his phone, typing furiously. Seconds later, he groans.

“No way. No price listed. Not even a ballpark.” He whistles. “They’re asking to email for enquiries. If they’re too ashamed to tell us, that means it’s really bad.”

You ignore him, lifting the watch carefully. It’s heavy, the cool metal smooth against your skin.

There’s a note underneath.

Short. Simple.

It wasn’t the right time then. It is now.

Your chest tightens.

Luis raises an eyebrow. “What’s it say?”

You quickly fold the note, slipping it into your pocket. “Nothing.”

Luis lets out a deep sigh. “This is so unfair.”

You glance up. “What?”

“I need to know who he is.” He gestures wildly at the watch. “Because if this guy is spending millionaire money on you, I have to at least shake his hand.”

You snort. “You just want to ask for one, don’t you?”

Luis grins. “Obviously.”

You shake your head, pushing the box aside.

But later, when you’re alone, you pick up the watch again, run your fingers over it, feel the weight of it against your wrist.

It wasn’t the right time then. It is now.

You swallow hard.

Because Kylian isn’t just sending you gifts.

He’s sending a message.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t pretend you don’t hear it

On the sixth day, You’re in the middle of cleaning the kitchen when the knock comes. No dinner. No distraction. Just the sound of your own thoughts and Luis humming to himself from the living room.

When you open the door, the delivery man doesn’t speak. Just hands you a slim black envelope, no return address, no packaging.

Luis watches from the couch, expression curious but silent this time.

You carry it to the table like it might detonate.

When you open it, something slides out.

A photo strip. Four snapshots.

The first one, you’re laughing. Head thrown back, eyes closed, your hair slightly messy from the wind. He’s beside you, smiling, but looking at you instead of the camera.

The second, your cheeks are puffed out like you’re pretending to be annoyed. Kylian is mid-laugh, leaning into your shoulder.

The third, your faces are close. Closer than they should’ve been. No smile this time. Just stillness.

The last, your lips inches apart, not touching, but everything in the photo screams that you wanted to.

You stare at it. You remember that day. Barely.

It wasn’t a date. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You never called it one. Never let yourselves name it.

But the photo says what neither of you could.

There’s a note written on the back, in handwriting you now know by heart.

I never looked away. Not even once.

You press the photo strip flat against the table, fingers trembling.

On day 7, It arrives in the afternoon. Quiet. Ordinary.

Luis doesn’t even bother commenting this time, just sets the large envelope on your bed and walks off. He was used to this by now. 

You stare at it for a long time before touching it. Something about the weight of it feels… different.

When you finally tear it open, a stack of printed pages slips out. Neat. Tidy. Familiar.

Your name is in the header. It’s your research paper. Your final project from uni. The one you barely mentioned to anyone. The one you were proud of and got a first in, but never really shared.

There are notes in the margins. Scribbles in dark ink. Underlines. Arrows. Comments like:

“Smart.”

“I never knew this.”

“You made this so easy to understand.”

There’s even one part circled three times with just the words:

“You were always more than the job.”

You flip through the entire thing, heart beating louder with every page.

Near the back, a sticky note is pressed between two sheets.

Still the smartest person in the room. Even when you act like you’re not.

You sit down.

Hard.

Because this-

this wasn’t a gift meant to charm or tease.

This was respect.

This was proof that he saw you long before you thought anyone did.

And maybe… long after you let yourself believe he didn’t.

On day 8, It’s snowing on the Alps inside the glass.

A perfect little village. Wooden houses. A ski lift. Trees frosted in white. If you shake it, the world goes soft and glittering.

You don’t need the note to know what it is.

You recognise it instantly.The trip you planned.

The one you talked about on the last day. 

“He murmurs, voice soft, like the future is already set, “where shall we go for Christmas?”

You hesitate for only a second before letting yourself dream. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Alps. I really want to go skiing.”

He laughed. But he hadn’t said no. You never made it.

And he went with his family instead. You remember seeing the pictures on instagram, you cried for the rest of the day.

You find the note folded underneath the globe’s velvet stand.

You were supposed to be there.

That’s all.

You don’t cry. You just stare.

Because this isn’t just a memory.

It’s the version of your life you never let happen.

And it’s beautiful. And it hurts.

On day 9, you received your latest gift. It’s soft. Heavy. Expensive in the quietest way. The kind of journal you wouldn’t buy for yourself.

It’s your favorite color - muted, earthy, familiar.

There’s no logo. No tag. Just blank pages waiting to be filled.

At first, you think there’s no note. You flip to the back cover, nothing.

But when you open to the first page, a message is written in small, centered print. His handwriting again.

Write it out this time.

That’s all.

No signature. No plea. Just a challenge. Or maybe… an invitation.

You stare at the blank page beneath it. It stretches out in front of you like something honest. Unforgiving. Like the conversation you’ve never let happen.

And suddenly, your fingers itch. Not to run. To respond.

You wake before your alarm.

The morning is too quiet. Still in a way that feels deliberate. Like the world is holding its breath.

Luis is already dressed, sipping his coffee at the window, phone in hand, tapping aimlessly. The air smells like toast and clean laundry and something familiar you can’t place.

Everything feels normal. Which only makes it worse.

Because today is Day 10.

And Kylian comes back.

You go through the motions. Showering. Brushing your teeth. Picking out your uniform. Pretending it’s just another day where you’re returning back to work. But your chest feels tight, lungs caged. You’ve been telling yourself for days that the gifts don’t matter. That he’s just playing a game.

But he hasn’t let you forget him once.

Not for a single day. Not for a single breath.

The knock comes mid-breakfast.

You freeze.

Luis raises his eyebrows, like he’s been waiting for it. “On time as usual,” he mutters, already heading to the door.

You don’t follow him. You stay seated, eyes locked on the half-eaten toast in front of you like it might shield you from what’s coming.

He returns seconds later, holding a small black box. Smaller than the others.

“It’s light,” he says, brows drawing together. Then, with a grin, “Better not be air this time.”

He places it on the counter. Steps back. Waits. You don’t move. You can’t. Your body is still, but inside, everything is spiraling.

You stare at the box. Your name is on it again. Neat. Intentional.

But your fingers still shake when you lift the lid.

And there it is.

A single white rose.

Clean. Flawless. The exact shade of Real Madrid white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It’s just a flower.

But it doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a signal.

Like the final note in a song you’ve been refusing to listen to. Beside it, folded with painful care, is the last note.

You don’t want to read it. But you do.

No more running.

Your breath catches.

Luis leans over your shoulder. “Ominous,” he says, low.

You snap the lid shut like it might burn you.

“It’s nothing.”

“Didn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s not important.”

But your voice is thin. Off-kilter. And Luis hears it. Sees it. The way your hands tremble as you shove the box aside. The way your shoulders tense like you’re bracing for something, like you’ve been bracing for days.

He doesn’t press. But you feel his eyes on you.

You turn away, heart pounding, chest aching in a way you don’t know how to explain.

Because it’s not about the rose. It’s about what comes next.

He’s coming back.

And you don’t know who you’ll be when you see him again.

Not after everything he’s said without saying a word.

You try to focus on the scrape of Luis’ spoon in his bowl. The hum of the refrigerator. The clink of ceramic.

But it’s there. On the counter.

The rose.

Soft. Untouched.

A quiet promise.

You tell yourself you’ll throw it out. That it’s just a flower. Just a trick. But you don’t. You don’t even move it.

You tell yourself it’ll be fine.

You’ve done everything right this morning. Woke up early. Took your time getting dressed. Picked out your favourite set. Nothing that says I care. Nothing that says I’m unraveling.

Even your hair is tied up tighter than usual, like restraint can start at the scalp and work its way down.

Luis talks beside you as you walk into the training center, rambling about some show he was watching, oblivious to the storm beneath your skin.

You nod where appropriate. Smile when he says something stupid. Pretend your stomach isn’t twisting tighter with every step you take.

The moment you step inside, it hits you, Real Madrid energy at full tilt.

Laughter. Sneakers squeaking. French, Spanish and English layered over each other like music.

Everything feels exactly the same. And yet, nothing does at the same time.

You haven’t seen him yet. But you feel him. It’s like your body knows before your brain does, some internal compass pulling taut. You grip the folder in your hand harder. Breathe slower.

Focus. You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.

And then, he laughs. Loud, rich, unmistakable.

Somewhere down the corridor. Your heart stumbles. Luis keeps talking. You keep walking. But your ears are ringing now. You round the corner into the recovery area, and there he is.

Kylian.

Stubble covering his face. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. White socks, untied sneakers, grinning at something Camavinga just said.

He looks relaxed. Comfortable. Like the past ten days were just that, ten days.

His gaze lifts casually- 

And finds you instantly.

Your feet almost stutter, but you recover. Keep walking. Keep pretending. It takes everything not to look away.

But he’s already smiling. Not the cocky kind. The other one. The one he used to give you in the dark, between touches, when the world was quiet. The genuine one. 

You don’t smile back.

You turn to Luis. Ask a question you don’t really hear yourself ask. And you think - for a second - you’ve gotten away with it.

Until behind you, someone says:

“Look who’s here. Now the players are going to be useless again.”

You hear Camavinga’s voice first, teasing.

Yo, Kylian,” Tchouaméni calls, already grinning. “Tell her how much you missed her.”

Camavinga carries on,  eyes lighting up. “Nah, tell her how you wouldn’t shut up about her during internationals.”

Tchouaméni laughs loud, “Tell her how every time the physios did something, you always said ‘that’s not how y/n does it”

You can feel it now, every nerve buzzing, every thought scattering.

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you with that same unreadable expression, like he’s cataloguing your every reaction. Every twitch of your mouth. Every breath you try to hide.

You expect Kylian to deflect. To wave it off like he always does.

But then-

“I missed my favorite girl,” he says easily, like it costs him nothing.

Your heart stutters. You’re not even sure anyone else caught his voice, the slight emphasis, the way his voice dipped just enough. But you did. You heard it. Felt it. And it lands somewhere deep in your chest, where logic doesn’t reach.

Your eyes snap to him before you can stop yourself.

It doesn’t matter that the room erupts into noise. It doesn’t matter that the guys laugh, that Luis elbows you, smirking like it’s nothing.

Because it’s not a joke.

Not this time. Not when his eyes haven’t left yours. Not when he says it like he means it.

You force a scoff. “Should’ve got a hobby.”

He grins. “I did. You’re just hard to keep up with.”

The guys laugh harder but he doesn’t break eye contact. He doesn’t have to. The silence between you says everything. You turn away. You have to.

But then-

You crouch down to tie your laces, eager for something, anything, to do with your hands. Your fingers are steady, but your thoughts are not.

And that’s when it happens. A shadow falls over you. Warm fingers, brushing against your ankle.

You freeze.

Kylian kneels beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No ceremony. No drama. Just him, quiet and calm, as he tightens the knot of your trainers.

You should stop him. You don’t.

He lingers as he finishes, fingers brushing lightly over yours. The air between you stills, dense with something unnamed.

When he looks at you, he’s too close.

“Can’t have you tripping when you’re running, can we?” he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

His hand lifts like he’s going to brush something off your leg, maybe your knee, maybe just to feel you one second longer. But you move first. You stand abruptly, his hand falling away as you straighten, expression flat.

“I can tie my own shoes,” you mutter, brushing past him.

You don’t look back. You won’t.

But you hear it anyway, his quiet laugh behind you. Low. Amused. Not offended. Not frustrated. Just entertained. Like he’s not worried at all. Like he knows it’s only a matter of time.

And the worst part? You think he might be right.

You’re focused on the laptop in your hands, eyes scanning the warm-up data, but your grip is too tight. Your thumb presses into the edge of the screen like it’s something to anchor you, like it can hold you still.

The numbers blur for a second.

You breathe through it.

Then the door swings open behind you, and you don’t need to look to know. The tightness in the air gives him away. Like always.

Kylian.

He strolls in with that same careless energy, tugging his training top over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it onto the bench.

You glance up, just for a second. Such a mistake.

His arms are cut sharper than you remember. The definition in his shoulders, the flex in his forearms, the curve of muscle down his side, it’s all the same, but worse somehow. Familiar and unwelcome.

Heat flares under your skin. You look back down at your laptop so fast it feels like whiplash.

Focus. You’re at work. You are a professional. You’re not thinking about how that exact body was once against yours, under yours, inside you-

No.

You dig your nails into the back of the device. Just data. Just work. Just numbers.

His shirt sticks slightly to his skin, a sheen of sweat across his neck, the kind of casual, post-training look that used to mean nothing.

Now it means too much.

“Problem?” he asks, voice light.

You don’t glance up. “Yes, actually. Your warm-up readings are off. Again.”

He hums like you’ve just told him the weather. “Define off.”

You scroll, tapping into the session. “You’re tight through your right hamstring again. And your heart rate didn’t spike during sprints. You’re either skipping steps or coasting.”

Kylian stretches his arms over his head. “Maybe I’m just too efficient.”

You look up, unimpressed. “You’re reckless.”

“Reckless,” he echoes, stepping closer, “or relaxed?”

You catch the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. Teasing. That used to rile you up. Now it just throws you off balance.

“You missed arguing with me, didn’t you?”

You narrow your eyes. “I didn’t miss anything.”

But it’s a lie. And the worst part? You don’t even say it convincingly.

Kylian takes a slow step toward you. Then another. He doesn’t crowd you, not yet, but the space between you shrinks until he’s just there. Close enough for you to feel it. The heat of him. The way the air thickens around you.

“10 days,” he says quietly, the teasing edge falling away. “And that’s all I get from you?”

Your breath catches before you can stop it. You don’t respond. You can’t. Because it’s too real. Too direct. When you finally speak, your voice is quieter. “You didn’t reach out either.”

The silence that follows hits harder than any insult ever could.

He watches you carefully. His smirk fades, and what’s left is something rawer. Not quite exposed, but close.

“I figured you wanted space,” he says.

You glance down, then back at your screen, pretending to care about the readings. “I did.”

He waits. Doesn’t push. But you can feel it building anyway.

“And now?” he asks, softer.

You grip the tablet a little tighter. “Now I’m here to do my job.”

Another pause. Then- “You always do that,” he murmurs. “Act like none of this touches you.”

You freeze. The words hit harder than they should. Because he’s right. You do act like that. You wear professionalism like armor, logic like a shield. It worked for so long. But not with him.

Not anymore.

“I don’t have time for this,” you mutter, backing up a step, needing the distance.

He doesn’t follow, but you feel his eyes on you.

“I kept thinking these past few months,” Kylian says suddenly, voice low. “About what I should’ve said. And what you would’ve done if I had. That’s what the gifts meant”

You look up sharply.

And for a moment, neither of you says a word.

It feels like you’re standing on a wire, one breath, one glance away from slipping off entirely.

You force yourself to turn, walking over to grab a band off the shelf. You need something to hold. Something real.

“I have to check on Carvajal,” you say without looking at him.

You move past him. His arm shifts slightly, like he thinks about reaching out. Maybe to stop you. Maybe just to touch you. But he doesn’t.

He lets you go. Still, his voice follows you like a tether.

“I didn’t want to push you.”

You don’t answer. But your grip on the band tightens.

Because the truth is-

He already has. You couldn’t help but listen to the small part of your brain that wanted him to.

The cafeteria has always been your spot.

The lights are dimmed for the night, the air quiet except for the faint hum of vending machines and distant movement from the janitorial staff. Your notes are spread across the table - rehab protocol, player data, diagrams - but none of it is sinking in.

You used to feel productive here. Safe. Now it feels like you’re hiding.

You don’t hear him at first. But when the footsteps come - slow, familiar, almost hesitant - you already know.

You look up, heart jumping despite your best effort to stay calm.

Kylian.

He’s dressed in a hoodie and joggers, curls unbrushed under the edge of the hood, eyes shadowed and unreadable.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

“I figured you’d be here,” he says simply.

He doesn’t ask permission, he just walks over, quiet, and places a small white box on the table next to your laptop.

You look at it, confused.

It’s wrapped in soft matte paper, delicate and clean. A familiar name printed across the label.

Your heart stutters.

The pâtisserie from the street near Parc des Princes. The one you used to stop at before game days. The one you dragged him to him once, swearing their mille-feuille could fix anything.

You haven’t spoken about it since that day.

Your voice is tight. “That’s from Paris.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Had time before the flight. Figured you’d still like it.”

You stare at the box, unable to move. “You remembered,” you whisper.

“I remember a lot of things,” he says.

He leans against the table opposite you, arms folded loosely across his chest.

Silence settles between you, not heavy, but close.

“You always study in cafeterias,” he says after a moment.

“It’s quiet,” you reply. “No… people.”

Kylian hums like he knows exactly what you mean. Then, a softer tone: “You always stay late when you’re avoiding me.”

You glance at him, jaw tightening. “You didn’t talk to me for two weeks.”

“I didn’t know if I should,” he says. “You didn’t exactly make it easy.”

You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your pen. “I didn’t expect anything from you.”

Kylian tilts his head. “That’s the problem.”

You scoff under your breath. “And what? The gifts were supposed to fix that?”

“No,” he says simply. “But I hoped it would remind you that I haven’t forgotten.”

You inhale, slow and sharp. Then, he says it. “You’re allowed to miss me, you know.”

You grip your pen tighter, but it doesn’t help. “I don’t,” you say, too fast.

You feel him watching you, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he nudges the box gently toward you. “Still your favorite, right?”

You don’t respond.

But after a beat, he steps back, giving you your silence.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

And then he’s gone.

You stare at the box. It’s small. Delicate. Familiar.

You don’t mean to, but your hand moves toward it on its own. And when you open it, the scent of pastry and vanilla hits you like memory.

Like a version of you that used to believe he was just a person. Just a body.

And now, you take a bite. Just one.

And everything you’ve been holding back tastes exactly like this. Sweet. Dangerous. And too late to stop.

The next day, the smell of antiseptic and eucalyptus balm clings to the air as you move around the treatment room, organising bandages, bottles, ice packs - anything to keep your hands busy and your mind occupied.

The room is bright, sterile, safe. You keep your back to the door.

The room tilts whenever he enters. It’s like you don’t need to turn to know. Your body already knows.

The silence behind you isn’t silence at all, it’s tension. Weighted. Dense. His presence coils in your spine, settles between your shoulder blades. You don’t have to look.

Kylian.

He’s standing just inside the room, you can feel it. Waiting. Watching.

You keep your hands moving.

There’s a player on the table to your right. Rudiger. You’re not scheduled to treat him, Mateo, another physio, is. But it doesn’t matter.

Because Kylian is five steps away, and you can’t take that risk.

You step forward before you even think, flipping Rudiger’s file open with practiced precision.

“Hey,” you say, too brightly. “You ready to get started?”

Rudiger blinks at you. “Uh… sure?”

Mateo raises an eyebrow from across the room, confused. You were meant to be prepping for your next rotation. But he doesn’t question it. Just steps aside.

You don’t look toward the door. But you hear it.

The faint scrape of a trainer as Kylian shifts his weight. The way he clears his throat, once.

You feel his eyes on you. Still, you don’t turn. Your pulse drums behind your ribs. You press your fingers harder into Rudiger’s calf than necessary. He doesn’t flinch, but you barely register the pressure.

You keep your tone even. Your posture perfect. You’re a professional.

Even though your skin burns under your clothes. Even though the heat low in your stomach has nothing to do with who’s on the table.

Because it was one thing when the wanting was one-sided. When you ached for something that wasn’t yours. When you could convince yourself that it was just in your head.

But now, he wants you back.

And that…

That’s what terrifies you.

You could live with silence. With pretending. The arguing. You knew how to survive that. But this? The look he gave you yesterday. The softness in his voice. The gifts sitting in your room like a wound you can’t look at without bleeding,

This is dangerous. You dig your nails into your palm, just to feel something else.

Behind you, the door finally clicks shut.

He’s gone.

You exhale, too sharp, too fast.

Rudiger glances at you. “Everything good?”

You force a smile. “Yeah. All good.”

But your hands won’t stop trembling.

Because now you know, he isn’t waiting for you to come around. He’s coming after you. And that’s exactly why you can’t let him close.

The stretch mat beneath your knees creaks slightly as you shift your weight. It’s soft, supportive, grounded, everything you’re trying to be. The air smells like detergent and old sweat, familiar in a way that keeps your mind anchored, even as your heart thuds out of rhythm.

You focus on Mendy, guiding his hip rotation with calm, steady hands. You say the words you’ve said a hundred times before. The same tone. The same rhythm.

You’re calm. You’re in control. You’re fine.

But you’ve been listening for his footsteps since you walked in.

Waiting. Bracing. And when they come - low, steady, deliberate - you know.

You know before you hear Luis say it.

“Kylian, you’re up next with Y/N.”

No.

Your stomach twists. Your breath catches in your chest for half a second too long.

Then you hear him.

“Y/N.”

Just your name. That’s it. But it lands like a pressure point pressed too hard.

You feel his presence at your back before he even crosses the mat. Like your body is calibrated to him, like it always has been. His energy cuts through the room. Clean. Focused. Unavoidable.

You force your hands to keep moving. Your voice is even, but your throat feels tight. “I’ll take Camavinga next.”

You know it’s transparent. Know it’s calculated.

But you say it anyway.

There’s a beat of hesitation behind you.

Then, gently, quietly, like he’s offering you one last chance, he says, “I’m supposed to be next.”

You nearly turn.

Nearly.

But you lock your jaw. You keep your eyes on Mendy. You keep pretending.

“I need Camavinga,” you repeat. “Trying something new.”

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

You hear a soft inhale, “Come on.”

Your hands start to tremble, so you grip the resistance band tighter, wrapping it twice around your fingers just to stay anchored.

Luis pauses. “You sure? He’s got the full sequence today. Makes more sense to-”

“I said Camavinga,” you snap.

And there it is.

The silence that follows is loud enough to drown out your heartbeat.

Loud enough to make you hate yourself a little bit more.

You don’t look at Kylian. You can’t.

Because if you do, you’ll see the way his eyes drop. The way his mouth tightens, not in anger, not even in frustration,  but in something worse.

You know exactly what you’ll see.

Hurt.

Because this is what you do.

Push. Deflect. Shut down. You’re good at it.

It’s how you’ve survived. It was easy when wanting him meant carrying the weight alone.

But now? 

Now he wants you back and that makes this dangerous.

Because the second you let him in-

The second you admit you’ve wanted this for longer than you’ll ever say-

The second you admit how much you want him-

He’ll see all of it.

And what if he doesn’t want what he finds?

Camavinga slides onto the mat beside you with a goofy grin, oblivious to the storm he just stepped into. You paste on a smile. Ask him about his quads. Pretend your throat isn’t dry and your hands aren’t numb.

Behind you, Kylian doesn’t say another word.

He just walks away.

And for a second, you almost reach for him.

Almost.

But you don’t.

Because it’s easier to pretend he didn’t mean anything.

Even if every gift said otherwise. Even if every look from him says you’re wrong.

The gym hums with energy, light bouncing off polished floors, machines groaning under repetition, players laughing between sets, sweat thick in the air. It’s familiar. Loud. Busy.

Safe.

You tell yourself that because chaos is easier to hide in.

You clock Kylian the moment he enters. You don’t look directly at him, but your body betrays you, shoulders tightening, lungs slowing. You don’t have to see him to know exactly where he is, ten paces behind your left shoulder. Talking to someone. Head tipped back in laughter. Like he hasn’t spent the last ten days sending you things that made your chest ache. He was behaving like this is just another training day.

It’s not.

It hasn’t been since the first box arrived on your doorstep. Since the rose. Since his actions started speaking louder than his words.

Now, it’s like he’s everywhere.

So you need to act out. You need to feel in control again. Even if it means torching what little composure you have left.

Your eyes find Tchouaméni. He’s leaned against the cable machine, arms crossed lazily as he watches Camavinga complain about reps. His smile is lazy, open. Harmless. 

Perfect.

You walk over slowly, each step calculated, sleeves rolled slightly up. Smile like it’s nothing. Like your stomach isn’t twisted up in knots. Every movement calculated. Not because you want to, but because you need the performance.

“Killing time, or just enjoying the view?”

He looks up, playful and easy. “Depends. You talking about Camavinga or you?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet,” he says, “here you are.”

You hum, fingers brushing over a resistance band like you’re just browsing. Like this isn’t a performance.

You feel Kylian behind you now. Closer. The heat of his presence crawls up your spine.

So you lean in. A little too close. Let your shoulder brush Tchouaméni’s lightly. Let your voice drop, slow and smooth.

“Just making sure your form hasn’t gotten sloppy.”

He grins. “Worried about me?”

“I’m always worried when you’re unsupervised.”

He laughs, gaze dipping, flirty but harmless.

But this isn’t about him. It never was. It’s about survival. About self-sabotage. About burning down the house before anyone else has the chance. Because if Kylian likes you, if he’s serious, then he’s dangerous.

And you can’t afford to fall again.

This is about pretending to yourself that you don’t care. That Kylian can’t get to you. That the gifts didn’t break through your walls.

So you reach out, fingers ghosting over Tchouaméni’s forearm.

“You always flirt with your physios?” you ask. “Or am I just your favorite?”

He plays along. “You want the truth?”

Before you can answer, his gaze shifts behind you. His smile sharpens. You already know who it is.

“You should be careful,” Tchouaméni murmurs. “Someone might get jealous.”

You blink, smile faltering for half a second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckles. “Sure you don’t.”

Then, louder, knowing exactly what he’s doing, he calls out, “Kylian, she’s flirting with me again. You’re really gonna let that happen?”

Your heart stumbles.

And then, Kylian’s voice, low and smooth but laced with something sharper beneath:

“Maybe I should take over.”

You turn.

He stands near the stretch mats, arms crossed, dimples flashing. His posture is easy, but the way he looks at you?

There’s nothing casual about it.

His eyes are fixed on you. Direct. Hot. Disappointed.

And somehow, that’s worse than anger.

You don’t say anything. Just glance away, forcing your heart back into rhythm. But the damage is done.

You can feel it.

You don’t get a choice this time.

You’re standing by the taping bench, scanning recovery notes, when the schedule rotates, Kylian’s up next. No one to pass him off to. No player to hide behind. Just you and the stretch of open floor between you.

Luis glances at you. “You got him?”

You almost say no. Almost lie. Almost run.

But your voice betrays you. “Yeah.”

You grab your clipboard and start toward the mat where he’s waiting. Every step feels like it echoes. Kylian watches you approach, sweat still clinging lightly to the curve of his collarbone. He looks relaxed.

But his eyes? They never leave yours. You kneel beside him, clipboard in hand, and the moment you press your fingers to his knee - clinical, routine, professional - something in your chest snaps tight.

It’s too much. The proximity. The silence. The knowing.

You feel the panic rising. Fast. Ugly.

So you do what you always do when things get too close.

You perform.

Luis walks behind you, reaching for a stretch band, and you latch onto him like it’s instinct.

“Careful,” you tease over your shoulder. “You’re starting to look buffer lately.”

Luis blinks. “I work here.”

You laugh, too loud, too bright. “And yet, you keep following me around.”

He gives you a look. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being friendly.”

He glances down at Kylian, then back at you. “You’re being weird.”

You smile like it’s armor. Keep your hands moving over Kylian’s leg like nothing’s wrong.

“I’m just saying. If this whole physio thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got options.”

He blinks. “Are you- Are you flirting with me?”

Tchouaméni passes by, grinning. “Again?”

You feel the back of your neck heat. “I flirt with everyone.”

Luis snorts. “Yeah, sure. Keep me out of it, I don’t want any problems with your admirer”

Tchouaméni stops in his tracks, smile wider than ever, “No way, you have an admirer?”

Your heart starts beating again your ribs. Your brain turning into mush.

Then Luis says, “Can I tell him?”

You blink. “Tell who what?”

“Tchouaméni. About the gifts.”

You shrug. “Sure. Doesn’t matter.”

You say it like it means nothing. Like the perfume, the hoodie, the book, the watch didn’t shake you to your core.

Luis turns back toward Tchouaméni. “She’s got a secret admirer. Ten days of gifts, designer stuff. Real intense.”

“Romantic?” Tchouaméni asks.

“Definitely ,” Luis laughs. “Notes. Handwritten. Shit I’ve never seen.”

You don’t flinch. But your hands are shaking. Slightly. Just enough that you adjust your grip.

“She says it’s no big deal,” Luis continues. “But the way she looked at that rose?” He glances at you. “I swear her hands were shaking.”

You glance down. At your own hands. Still pressed gently to Kylian’s leg. Still holding him steady like you’re not falling apart.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. Kylian’s gaze hasn’t left your face.

Tchouaméni grins, nudging Luis. “You figure out who it is yet?”

Luis shakes his head. “Nope. She won’t say. She’s been very cagey about it.”

You feel the heat crawling up your chest. You reach for the ankle joint. Adjust the angle. Anything to look busy.

“She keeps saying it’s nothing,” Luis adds, more amused than curious. “But nothing doesn’t come with handwritten notes and big price tags.”

You press deeper into Kylian’s muscle.

A little too hard. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t say a word. But you feel his eyes on you. Still. Like he’s watching your every breath.

Then Tchouaméni smirks. “You sure it’s not you, Kylian? You’ve been quiet.”

A pause. Then, softly, “Maybe she likes pretending it’s not me.”

Your breath catches. Because that’s not a guess, it’s a truth he’s holding out to you like a weapon. You glance up, finally. His face is calm. Blank, even. But, his eyes cut right through you.

Luis keeps going, oblivious. “Whatever guy this is, he’s in deep.”

“That obvious, huh?” Tchouaméni says.

Luis nods. “You don’t do all that unless you’re trying to say something. But I’m happy for you, y/n. You deserve a man who tries for you.”

Kylian says nothing.

But you feel it radiating off of him. That silence. That pressure.

You look up. And he’s still watching you. His gaze isn’t angry.

It’s worse.

It’s patient. Unshaken. Like he knew you’d do this. Like he knew you’d flirt with Luis, try to deflect, try to run, because it’s the only thing you know how to do when you start to feel.

And the worst part?

You do feel.

You feel everything.

And all it does is make you want to run further.

So you laugh. Light. Easy. “Don’t be dramatic, Luis,” you mutter. “It’s not that deep.”

Then you press harder into Kylian’s knee, hoping, foolishly, that pain will make him stop looking at you like he knows you. But he doesn’t flinch. He just watches you. Silent.

And that silence says everything.

You can’t outrun this. You can’t perform your way out of it. He just keeps holding your gaze.

And in that moment, you know, You’re not in control anymore. Your games don’t work. Because he’s not backing off anymore.

And deep down, you don’t want him to.

The gym clears around you, piece by piece.

Towels hit bins. Water bottles thud into bags. Laughter filters out through the hallway, the kind that signals the end of something. A cooldown. A session. A moment you could’ve avoided.

But not this one.

You’re still behind the taping bench, pretending to reorganise recovery sheets. Really, you’re just trying to breathe.

Because you know he’s still here.

The silence that follows Kylian is heavier than any crowd.

He doesn’t make a sound when he walks. But you feel him. That slow, deliberate stillness. Like the calm just before the weather shifts.

“Y/N.”

You tense. Just slightly. You don’t turn around. “I’m busy.”

He steps closer. “Then I’ll be quick.”

You pretend to sort the notes by date. Anything to look unbothered. But your grip is too tight. Your heart’s too loud.

“I let you push me,” Kylian says, his voice even. “I let you flirt, I let you run.”

You still don’t look at him. But then he says it, “But don’t drag someone else into it just to prove a point.”

Your fingers pause.

His voice is softer now. Not angry, just honest. “Tchouaméni doesn’t deserve that.”

You swallow hard, mouth dry. “I wasn’t-”

“You were.” His tone doesn’t waver. “I see the way we are with each other. I’m not stupid.”

You finally turn.

And he’s right there. Close enough that you have to fight the urge to step back.

But he doesn’t crowd you. Doesn’t press. He just holds your gaze, steady and unblinking.

You cross your arms, instinct. “You said you wanted to be friends.”

“I changed my mind.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” he says, low and pointed, “is you pretending none of this meant anything. What’s not fair is you acting like I didn’t feel it too.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. 

So he takes a slow step forward. Not threatening. Just… close. 

“You keep performing. Like if you keep it light, it won’t mean anything. But it does. It always did.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, voice sharp around the edges.

“I know,” he replies, soft. “But I gave it anyway.”

The silence stretches.

“I thought the gifts would remind you,” he adds, almost quieter now. “Not to pressure you. Just so you knew I hadn’t forgotten. You still haven’t said anything.”

Your arms cross automatically. “What was I supposed to say?”

He raises his eyebrows like the question is absurd. “Anything. One word. A call. A message.”

You blink at him, eyes hard. “Maybe if you’d sent something useful. Like a Chanel bag.”

His expression doesn’t shift. But something in his jaw tightens. Subtly. Deeply. “You think this is a joke?”

You scoff. “I think it’s easier to throw money at a problem than talk about it.”

“I wasn’t throwing money,” he snaps. “I was remembering.”

The air sharpens.

You regret saying it. Almost. But the words are already out there, bitter and twisting. 

“I didn’t ask for you to remember.”

“Doesn’t mean I forgot.”

He steps closer. The space between you shrinks. His voice is lower now, rougher.

“Every single gift meant something. The book. The hoodie. The snow globe. You know that. Don’t act like you don’t.”

You say nothing.

Because if you admit it meant something, you’re admitting it still means something.

So you give him silence. That silence only makes him angrier.

“You think I’m doing this for fun?” he says. “You think I’m just- what? Playing games?”

“I think you’re trying to win,” you mutter.

“Win what?”

You glance away. “Whatever this is.”

His breath leaves him hard. “This isn't a game, Y/N.”

“You sure? Because it feels like one.”

Kylian’s eyes flash.

Then his voice drops, quieter, but somehow louder than anything else in the room.

“What’s going to happen between us is inevitable.”

You flinch. It’s small. But he sees it. You open your mouth, desperate for control, but he cuts you off.

“No, don’t. Don’t do the thing where you pretend none of this is real.”

You take a breath, sharp, defensive. “It isn’t real, Kylian. You’re-”

“I’m what?” He steps in, eyes burning now. “The guy who waited? The guy who woke up to an empty bed? The guy you blocked for a year without a word?”

Your stomach twists. You want to push him. To hurt him. To get space. So you reach for cruelty.

“You should’ve left it there.”

He stares at you. Like he’s finally seeing you for what you are… walls, armor, and all.

And it kills him. 

But then, quietly “You’re scared, fine. But don’t insult what we had just because you don’t want to feel it again.”

You try to speak, but your throat is too tight.

He shakes his head, like he’s done. Like he can’t say another word without breaking.

Then he walks away.

You stare at the floor. The argument shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t mean anything. But it does.

Because he was right.

About the book. About the hoodie. About all of it.

And now that he’s gone, your chest feels hollow.

You know he’s not done. He’s just waiting. And you’re not sure how much longer you can keep running before he catches you.

You try to make it to the changing rooms without crossing his path. Try to take the long way around the stretching corridors, down the hallway where the staff lockers are.

But it’s like he knew you would.

You turn the corner, fast, head down, and then you feel it.

Kylian’s grip closes around your wrist with enough pressure to stop you in your tracks, not rough, not careless, but final. Like he’s done waiting.

“Come with me.”

You try to pull back. “Kylian-”

“No. We’re not doing this here.”

He leads you down the hallway, fast but careful, every movement controlled. The hallway is quiet now. Most of the team has filtered out. You could pull away.

But you don’t.

Because something in his grip makes your stomach twist. It’s not desperation. It’s something else.

Resolve.

You know exactly where he’s taking you before you see the door.

One of the private physio rooms. Unused. Quiet. He opens it. Walks in. Waits.

You hesitate.

He doesn’t pull you. He just looks at you - eyes low, unreadable - and says “Please.”

And it undoes you. You step inside. He shuts the door behind you. For a second, there’s only silence. You look at him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, every muscle in your body wound up like a wire.

“You don’t get to drag me in here like- ”

“I do,” he says, voice low. “Because you’re not hearing me anywhere else.”

Your mouth opens. Shuts.

He takes a step closer.

“I’ve been patient.”

Another step.

“I’ve been quiet. I let you flirt with other people. I let you lie. I let you act like what we had was some mistake.”

You shake your head, but he keeps going.

“I watched you walk away from me once. And I stayed silent. I let you disappear.”

His jaw flexes.

“I’m not doing it again.”

You swallow hard.

“Kylian, you can’t just decide-”

“I’m not deciding anything,” he says, breath sharp. “I’m feeling it. And you are too. You just don’t want to admit it.”

You stay silent. Your heart slams against your ribs. 

“I’ve had it.” His voice is loud. Angry. Finally.

“You don’t get to act like I’m the one who broke this. You don’t get to walk around here pretending nothing ever happened between us and then pull that shit with Tchouaméni like I’m invisible.”

Your jaw clenches. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He steps closer, eyes blazing. “You think this is about ego?”

“I think you’re mad I didn’t roll over when you came back.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “You left, Y/N. You didn’t even say goodbye. You blocked me. You disappeared.”

“You just ran away,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “No message. No warning. I woke up the next day and you were gone. We talked about our future and you were gone.”

You clenched your jaw, but he wasn’t done.

“I looked for you.” His voice was careful, like he was testing the weight of the words. “I tried calling. Texting. I didn’t even know you left Paris until someone else told me.”

You forced yourself to breathe evenly. Careful with your words “I moved to Madrid.”

He let out a soft, breathy laugh. It wasn’t amused.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I figured that part out eventually.”

You glare at him. “Yeah, and when you showed up at Madrid, we went right back to normal. No conversation. No apology. You didn’t say shit.”

“You didn’t either.”

You scoff. “Because I was waiting. And you- what? Just acted like none of it mattered.”

“You ran. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“Try!” you shout. “Say something! Acknowledge it!”

“If I had, you would’ve fucking run again.”

Your breath stumbles.

“You’re mad at me,” he says, voice sharper now, “but you’re the one who turned it into a game. The second I got close, you picked a fight. Every time I touched you, you went cold. And now you're mad I didn’t push harder?”

“You were too late!” you yell. “You were always too late.”

“I didn’t know what we were-”

“Exactly!” you cut in, chest heaving. “We never talked about it. We just fucked and argued and ignored it. And you expected me to wait around for you to figure it out?!”

He stares at you, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it hurts. “It wasn’t just fucking.”

“Wasn’t it?” you snap, voice rising. “Because that’s all it ever felt like when we weren’t in bed.”

His face hardens. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

“Fuck off, kylian.”

“You say it meant nothing, but you stayed. You let me touch you like that. You let me talk to you like I knew you.”

You turn your back on him, crossing the room like distance will fix the heat crawling under your skin.

“It wasn’t enough,” you throw over your shoulder. “You wanted me to guess how you felt while you kept your mouth shut.”

“I wasn’t the only one keeping shit to myself,” he fires back. “You think I didn’t notice how fast you’d shut down the second we got close? You’d climb off me, and by the next morning you’d act like I was your fucking coworker again.”

“I didn’t know how to handle it!” you shout. “You were supposed to be temporary!”

He scoffs. “Guess I should be flattered you stuck around that long.”

You whirl around. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” he snaps. “You already made it clear I didn’t mean anything.”

You go quiet. The silence burns.

Then, your voice, flat. Cruel.

“Maybe you didn’t.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s bitter. Empty. “Right. That’s why you wore my hoodie. That’s why you looked at me like that. That’s why I sent you a fucking book with my notes in the margins. Because none of it meant anything.”

You say nothing.

Because anything you say now, he’ll see right through it.

He takes a step closer.

Not touching.

But every inch between you is fire.

“You can be angry,” he says. “You can hate me. You can even lie to my face and tell me I was just sex.”

He pauses.

“But don’t you dare pretend I didn’t matter to you.”

You blink. Hard.

Because if you don’t, you’ll cry.

And you will not cry.

“You’re a coward,” he says, voice low and furious. “You flirted with someone else because you were scared. You pushed me away because I made you feel something.”

You meet his gaze. “So what? You’re a saint now?”

“No,” he growls. “But I’m here. And I’m trying. And you’re too fucking scared to admit you want this.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s breathing hard now. So are you.

You stare at each other like the walls might come down around you.

And then-

Quiet. Not soft. Just still.

“What’s going to happen between us is inevitable. Stop fighting it.”

You hate that you believe him. Because even now, even after all this-

You still want him.

And you’re running out of excuses not to.

“You do,” he says again, low and firm.

It’s not a plea. It’s not a guess. It’s a dare.

Your whole body is burning. Every word, every second in this room has pulled you closer to the edge.

“I don’t-” you start, but the sound rips out of your throat like it’s lying.

Kylian laughs, sharp and furious. “You’re so full of shit.”

You snap, stepping toward him. “You think this is easy for me?”

He meets you halfway. “You think I don’t?”

You’re toe-to-toe now, breathing each other’s anger.

“You think I wanted this?” you hiss. “To care about someone who wouldn’t even say what the hell we were?”

“I didn’t know what we were because you never let me fucking find out!”

“I gave you months!” Your voice is breaking now, high and raw. “You never asked me to stay, Kylian. Not once. You let me walk away like it was nothing.”

He steps into your space, chest brushing yours. “You left while I was asleep.”

“You gave me nothing to stay for!”

“I gave you everything!” he shouts. “You just didn’t want to feel it!”

Something snaps.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him.

But suddenly, his hands are in your hair and your mouth is on his and there’s no logic left.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not pretty.

It’s teeth and breath and the sound of your back hitting the wall. His grip is tight at your waist, pulling you in like he needs you to feel it, all of it, all the months of silence and gifts and hurt and longing.

You kiss him like you’re angry at him.

He kisses you like he’s finally free.

It’s messy. It’s hot. It’s impossible.

You break the kiss first, barely.

Your chest heaves. His mouth is still parted, lips swollen, eyes dark and burning.

“I hate you,” you whisper, too breathless to mean it.

He leans in again, voice wrecked. “No, you don’t.”

And you kiss him again.

Harder.

Because it’s the only thing left to do.

And for a moment, there’s no anger. No running. No distance.

Just him.

Just you.

It’s not careful.  Not soft. It’s pure heat, months of silence, a year of longing, and every bitter word you just threw at each other, turned into open mouths and teeth and desperate hands.

You gasp as your back slams into the wall, but he’s already there, pressed against you, hands braced on the side of your head, chest heaving into yours.

His breath mixes with yours, warm and uneven, and then his lips are on you again, harder this time, devouring. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t hesitate, his tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to remind you what he tastes like. What you left.

What you still want.

You moan, quiet, involuntary, and it wrecks him.

He groans into your mouth, hands dropping to your hips, dragging you flush against him. His body is hot, tense, solid everywhere, and you don’t want to breathe if it means you have to stop kissing him.

You barely come up for air before he’s kissing down your jaw, rough stubble scraping across your neck, making your knees buckle.

“I can’t- ” he pants against your throat, lips brushing over your skin between each word, “I can’t get enough of you.”

Your fingers slide under the hem of his top, curling into the heat of his back, and he shudders.

“You’re all I ever wanted.” 

You whimper, dragging his mouth back to yours.

Tongues meet. Teeth clash. You tilt your head, let him in deeper, and you can feel the frustration behind it, the ache of everything unsaid, every second you wasted apart.

“I want you so bad,” you breathe between kisses, lips brushing his, barely able to speak.

He grabs your thighs, lifts it around his waist like instinct, and you let him.

“Keep touching me,” you whisper, dizzy from it. “I need you.”

He kisses you like it’s a promise. Like he’s never letting go.

Your hands claw at his top, pulling it tighter, and he groans low in his throat as his hips press harder into yours.

And then-

His mouth breaks from yours, just barely, nose brushing yours, breath ragged.

“Do you know,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, “how much you meant to me?”

The line slices through your chest. You remember it. The first night. The first night you both lost control.

Your lips tremble.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it’s the truest thing you’ve said in months. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I ran.”

His mouth finds yours again, like he needs to stop the apology before it breaks you both.

It’s softer now, but not weaker. Deeper. Like he’s trying to put all of it back together with his tongue, with his hands, with the way he kisses you like it’s the first time and the last.

Your hips roll into his without thinking, and he groans against your lips.

“I thought about this every day,” he breathes. “Every fucking day.”

You nod, eyes wet, mouth open against his.

“It’s always been you,” you say.

His grip tightens.

“I know.”

Another kiss, slower now, but just as intense. It feels like possession. Like forgiveness. Like coming home.

“You’re it for me,” he says, voice breaking as he kisses the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck again.

You whisper it back without hesitation.

“Me too.”

And the next kiss?

It’s not angry anymore. It’s not about proving anything. It’s about finally giving in.

And it’s everything.

Chapter 10

[papathe5th]

There’s a break in the tour between March 25 & July 4. I’m sure that the band will be rehearsing a lot for the USA leg of the tour (starting July 9), but-

Perpetua is asleep in his bunk the morning after the Oslo show. The rest of the tour bus is quiet, aside from the noise of the engine. Everyone is tired.

He’s so still when he’s asleep. His mask & his paint aren’t on, and you take another minute to look at him in admiration before sliding into the bunk with him.

He opens one eye slightly, smiling a little.

“You’ll be happy to learn that we’ll have a lot more time together in June.”

“So I heard.” You smile back, threading your fingers into his curly hair. “You’ve been outstanding in every venue in Europe.”

Well, while I was postponing getting to this prompt, the European leg ended and Papa has gone back into his coffin hiding, right?

Wrong! He’ll be performing a tribute to Queen tomorrow! On television!

Until then, let’s enjoy some morning kisses!

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader

Words: 880

Rating: E (explicit)

As if hearing the break of dawn, you awake in your bunk on the tour bus. The rising sun is streaming through the slit of the window curtains Papa V Perpetua always closes.

After crossing the line of light on the floor, you tiptoe to his bunk where the soft snoring is overpowered by the humming of the engine.

He can sense you are close and his snoring stops. Before you curl around him, holding your breath so as to not wake him, he stirs.

“Morning,” he murmurs, eyes still sealed shut by sleep and lined with faded black face paint.

His lips are puffy and pink, surrounded by a subtle dark stubble. His face is more a blush than a pallor, making him look younger. And even the lines that he has collected over the decades, scars, frowns and smiles, are erased in the dim light of dawn.

Papa pushes himself back against the wall to make room for you. And, once you plop your head on the pillow, he snuggles into your sternum, his mouth on your heart.

“More like good night,” you kiss the top of his head, your nose in his dark and silver-streaked curls.

You hear him snorting against your chest, feel his shoulders moving under your arm. “I could spend my entire day here.” Papa pushes himself closer, his body bracketing itself between your thighs, and his arms arresting your torso. “So don’t tempt me.”

“I heard you have the entire day off,” you sigh, content to be captured in his arms. His hot, bare skin warms yours though your thin pyjamas. “And every day after that until July.”

“You’re doing it,” he sighs dramatically, drenching your chest with his humid breath. “You’re tempting me.”

His arms slip under your shirt and you raised yours so that he could slip it over your head. His lips latch onto your skin as he laid wet kisses there.

Then lower. And lower. Lower.

You sink back into the mattress where his scent surrounds you. His aftershave, his cologne, his musk. You cover your eyes with one arm and wrap the other around his shoulders. When he reaches your navel, his tongue snakes out of his mouth and he burrows into it.

“Papa,” you gasp. You grasp his unruly hair, his curls tangling between your fingers.

Your other hand grabs the hem of your pyjama pants. But he isn’t in a hurry to get inside them yet, so he snatches your wrist and sets it beside your hip, his long fingers cuffing it in place.

Papa rests his prickly chin against the soft skin of your stomach. And you see his eyes for the first time today, more blinding than the morning light and hotter than a summer’s day.

“We’ve got two months.” He smirks and those smile lines make an appearance. “I’ve got two entire months,” he teases your flesh with his teeth. “Two,” he moves lower. “Entire” And lower. “Months.” And, at last, his teeth latch onto the hem and he pulls the pants down.

You are ready for him as you always are. And his smirk stretches because he can see it. Smell it. And taste it.

“Two entire months to make you mine,” he speaks against your sex and the word gets seared into it. “Mine.”

His silver tongue is torture. It drips honeyd gold when it twists around a sound. And it makes you tear up when it moves against you. You’re at its mercy as your hips move on their own and your thighs tremble around the head it inhabits. Sweet surrender is you leaking all over it and laying limp as it licks you clean.

“Papa!”

He kisses your inner thigh tenderly. It hasn’t stopped twitching and your toes are only now unfurling. Your body is still tender from the thundering orgasm.

“You think they heard that?” He shows his teeth this time, a grin glinting in the hinder sunlight.

“Oh, Satan,” you cover your mouth to suppress the sound. And the giggles bubbling up.

So what if they heard? You are his. You are Papa’s.

There were nights you wanted to drag him off stage. There were nights you wanted to lock your legs around him and keep him in bed. There were nights where you wished you didn’t have to share him with the entire world. Satan himself demanded it however. He needed his Voice on Earth to sing to the people and spread the bad word.

“We can get our own room tonight,” he kisses up your body. “A five star hotel room. An apartment. A cabin in the woods. A villa on the beach.” His kisses stop at your throat. “Wherever you want. Whatever you want.” That’s when his fangs came out. “What do you want, angel?” He dragged them against your drenched skin and stopped at the shell of your ear.

“I want you.”

You hear him inhale, feel it in the chest above you. It’s swelling, his lungs filling with air. A groan escapes as he exhales. He sinks his teeth in his favorite spot, the one where the sun can’t shine and every nerve seems to end.

And, at last, you wrap your legs around him, tying him down like you’ve dreamt of every night.

[a-killer-obsession]

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 9 - As It Was Written

The Straw Hats finally arrive at Sabaody. Will things go to plan? And how will Kid react?

WC: 6.1k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

It took four days for the Straw Hats to turn up, and in the meantime Kid had grown restless, and more than over all the waiting. He was starting to get dangerously close to calling bullshit on your story, and you'd spent the last two nights with Killer, Kid deciding if you were going to run, that Heat would be too soft and more likely let you go. Which was far from true - Heat had become exceptionally attached to you, if you tried to run he was more likely to chain you to his bed and keep you like a pet. Finally, not long before lunch on the fourth day since docking, the long awaited sound of Killer's transponder snail ringing was heard.

Immediately you were taken back to the ship and put back in the brig, your collar and cuffs still on but your leash removed for now. You had a decent idea of how long it would take for the events of the day to unfold, so you waited patiently on the bottom bunk bed, the mattresses still stacked from your original stay, though you were without the comfort of your blankets or pillow. Or your stuffed animal, which obviously lived with Heat. You should have asked for a book or something, it was boring as shit down in the brig, so you entertained yourself by trying to memorise the strings of symbols written in probably blood that lined the walls and floors of the cell. You still weren't sure what their purpose was, did someone on this crew take part in regular demon summoning? House, probably, if you had to guess.

You heard the sudden chaos above you on the main deck as the commanders returned, followed by the lurching of the ship as it quickly left the port just as you thought it would. The Victoria may not have been in immediate range of the marines, but they were still hot on their tail. It was maybe half an hour before things settled enough for Heat to come down to retrieve you, reattaching your leash for good measure. Kid figured if there was ever a time where you were going to attempt to run or attack, it would be when your story was disproven.

“Last chance, you're telling the truth right?” Heat asked nervously. He wasn't ready to give you up if Kid decided to get rid of you, and after the day they'd all had you might not even make it to the auction house if it came out that you'd been faking it. “I can't… I can't protect you if you're lying.”

“You won't have to, Heat,” you assured him, cupping his scarred face as best you could with your still cuffed hands. “You're all gonna see I was telling the truth. I promise. I wouldn't lie to you.”

“Okay,” he said softly, pushing his face into your shoulder and inhaling your sweet scent, before gathering himself with a sigh and bringing you above deck. It seemed like the entire crew was out on the weather deck as you were walked through to the navigation room, passing around the side of the forecastle to the inside of the giant dinosaur skull to enter the nav room from its front door. The other commanders sat inside at the round table, Kid tapping his fingers impatiently against the wooden table top, your sealed letter sitting in front of him, both the now past and your uncertain future held within.

You expected Kid to want you on his lap as usual, but instead Heat attached your leash to a bracket hidden under the table and sat you at the opposite end from Kid, taking his own place on the other end with the other commanders. It felt very much like you were on trial as you sat facing the four large, dangerous men. It was a stark reminder that these men were in fact notorious pirates and would kill you without a second thought. Killer still had a splash of marine blood on his mask, likely kept there to intimidate, but you had to admit it was kinda hot.

“Ready for your judgement, Mouse?” Kid rumbled, a smug smile on his face. He was ready to prove you wrong, greatly in need of an outlet to torture and kill after the day he had and keen to make you that outlet. The others weren't as prepared, they had all taken note of your accurate prediction of where the Straw Hats would dock, as well as the marine presence in the neighbouring dock, and for Killer and Heat especially it had given them hope that you'd be a permanent fixture on the ship. Heat still had a clutch of eggs prepared that he hoped you would accept, and Killer was more than excited at the potential to have someone on board who was happy to indulge his kinks. Kid had a secret hope to keep you here as well, it was nice having a human feeder on board, but he couldn't stand liars, not even your sweet blood would outweigh that. As soon as you were proven a liar he would torture you within an inch of your life, and then he'd drain you dry.

“Ready when you are,” you replied as confidently as you could, though you stirred nervously in your seat. You had an underlying paranoia that your presence alone in this world may have changed things, but given the rushed nature that the ship had left port, and the commanders’ clearly fresh from battle appearance, you held hope that your predictions would still hold true.

Kid grunted indignantly and handed the letter to Killer, who opened it and quickly gave it a skim, his brows raising under his mask, before beginning to read aloud for the others.

“Kid will get into a fight with Scratchmen Apoo in grove twenty-four, and Killer will get into a fight with The Mad Monk Urouge in grove twenty-one, which will be broken up by X Drake,” he exchanged a look with Kid. His face may have been masked but Kid had known him long enough to understand the look.

“So she got one part, big whoop, is that all she wrote?” Kid rolled his eyes.

“There's a lot more here,” Killer continued, a hopeful tint to his voice, “Commanders will head to the human auction house in grove one, where Trafalgar Law and some of the Straw Hat crew will be present. A pirate captain for sale named Lacuba will bite his own tongue off. A green haired mermaid will be presented for sale in a giant fishbowl. The Celestial Dragon, Saint Charlos, will bid five-hundred million berri for her.”

“He wanted to see how long she'd survive in a tank with his piranhas,” you tsk’d, “disgusting man.” The commanders made discontented frowns as they imagined the mermaid they'd seen being eaten alive, before Killer continued.

“Monkey D. Luffy will crash through the ceiling on a large flying fish and punch Saint Charlos,” Killer continued, “Silvers ‘Dark King’ Rayleigh will appear through the stage wall and use conqueror's haki to knock most of the guards out. He will apologise to Kid and Law for using haki on them. Marines will surround the auction house. Kid, Law and Luffy will fight together against them. Warlord Bartholomew Kuma will attack Kid. Marine Admiral Kizaru will also show up, and newspapers will advertise the execution of Portgas D. Ace in nine days at Marineford,” Killer paused, “that's everything she wrote.”

There was a pregnant silence as the commanders all absorbed that every item you'd listed had been an accurate prediction, even things as unbelievable as Luffy punching a Celestial Dragon. It was a heavy revelation for everyone to admit that you were from a whole other universe, and some unknown force had brought you here against your will. It opened up more questions than they were prepared to try to answer. “Well, shit,” Kid finally broke the silence.

“So, I can stay, right?” You asked nervously, everyone waiting anxiously for Kid's verdict.

You spooked as Kid suddenly stood, using his devil fruit to unhook and pull your leash behind him as he cut through the infirmary and dragged you out to the main deck. The rest of the crew was still crowded around, eagerly awaiting Kid's decision, quickly standing to attention as Kid appeared. You'd become quite the topic of curiosity and intrigue on the ship, everyone was invested in whether you would be kept around, and betting pools waited patiently for Kid's answer.

“Where's Dive?” Kid barked. The small green haired girl came skipping forward gleefully, excited to be summoned.

“Yes boss?” She smiled wide, showing off her sharp teeth.

“I've got an important job for you,” he leaned down a little to address her, “go to my workshop and clean it up for me. Work hard and don't come out till you're done, and as a reward I'll let you get anything you want at a candy store next time we make land.”

“Yay! Okay boss!” She squealed excitedly, quickly skipping off and running up the stairs to the stern castle. There was curious silence on the deck as Kid watched her go, waiting until the young girl had disappeared into the stern castle before speaking again.

“Everyone make a circle,” Kid barked, and his order was quickly followed. Kid pulled you by your leash into the centre of the circle, and you suddenly felt very small. You looked to the other commanders for support, but Heat seemed just as confused as you, while Wire wore a knowing grin that made you nervous.

“This here is the new ship whore,” Kid smirked, “she's usually off limits for you losers, but I'm feeling generous today.” Killer took that as his cue to step forward and cut your clothes from your body, running a punisher blade under the fabric and pulling away the ruined scraps, leaving you bare to the entire crew, minus the minor. Kid used his fruit to weld the end of your leash to the metal at the base of the mast, before standing behind you and holding you against him with a hand on your throat. He forced you to keep your eyes on the hungry wolves circling you, making your thighs unconsciously clamp together - whether for friction or self defence, you weren't sure. “Anyone who wants a turn, today is your lucky day. But wrap your cocks you gross fucks, I don't want to catch your fuckin’ warts when I fuck my whore next. Girls, be sure to take advantage of that pretty face.”

Kid let you go and stepped back, forcing his way through the crowd to head up to the forecastle deck where he'd get a nice view, followed by the other commanders, leaving you to the wolves. You stood awkwardly in front of them, their eyes all hungry, mouths practically salivating, as they all looked at your bare body, a few of the men already palming themselves through their clothes. House, who had no interest in any of this, momentarily disappeared into the infirmary, coming back out with several boxes of condoms which she shoved into the arms of the closest crewmate, before disappearing back into the infirmary to deal with some paperwork. The boxes were quickly torn open and distributed, as the first few crewmates came forward - Reck and Quincy.

The two of them circled you like predators, Quincy removing her large crown-like hat and handing it off to someone else. She had always seemed so sweet and aloof, so it surprised you when she was the first to grab you, pinching your face in her hand as she forced her tongue into your mouth, making you whimper and rub your thighs together. Reck grabbed you from behind, pressing his clothed erection against your ass. His hands groped at your soft tits, subtly supporting your stance as he kicked your legs open to give Quincy access. Quincy's hand was quick to find your cunt, running two fingers between your folds and holding them up so everyone could see how wet her fingers were as she rubbed your slick between her pointer finger and thumb. The crew closed in further as they saw how aroused you were, beginning to call out both praises and degradation, calling you a good girl, a pretty little slut, a greedy whore. It made you even wetter, and Quincy was surprisingly rough as she ran a hand through your hair and grasped it hard, pulling downwards and forcing you to your knees.

Heat was watching the whole thing with nervous anxiety. He barely handled letting the other commanders touch you, but watching the whole crew looking at you like a piece of meat, palming themselves through their clothes and whispering to each other all the things they were going to do to you, it made him possessive. He didn't like people touching his things, he didn't like people messing with things from his precious hoard. His hindbrain had registered you as part of his collection the moment you'd jumped on his bed, and he twitched nervously watching Quincy and Reck touch you. “Heat, easy,” Wire whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder to try and ground him. He could feel how tense Heat was, and knew well that he had the most trouble between the commanders when it came to reeling in his more monstrous instincts. Everyone on this crew was his friend, but you should never come between a dragon and his treasure, no matter the type of dragon.

When Quincy forced you to your knees, something cracked in Heat. The little whimper you made registered in his mind as pain, not the arousal that it was, and he was shifted to his wyrm form and flinging himself down to the weather deck before Wire could grab his tail. He coiled around you, pushing Quincy and Reck away, hissing at them and baring his sharp teeth at the crew. Everyone took a few steps back, understanding that Heat had lost control and was genuinely dangerous now. If they didn't think he had claimed you before, it was certain now what you meant to Heat. Quincy pouted and looked up at Kid, waiting for the captain to intervene so she could go back to playing with you.

“Heat, back off,” Kid growled.

“Mine!” Heat shouted back, coiling tighter, almost tight enough to squeeze the air out of you.

“Last warning Heat,” Kid said in a low voice, “you can back off, or you can be punished.”

Killer stood sternly at Kid's side, and Kid whispered something in his ear. The first mate quickly disappeared to the stern castle, while Kid used his devil fruit to summon a length of chain and Wire descended the stairs from the skull deck. He approached Heat as one might approach an angry alligator, arms out, ready to grab him. Heat hissed at his best friend, making it clear how out of control he was, and made no move to release you. Kid's eyes flicked behind you, to where Killer had returned, and gave him a nod.

Like lightning Killer and Wire were grappling at Heat, Killer slipping a muzzle over his face while Wire pulled on the sensitive end of his tail to force him to loosen his grip on you. As soon as he did, making a shocked whine as Wire took advantage of this weakness, Killer grabbed him under his arms and started dragging him backwards, while Wire grabbed you and pulled you away from Heat. As soon as your bodies were separated, Kid wrapped the chain around Heat, sending him backwards to crash against the mast with a loud thunk, chaining him to it, his long tail thrashing wildly until Wire and Killer secured it.

“You should have behaved,” Wire tutted, making sure the muzzle was secure. Heat spat at him through the gaps in the rounded metal cage, and Wire tsk’d as he wiped the spit from his face. That was all Wire needed to shift to the role he was familiar with as Heat's usual dom, and he knew every one of the wyrm's weaknesses. Heat made a stuttered gasp as Wire stuck his fingers in the slit where Heat's cocks were sheathed, toying with his cocks inside the wet folds and making Heat whine. “You're gonna be good now, do I make myself clear?” Wire growled, “you're gonna stay here and you're gonna watch the crew fuck your precious treasure, and you're going to learn how to share properly or I'll make sure you never have her again. Use your words, tell me you understand.”

“Y-yes master,” Heat whimpered as Wire removed his fingers and slapped Heat with the same hand, leaving a wet, red print on his face. “I'll- I'll be a good boy.”

“Good,” Wire hummed, looking back at Quincy and giving her a nod to continue. Wire and Killer returned to the skull deck to observe, as the crew began to close in on you again. Quincy pushed you back down to your knees, a soft folded towel placed under them this time for protection against the hard wooden deck.

You watched hungrily as she stood in front of you and stripped off her bloomers and frilly panties, along with her giant bow and beaded belt, then she hooked a leg over your shoulder, pressing her back to the mast for support, right next to Heat who squirmed and thrashed to try and get to you. You barely had time to register that the carpets did in fact match the drapes before she was pulling your hair hard again, forcing your face against her wet cunt. You immediately got to work eating her out, moaning against her pussy as Reck knelt behind you and spread your knees, reaching underneath you to slip two fingers inside your cunt and begin stretching you out. You were overly aware of the sloppy sounds your pussy was making and the rustling of fabric around you as the crew got into various states of undress and started masturbating as they watched Quincy use your face and Reck finger fuck your greedy hole. A few even began jerking each other off, Hop opting to grind her ass against Noe, while Hip started playing with Emma's pussy, knowing the pink haired girl would be too shy to do anything on her own.

Reck pulled you back a little and you whined as his cock rubbed between your folds and slipped inside you, taking no time before he started pounding hard into you, forcing your face harder against Quincy. She held your hair hard to stabilise you, rolling her hips to ride your tongue. Kid was right - she was loud, entirely unabashed as she moaned and used your mouth. Heat made soft needy whines as he watched, his cocks unsheathing on their own accord as he longed to be the one inside you. Hop took note, she and Hip exchanging mischievous looks before Hip left Emma in Noe's care.

“Two of them!” Hop purred, running her fingers along the underside of Heat's cocks, “aw, look how they twitch! So cute!” Heat hissed as Hip knelt and gave one cock a kitten lick, Hop following suit with the other, the two of them peppering kisses and featherlight licks and touches over his cocks and scales as he fought against the restraints.

“Don't let him cum,” Wire instructed them, “he doesn't deserve to cum.”

Heat made pained whines as the girls continued to tease him, the sounds making you moan against Quincy's cunt. With Reck's hard thrusts pushing you against her, it didn't take long for Quincy to finish, pulling your head back a little by your hair and furiously rubbing her clit in front of you until she screamed and squirted on your face. Her pleasure pulled you to your own peak, clamping around Reck's cock as a creamy ring formed around the base of his condom. Quincy bent down and gave you an affectionate kiss before leaving you, still dripping from her release.

“See Heat?” Wire called from the skull deck, “see how good our Mouse is? See how well behaved she is? Why can't you be like her. Look at your pathetic cocks leaking, you act like you don't wanna watch others fucking her, but you're just a pathetic little cuck aren't you?”

“Pathetic little cuck!” Hop parroted with a laugh, “aww his cocks are so red and needy, I bet if we leave him like this he'll cum anyway!”

“Go on then Heat,” Hip laughed, “prove to us you're not a cuck, I bet you cum without anyone touching you!” The two girls stopped touching him, but Hop continued to whisper nasty things in his ear, holding his horn so he couldn't turn away from her. Hip returned to Emma, who Noe had already made cum once, cooing to her what a good girl she was as Noe held her up on her shaky legs.

Reck flipped you around and pushed you on to your back, your chain rattling against the wooden deck, and he continued his rough treatment of your cunt. You felt suddenly very exposed now that you could see everyone watching and masturbating. Heat was right above you, looking down at you with a desperate and forlorn expression, his cocks bobbing untouched and needy. You watched Hip lead a very nervous Emma to you, encouraging her to take a seat on your face. “There you go, Em,” Hip cooed, as Emma squatted and sank down, nervous that she was going to suffocate you. You encouraged her by pulling her down as best you could with your bound wrists and eagerly reaching your tongue up to swipe through her folds. “Just like that, use the whore's face,” Hip encouraged as Emma finally began to relax, “that feels good, doesn't it?”

Emma made shy little whines above you, and Hip sat on your chest so Emma could use her shoulders for support, kissing Emma to distract her from all the watching eyes. You vaguely registered the grunt and splash of warm fluid against your tummy as Reck pulled off his condom and finished on you, quickly replaced by someone new, who you'd see later was Papas. He was a little smaller than Reck in the equipment department, who must have been a little above average, but he knew how to use it. Reck had got you most of the way to another orgasm, so you quickly unravelled and came on Papa's cock, moaning against Emma's pussy. Everyone cheered for you, the humiliation of cumming in front of the whole crew making you whine. Hip groped at your tits and abused your nipples with harsh pinches, making you buck and writhe under her. Emma's moans were quiet and reserved but slowly got a little louder as she got close, a near constant pleasured whimper from above you, paired with Heat's frustrated whines. Hip focused her attention on Emma, slipping her hands under her shirt to play with her tits gently instead of the mean treatment she'd been giving you, rolling her nipples to give her the last push of stimulation she needed to cum.

“Good girl, Em,” Hip cooed as Emma panted above you, having released a small gush on your tongue. You lapped at her carefully, knowing she would be sensitive but wanting to give her that last little bit of pleasure. “What a good girl, did the whore's face feel nice?” Emma gave a little sleepy nod and Quincy helped her up. You barely had time to catch your breath before Hip was taking her place, having quickly stood and stripped her leggings and shorts. She sat with her back to Papas, giving her a good position to grip your hair and use you roughly the way Quincy had. You could also see her face from this position, and she gave you a shit eating grin that reminded you a little of Wire. Her mouth was dangerously close to Heat's cocks, his hips rolling and chains making metallic strained noises as he tried to get a cock against her, even just to rub his tip against her lips, anything to get stimulation. She laughed meanly at him and blew air on his cocks, making precum bead and roll down the undersides as Heat growled.

Papa's finished with one last grunt, emptying into his condom and cursing that he'd wanted to finish on you like Reck had. Noe pulled him away by the hood of his sweater, eager to take his place, holding your thighs up against your stomach so you were practically folded in half, and spitting on your cunt more out of principle than need. You were nothing short of soaked right now, but being spat on made you shiver, feeling unbearably empty until his cock slid inside you. Noe was an average length but girthy, and you mewled at the new stretch. He was kind enough to give you a few moments to adjust before he started moving, his thick shaft pressing firmly against your g-spot and making your toes curl.

“Such a pretty little human,” Hip cooed down at you, “pretty little mouth, doing such a good job!”

“Pretty little pussy, too,” Noe added, “takes me well for a human, so fucking tight though. Fuck, I'm gonna cum quick after watching you girls ride her face.”

“Cover her in it,” Hip ordered, “I wanna see this pretty little whore get frosted, I'm gonna squirt on this cute little face.”

Hip squatted a little over you, giving you a perfect view of her cunt as she fingered herself, pumping her fingers fast in and out of her pussy and making obscene squelches until she moaned and threw back her head, giving Heat a cruel smile and cumming with a significant gush of fluid over your face. You weren't sure you'd ever seen such a grand amount of squirt, you were truly impressed. Hip gave your dripping face a playful, wet slap and stood, wiping her hand on Heat's face to clean the cum from them. Noe wasn't far behind her, adding to the milky splashes of cum on your stomach with a grunt.

Hop took over next, and you expected her to ride your face as well, but instead she took charge of the situation. She pulled you up by your hair until you were kneeling, and you were quickly surrounded by men and needy erections. Hop moved your head for you, forcing you to bob your mouth on each cock in turn - Bubblegum's, Moai's, Haikei's and UK's - making sure each man got plenty of turns, and that your mouth was going far enough to gag you each time. Heat's cocks were off course left neglected, but Hop made sure he had the best view in the house. The taste of the latex condoms wasn't pleasant but you had bigger fish to fry, every now and then looking up and catching Heat's sad brown eyes as he struggled to get to you. Your hands were utilised by those not currently being sucked off, and Bubblegum opted to push your tits together and thrust his now uncovered cock between them, the head of his cock occasionally bumping against your neck and smearing precum over your chest. Hop got off on others getting off, and cooed praises for how deep you took the men's cocks and how much you were drooling. The saliva ran down your chin and neck and added to Bubblegum's lubrication, smoothing his glide as he fucked your tits.

“Cum on her face!” Kid called from the forecastle deck where the commanders, sans Heat, were still all watching.

“On it, Captain!” UK replied, pulling off his rubber, gripping your hair and furiously fisting himself in front of you. You closed your eyes in anticipation, soon feeling the hot splashes of cum on your face as UK groaned. Kid cheered from the deck and UK forced your mouth open with his thumb, playing with your tongue before letting you return to Hop's control. Heat growled like a rabid animal, trying to bite UK as he moved to leave, making it clear why he'd been muzzled. He hated seeing someone else's mark on your face, smelling their scent coming off you, but at the same time his cocks twitched violently, his stomach pulled tight as he tried not to cum.

You continued alternating between Moai and Haikei with your mouth and hands, and soon Bubblegum was finishing on your chest, making eye contact with Heat with a crooked grin as he doused you with a violent spray of cum over your tits. He was replaced by Oscar, but as your mouth and hands worked the three men, you began to feel a familiar urge in your abdomen. You'd been leashed to the mast for a while now, and you were in great need of a toilet break. It wasn't helped by Hop, who was now kneeling beside you and playing with your pussy, her palm occasionally pressing against your mound, adding pressure to your very full bladder.

“Mm- Ne-nng,” you mumbled around Haikei's cock. He removed himself with a raised brow, careful to let you speak in case you needed to stop.

“What's wrong baby?” He cooed, running this thumb over your bottom lip.

“Need to pee,” you huffed, to which Hop pressed hard against your bladder on purpose, making you whine. “Hooooop”

“What? I'm just helping,” she teased, “go ahead and piss yourself, whore.”

“Noo!” You whined, “just… give me five minutes!”

“Come on now, Mouse,” Kid berated from his spot, “you're the one who wanted this, you said so before we docked at Sabaody! This is your initiation! You're not done till everyone that wants it gets a turn!”

“But-” you whined.

“No excuses, Mouse,” Kid growled, “prove you belong here. Either hold it in or let it go, there's no shame here, just fuckin’ piss.”

You did your best to hold it, managing another ten minutes of dick sucking and Hop pushing on your bladder before you couldn't do it any longer. You tried your best to squeeze your thighs together, but Hop wouldn't let you. She was purposefully doing everything she could to fuck with you, and you couldn't see her mouth behind her mask that covered the lower half of her face, but you could tell by the glint in her eye that she had a smug grin. Everyone waited eagerly for the flood gates to open, and when the first trickle of piss ran down your thighs everyone cheered. You whined and squirmed as the towel underneath you got damp with piss as the hot liquid ran down your legs, and Hop cooed praises in your ear, rubbing your clit until you came on her hand. It felt strange to cum while you were still peeing a little, it was different, but not bad. You made the mistake of looking up at Heat, whose eyes were wide, focused on the space between your legs at the trail of hot piss coming from your cunt. His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and with a stuttered groan and furrowed brows his cocks twitched and he came, cum dripping on the deck in front of you as he swore under his breath.

“Good little piss slut,” Hop cooed, rubbing your oversensitive clit and making you wriggle, the last of your stream going directly into her palm and flooding over, “look at you go, look at you pissing yourself like a good little whore. Not like this pig over here. Cumming like the disgusting cuck he is, tsk. Look at that, he almost got me with his gross cum.”

You were too fucked up to reply with more than a tired mumble, and it was clear to everyone that you were run through, leaning forward to rest your head against Heat's tail as his spent cocks withdrew back into his sheath. He whined, wishing he could give you comfort but unable to reach you with his bound arms. He looked up at Wire in a wordless plea, hoping he'd noticed your exhaustion. Wire of course did, giving Heat an understanding nod, and stepped forward to speak to Kid. “She's done,” he told the captain, “she needs to rest.”

Kid grumbled, not liking being ordered around, but Wire was the most experienced on the crew with things of a spicy nature, and everyone trusted his opinion when it came to sex and kink. If Wire said you were done, then you were done, there was no arguing with him on matters of safety and limits.

“Alright losers, I'm bored,” Kid barked his excuse to the crew. He didn't want them to think you were weak, when really you'd taken a great deal more than most could. “Finish up and give me my whore back.” Kid turned to Wire as he prepared to head off, “clean her up, you can use my tub. Make sure she's all good, she's one of us now. Leave Heat on the mast until nightfall, he still has a lesson to learn.”

Those who were left took their opportunity to finish on your face or tits, and you were left a cum and piss covered mess, only kept upright by Hop. It was strangely familiar after that, each crewmate taking their turn to welcome you to the crew and offer kind words, like you weren't dripping with semen and half asleep, kneeling on a towel soaked with your own urine. The commanders finally descended from the deck, and Wire helped you to your feet, using his cloak to wipe some of the more annoyingly placed cum from around your eyes, then he scooped you into his arms bridal style, far more gentle than he had been the other day.

He carried you up to Kid's floor, Killer running ahead and filling the large corner tub while Wire used a warm, wet cloth to wipe most of the gunk from you before lowering you into the water. Kid's bathroom was large and lavish, almost at large as Killer's bedroom, with a walk in waterfall shower that could probably fit all the commanders at once, and a black marble counter with two inlaid sinks, a mirror running it's length that reached the ceiling. The whole room was tiled with black marble and accented with gold metal embellishments, furnished with deep red towels and floor mats, and several expensive looking paintings of nude women hung on the walls. Killer and Wire both stripped off and sat with you in the water, touching you softly, almost lovingly, washing you with delicate motions and massaging your scalp as they washed your hair. You were barely conscious as the two of them cleaned you up, and the gentle way they held you was making it easy to doze off.

“Did I do good?” You mumbled.

“You did very good,” Wire praised, “just rest now, sweetheart.”

“Is Kid gonna let me stay?”

“He said you're one of us,” Killer answered, “Don't worry about anything for now, just rest. Being part of this crew means nobody here will ever hurt you, you're safe now.”

“Mmm,” you mumbled back, nuzzling into Wire's chest and holding Killer's warm hand.

The two of them finished bathing you as you slipped into unconsciousness, before carrying you back downstairs, carefully dressing you in an old, loose shirt of Heat's, and tucking you into his bed, even though it was only mid afternoon. It would be a small victory for Heat to find you there later, a kindness from Killer and Wire who could have just as easily left you in one of their own beds. You were so exhausted you slept right through dinner, not even waking when Heat finally climbed into bed and curled around you, though nobody was surprised.

[Next Chapter]

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[donotbelasagne]

Inside no 9, round 2

I’m back! Here are the stats for the wonderful tournament @insideno9bracket is holding!

The lay-out of this second round of stats will be very similar to the first, but with some extra comparisons to the first round (very excited about this). So, without further ado, let’s have a look. 

The general data

The mean amount of votes per poll was 106 (to the nearest whole number), with a SD of 9.4. This is a significant increase from the average of 90 votes per poll in the first round. The SD has gone down a bit from 11.6 in the first round (makes sense, as more people are now consistently voting, rather than discovering this tournament for the first time). 

The mode was 101, and the median 104, again showing there was a more consistent amount of votes per round this round! 

The mean amount of notes per poll (at the time of writing) was 21 (to the nearest whole number). 12 of these were likes and 9 were reblogs (0.6 were comments). 

The main take away from this data is that more people are (consistently) voting now! In my post about the first round I spoke about the general trend on Tumblr of moving away from reblogs and towards likes, and although this trend is persisting, I’m glad to say the gap is being closed! For every reblog in the first round, there were 1.5 likes. For every reblog in the second round, there were 1.3 likes! Keep reblogging, my friends! 

There was also a slight increase in the amount of people who interacted with the posts in other ways than just voting (20% in round 2, compared to 19% in round 1!) (again, this does not take into account people who liked AND reblogged, or reblogged multiple times). 

Next up, let’s take a look at the most popular polls and episodes. 

Top 3 most voted for polls: 

Diddle Diddle Dumpling vs The Last weekend  AND The Trolley Problem vs 12 Days of Christine (the first time) (120 votes)

The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge vs The Bill (114 votes)

Mr King vs Dead Line (112 votes) 

No insane outliers this time. Interestingly, not a single one of these episodes was in the top 3 polls in round 1! They’re all very popular episodes, though, so people really fought for them. 

Top 3 most voted for episodes:

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (94 votes)

Wise Owl AND Boo to a Goose (87 votes)

Sardines (72 votes)

THERE SHE IS. BCDR once more tops the charts! The other 3 episodes are new to the list! BCDR didn’t win with as much of a landslide as last round, but it still scored higher than the second place in round one. Making the current top 3 most voted episodes across both rounds: 

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (125 votes)

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (94 votes)

Wise Owl AND Boo to a Goose (87 votes) 

Interestingly, BCDR was part of the poll that received the least amount of notes this round. People clearly did not feel the need to justify their answer.

Time to move on to the slightly more depressing part of every tournament; the bottom.

The top 3 least voted for polls: 

Once Removed vs Cold Comfort (88 votes) 

The Trolley Problem vs 12 Days of Christine (89 votes) 

Riddle of the Sphinx vs A Quiet Night In (98 votes)

It made me laugh that the Trolley Problem vs 12 Days is in both the top 3 and the bottom 3. I guess after the tie the first time around, some people simply couldn’t face the stress of fighting for their favourite again (alas). I’m not sure why Once Removed vs Cold Comfort received so few votes? Perhaps one of you clever buggers might have an idea.

The top 3 least voted for episodes:

Nine Lives Kat (7 votes)

Curse of the Ninth (17 votes)

Thinking Out Loud (21 votes)

Oh Nine Lives Kat, you were up against BCDR, you never stood a chance. May you rest in peace now. Also, the other two were up against the two episodes that received the second most amount of votes (Wise Owl and Boo to a Goose), so it makes sense they did not score higher.

This, once more, brings me nicely to the point of win margins. 

Top 3 biggest win margins: 

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room (93.1%) va Nine Lives Kat (6.9%)

Wise Owl (83.7%) vs Curse of the Ninth (16.3%)

Boo to a Goose (80.6%) vs Thinking Out Loud (19.4%)

Well, that lines up neatly with the most voted for/least voted for episodes, doesn’t it! 

Top 3 smallest win margins:

The Trolley Problem (50%) vs 12 Days of Christine (50%) 

Mother’s Ruin (51.5%) vs La Couchette (48.5%) AND The Devil of Christmas (51.5%) vs Tom and Gerri (48.5%) 

Diddle Diddle Dumpling (52.5%) vs The Last Weekend (47.5%)

Our first tie-break! Very exciting. The Trolley Problem vs 12 Days (the first time) was also the poll with the most notes, which makes sense as people REALLY fought for their favourite. It is clear that all these episodes are incredible (look at me not slagging off 12 days! Ah fuck, now I have), but alas, only one can be crowned the winner in the end!

I have already mentioned two of these above, but let’s have a look at the most and least interacted with polls. 

Top 3 most interacted with polls: 

The Trolley Problem vs 12 Days of Christine (first time) (40 notes)

The Trial of Elizabeth Gadge vs The Bill (28 notes)

The Stakeout vs Simon Says (26 notes)

Top 3 least interacted with polls:

Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room vs Nine Lives Kat (12 notes)

The Trolley Problem vs 12 Days of Christine (second time) (13 notes)

Thinking out Loud vs Boo to a Goose (14 notes)

At the risk of repeating myself, the top 3 are clearly episodes where people were very passionate about which episode should win, whereas the bottom 3 are ones where people just voted without trying to convince others. 

Though it is very funny to see the difference between TP vs 12 Days first time and second time. People truly gave up (a little sad). 

Lastly, scores per season! 

Top 9 seasons: 

- Season 4 (237 votes, 2 winning episodes) - 59 votes per episode

^ Season 3 (229 votes, 3 winning episodes) - 57 votes per episode 

^ Season 8 (109 votes, 1 winning episodes) - 55 votes per episode

- Season 1 (161 votes, 1 winning episodes) - 54 votes per episode

- Season 2 (264 votes, 2 winning episodes) - 53 votes per episode

v Season 9 (242 votes, 3 winning episodes) - 48 votes per episode

v Season 7 (144 votes, 1 winning episodes) - 48 votes per episode

v Season 5 (129 votes, 1 winning episodes) - 43 votes per episode

- Season 6 (30 votes, 0 winning episodes) - 30 votes per episode

Some clarification on these results; 

^ means this season has gone up in ranking compared to last round

 - means the episode is in the same position as last round

v means the episode has gone down in ranking compared to last round

The votes per episode is calculated by taking the total amount of votes for that season, divided by the amount of episodes still in the running for that season (hence why the total votes for season 6 is 30, and the votes per episode is 30. All 30 of these votes were for Simon Says). 

The amount of winning episodes is the amount of episodes that won in round 2. This means that for round 3, four different seasons will only have 1 episode still in the running. 

For season 2 and 9 I have calculated the total and average using both the original TP vs 12 Days AND the rematch (hence why the total votes for those two seasons are higher than for the others, but the votes per episode aren’t).

Season 9 and season 7 seemingly have the same amount of votes per episode, but this is merely because I rounded it to a whole number. The reason season 9 ranks above season 7 is because (to 1d.p.) the votes per episodes are: season 9 - 48.4, and season 7 - 48.0. 

Congrats! You’ve made it to the end of my ramblings! I hope you enjoyed, feel free to add thoughts/questions/comments to this post, and do not worry, I have already started my spreadsheet for round 3! 

:)

[bri-cheeses]

Fiercely and obsessively (wrapped around your finger) — Part 9

| Rosekiller Soulmate AU | Previous part is here | Word Count: 1,139 |

-

The Shrieking Shack was an odd place, but one couldn’t deny that it was interesting. Barty could at least give it that, considering it’s lean and twisting frame, broken windows, and overall foreboding presence as he made his way closer, stopping at the fence that kept any onlookers at a safe distance away. He could kind of understand what drew Evan to it, just a little bit, its cold atmosphere at odds with the sunny day.

“You know,” said Barty, still gazing at the house, “I’ve never known why it’s called the Shrieking Shack.”

Behind him, he heard a stick crunch as Evan came to stand beside him. He leaned his forearms against the fence and began to speak.

“Well, they say that every night on the full moon, screams come from inside it. Hence the name Shrieking Shack. The townspeople think it’s ghosts, but I don’t think so.”

“What do you think it is?” Barty asked, curious. He didn’t bother looking back at the shack—no, his full focus was on Evan.

“I don’t know,” Evan said. “But not ghosts.”

“Not ghosts,” Barty murmured.

And maybe it was the way the sunlight was lighting up Evan’s hair, or maybe it was the way his eyes were shining with ideas, or maybe it was simply the fact that Evan was here, right next to him, after having been acting strangely for days, but Barty couldn’t help himself from lifting his hand. It felt as if watching from underwater as he reached out towards Evan, not even sure what he was about to do, just that Evan was there and that he wanted him to be closer—

“What are you doing?!”

Barty recoiled back.

“I—”

“No. Why did you do that?” Evan’s voice was filled with fear, and his eyes were darting from Barty’s face to his hand and back again. And really, wasn’t that an overreaction? It wasn’t as if Barty was doing anything bad or malicious, and yet Evan was acting as if he had caught him swinging a knife toward him.

Anger rose up suddenly and viciously, coating his throat and words as he retorted, “I could ask you the same exact thing! You’ve been doing that for days! Every time I get even slightly close to you, you leap back like I’m about to bite! It’s insane, Evan.”

“Oh, I’m insane, am I?”

“Yes, you are!”

Evan’s nostrils flared. “Really? What’s your evidence?”

“This! ” Barty placed both hands flat on Evan’s chest—or, he tried to, except Evan got to him first, shoving him backwards. Barty stumbled back several steps, glaring at Evan.

“Get off me,” Evan snapped. His chest was heaving like he had run a long distance, and for some reason, that made Barty even angrier.

“Oh?” Barty said, and took a step forward. Evan took a step back. “Does this bother you?” He took another step.

“Leave me alone,” Evan snarled at him. And then started to turn around to leave.

And that was the final straw for Barty.

He darted forward and fisted a hand in the side of Evan’s shirt, preventing him from running off.

What it didn’t prevent Evan from was violently whirling around and shoving Barty back with all the strength that being absolutely, irrevocably furious gave him.

Barty barely had time to process it before his feet were falling out from under him, and no matter how much he scrambled for a foothold, there was nothing that he could do to keep from falling.

And Evan, whose shirt was still in Barty’s hands, couldn’t do anything to keep from falling either.

Evan’s hands shot out to break his fall, but Barty hit the ground, hard. The breath left him all in one go, and he couldn’t even muster up the triumph that came with knowing that Evan was finally touching him and not immediately running off.

Evan’s soft “Oh,” drew Barty’s gaze straight to his face. And again, the breath left him.

Evan was practically lying on top of him, the only thing keeping them from being fully in contact being his hands, which bracketed either side of Barty’s arms. Evan’s eyes were pinned on Barty’s, his mouth slightly open, and he was so close that Barty could count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

A hush fell over them as they lay there, staring at each other in silence. It was like a sorcerer had put them under some spell, one that Barty didn’t feel much like disrupting.

All at once, however, that magical spell was broken as Evan seemingly realized something and scrambled up off of him, backing away like a cornered animal.

“No,” he said. “No, no, no no no no no no—”

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, breathing hard, but his muttering didn’t stop.

“No no no no—”

“Evan?” Barty asked, worried. He pushed up onto his hands, confused and taken aback by the sudden change in atmosphere. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Evan was… afraid. “What is it?”

Evan closed his eyes even tighter. “No no no—”

“Evan!” Barty said. He was starting to get seriously worried, and it reflected in his tone. Yet Evan still didn’t stop his mantra.

And so Barty shoved himself up and approached Evan slowly, murmuring, “Hey. It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong, okay?”

Evan shook his head sharply. His eyes were still closed.

“Evan?” Barty asked, and cautiously placed his hands on Evan’s shoulders.

Evan’s eyes flew open and latched onto Barty’s face as if it were a lifeline.

Barty searched his expression for understanding, but all he found was a terrible, bone deep fear and a horrible sense of regret. Whatever Evan’s problem was, it was taking a huge toll on him.

“What is it?” Barty demanded. “Who did this?”

“I—” Evan hesitated, but he couldn’t finish his sentence. Barty repressed the impulse to shake him by the shoulders and demand to know what was wrong, to know how he could help and make him feel better.

“What is it?” Barty asked softly. Evan sucked in a shuddering breath, and then, like it pained him, moved his eyes from Barty’s face. Barty watched in confusion as Evan slowly dropped his gaze to Barty’s arm.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he breathed, then launched himself into Barty’s arms. He burrowed his face into Barty’s neck and started laughing, sounding a bit hysterical as he hiccuped and clung to Barty. Barty could do nothing but wrap his arms even tighter around him.

“Hey, uh,” he said, “not that I’m not enjoying this, but what’s going on?”

Evan pulled back, looking at Barty through red rimmed—yet happy—eyes. Wordlessly, Evan brought his left arm down and rotated it to show him his forearm, where Barty knew his soulmate mark was.

Except Evan’s soulmate mark was no longer black.

-

(Part 10 is here)

[thekneethief]

kleya and luthen conversation transcripts: season 2 [arc 3-4]

typed these up for me and @agentsofquack to have on hand and thought people might also appreciate having them for quick reference needs! [S1] [S2 Pt.1] (speaker alternates on line breaks and brackets indicate an action)

Season 2, Episode 9: Welcome To The Rebellion | 17:50-18:30

"She threw him out. We don't know if she's speaking, what she'll say, or how they'll react. All we know about Bail Organa's team is that there's something wrong. It's hardly ideal. There's no choice but to try."

"We have nothing. He's never even been inside."

"Erskin knows the building."

"Putting a lot of faith in Erskin."

"Mothma knows the building."

"And doesn't trust me. And doesn't know him. Bail's people might be there already."

(Cassian) "And? If she gets arrested?"

"It all comes down."

~

Season 2, Episode 10: Make It Stop | 4:32-5:12

"Tell me you're ready."

"We'll meet at the old steps."

"There was construction the last time I went through."

"We don't have time for alternatives. Keep your distance."

"I will if you will. [sigh] Look, going like this is risky enough. Just promise me if it doesn't look perfect, you won't engage."

"I think we used up all the perfect. …..Move."

"..Tuck your shirt in."

~

Season 2, Episode 10: Make It Stop | 9:37-10:15

"Ghorman. Scarif. Kyber. Krennic. Erso."

"Galen Erso. Galen."

"Engineer Galen Erso. Super weapon. Based in Scarif. Fuel from Ghorman. Kyber from Jedha. ISB Krennic. Galen Erso."

"And you know where to go?"

"..No. [inhale] No, no. I'm doing the comms-"

"No, you're not."

"I'll be faster."

"I'll do the burn."

"Luthen-"

"Please don't argue. Just be waiting for me. Just be there. …Go."

~

Season 2, Episode 10: Make It Stop | 31:10-31:50

"Well done."

"Am I your daughter now?"

"When it's useful."

"I have to think about that."

"We'll be whoever we have to. It won't always be up to us. I'm Luthen now. You're Kleya. Everything else is up for grabs. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset. Just hungry."

"[holds up credits] Let's eat."

~

Season 2, Episode 10: Make It Stop | 34:56-35:40

"When do we start fighting back?"

"We have."

"By walking away?"

"We fight to win. That means we lose. And lose and lose and lose… until we're ready. All you know now is how much you hate. You bank that. You hide that. You keep it alive until you know what to do with it. And when I tell you to move, you move. Move!"

~

Season 2, Episode 10: Make It Stop | 37:26-40:15

"How many do you think there are?"

"Fifty. Maybe more. You're not eating. It's a beautiful place."

"How long do we have?"

"Look around."

"I knew you'd do this."

"Think about where you are."

"You're backing out."

"You need to pay attention. Life shows us what we stand to lose. Most people look away. We can't be like that. Look at me. You need to accept what you're leaving behind."

"All right. We're here. It's a pretty place. None of that matters right now. You're just being sad."

"I need to know you're making a choice. I lived most of my life.. without ever realizing that was a possibility."

"You're afraid."

"I'm only afraid of what I'm doing to you."

"I know what I want."

"[places detonator down] Do it."

"You think I won't?"

"You have every right."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because today, it's real."

"You promised."

"I lie. Get used to it."

"[goes to push detonator]"

"[stops her] Don't. [pushes detonator] ..Look at me! ..And turn. We'll be leaving now. We made our choice."

[the-robot-bracket]

Alright here is the Poll layout. These are the characters

Bracket Green Round 2 (27th of July):

Dummy (Iron Man) vs Deckard (The Brave Police J-Decker)

E-123 Omega (Sonic) vs Chassis Wheatley (Portal)

Intelligence Core (Portal) vs Angela (Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina)

PS5 (Inside Your Brain/Meme) vs Soprano Turret (Portal) vs Anger Core (Portal)

Chibi-Robo (Chibi-Robo) vs E-102 Gamma (Sonic)

Screwbots (Rhythm Heaven) vs Digit (Cyberchase)

Sentry Turret (Portal) vs Cave Johnson Core (Lego Dimensions/Portal)

Megatron (Transformers) vs Optimus Prime (Transformers)

Bracket Blue Round 2 (3rd of August):

Markus (Detroit: Become Human) vs Wet Floor Bots (FNaF)

Computer (Courage the Cowardly Dog) vs Arcee (Transformers Prime)

Robot Mr. Krabs (Spongebob Squarepants) vs The Cogs (ToonTown)

Emmy (Emmy the Robot) vs Brainstorm (Transformers IDW)

Fi (Legend of Zelda) vs Tom Servo (Mystery Science Theatre 3000)

Frankenturret (Portal) vs Skipper (Legend of Zelda)

9 (9) vs Hyperforce (Superhero Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go! )

Sun (FNaF) vs Lore (Star Trek)

Bracket Purple Round 2 (10th of August):

Daleks (Doctor Who) vs Min-Droid (Ninjago)

Tlacey's ComfortUnit (The Murderbot Diaries) vs Atlas & P-Body (Portal)

Erek King (Animorphs) vs Shockwave (Transformers)

Cabinet Man (Spirit Phone) vs Sari (Transformers Animated)

Cait Sith (Final Fantasy 7) vs S.C.O.U.T. (Murder by Numbers)

Momo (Stray) vs CNMN (Hi-Fi Rush)

Cobalt (Astro Boy) vs Every Irken (Invader Zim)

Magearna (Pokemon) vs House (Invader Zim)

Bracket Red Round 2 (17th of August):

Bumblebee (Transformers) vs Calculon (Futurama)

Animal King Turret (Portal) vs Al Turo & Al Sada (Pokemon)

Blitzwing (Transformers Animated) vs Doris (Meet the Robinsons)

Abomoton (The Owl House) vs Zenyatta (Overwatch)

Sky-Byte (Transformers) vs Jimmy the Robot (The Aquabots!)

Dinobot (Transformers Beast Wars) vs B1-0516 (Star Wars)

V2 (Ultrakill) vs Fact Core (Portal)

Lisa Basil (Ace Attorney) vs Juice (17776)