#cleanly? is that a word?? i don't think it is but whatever. you get my point. his sound is clean as hell.

[houseofwolvess]

i fucking love ii. oh my god. im sorry but he's genuinely so fucking cool and im losing it

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 1

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Notes: Descriptions of DA scenario, mentions of drug use

Part 2

You tried to go over every thing you did throughout your day that might've caused your boyfriend to be so upset but couldn't think of anything. Maybe it was because you didn't stay up to wait for him to get home last night, even though you gave him till midnight. Or maybe you left some dishes in the sink that he had to clean up.

Either way, his anger was inconsolable and you knew better than to even utter a word as he slammed the doors and walked around the house with a hard set scowl on his face. You just took shelter in the kitchen as you nervously cleaned out the fridge, tossing the expired condiments away.

"This house is always such a fucking mess! You spend at least half the day here, you'd think it would look spotless!"

You knew he wasn't really mad about the cleanliness. You deep cleaned the house every single day till it was shining, he was just projecting. You weren't sure whether to respond to his outburst or just let it go but didn't even have time to make a decision once he came walking into the kitchen. The hairs on the back of your neck raised and your face heated up in anxiety as he stood there staring at you.

That's when you noticed the all too familiar state he was in. Dilated pupils, rapid breathing, slight sweat forming around his brows. He was high.

"What are you doing, huh? Throwing shit away? He said, grabbing the box of leftovers you had saved from a few days ago. "What if I still wanted to eat this? Were you going to bother to ask me?"

"I- uh- it's from a few days ago. I didn't think-

"Exactly! You didn't think! Just fucking throwing away whatever you want!"

You weren't expecting the box of expired food to be thrown at you, hitting you square in the chest, sticky noodles getting in your hair and falling into your lap.

"This is my fucking house! My fucking food! You don't get to throw away anything unless I say you can!"

You had barely recovered from food being thrown at you, you didn't realize he made a moved in on you and grabbing your arm tightly, jerking you up to your feet and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchen, the momentum causing you to lose your footing and fall to the floor.

Your senses were kicking into overdrive as you scrambled to your feet just as he grabbed a jar of pickles and launched it in your direction. It shattered on the wall besides you and you felt the sharp pain of small glass pieces cutting your skin.

You had never seen him this out of control before. There was something behind his eyes that scared you more than normal and you knew you needed to get out of his path of blinding rage. You made a run towards the hallway, him chasing you close behind but you managed to close and lock the bathroom door just in time.

"Oh, you wanna play this game now? Ok."

Your breaths were heavy, so much adrenaline flowing through your veins it almost made you woozy. There was a moment of silence, making you think he had walked away but was completely mistaken once you watched the whole door shake at the impact as he attempted to break it down. Another slam and you saw small cracks forming in the middle of the only thing keeping you safe.

You made a split second decision to escape through the window, sliding it open and trying your best to undo the screen that didn't want to cooperate. Another slam.

You looked behind you at the battered door and knew it could only hold maybe one more before he was able to get through- so like a rat trapped in a corner, you began banging on the screen until it popped off, quickly pulling your body to climb out, scraping your hips on the ledge in the process.

The gravel floor did no favors for you as you landed awkwardly, but at this point you couldn't feel anything. Or at least your brain wasn't giving you any time to register the pain. Springing to your feet, you ran out to the front of the house, your first thought to take the car but realized the keys were inside.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing on his porch going through his mail, seemingly looking like he had just gotten home from somewhere. You had heard rumors from some of the neighbors that he worked for the government or something, giving you some hope.

You began running over to him, not daring to look back to see if your boyfriend was chasing you or not.

He has seen you coming over and immediately looked concerned, putting his mail back in the mailbox and practically catching you in his arms once you reached him.

"Please. Help me- my boyfriend. H-he's gonna kill me."

You were crying now, trying to form sentences when he asked you what happened but couldn't.

When you spotted your boyfriend walk out the front door of your house and look over in your direction, a bat in hand your heart stopped.

"Please. Please," you pleaded, hiding behind his tall frame and holding onto his quarter zip for dear life.

"Here, get inside," he said, opening his front door, the both of you entering as he walked over to his kitchen counter where a gun, badge and handcuffs were set. He grabbed the gun and cuffs, clipping both of them on his waist band and turning to you.

"Stay here."

You nodded obediently and watched him walked back out. He didn't close the door so you were able to watch everything from the moment your boyfriend began waving the bat around crazily towards your neighbor to him pulling out his gun and pointing it at him.

"Get down on the ground!"

For a second you thought your boyfriend wasn't going to listen as he stared at your neighbor with fury but seemed to be coherent enough to drop the bat and put his hands in the air, looking over at you.

"Just you wait, bitch. You'll get yours."

By now, everyone was either peeping through their windows or standing on the sidewalk, nosey to see what all the commotion was about as your neighbor pushed your boyfriend to the floor and handcuffed him.

It wasn't long before multiple cop cars showed up, taking over the scene. Your neighbor made his way over to you and offered you a hand, making you realize that you were sitting on the floor, frozen to the spot, hugging your legs.

"The officers are going to want a report but I want you checked out by the paramedics first."

You took his hand but relied all on him to pull you up as your legs felt like jello. The feeling of relief and sadness overtook you as you fell into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Instead of being pushed away and teased for it like you were used to, you got pulled in tighter and long strong arms wrapped around you, enveloping you in a warm protective embrace.

He let you cry like that for a little until you calmed down enough to walk with him outside to the ambulance that was waiting. He didn't leave as they had you climb inside and lay on the stretcher so one of the paramedics could clean up the small cuts around your arm caused by the glass jar.

"How long have you lived there?" he asked, from besides you on the bench. You hoped he didn't feel guilty for not catching the abuse sooner.

"Not very long. He's been there for years but I just moved in about a few months ago. I don't usually leave the house since I work from home so that's probably why you didn't see me too often," you answered, wincing as the antiseptic touched your raw skin.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Hotchner....I'm actually busy at the moment but you can reach out to my Communications liason, Jennifer Jareau at the office....yes of course....goodbye."

"So you're names Hotchner?" you inquired, wanting to talk about something to keep your mind off the stinging pain.

"Aaron. Hotchners my last name."

"Nice to meet you Aaron. I'm Y/N," you greeted, offering your hand for a shake. He took it with a small smile and shook it gently.

"I wish it was under different circumstances but I'm glad you're safe."

"Thanks to you. I appreciate you by the way. You handled the situation really well."

He did that half smile again and played with his hands, almost nervously.

"Well unfortunately I deal with a lot of high stress situations like that so it was almost second nature."

"Cop?" you prodded, wanting to know if there was any truth to the rumors.

"FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit to be specific."

He didn't go into anymore detail than that but that was more than enough for you. So he's an Federal Agent. You literally couldn't have picked a better neighbor to run to.

- - - -

After the paramedic was done cleaning you up and you gave your report to the officer, Aaron came over, hanging up the phone.

"I know the house is technically not yours but he won't be back anytime soon and I'm sure you need to get cleaned up and everything. I'm gonna give you my card, I wrote my personal cell number in case you need anything but also feel free to come over if my car is in the driveway."

You took the card, reading his slightly sloppy writing and nodded with a smile.

"Thank you again Aaron. Really, you're a lifesaver."

He pulled you in for another hug, surprising you but you accepted it happily.

"No strenuous activity until those cuts and bruises heal," he advised seriously, making you laugh. You both pulled away and it took you a second to actually walk away, not really wanting to leave the comfort of his safe presence but you did and went back into the house, ignoring all of the mess and taking a long needed shower, thinking about everything that happened.

[lovelybarnes]

dog tags- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: language? umm crimes about: rewrite!! wanted to get back into writing and i thought rewriting some of my favorite prompts would be fun, PF12 “committing crimes” + DH8 “how dumb can you be?” a/n: hello! i meant to post this like. five days ago LMAO but i started school and should be doing work right now and i came up with a false memory claiming i did, in fact post, when i, in fact, did not. anyway. here it is. i don't know how much better it is than the original but i had fun writing it, though, surprise! i still suck at endings. ummm i am thinking or rewriting more to get back into the groove and i am writing an actual new request. this got long okay thank you

"We're going to get caught."

You shoot Bucky a look, nose wrinkled. "You are so negative," you say, legs kicking as you climb over a fence. "We are not going to get caught." You watch as he leaps from the ground, metal hand grasping the top of the fence and launching his body over it cleanly. He lands crouched and stable, watching you slowly turn your body over the ledge and subsequently topple onto the ground.

"We're gonna go to jail," he sighs, bending over to hoist you onto your feet by your armpits. Your hair has leaves in it.

"Oh my god." You stumble, hands wrapping around his arms from the speed. "How the fuck do you—"

You shriek when Bucky spins you around to press your back against his chest and clamps a palm over your mouth, gentle even through the fingers keeping your lips shut. Your eyes widen cartoonishly, flailing as he manhandles you behind a shrub. You're still complaining to the best of your ability when he shushes you, directing your attention to the woman walking out of the house.

You quiet down and stare, brows furrowed. She's not supposed to be there.

It's like Bucky can read your mind, glancing at you with a sigh. You try your best to give him a look back before looking at the woman again. She has a phone pressed against her ear, lips moving angrily. Her voice upticks sharply with the end of each word she says.

You relax when you realize there isn't a chance of you getting caught, kind of wishing you had popcorn to watch her nearly trip over her heels and become even more furious, kicking at the grass. Bucky's silent enough for you to seriously doubt you'd know he was there had he not been tightly wrapped around you. You squeak at the fact, impressed. Bucky pinches your side unhelpfully.

She unlocks her car, keys tinkling harshly with her movements. Bucky finally abates when she throws her door open and sinks inside her white Jaguar, the slamming door narrowly missing her pin-straight blonde hair.

You gag, pushing his hand away. "When was the last time you washed your fucking hands? That's disgus-"

"I thought the house was empty," he interrupts, head cocked.

"I thought it was, too," you defend lamely. "She's off schedule. Maybe that's why she was so pissed. Late to her HOES meeting or whatever."

"What the hell is HOES?"

"I don't know!" you cry. "The one with the lawns."

"Are you trying to say the HOA?"

You quirk an eyebrow. "James Buchanan showing his face?"

"This is not-" He sighs your name, "I swear, if any more of your information isn't right, I'm leaving."

You make an incredulous look. "Is that supposed to be a threat? You were not invited."

"I wanted to make sure you didn't die or get sued or go to jail. Which, hey, really likely in a neighborhood that has 'HOES' meetings."

"I'm not gonna 'die' or go to 'jail,'" you insist, finger quotes up and perplexing Bucky. "I don't need your help, anyway, I'm a very capable person with a very capable plan. You just followed me. You're some guy's little brother."

"What?"

"You know. Annoying."

Bucky breathes in slow, watching you creep around the bush for a better angle of the house. He closes his eyes and counts to three, and when he opens them, you're at the porch, tiptoeing like a fuckin' cartoon character into the house and leaving the door open. Spectacular.

He sprints inside inconspicuously, head darting both ways just in case before he closes the door. When he turns, there's an alarm system set up that lazily blinks green. No disturbances. Huh. He glances at you, impressed for a very quick second when he sees you snooping in a cabinet, clueless to the huge dog growling behind you.

He stills immediately, breath slowing. He stares at you and tries his best to make you feel it, but it either goes wrong or he fails entirely when you drop a file, groaning loudly at the injustice of it. The dog twitches. Bucky's heart jumps into his throat.

You're halfway into an inelegant bend when you spot him, face breaking into a smile. Fuck, he thinks. You're pretty even when you're going insane. "Hey! You're finally here. Look at—"

He shoots you a warning look, moving his lips as little as he can. "There's a dog." He glances between it and you, thinking every move ahead to avoid a nasty bite and the failure of your stupid mission.

"Oh my god, Brutus?" You spin too fast, startling the dog both from with your movements and apparent knowledge of his name. 'Brutus' makes a noise between a growl and a whine. You gasp, a palm pressing against your lips. "Brutus, I thought they retired you!"

You drop down to your knees, opening your arms wide. Brutus stares at you for a second, inching closer to sniff you apprehensively. Then, his ears tuck and he whimpers, tail tucked and wagging gently as he walks closer to you.

"You... know the dog."

"Yes, I know the dog," you start, voice careening into a higher, softer pitch as you rub the pads of your fingers behind Brutus' ears. "Brutus has been the guard dog here for two years. I fostered her for a little while until she was adopted but I kept in touch." Brutus licks your cheek, making you squeal. "Her name was originally Poppy but they wanted a scary name." You roll your eyes.

Bucky shoots you a look.

"I sort of spied on them for a few months to make sure she was doing well," you rub her ear, "and she was, yes she was," you baby-talk. "Her owners have shit values but they really spoil their dogs."

"Wow. Okay. One question—the people we are stealing from know you?"

"Yeah, they have my number."

Bucky pinches the skin between his brows.

"Good girl, Poppy, protecting the house from evil intruders," you coo.

Bucky looks at the clock and then you, slowly lowering yourself further to pet Brutus-Poppy. He nudges you with his foot. Poppy growls at him. "Hey. Fellow evil intruder. She's gonna be back at some point."

"Not for another hour at least. Nat's in charge of the distraction." Still, you press a loud kiss to Poppy's head and stand.

"I'm an overachiever. Let's leave ample time."

"Fine," you say loudly, arms swinging petulantly at your side. "I'll make it quick. You're such a bore."

"Yeah, yeah. What are we looking for anyway?"

You use a pencil to look between books and couch cushions, humming distractedly. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Buck." You wink.

Bucky's cheeks pink against his will, shaking it off as quickly as he can as he watches you look around. You pause in the middle of the room, do a full spin, and sigh. "Not here."

Bucky frowns but trails after you into another room, Poppy close behind. You open the door grandiosely to a giant room. "Wow."

"Okay, I know what you said, but you kind of need to tell me so I can help you find it," he says. You ignore him, striding toward a desk and pulling open a drawer. He says your name exasperatedly. You observe a notebook, shaking it vigorously before tossing it over your shoulder. Other items follow in quick succession, which he catches amidst his frustration. "What are you—you're going to break something—" He catches a crystal ball.

"I'm not, I know what I'm doing," you insist. "You are so pessimistic. Have faith." You dig in a little further before grumbling, rising to your feet and kicking a chair down. "I'm going to look in another room," you say and take off, leaving Bucky with an armful of miscellaneous objects to put back. He screws his eyes shut and counts to three.

You walk down the hallway quickly, peeking into the rooms until you find what you're looking for. Three doors in, you stop, scanning the walls until you find a hideous painting hung up next to a dusty bookshelf. You make a triumphant noise and stride toward it, running your fingers along the frame until you find the indentations of a security panel.

"Aha! And, if I remember correctly..." You enter 1234 and the painting swings open to reveal a safe. "Losers."

You count silently as you unlock the safe, laughing in triumph when you beat Natasha's record. Keeping the door open with an outstretched finger, you contort to find a pen, holding the cap between your teeth as you scrawl your time on the inside of your wrist, giggling in the anticipation of letting her know.

You turn your attention back to the safe after you've written a few wobbly exclamation points, rifling around until you find what you're looking for. Your fingers dig through a dark box filled with stolen valuables, a grin on your face when your fingers get tangled in the one you're looking for, eyebrows jumping in satisfaction as you tuck it safely into your pocket. You stick your head in the safe again, searching for something shiny to throw in Sam's face when Bucky bursts in.

"Oh, hey, do you think Sam would—"

"They're here."

Cursing, you shove everything into place, closing the safe and carefully moving the picture back. You step back and grimace. "God, that's ugly."

He says your name urgently, wrapping his hand around your wrist and dragging you away, throwing you over his shoulder when you keep lagging behind. You squeak, clamping your mouth shut when Bucky squeezes your thigh in warning.

He dumps you out of an open window and into a bush, rolling himself out onto cropped grass. "Okay, I think that was unnecessary," you mumble, crawling out next to him. There are lines of bubbling red all over your skin from what was apparently a rose bush.

"We have to hurry before the gate closes," he huffs, lifting the both of you up with ease and hurrying to the slimming entrance. You squeeze out unseen and stop at the beginning of the blind spot you came in through. Bucky's huffing when he puts you down.

"What's wrong? I thought you had super high stamina or something," you tease, poking at his shoulder. Bucky glares at you. You laugh and reach for his hand, beckoning him enticingly with your fingers. He appeases you suspiciously, capturing your hand in his. He squeezes and rubs a soft line up and down near your thumb.

"Let's go home," you say.

Bucky blinks. "What?"

"Let's go home. I'm hungry. And I kind of want to take a nap. Can we stop by and pick up some ramen?" You tug at his arm gently, beginning the trek to Bucky's bike down the path without surveillance. "Breaking and entering really wears me out," you say to his furrowed brows.

"Don't forget robbery," he muses.

"Right. Breaking, entering, and robbery really wears me out," you say with a laugh. You turn to him and grin, eyes sparkling.

Bucky stops, staying in place when you pull at him and whine. "What was it?"

You cock your head.

"What did you want to steal so badly?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking at him thoughtfully. "I'll tell you if you give me a piggyback ride," you proffer, wagging your brows.

Bucky rolls his eyes but crouches down, holding onto your index finger as you climb onto his back.

He readjusts you as he stands to full height, wrists twisting under your knees and holding your calves tight but kindly. You hum, one arm falling over his chest and the other dipping into your pocket, unzipping it and taking out the chain. You wrap it around your fingers delicately and rest your chin on his head, looking at it dangling from your hands.

Bucky begins to walk. "So?"

Your thumb draws wonky hearts on Bucky's chest, tracing the letters on the tags with your other one. "Do you remember how disappointed you were when you came back and your dog tags had been auctioned off? It was the one thing you couldn't get back because it wasn't in that museum." You feel Bucky nod. "Well, I've been looking for them," you confess, pursing your lips. "I didn't want to tell you because you'd tell me to stop and that it didn't matter but I know it did—I know it does.

"A few months ago, I found out who bought them and I tried to buy them back, but these assholes wouldn't budge no matter how much I offered—or anyone, I impersonated a lot of people. I think they just wanted to keep them because other people wanted them. And the things they said about you..." You shake your head, feeling yourself going hot with anger.

Bucky squeezes your leg, muttering your name.

You stop yourself, letting your face slant so your cheek rests on his hair. He smells sweet like your shampoo. Fucker. "So, anyway, I did the obvious thing: I tracked them down and broke into their house to get it back. It's not like the tags are theirs, anyway."

Bucky stops abruptly, jolting you. You yelp, complaining as he puts you down and stares at you.

"You did—this was to get my dog tags?"

You look back at him. "Yes? I didn't—"

He cuts you off, pulling you into a hug so tight, you cough. Your arms hang limply in surprise for a second before they come up to reciprocate, a dazed but still eager arm rubbing the line of his shoulder blade. Bucky hugs you a little tighter. "Thank you," he murmurs. "I don't think anyone... I don't know many people that would do that for me."

"Oh," you say, blinking fast. "I—of course I would. I love you, Bucky, you... I would do anything for you."

"Fuck," he says wetly, pulling away to hold your face in both hands. He smiles at you. One of those real ones that crinkle his eyes. "You're—fuck—"

You laugh, his hands falling away to your shoulders.

"I'm sorry you didn't get them back after you went through all that trouble."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean? You think I didn't get them?" You raise your hand to his view, dog tags dangling. "Your faith in me is shocking."

Bucky grabs the tags and you let them go easily, watching his hands turning them around slowly, index running along his name. JAMES B. BARNES. Then, two lines down, R. BARNES. "I can't believe you did this for me," he says softly.

You smile. "Well, believe it, baby," you tell him, gently teasing. Your wring your hands together. "Of course I did," you say, quieter.

When he looks back up at you, his eyes are shiny. "Thank you." He glances down at them once more and splits the chain with a finger to pull it on your neck. "Hold on to them for me?"

You pause. "Bucky..."

"Just until we get to the compound. You'll keep it safe for me."

You keep it safe for much longer than that.

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 18- Love is a Verb, Love is a Doing Word

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: The ball took forever to get rolling but here it is. Took Reader and Val long enough for their relationship to develop in a positive direction. I almost feel bad for what's in store. Almost. Also I think this might actually be my favourite chapter. Nothing too important happens but I just think my writing is good here.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH19.), Dual POV

Valeria feels silly for thinking the crack house would have a functioning AC. It's supposed to get cooler at night but inside the house it feels like hell itself is burning brimstone behind the walls. Valeria is on the bed, sticky with sweat. She's changed into a tank top and shorts, showing off the muscles in her legs and arms. She forgoes a bra and suddenly you make much more eye contact than usual.

With how hot it is, she's not shocked to find you doing the same, though she notices you kept your bra. A funny thing to do since she's already seen you naked but whatever makes you more comfortable. She groans as she lays down, trying to find a comfortable position. The mattress is too firm and despite the shit she gave you for being so uppity about the cleanliness, she's finding herself discomforted by the mysterious stains beneath her.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, hunched with fatigue. Your skin is still damp from the shower you had. The sight makes Valeria feel even more hot. No one likes being sweaty but the idea of being scantily clad, sweaty, and sharing a small bed with you isn't so awful. She stares at you for awhile before speaking.

"Good idea sitting there," Valeria says. "Don't want to get too close to me, I bite."

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder, that annoyed expression she adores plastered all over your face. "It's common practice to put down dogs unable to keep their teeth to themselves." You reply.

Amusement bubbles up in her chest.

"I like you better like this." She comments. "It's better than that sulky attitude you've had all week."

You frown and turn back around. "It's difficult not to have an attitude when the woman you work for is so rude." You mutter. "I don't feel liked or respected here."

Valeria finds herself mimicking your frown, playful attitude evaporating. She's never been one to care about how she makes other people feel, she just simply doesn't have the capacity for it. Though she can feel the inklings of empathy stirring in her somewhere. Like dull flashes of light in the dark. "Because I... don't let you get away with everything?" She asks.

You sigh.

"No, Valeria." You reply. "Because you're cruel, and unnecessarily rude to me... being called replaceable doesn't make me want to be better it makes me want to put less effort in."

Valeria listens to you. She didn't mean it when she said it. Truthfully, even if you were, she doesn't want to replace you. "I don't think you're replaceable." She sits up, eyes roving over your back.

"Stop that." You snap suddenly, turning to face her. Your eyes glint with anger. Valeria furrows her brows, she doesn't understand what she did this time. What could you possibly be mad at her for now?

"Stop what?" She asks with aggravation, running a hand through her hair.

"Playing games with me." You say. "You act all... nice one day and then like a jerk the next. I don't understand the push and pull shit you're doing, is it fun to you? Are you that much of a sociopath that the only way to amuse yourself is by playing with the feelings of other people?" You go off on her with a surprising amount of passion.

Valeria sits there, a little stunned. You standing up to her is nothing new, and she does like it when you do. When your fire feeds off of hers, but there's nothing fun about this squabble.

"I'm not playing games with you." She says finally. Disappointed with her own lackluster response. You roll your eyes. "I'm not." She insists.

"Good, because I'm not playing either."

Valeria hesitates. This is usually where her relationships come to an end. When her partner begins to feel unloved by her and she always without fail lets them go. Because Valeria sees how far she can push people. To see if they'll leave like she believes they will. If they do, they didn't love her enough. You two aren't together but the principle still stands. 

Valeria doesn't want this to end though. Not before it's even started. She slowly reaches out and puts a hand on your shoulder, your skin feeling like fire.

"I'm not good at being good." She says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of doing good things. All of the kind things I've said to you were true. I meant them. You are important and valuable... I like having you around."

You furrow your brows, the harsh lighting of the ceiling light casting dark shadows under your eyes. "Then why do you treat me so badly?" You ask quietly. 

Valeria stares back. "Because I don't know how to behave around you." She admits.

You shake your head and Valeria realizes that's not the answer you wanted. She's not sure what you want. She isn't sure what to say. Valeria feels helpless for the first time in years. She's forgotten that feeling. 

"I like you." She says, feeling foolish for uttering such simple words to describe such an unsimple feeling. She grows frustrated the longer you don't respond. She reaches out and gently takes ahold of your jaw, making you face her.

Valeria is supposed to say more, explain herself and her feelings but her mind draws a blank. She's never felt more like an idiot. Her eyes drift to your lips for a split second. You're such an inconvenience. Her life was much simpler before you barged your way into it. She inches closer and you don't pull away. Your breath ghosts over her face. Her grip on your shoulder tightens and she leans forward, lightly pressing her lips to yours. She relaxes her shoulders, finding solace in you. Months of pining lifted from her back.

When you kiss back she pulls you closer, wrapping her arms around you tightly. Her hand moves up to cup the back of your head. Your lips moving together in longing. Trading breaths like confessions. It's not a kiss of hunger or lust but of pure, devastating want. Valeria slowly lowers you to your back and cradles your face, disconnecting from you. She lays her head on your chest, listening to your heart. She feels vulnerable and exposed. She has the sudden urge to run and leave you behind before you can pick at the pieces of herself she's kept hidden.

The next morning, Valeria wakes and silently moves off of you. Dressing herself and leaving before you wake up. The events of last night playing on a loop in her mind. The way you felt, the way you tasted, the way it made her feel to be so open. She feels herself doing what she always does when she gets too close to someone. She's downing her second cup of coffee when you wander into the kitchen. You make eye contact before looking away, sensing her trepidation.

The group is sat around the coffee table. Mark has done everyone the favour of attempting to clear it of its ashtrays and stumped blunts. In her peripheral she watches you pluck at loose threads on the old couch.

"Some of my guys they uh, buy the other stuff." Mark says, casting an apologetic glance at Valeria. "But that's a good thing, means we have access to one of this guy's dealers."

"Mhm." Valeria nods for him to contiue.

"We can pay them like fifty each to jump the guy and bring him back." He says, smiling.

"You can pay them, you mean." Alain speaks up. 

Alain is sprawled back in one of the chairs. A bored expression on his face. Mark hesitates. 

"Yeah," He nods, rubbing his neck. "yeah I can pay them."

"Great." Valeria sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Its been a while since she's had a smoke and she's starting to get a headache. She glances at you again before standing and walking out of the room.

She walks out back into the foggy backyard and reaches into her pocket for her pack. She pulls one out and lights it with a hand curled protective around the flame. The backdoor creaks open and you step out. Joining her on the deck. You rest your arms on the rail and stare out at the small yard.

"Did you mean it?" You ask.

She takes a puff before replying. "Mean what?" She mumbles around the cig. 

"The kiss.' you say. "... and liking me. Did you mean it?"

Valeria takes her time in answering. Inhaling, holding, exhaling. "I did." She says. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Do you... regret it?" You ask hesitantly.

Valeria thinks about it. A part of her does, because there's no going back now. "Not entirely." She answers honestly.

She finishes her smoke and throws it to the ground, snubbing it out with her heel.

"I'm not sure where this will go, but I know it won't be easy." She says calmly. She looks at you. "I am not a good person, dear chemist. I've been chasing you for so long but now that I'm catching up I'm worried I'll like the race more than the finish line." Valeria leaves her words to hang in the morning fog as she retreats back inside the house.

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* —| “One Final Time” |—*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters \\ Alastair (he/him), Atlas (he/him)

Come on, don't leave me, it can't be that easy, babe

If you believe me I guess I'll get on a plane

Fly to your city excited to see your face

Hold me, console me and then I'll leave without a trace

The Marias || No One Noticed

· · ──────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────── · ·

TW: Drug use, references to sex, references to suicide

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

This is my final chance. 

Alastair’s hand trembles as he brings his fist up to the door. It’s so plainly recognizable, a door Alastair has passed by too many times to count, longing to step inside, to allow himself to spill the words he so desperately wants to say. The rusted metal, pale and cool, the little markings scratched upon the surface, they’re something he has seen almost a million times by now. Yet standing here, he couldn’t feel more petrified. Can he really do this?

He pauses for a moment before sucking in a sharp breath and allowing his fist to gently fall upon the metal. It reverberates through the silence, almost scaring Alastair off altogether, but he manages to harden his resolve, letting his hand fall down near his side. 

No words are spoken to announce himself. He stays completely silent in fear that if the boy on the other side of the door recognizes it is him, he won’t even bother in opening the door. 

That thought scares him more than this foolish plan of his. 

The door creaks as it slides open, revealing a rough-looking Atlas, body leaned up against the frame, blocking any view of the interior of his room. His hair is matted and probably feels just as greasy as it looks; it’s bare in colour, not holding any of the dye that would previously be found upon his head. His shoulders are slumped and his posture is guarded, dark rings encircling under his eyes. 

The sight causes a queasy feeling to settle inside Alastair’s stomach. This is it. A last desperate attempt. He tries not to squirm but with Atlas’ bloodshot, narrowed eyes on him, he finds it difficult. 

“Hello,” he breathes out. 

Atlas seems hesitant to even respond. His face is tight, eyes gloomy pools of violet. “Uh, hey.” He says reluctantly, raising a brow. The meaning is perfectly clear. What do you want? 

“I was—” Alastair pauses, stealing a moment to swallow thickly. His hands are trembling, despite himself. He’s unsure what he’ll do if he faces rejection. This is what he’s avoided for so long, hasn’t it? How long has it been since he actually really just looked Atlas in the eye. 

“I was hoping I could… spend some time with you.” He cringes at himself, quickly fumbling to add, “If you wanted.” 

The silence that stretches on afterwards feels like an eternity. He blinks, almost as if he is taken aback by the answer. Like the thought of Alastair spending time with him is something entirely foreign, something strange and unusual. Like he can’t possibly compute it. His expression is hard to read — it always is — but Alastair almost thinks he looks nervous; confused. 

And then the spell is broken. He laughs, scoffing a little under his breath, his expression hardening in an instant. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles, shrugging and stepping back to allow Alastair in. “Sure. Whatever.” 

Alastair’s lips pull into a thin line and his brows draw together, something broken panging inside his chest. He doesn’t know why this feels like a rejection already, when Atlas is actually doing the opposite. Doesn’t even know what reaction he has expecting, what he was hoping for. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, ducking his head down. There is a brief hesitation before he steps inside, trying his best to keep a neutral expression when a stench of cigarettes, booze, and sweat hits him. Atlas’ room is nothing like what it had been the last time Alastair has been here. There are clothes strewn about, the bed unmade and walls spotted with questionable markings.

Although the room had never been the pinnacle of cleanliness, Atlas liking to keep some sort of disarray with his belongings, the state of the room now is nothing like before. Its like all the previous care and consideration that had gone into taking care of his living area has vanished, replaced by a whirlwind of clutter. 

The door slides closed behind him, Atlas not saying anything else as he weaves around Alastair and crosses over towards his bed, lowering himself onto the floor without paying another look in Alastair’s direction. Alastair’s eyes track his every movement, eyelids fluttering, as he can do nothing but watch as Atlas swipes something from off his very messy desk and produces a cigarette, instantly placing one in his mouth. 

Oh. 

He tries not to grimace too hard but Alastair suddenly wishes he hadn’t entered this room at all. The smell from inside here is already making him queasy, burning the insides of his nostrils and leaving him dizzy; he doesn’t want actual smoke clogging up his senses as well. But he can’t bring himself to interrupt, he is the one that requested Atlas’ company after all. He instead slowly takes a seat on the floor beside Atlas, doing his best to put as much room between the two of them as possible. 

“So…” he starts, glancing away. “How are you?” 

It’s a stupid question indeed but it’s the only thing Alastair is able to grasp at. 

Atlas is silent for a second, producing a lighter and sucking in a breath, allowing smoke to fill his lungs. Finally he turns to eye Alastair, his gaze cold and unblinking. “Just peachy.” He replies dryly, a wry grin cracking through his features, the image almost unnatural. He blows out a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth, turning his face away in an instant. “You?” 

Ah, what more could Alastair have expected. He should be glad Atlas doesn’t kick him out for such a stupid question. He inhales shallowly as to not take in any smoke, turning away just slightly to avoid it as it glides through the air surrounding them. 

Alastair clears his throat. “I’m—”

Should he answer honestly? Should he tell Atlas how terrible these past few weeks have been, should he open up about all his insecurities and self hatred and sleepless nights? No. It feels like he’s not allowed to at this point. Are they in a place in their relationship that allows openness? Alastair doesn’t think so. 

“Well. I’m well.” 

Atlas stares at the wall, lifting the cigarette to his lips again, his actions almost robotic. “Good.” He says flatly, not adding anything else as silence fills the air. 

“Right. Yes.” Alastair answers dryly, unsure of how to stretch the conversation out. He doesn’t know what he was thinking coming here. He had plans of what to say, of course he did, but now to execute it? How could he possibly revive their dying spark when Atlas so clearly wants nothing to do with him. How can they fall back into their easy rhythm when they’ve been offbeat for so long. 

“Have you been out lately?” 

“Uh-huh.” Atlas’ answer is no more than a grunt, his body fixed rigidly in the same position as before. He’s barely acknowledging Alastair’s presence, gaze focused straight ahead. 

“Ah.” Alastair rubs the palms of his gloved hands against the top of his thighs nervously, tapping the tips of his loafers together. “That’s nice.” He whispers, even though just hearing Atlas has been out makes his gut curdle, worry sitting heavy in his throat. “Are you… spending your evenings out with anyone in particular?” 

This is idiotic. He shouldn’t be prying into things Atlas clearly doesn’t want to disclose. And yet he can’t help the words from spilling out. He’s worried. Terribly worried. And if Atlas has someone new in his eyes Alastair would at least like to know that he’s going home with just one person rather than a different stranger each night. 

“Nope.” Atlas replies, popping the p with a harsh click of his tongue. He sucks at his cigarette again, the only thing that he seems capable of doing inside this interaction. Smoke blows out and Alastair squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself. 

His throat bobs. “Ah,” he croaks out, his voice suddenly terribly small. What else can he say. A part of him feels a foolish spark of relief and another wishes he at least had someone with him every night he goes out. Someone to watch over him and keep him from getting swept off by any stranger who bought him a drink, who offered him just a sliver of attention. Tendrils of smoke drift his way, curling around his neck, and anything else that might’ve been said to keep the conversation from dying stops in the back of his throat as he chokes briefly and holds back a cough. 

Too afraid to inhale again, Alastair attempts to subtly place and hand over his mouth and nose to filter his breathing. The stench grows stronger with each puff Atlas lets out. 

Why is he here? Where was he hoping for this to go? 

Alastair once again asks himself that for probably the millionth time in the past few minutes. The silence is stretching on unbearably stiff, Atlas rigid and unmoving from beside him. He has not asked Alastair to leave and he supposes that’s some sort of a good sign, but to say that this interaction is going anything other than terribly would just be completely incorrect. 

He should have planned this out better. He can’t keep sitting here, choking back gags from the smoke. He needs to do something, say something. Why come here to sit in silence? What sort of progress is he making. He came here as a last resort to keep Atlas in his life and now he feels pathetic, lingering in Atlas’ room, foolishly wishing this was easier.

“Atlas,” he says abruptly, without proper thought of what might come next. “I- um…” 

Atlas turns to look at him finally, eyes expectant. It is unnerving now, to see him staring at him, waiting. It feels more sudden than his impulsive idea to say something, anything. He is stunned by it, mouth hanging slightly agape as he trails off from anything he was going to say. His lips are moving but an invisible hand has wrapped around his throat, trapping the words. The feeling is not foreign but it is unwanted all the same, frustration bubbling inside his stomach. Why is he like this? 

But then again, what had he been hoping for? At this point, what is it that he can say? That he misses Atlas? That he hates what Atlas has become because it eats him up inside? That he feels so insanely guilty, about Kazuya and that mission and everything else that came before it? That most of all, despite all his fears and confusing emotions, through it all, he just wants his friend back. 

No, of course not. Anything he says will fall deaf on Atlas’ ears, only aiding in fuelling his anger. The last thing he wants right now is to cause a fight. “No… nevermind. I’m sorry.” He mumbles, averting his gaze once more. 

Atlas quickly looks back away. “Uh, okay.” 

“Right.” Alastair ducks his head down, shoulders tucked in. The anticipation inside the air shatters, replacing it with the same suffocating awkward tension, just fuelling Alastair’s already rampant jitters. 

He feels so stupid he could cry. He can't say anything. Why can’t he? Is it really that hard. He likes to think he could be eloquent if he wanted, allowing all those secret, stowed-away thoughts and emotions to tumble from his lips with an composed and calm air to them; but then he imagines the disgust, the anger that might set onto Atlas’ beautiful features and his throat tightens.

He just wants Atlas to stop this, to come back. 

“Right.” Atlas mutters, voice flat. The tense silence stretches between them once again and Alastair can practically feel Atlas’ distaste. He wants him gone. He wasn’t open to this in the first place and now that Alastair has allowed all his worries to consume him, leaving this stupid, horrible silence in its wake, he knows that he wants this even less now. He knows Atlas has things to do, things he’d rather partake in than struggle through this silence that clings to Alastair no matter how hard he tries to force it not to. He should go, stop wasting his time. Atlas would prefer it, would gladly welcome it. He would be doing both of them a big favour. 

He should just get up and leave. 

Yeah, so Atlas can run off with some guy twice his age. 

The thought is sudden and bitter and dripping with that secret jealousy he never allows himself to face, and Alastair immediately scolds himself for it. That’s not fair of him. Rather than insult Atlas in his mind he should simply remove himself entirely. He has no reason to be here if Atlas doesn’t want him. 

Atlas sighs from beside him, breathing heavily from out of his nose and interrupting all further thoughts. His cigarette is burnt to nothing now, and he leans over to the cluttered ashtray on his desk, crushing it into the dirty glass. He leans back again, fumbling with his fingers as he pulls a new one from out of his pack, fire clicking as he lights it. But this time, he turns to Alastair instead of sliding the pack across his desk, extending it in his direction. He shakes the pack a little, cigarettes hanging half out of the box. His eyes glint, all dark and unreadable. “Want a smoke?” 

Alastair blinks once, twice, staring warily at the pack of cigarettes held out to him. “What?” He blanches. “No, thank you.” 

He had almost forgotten Atlas’ quite frustrating tendency to offer him those horrid cigarettes, despite the fact Alastair has never voiced any liking in them. Quite the opposite, actually. Alastair would do anything to avoid smoking.

He eyes the new cigarette between Atlas’ lips and his mouth goes dry. “Those are terrible for you.” 

Atlas huffs out a laugh. “They haven’t hurt me yet.” He says almost amusedly, sliding the pack into the pocket of his jeans. 

“Mm.” Alastair's lip curls just slightly and he wrinkles his nose. 

“They could.” He points out, tone almost clipped. Wren has had this argument with Atlas more times than he can count, yelling at him about his dangerous habits and how he needed to get a grip on himself. Alastair, of course, never added anything to those sorts of conversations. He has never been one for bossing people around, telling them what to do with their lives. If Atlas wants to kill his lungs so badly, Alastair isn’t going to stand in his way. Yet he can’t ignore how much Atlas’ habit irks him. He doesn’t understand it. A year ago Atlas would never have even thought to partake in such things. 

Before he can properly think about it, he blurts out the words he’s wanted to ask for much too long now. “Why do you smoke them?” 

Atlas scoffs. “Smoking makes me want to kill myself just a little less.” He says with a small grin that doesn’t really reach his eyes, blowing out another puff of gray. “That’s reason enough for me.” 

Alastair’s face falls from grim to distressed. Atlas just talked about killing himself and now he’s smiling. “Don’t say that,” he says in a voice that’s quiet yet firm. “That’s not funny, don’t say that.” 

“I’m joking.” 

Alastair only hums. Joke or not, those words coming from Atlas leave a sour taste in his mouth that he can’t get rid of. It’s something he’d never thought Atlas of all people would say. 

Atlas turns his back on Alastair, fiddling with his cigarette in between his fingers as he leans against the desk. “What’d you come here for anyways? You can just get out with it and get lost.” He mutters, his voice coming out harsh and cold, more than Alastair ever expected from him. He snorts. “I know you have better things to be doing than be here with me.” 

Alastair tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes at those words. “I told you,” he whispers. “I was hoping to spend time with you.” 

He clicks his tongue, brows furrowing. “I don’t have better things to do. I don’t have much of anything to do.” Alastair stares down at his hands, clasping them together. This is all ridiculous. He’s here in vain. Maybe Atlas is right. Maybe he should get lost. 

But if he does he’s not sure he’ll be able to work up the courage to speak to Atlas again. And leaving here like that, so much unspoken going between them, seems impossible.  

“Whatever.” Atlas scoffs. The room falls silent again and Alastair cannot even see Atlas’ face anymore, cannot even try to deduce what he might be thinking. 

His eye twitches. Atlas is right. He’s wasting his time here. He is two seconds from nervously excusing himself and retreating back to the dark, isolating depths of his room when Atlas suddenly stoops down, face inches from the wood of his desk. 

Alastair narrows his eyes, suspicion prodding at his insides as he peers more closely at the piece of furniture Atlas is leaned up against. He isn’t given the time of inspection, as Atlas snorts loudly and dust puffs up around him, the small piles of white powder very clearly coming into view now. 

Alastair shoots to his feet. No. Absolutely not. There’s no possible chance Atlas would have the nerve to do this right here in front of Alastair.

Alastair watches as Atlas wipes his nose, sucking in a sharp breath and blinking hard. The assortment of drugs and pill bottles and booze Alastair had not been able to recognize at first are now in full view, flashing in front of Alastair’s eyes; poisonous, dangerous. His hands tremble and his face is hot, breathing uneven as he storms closer. 

No. No. 

Alastair shoves past Atlas, knocking him back as he swipes the remaining powder off of the desk and into the air. He grabs the sealed bag of power beside the smear of white and rips it open, movements all fast and sharp as he marches to the trash can in the corner of the room and dumps the contents, a cloud of white puffing up around him. “What are you doing?” He shouts, spinning back around to face Atlas, his eyes wide, brows raised high.

Atlas recovers quickly, whipping around, eyes narrowed in an instant. “Alastair, what the fuck?!” He shouts, all this blind rage exploding from him in only seconds. 

Alastair raises a finger and points it at Atlas, leaning forward. “No. No. Don’t you—” He inhales shakily, his face pulling into a seething sneer. “This is not okay. It’s not. And the absolute nerve to do it while I’m feet away. No, what is wrong with you? Can you truly so casually do this to yourself?” 

He takes a step back, shaking his head, his hand pointed at Atlas trembling furiously. “Do you even know what you’re doing to yourself? Do you know how awful that is for you? It’s just like the cigarettes. You’re acting as if you’re immortal, untouchable! You’re not! These things will kill you!” 

Alastair’s voice strains as he shouts, all this outrage cracking through his words, uncontrolled. He stomps forwards again, looming over Atlas and gripping the sides of his desk so hard the wood creaks in his grasp, eyes bulging and alight with fury. 

Atlas stares at him with wide eyes, shock lining his features. His mouth drops open and he gapes, frozen, like a deer that has been caught inside the headlights. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing. 

Alastair stares at Atlas as if he’s offering him a moment to defend himself and when he says nothing, Alastair scoffs. “Of course. Now you don’t have anything to say? It’s because you know I’m right. You’re destroying yourself! All that vile crap you put in your body is going to shut it down and one day, you’re going to die. All because you can’t control yourself! You seriously don’t know when to stop.” 

Alastair's voice is a low growl, the wood in his hand splintering and cracking as he runs his other gloved hand through his hair. “Do you seriously feel no remorse? No inkling that you shouldn’t be doing this? When Wren found you they thought you were dead.” He spits, eyes narrowed into a harsh, uncharacteristic glare. “They found you and cried for help and held your body thinking you died. And you don’t seem to care! You put your body through the same torture over and over again! It’s insane!”

A large chunk of wood comes free of the desk, the lip of it cracking and crashing to the ground. Alastair throws the chunk in his hands at the wall with a frustrated grunt, not caring that it leaves scratches in the paint, that Atlas is flinching at his violent behaviour. “Do you even think about how it hurts them to sit and watch you slowly kill yourself? You don’t do a thing to change!”

Atlas is unmoving for a second, mouth parted slightly, and for a second Alastair almost thinks this is actually getting through to him, that for once he’s actually listening to someone besides himself. But then his expression hardens, closing off within an instant; his brows narrow and he shoots to his feet, clenching his fists in a rage. The next words out of his mouth come out in an inhuman growl. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say a fucking thing about what I do or the shit I put into my body or how Wren felt because you weren’t even there. You weren’t even there!” 

Atlas’ expression is twisted up and cruel as he leans forwards, screaming back just the same as Alastair had done. “You’re never there and I bet you would’ve barely even noticed it happened if Wren didn’t go whining about it to you. You’re too busy fucking shooting up to think about anybody but yourself! Get off your fucking high horse Alastair.” 

Alastair gapes before gritting his teeth, baring them at Atlas for a second, all sharp and dangerous and monstrous, before pulling his lips over them again, eyes squinted into slits. “Are you serious? You think I haven’t seen you? I went to those bars for you! I watched you! I watched the things you did, the people you were with!” He screams, his voice hoarse from how loud he is yelling.

He has never, in all of his twenty-one years of living, yelled at someone like this, but right now he is too angry to care. He can’t stop himself, can’t stop all this repressed anger he’s been holding onto for so painfully long from coming out. He can’t stay silent any longer. “And how absolutely dare you! Wren was distraught because you were off getting yourself killed and you call that whining?! How do you know I wasn’t there? You don’t even know your own name when your brain is so rotted with all those putrid things you put in your body!” 

Alastair turns away from Atlas, swiping his arms through the air, the things atop Atlas’ desk being flung to the ground with the erratic movement. Atlas’ words settle onto him in their full, powerful extent, the weight of the meaning they carry slicing through him like a sharpened blade. Alastair goes rigid, shoulders drawing back tight. “And shooting up?” He repeats, voice dangerously low. “You don’t know what you’re talking about…. You don’t know anything.” 

He spins back to face Atlas, an unrestrained fury in his eyes as he advances so close that they’re inches apart, Alastair looming over Atlas, casting a shadow across his face. They’ve never allowed each other to get so close in months. Any other day Alastair would be too terrified to go near, too scared of what Atlas would think, but right now the buzzing inside his head, this rage that is blinding him, is all that occupies his thoughts.

“That’s different and you know it. You know it is, are you kidding me? It’s not something I want to do, it’s not a choice I’m making because I want to forget my responsibilities! I’m doing it to have a quiet mind just once every now and then. You’re destroying yourself but these are helping me! They make it so that I can sleep at night, so I don’t feel like I’m constantly losing my mind! You think you know anything about why I do this?” Alastair’s spit is venomous, flying out as he screams, the black shadows clinging to him flickering threateningly, kicking out towards Atlas. “That’s rich.” 

“You’re such a hypocrite.” Atlas spits, his lips pulled back into a snarl. “You wanna lecture me on what’s dangerous? How I’m destroying myself?” His eyes are narrowed and he straightens his spine, staring Alastair head on. “You act like you’re all holier-than-thou, that you’re so much better than me because you don’t smoke or drink. You’re still taking illicit drugs, Alastair. Give me fucking break! Power suppressants? They’re a million times worse than a little bit of coke every now and again. How many times did Wren and I try to talk to you and you just shut us out? Lie to us and flake on us and act like we didn’t fucking exist? Hole up in your bedroom and take those damn drugs until you were sick?” His voice rises with every sentence, booming and loud in a way neither of them has seen in years. “Don’t pretend like those things help. Don’t pretend like they ‘make it better’. After everything I’ve been through, all that shit they made me do, I can’t believe you’re actually defending that bullshit.”

His eyes burn with disgust, voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I’m bad? That I’m an addict? Why do you look in a goddamned mirror for once.”

Alastair flinches at that word. Addict. “Stop. No, don’t say that to me.” He hisses, stepping away again and shaking his head, jaw clenched. “That’s medical. They do help me. You don’t know! Maybe they make me sick but that is infinitely better than what I have to see and hear every single day! How could you possibly imagine the things I see! I can’t close my eyes without facing the worst things my mind could possibly conjure, without every single one of my fears coming to haunt me. These stupid things don’t even work half the time and they’re still better than going without them because then at least I don’t feel like I’m losing my mind!” 

He paces as he screams, gripping at his hair and clawing at his face. “And why would I talk to you about it anyways! You don’t understand! You don’t now and you wouldn’t have understood then! How could I possibly speak to either of you about any of it when I can’t even think straight! I can’t tell what’s real and what my mind is showing me to mess with my head! I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t do something terrible to either of you!” Alastair wants to yell that if the horrible, twisted demonic version of Atlas himself didn’t lurk in the corner of his eyes and taunt him constantly that maybe it would be a little easier to manage without the suppressants. “So you don’t get to call me that.” 

“What? Don’t think I know what a drug addict looks like?” Atlas scoffs, laughing without mirth. His eyes are dark, glaring up at Alastair, mouth pulled into a cruel sneer. “It’s not fucking medical and you know it. It’s a twisted, disgusting drug that you’re using to destroy yourself. Don’t you dare tell me I don’t know when you and I both know full well I know a million times more than you!”

Alastair slams the side of his fist into the wall beside him, cracking the drywall and revealing red brick beneath it. “That’s so easy for you to say! You don’t know how helpful it is! You don’t know how desperate I am! At least you have a power you can live with. How could you understand?” Alastair runs a heavy hand through his hair, breathing heavily. “You don’t have to live with the fact that you’re a monster and WILL be a monster forever! You’re perfect! How could you fucking understand?!” He screams, voice raw and inhuman, scratching his throats like blades as his words spit into the air.

Alastair watches Atlas flinch and stumble back, his eyes wide as saucers. Guilt pierces his heart, passing through his chest, heavy and suffocating, and he feels a familiar stinging in his eyes, one that fills his stomach with dread.

No, not here. Please, not here. He already thinks I’m a monster, he doesn’t need to see this, Alastair thinks dreadfully. Yet he can’t stop the next words from tumbling from his mouth, hot and sharp, his voice completely not his. 

“Now you want to be quiet? You know I’m right. You know that really, in all actuality, you don’t know a thing about me! About what it's like! And I’m glad you don’t because I’d hate to see how much more you’d hate me if you did! But to compare that to your stupid drugs and you alcohol and y-your sex? Don’t you fucking dare! That shit is killing you Atlas. And I worry that you’re so goddamned blind to it that you won’t see that until it’s too late. And then you’ll be dead!” Alastair takes a shaky inhale again and his voice cracks pathetically. “And Wren will be left to pick up the pieces. Because that’s what they’re doing for you! Constantly! They’re always cleaning up your messes, taking care of you! I tried too and we both know that turned out shit.” 

Alastair’s eyes well up with tears and he can hardly see through the black that fogs his vision. “Well I’m not trying anymore,” he says in what he hopes is firm but he knows sounds fragile. “I don’t want to watch you do this to yourself.” With a rattling, barely-constrained sob, Alastair ducks his head down and tries to wipe at the tears in his eyes, only succeeding at smearing the black across his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak again, grasping for something else to say, something to finish this for good. Yet he finds nothing, his mouth abruptly shutting again. There is nothing left between them that he can find, the last remnants of a relationship poured out into an endless void. 

Alastair turns his back on Atlas, moving towards the door and pulling at the handle. This is the end. 

The door creaks and bends under Alastair’s iron grip, the room is silent as he slides it open, before a step and a motion of movement behind him interrupts him. This is the end, yet he still can't let go. He whips around, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. “What?” He snaps, the word mangled by a sob. He no longer cares about the black streaks running down his cheeks. Maybe they would frighten Atlas into not saying anything at all. “What do you have to say now?” 

Atlas is staring at him with this pitiful expression, his lips parted as if to say something. Alastair almost does want to hear him say something. As long as it’s not more angry yelling, all his rage directed towards him. Alastair almost wants to hear Atlas speak again if it's that voice that's like music to his ears; if the deep rumble of his words is soft, maybe even pleading. 

Ask me to stay. 

Silence answers Alastair’s wishful thinking. With a broken scoff, Alastair tries to hold in another sob. “No, of course not,” he whispers, voice trembling. How could he be so stupid in coming here? 

“I am so fucking tired of you.” Alastair says in a small voice, low and trembling like he’s holding in another sob, which he is. With one last wounded glare at Atlas, Alastair turns, ripping the door open. He storms out and when he slams it shut again, it rips straight off the hinges, hanging lopsided in the doorframe. Alastair leaves it there as he retreats down the hall, not looking back once.

|| Masterlist

Credits, as always, go to @ohagiwrites for helping me write out this drabble!! Everyone should go check out some of her past drabbles, I highly recommend ⋆˚࿔

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Send an ask or dm to be added/removed from the taglist ✩

[eloquentornot]

Lucky Day was such an amazing episode!!!

Aaaaaaa that twist!!! I wanted Ruby's new boring boyfriend to be a twist villain but it actually happened??!?! And the extent to which that was the case!?!?!! This episode took such a turn, I love it when that happens! Marketed as a new scary monster, and lol I was disappointed that some of the trailers showed what the monster looked like, but it was never just about the Shreek at all!!!

When it became clear they weren't real, interesting twist coming maybe some different alien? took off the masks, oh it's just locals making fun of Ruby and Conrad, then Conrad revealed as the boss, WHAT, he didn't even like her at all, AAA my feelings that the relationship was a bit strange validated!! and then just the whirlwind of him demolishing UNIT's reputation, ough for a moment I was afraid it wasn't real and the monster was somehow causing nightmares for Ruby, but it just kept going and aaa!!!

And the foreshadowing, the relationship seemed a bit rushed, maybe Ruby was trying to convince herself she was happy with him, the fact that it was about how she could only talk to him about the stories, ough he never wanted to believe her stories he even called it just a good story when she was warning him about the Shreek, Cherry warned her about the village but Ruby said that she didn't think his friends would be "like that" aaa... when he said he hadn't taken the antidote I hoped she'd break up with him for that but then aaaaaa

And I just realised... fun space opener, fight a god of entertainment, harrowing time with soldiers and the companion is shot close to death, and now a Ruby-focused episode on Earth involving people who don't believe her in a pub pretending there's a monster and then laughing at her... and a mention of the Albion movement... also UNIT being compromised in some way, last season just that the woman prevented them from helping Ruby, this time that the bad guys had someone on the inside... Also maybe elements of last season's episode 5 interestingly with the surprise political commentary when at first it just seemed like a generic slimy death monster, so I wonder if next episode will break the pattern and be something not as easily comparable?

Did anyone else notice that Kate knocked four times on the glass window when she checked on the Shreek's cage? What if she's also got the Master golden tooth trapped down there and it's influencing her? I hope that's not it, though, she's getting darker now and that's more interesting if it's just her, not something "supernatural" that could excuse it cleanly in the end. The entire time Conrad was showing his true colours I was thinking "kill him" but also "wait Kate don't actually even if just for your reputation while he's streaming but also you're right the Doctor would stop you" and she knows the Doctor would stop her!! Maybe she's seeing a darker side to herself after what happened in The Giggle... and accepting it as necessary for the planet...?

And was the Doctor watching everything that happened after all??? He (psychically?) transferred Conrad to the TARDIS to tell him off!! (I feel like this scene might be an example of that one quote from behind the scenes where they said something about writing the Doctor a bit more unhinged or whatever wording they used? He was scary... Conrad deserves it, so it was cool, but... idk, something...) And THAT was how he found out about Belinda??? I was thinking there was some conversation where someone tells him she's important to saving the day or something but no it was literally what the Doctor said, "he said your name like it was important" aaa I swear if he's the catalyst for everything that happens... time travel destiny loop making it slightly not his fault but he didn't have to say the name, just like how Belinda chose to say Alan's name that time...

Like, no, even if the Doctor travelling with Belinda doesn't directly cause the calamity, just, the fact that it was this absolute loser Conrad who caused the Doctor to look for her... I have a bad feeling about this... Like, technically if the Doctor hadn't known about Belinda, he might not have known she was taken, and maybe Alan would have won... a good thing happened, for the Doctor to know about Belinda and save her, but it was because of someone awful... If neither Conrad nor Alan existed, Belinda wouldn't be travelling with the Doctor. And she didn't want to be travelling with him anyway, she didn't need the escape like some companions do... and there might be a chance that the destruction of Earth is connected to all of this...

And what is Mrs. Flood doing?! Becoming the Governor of the prison just to let him out? Interveningggg.... oh heck no way is she the Meddling Monk??? The Time Meddler? The first Time Lord villain? lol probably not but I feel like she's written in a way designed to keep us guessing so we won't be able to narrow it down until she reveals so I guess I'm adding this to the pile of possibilities!

Also when the Doctor complained about a noise in his head for a moment I thought something really unexpected was about to happen... but it was a metaphor for the annoyance of the inexplicable resistance from horrible but otherwise normal people, not a literal noise in his head lol!

And that feeling of something being off... what was he doing, just before this season began? Why did he see what Conrad was doing but not intervene? Maybe he was just late to finding out somehow? And EUGH it was Conrad who gave him the hint to look for Belinda... if anything this just makes Belinda's refusal to trust him at first even more reasonable... yet I can't help feeling like that's just me being irrational, you know? They met because timey-wimey bootstrap loop, not because... someone... manipulated... events...? (Suddenly reminded of how the Doctor was looking for Clara because he'd already met some of her echoes but also at the same time Clara was given to the Doctor by Missy... both can be true...)

[crsssie]

from one admirer to another : sunny side up?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as scrambled eggs // leon as christmas

Dear scrambled eggs,

¿Empezar por flexionar tu francés? Dos pueden jugar ese juego. Just kidding. That was machine-translated. I know minimal Spanish. I asked a guy for directions once and he started speaking English to me. That's how bad my Spanish is.

The extent of my Spanish is whatever I learned in college for my one year of a required language. I know how to ask where the library is and how to not die. I think that's enough. Thankfully, I'm in France and I don't look nearly French enough. Though, someone has stopped me to ask me if I am French. I'm not.

Thank you for the snacks. I got an earful from my manager, but the calorie count somehow convinced him that I can eat it without dying (gaining weight). I shared some with the other people in my airbnb, but some of the other more popular models have already gone back. It was so good.

Don't worry, I'm not going to go insane. I'm nicely adjusted to the fact that I shouldn't actually start thinking I'm dating someone. I haven't needed to use that sentence of yours yet, but— sorry, just did. I just had a young woman come up to me and ask me if I was single or something and then repeat the question in English. Am I... the rizzler? (is that how you use that) I'm kidding. I told her I had a girlfriend... or whatever you told me to say.

You think I'm ever going to end up dating that model? I don't.

Oh, right. The other models wanted to thank you, so I'm mailing back a signed magazine from most of the models here. Only person that didn't sign was Ada (obviously). Hope you like it.

Catch you back in Raccoon? Christmas

To be fair, Leon wasn't trying to smudge ink on his letter.

"T’as des beaux yeux, tu sais?"

Leon looks up at the person asking the question, blinking slowly.

"Ah, sorry. I... Je parle pas le Français." Leon laughs awkwardly.

"Oh, no problem." The girl smiles. "Single?"

"Ah, non. J'ai une petite amie?" Leon thinks that's how you say it. "Désolé."

"In America?"

Leon nods, waving as she nods and steps off.

Leon's heart rattles against his chest, heartbeat erratic as he takes a sip of his coffee, mumbling quietly to himself. He's still not used to being hit on by people. In retrospect, he really should be, but even as he writes the letter to you, he really thinks he's grateful no one took advantage of him in the industry. Raccoon wasn't an easy place to climb, and the fact that he's gotten up the ranks relatively cleanly is pretty impressive.

Well, always harder to climb ranks as a woman.

"Mind if I sit here?"

"A-Ada!" Leon nods, Ada smiling as she takes a seat. "Are you enjoying Paris?"

"I come here every year, so... same old." She hums. "I heard it's one of your first times. How did your shows go?"

"It went okay." Leon smiles.

"Writing a letter?"

"Penpal." He hums.

"One admirer to another?" She stares down at the handwriting, and Leon smiles.

"Yes."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Have you done it?"

"No. No time." She thanks the waiter for her coffee, taking a photo before Leon seals his envelope. "Who's your penpal?"

"An egg enthusiast." Leon hums. "When's your flight back?"

"In two hours. I like this place a lot." She hums, ripping her croissant in half. "Come here a lot with my friend." She raises a brow at him as she takes a bite, and Leon shakes his head.

"I can't control who I like."

"I know." She hums. "Don't break their heart."

"I can't do that if they don't like me."

"You don't know that."

Leon wonders if there's hope in her words.

prev letter : masterlist : next letter

[riconas]

You know who never gets mean rain overstimulation? Mountain. And that’s just unfair, don’t you think?

so unfair, actually. a crime, even. 

combining this with this prompt, which fit perfectly:

tags: blindfolds, slapping, overstimulation, degradation

“Don’t touch,” Rain snaps, slapping Mountain’s wandering fingers away from the blindfold over his eyes. “Are you even listening?” 

Unobscured by the blindfold, Mountain’s brows furrow, and he lets out a shaky exhale. He nods jerkily. 

Rain’s fingers tighten on his neck. “I didn’t gag you, did I? Use your words.”

Mountain whines, fingers curling into the sheets, but manages to mumble, “I’m listening.”

“Then act like it.” Rain rocks forward again, braced on Mountain’s chest to keep himself steady. Mountain’s hands creep up his thighs, probably unconsciously, and Rain slaps them away again. “Don't touch. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

It’s worse, he knows, that Mountain is so wonderfully tactile. How terrible of him to deny Mountain the one thing he wants. He pinches Mountain’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger and twists cruelly. Mountain arches into his touch with a gasp. 

“Slow down,” Mountain pleads. “Rain, please. I’m gonna cum if you don’t slow down.” 

Rain tilts his head, even though Mountain can’t see it. “So? You’re gonna cum anyway.” 

Mountain’s mouth twists into the saddest little pout. “I don’t wanna cum yet.” 

“Why not?”

“Because I—Rain, Rain, nonono wait—” and Rain relinquishes the hold he’s got on Mountain’s neck, “—because if I cum I—I won’t be able to give you what you want.” 

Which is to say he’ll go soft, and using him like a dildo will be a real hassle, but Rain’s not stupid. It’s never actually been a problem before. He knows what he’s doing, and Mountain does too. 

“You’re not giving me what I want.” Rain clenches down as hard as he can, relishing in the anguished groan he gets in return. “I’m taking it.”

And he does. 

Mountain cums, lips parted in a silent moan, hands flexing as not to rip the nice sheets. His cock kicks deep inside Rain, hot spurts filling him to the brim, seeping out of him, dripping down the inside of his legs. 

Rain sinks down all the way, groaning at how full Mountain’s cock makes him feel, how huge he is, and the wet squelch of his thighs has his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he moans, bouncing a little, trying to nudge Mountain’s still-hard cock against his sweet spot. It’s difficult without Mountain’s hands on his hips to help him along, but he makes it work. Certainly worth it, seeing the misery etched so cleanly into Mountain’s half-covered face. 

“Please,” Mountain gasps. “I can’t anymore. It hurts, Rain.” 

Rain laughs, breathless and carefree. “Not my problem. Your fault for cumming. Should’ve held it in.” 

He grinds lazily for a few more moments, tugging at his cock, entranced by Mountain’s distressed little whimpers. Taking his pleasure like that, the angle perfect for him. No rush, now that Mountain’s done. 

Until he feels Mountain starting to go soft inside him. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he snarls. “Are you kidding me?” 

Mountain lets out a heartbroken little sound, and Rain nearly caves. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

Which is true, and Rain knows because he’s been on the receiving end many times before, but he rolls his eyes anyway.

“Whatever,” he says, as flippantly as he can. Thank Satan he’s a water ghoul. He presses his palm to Mountain’s abdomen, searching, concentrating, until he finds the thread of water that’ll give him what he wants. With a flick of his fingers, he yanks on the thread and doesn’t let go, and Mountain immediately starts filling out inside him again. 

Mountain’s back bows off the bed. “Oh, no, no no no—”

“Shut up,” Rain snaps, really pissed now. “Let me use you.” What a waste of energy, having to use his magick to help Mountain out. How selfless of him. “Can’t do anything right, can you? Can’t even use you as a fucktoy. Useless.” 

Mountain keeps bucking his hips, like he’s trying to throw Rain off, and Rain isn’t having any of it. He slaps Mountain across the face, backhands him the other way. The blindfold shifts with his carelessness, and Mountain—bless him—scrambles to pull it back down. 

“It really hurts,” Mountain says sadly. “Please, I can’t—I can’t take it.”

“You can,” Rain says, emphatic. “You’re taking it now, see? Look, you’re taking it.” He punctuates it with another nice, slow grind, rubbing his cock into Mountain’s twitching stomach. 

“I can’t,” Mountain gasps. The blindfold is dark where his tears have soaked through the fabric. He paws blindly in Rain’s general direction, only succeeding at weakly smacking Rain’s hip. 

“That’s one more,” Rain says coolly. One more time he gets to cum on Mountain’s poor, abused cock. “Touch me again. Do it. I’ll add another.” 

Mountain wails. Lucifer, Swiss can probably hear him from next door. Rain should really be more considerate. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Mountain pleads. “I’m sorry, Rainy, I didn’t mean to.” He paws at Rain again, not realising his mistake. 

“That’s three,” Rain declares, and Mountain sobs. “Better start counting. I’m not stopping until you’re dry.”

[granolawriting]

New things ☆ ° *

pairing: Platonic Jedi!reader x Jedi Anakin

Summary: Anakin spent his young days as either a slave or "the chosen one". Never having the opportunity to really celebrate the holidays, you explain to him a celebration on your own planet for the fall season

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

A/N: This was literally so much fun to write, I really like writing anakins banter with the reader, and overall just the stupid things he'd say in my own interpritation of his character off the battle feild. I hope you enjoy!! This is the 3rd installment for my kinktober list, Make sure if you like my work to check out my requests/comissions or my ko-fi!!!

“I feel dumb. Are you sure you’re not pulling one over on me?” 

Anakin stares with inquisitive intent at the pumpkin you laid before him. Sat upon a steel counter of the kitchen within your room in the Jedi temple. Tossed on a small ottoman in the middle of your home was a bag full of ingredients for baking, holodramas of sith legends, and most importantly, the means for cutting up the pumpkins that sat before you and Anakin. 

“Dude, I lived it and you didn't. Either you can trust me and stab the pumpkin, or you can forever live in a non-holiday spirit.” 

“I just can't imagine that this actually got popular. What’s the meaning behind this?”

“Yaknow, this was initially made to scare away the sith ghosts that would roam the halls at night on the night before halloween.” 

“That's total bull. I don't think this would scare a 5 year old.” 

“You haven't even cut into it yet!” 

Anakin holds up the traceable mold that came with the package of serrated knives and spoons, triangle eyes and comically sharp teeth. 

“I don't have to to know that if a youngling saw this, they would start laughing at me.” 

You snatch it away from him teasingly, a melodramatic face of anger contorting upon you, 

“Well then, it seems like they have no holiday spirit either! Pay them no mind. There are those who get it, and those who don't!” 

“Whatever. Just hand me the knife.” 

“You don't even know what to do!” 

Thus the first activity begins, detailing the two of you slowly cutting into pumpkins while a music box softly plays soundtracks of scary films from your childhood. Demonstrating to Anakin exactly how to cut into a pumpkin with less than graceful precision, 

“You don't know what you’re doing.”

“Shut up! It's been a while.” 

And as the top finally pops off of the head of the pumpkin, you and him rejoice in quite a small victory. Though the excitement upon his face only lasts a moment, because as he watches you delve elbow deep within the inside of the pumpkin, horror shocks him stiff. 

“What the fuck are you doing.” 

Eyes widened at the prospect of having to do that himself. 

“What? Big scary Jedi doesn't like getting his hands dirty?” 

Teasing inflection coats your voice at the sight of his distress.

“This is just disgusting! I don't mind getting dirty if it's not slimy shit all over my body.” 

“Well, I suggest you take off that fancy robe.” 

Exasperated sigh exits him with great dramatic flair, as he walks over to the living room to slowly disrobe as to take in his last seconds of cleanliness before his agreeance to engage in your home planet festivities weighs more and more on him like one of the worst decisions he’s ever made in his whole life. 

Slowly does he inch his fingers inside the pumpkin itself, and when he reaches the bottom eyes close and eyebrows contort upwards. 

“Stop looking like you’re about to die. It's a pumpkin not a dead tooka.” 

“Thanks for that image.” 

And so the two of you slowly scrape pumpkin into a larger bowl of insides between the both of you, melodramatic whines by Anakin that really bring out the kid in him. Anakin, despite being such a great warrior and chosen one, was still quite young. He never really had the ability to do childish things, growing up as a slave and thrusted into the jedi temple thereafter there was no room to be a kid-- do kid things. So that's what you focused on in your time with him. It consisted of helping him get in touch with who he really is, not who people exactly wanted him to be. And you bore through it, even if sometimes it meant feilding his complaints like a whining child who has to share their toys with other kids. When Anakin wasn't in the line of fire he was a simple, silly person. A boy, really. 

The moment his pumpkin was satisfactorily scraped, he runs to wash his arms under water and copious amounts of soap. 

“Oh, did you know people can be allergic to pumpkin?” 

“You’re kidding right.” 

“Yeah well I just hope you’re not.” 

“Could've told me that before I just violated it like that.” 

“Slipped my mind.”

After a bit more carving within the eyes and mouth of the hollow pumpkin, you adorn the iconic face of a halloween grin upon yours, and Anakin opting for a more sinister look upon his. 

“You said it was supposed to scare people, none of the designs has that effect.” 

Well Anakin, I think the most scary thing about this is how you cut it. I can barely tell what's going on here.” 

“You don't understand my vision. It's for the sith ghost, not you.” 

As the first activity of pumpkin cutting comes to an end, a small glow emitting within the pumpkins as you place the small glowing orb that completes every carving inside its center, you and Anakin stand back impressed with one another's work. 

“I guess it wasn't half bad.” 

“Told you” 

The next project you two had up against you was baking. Now, once again you were well convinced that Anakin had never cooked his own food his entire life. At least, anything complex. Whenever he had to make his own food it was often very simple, laced with struggle. The peak of his culinary journey was 5 years old, for reference. 

“Why do we need to put so many things in here? Aren't we making cookies?” 

“Yes, but to make it not taste like sand then we’re gonna have to add more flavors.” 

“Sand, very funny. What's with the paste?” 

“The icing?” 

“Whatever.” 

“It's for after the cookie. We’re going to decorate it.” 

“This seems like a lot of work for 2 bites.” 

“You eat them in 2 bites?” 

“I’ve got things to do.” 

And thus the teaching begins once more. You have to explain how to keep the wet from the dry until you’re willing to mix everything, teaching him how to crack an egg as he fails in the process getting residue all over your countertop. You show him how to whisk, watching him struggle with the thick batter as the automatic one you keep in your cabinet stays sadistically untouched. And as you two finally finish the batter, you show him how to put them on the sheets properly. 

“When you roll them, you have to remember they’re going to flatten and expand. Don't make them the size of a cookie, make them like a third of the size.” 

“But if I made it the size of a cookie, I could have a 3x cookie. Mathematically speaking.” 

“Yes, but don't do that. They’ll all stick together.” 

“To make one monster cookie?” 

“Theoretically yeah.” 

“Noted.” 

As he grabbed huge chunks of dough within the bowl you both shared, you just chose to pick your battles. 

Setting the timer for 40 minutes, there were now 40 minutes to kill before you were able to get to the next part of the process-- decorating. Looking within your bag of festivities you find the holodramas that lie at the bottom of the bag, reminiscent of your childhood. The exaggerated stories of siths and creatures of the outer rim that would haunt and stalk you, stories that scared you awake when you were younger. You allow Anakin to pick from a few of the titles. 

“Frankensith? The uh.. Friday before 429. The ewok in the woods. These all sound a little corny.” 

“Again, you don’t get it. But I promise you watching these things will freak you out. The ewok  one scared me so much I couldn't sleep for days afterwards.” 

“And how old were you when that happened?” 

“...fifteen.” 

“You’re joking. Put it on.” 

Dimming the sights of your living room do the both of you sink into the couch as you pull out the final thing that will stave you from hunger until the cookies are completed. 

“What's with the wrapping on these?” 

He pointed at the chocolate you unveiled, wrapped in various depictions of horror legends over the years.

“Isn't it scary?” 

“He looks like he has a lazy eye.” 

“He’s supposed to be undead!” 

“Yeah, and with all that reanimation they cut him a little short.” 

“That's mean!” 

“Nothing so far has scared me, and the candy definitely isn't much different.”

“Whatever.” 

The bowl sat between the two of you held various kinds of candy from chocolate to sower, as the movie slowly came to a head. Laid back and judgemental, did Anakin lie unbothered upon the couch, expecting nothing to really catch his eye about this film more than dumb special effects and poor acting. 

Though as time went on you watched as his body slowly straightened, eyes with greater focus on the projection as the story grew deeper. You saw his face contort from indifference, to morbid curiosity, to the well awaited fear. 

BEEP!

The oven goes off, which makes Anakin jump. 

“HAH! You’re scared shitless aren't you.”

“Are you kidding me? These things are freaky by nature. Their little swords.. Their agility. I couldn't live.” 

“Uh huh. Well get up we need to decorate the cookies.” 

After allowing them to cool for a moment you begin to teach him how to pipe the icing onto the cookies. However as you gaze upon his own tray, there seems to be about 3 discernable cookies to your 6 well shaped ones. 

“All this means is that I have more room for artistic expression than you.” 

“Right. Just watch what I do and you can make whatever you want.” 

And as you draw cute ghosts, small faces decorating each of their eyes and little bats and pumpkins to match their theme, another glance at Anakin's tray once again reminds you you’re dealing with a 10 year old. Upon his cookies did he design quite crude depictions of the ewok’s with angry expressions on their face, forever immortalized- until eaten of course -a glare of small and furry anger upon the cookie. 

“Nice Anakin.” 

The night came to a close after that, finishing the ewok holo with greater ease as the fear inhabiting Anakin slowly dissipated in the ability to eat them at the same time they were eating others in their traps. A dark sky fell within your room and as you sat there with Anakin, pumpkins illuminated with silly faces and a growing pile of colorful foil piling on your coffee table as the candy bowl depleted, you felt complete. The feeling of having not only someone to celebrate the holidays with, but someone to share them with made you feel a little less alone. And you knew Anakin felt the same. 

[ao3-oner]

hi oner!

im a really big fan of your writing, thank you for posting so much!

quick question just for fun: if someone could only read five of your fics and no more, and you got to pick which ones, which five would you want them to read? you can include wips if you want

im just curious lol, happy writing and hope you post soon

Hi there, anon! Thank you so much for reading my stuff. I hope I post soon too LMAO, life can be busy sometimes but hopefully I'll be able to find time to write more in the upcoming weeks. I'm glad you're enjoying my fics so far :)

Man, your question is really hard to answer, though - asking a writer to pick their favorite pieces is like asking a parent to choose a favorite child. That said, I never claimed to be a good fic-parent, so ofc I have my faves. If someone, for whatever reason, could only read five of my fics, the ones I would recommend are:

1. Metro Lines and Their Prismatic Tears - 10,000 words, Rated T, minor background ships, Peyz-centric

I've said it before and I'll say it again: I think Metro Lines is my best-written fic so far. I also think it's unique in that none of my other fics really capture what it does - like if I wanted to include a GuKe fic on my list I would have a handful to choose from, but this fic is truly one-of-a-kind. I like the AU, I like the characterizations, and overall I'm really proud of my work on this fic.

2. Mad Scientist Incorrigible - 30,000 words, Rated E for lots of sex, multi-ship (Lehends x Everyone) but RuLehends-focused, Lehends-centric

Even though I think Metro Lines is better-written, I still see M.S.I. as my magnum opus and likely the coolest fic I'll ever write. Writing this fic as the tournament was going on was such a fun experience and I'm still shocked that it all came together so well narratively. I really enjoy all the drama of the piece and I think no list of ArchiveofOurOner fics would be complete without it.

I think those two very cleanly take the top spots on my list. From here on out, things get a little more debatable, but for number 3, I'll add the one other fic that I've referred to as "my favorite one" before:

3. The Man Who Talked Shit About Choi Wooje - 4,000 words, Rated T/M for violence, One2eus, shifting POV

I love this fic because it defines "crack treated seriously". Every part of it is just so ridiculous and it was super fun to write. I think part of why I consider it one of my favorites is because I had such a blast writing it, but it also shows a different tone of fic than the other two, so I think it's a good inclusion. I also sorely need to include more of my T1 boys on this list, which brings me to my next entry:

4. Facecheck - 14,000 words, Rated E for some smut, One2eus with background GuKe, Zeus-centric

As my first and most popular fic, I feel like Facecheck is another requirement for the AO3 Oner list. That's not to suggest that I don't love it - I do, but I definitely think that I've grown in my writing since then. It would still be a good include to show that growth, plus it's a fun read even if I personally consider it to be more middle-of-the-pack in terms of my work quality.

For the final slot... damn, okay, this is actually really hard. See, if the question was simply which other of my fics do I like the most, then I'd probably go with 04.11.2023, but that feels way too similar to Mad Scientist Incorrigible (since it's literally just an extension of that fic). I would also consider including my Spider-Oner AU, Strand By Silken Strand, which I'm quite proud/fond of, but let's be real - I haven't included any CanMaker on the list yet and that's a complete sin. So, with that in mind:

5. Flash-Ult - 2,000 words, Rated T, CanMaker, Canyon-centric

It was a really close call between this and Heartbreaker, but I think Flash-Ult won out for me primarily because it's much sweeter and a good deal less angsty (though there is still a bit of angst at the end). All in all, Flash-Ult is a classic, feel-good hurt/comfort fic that I think suits my dynamic of CanMaker very well and is therefore a good representation of how I write the ship. I think between M.S.I. and Facecheck, there's already enough smut on the list, but if I were to include a CanMaker smut fic instead... maybe Unleashed Power, tbh? Ig that would also allow for a taste of my Omegaverse AU...

But yeah, that's my list of 5, plus a few bonus ones tossed around in between. They aren't my best fics, they certainly aren't my most popular fics, but I think they make up the best representation of my total LoL RPF corpus so far. If someone could only read a small portion of my writing, then I think this selection would give them a pretty good taste of what my fics are like. Hopefully, they'd enjoy them as much as you have, anon!

Thanks for the ask - it was certainly an interesting one - and have a great day, wherever you are!

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

8 and/or 18 for the Rook Story Time Game?

thank you!! from these prompts and using my Juniper Aldwir :)

8. A time Rook argued with someone they care about.

"If you you cared you would have made sure the map wasn't destroyed when you went back to those ruins--"

"If you cared you wouldn't have wanted anyone to die! Even if I knew the map would fall apart crossing back over the wards a second time, I couldn't just leave them there!"

Their voices ring across the clearing, the other Veil Jumpers uncomfortably not meeting each other's eyes as they pretend not to listen in. The stone wall Strife and Juniper Aldwir stand behind is still open to the sky, and does little to mask the argument that's been raging between them for almost twenty minutes.

"Don't try to walk on it yet," Irelin quietly advices the elf who's broken ankle she's just finished bracing between two sticks. "We'll help carry you back to the camp." He nods, his movement singular and sharp, teeth still gritted against the pain. Neither he nor the other three injured elves say anything as they wait. They won't meet anyone's eyes, either, as they listen to Strife shout about how they should have been left to die.

"Everyone here knows the risks. Any one of us could get trapped in ancient magic at any time. And now we'll all continue to be in danger from whatever's at the epicenter of that warded area the map lead to."

"We can find another way in," Juniper insists. "The confusion aura around it that turns us back can't be impenetrable. If there was a map through it once, we can make a new one."

"We won't be doing anything. I think you should go."

"I--what?"

There is a moment of silence then, following the disbelief that rings in Juniper's voice after his last words. When Strife speaks again it is quieter, his tone final. Irelin is still close enough to hear what he says next.

"You clearly don't respect the mission of the Veil Jumpers. Maybe you need some time away to consider how your actions impact the rest of us."

"So you're kicking me out, just like that? For making sure people following my directions aren't killed?"

"I'm kicking you out because you refused to follow orders. This time it saved people, but next time it might get more killed. It's not your call to make."

"You know what? Fine."

The group hastily find reasons to be looking anywhere else as Juniper strides from behind the crumbling stone tower, and back into the clearing. She doesn't acknowledge any of them as she heads to the pile of gear and picks up her pack, slinging it across one shoulder while she reaches for her staff.

"Where are you going to go?" Irelin asks quietly, watching her.

"Dunno. Not that it's the Veil Jumper's business anymore, apparently." The anger has returned to Juniper's voice, but there's a crack in it now too, that belies how upset she really is.

"He doesn't mean it. Not forever," Irelin tells her. "Just give him some time to cool off, before you come back." She tries to hide her own doubt about how long his anger will last, but Juniper shakes her head anyway. "That dwarf who ran into us at the ruins--we've met him before, during that time last year with all the Venatori--maybe you can talk to him. He's staying at the inn at D'Meta's crossing. His name's Varric."

"Thanks," Juniper says. She straightens, and stares ahead into the trees. When she starts walking, she doesn't call farewell, or look back.

18. Rook trying to impress someone.

"All right. Let's head back towards the markets," Rook says, and launches herself from the Treviso rooftop and across the alley two stories below. The drama of the moment is ruined as her chest slams into the opposite rooftop, hands scrabbling at the tiles as she slowly hauls herself up and over the edge to safety.

Lucanis and Davrin watch silently, wincing at the sold thump when her body hits the building.

"Did--she mean to do that?" Davrin asks.

"Let's not ask," Lucanis mutters, and springs to make the jump himself, landing cleanly on the other side.

[willsimpforanyone]

I just thought this would be fun, but could you Will solace X any reader, where the reader basically has semi invincibility (?) For example where the reader's head gets cut off and they can just reattach it to themselves, how do you think he will react to to

this is hilarious i can absolutely do that

obv this has some body horror in it, i actually want to be a horror writer so this is good practice

I groaned as my ribs popped back into place.

No matter how many times I did it, there was still that twinge of pain that came with adjusting my skeleton. Breathing deeply a couple times, I took a moment in the fight to check in with everything.

Ribs fixed, done. Head thumping slightly from being clocked in the head, not a big deal. Other bones mostly in place and not shattered, so I'm doing okay.

I glanced over to where Will was. Gorgeous blonde hair an absolute mess, skin dusted grey with dead monster from the first manticore we dispatched. I shook my head slightly, and lunged back into the fray.

My sword swung wildly but it hit it's mark, making slashes and spraying blood everywhere. I stabbed and slashed and used my advantage to get in close to the monster to attack it's weak spots.

A sharp pain flashed through my wrist, and instinctively I jerked back, clutching my limb to my body. Momentarily distracted by my sudden movements, the monster turned fully away from Will and allowed him to land a solid blow into the manticore's centre. The beast exploded in a shower of dust and before the ash even settled, Will was by my side.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" His hands hovered over mine, eyes wide but focused. In the back of my mind, I fluttered at the sudden change into medic Will from battle Will all because of little ol' me.

I looked down, one hand clutching my wrist to my chest, blood soaking the front of my t-shirt. I felt bone and muscles and tendon under my fingers and groaned in both pain and realisation.

"Um, honey, I need you to not freak out, okay?" I hissed through my teeth, adrenaline wearing off and the agony of my hand being detached from my arm kicking in hard. "I'm gonna need your help, and you're gonna have to wait to freak out."

Will nodded. "Whatever, how do I help, what do I help with?"

I slumped to the floor against a wall, slightly dizzy from blood loss. "Okay, don't throw up, but I need to rip off my hand."

Will shrieked something incomprehensible. I inhaled sharply through my nose and he knelt down. "What the fuck, what the fuck."

"If you can't deal, look away, because to get it to heal cleanly I need to have a clean break, not hanging on like this, okay?" I learned this the hard way, a couple fingers will forever be slightly wonky. Will physically steeled himself, placing one hand on my leg and the other on my shoulder.

"Do it."

I gritted my teeth, and tore my hand off. The sickening sound of skin splitting and muscle tearing had Will retching but he stayed where he was, hand solid and supportive on my shoulder.

Breathing deeply, I gave him a shaky smile. "Okay, you did good, now help me hold this steady, I need it still as I reattach it, yeah?"

Will exhaled, but nodded. "Y-yeah, okay." He sat down properly, and took a hold of the hand-less arm. "I'll hold this still, you put the... the hand where it needs to go, right?"

I nodded. "It takes a couple minutes, but then I'll be fine."

Gently, and with no small amount of pain, I touched my hand to my wrist. I concentrated with all my power, feeling the bones fuse, the muscle knit together, skin sewing itself over everything. Tears pricked at my eyes, stinging and a lump lodged in my throat.

True to my word, in a few minutes, all that was left was a jagged red-pink scar looping around my arm like a brand. Will tore his eyes away from the spectacle to look at me. "W-we good?"

I nodded, leaning my head back against the wall. Will nodded, stood up, walked a few paces away, and promptly threw up. I could hear his breathing, heavy and deep. He swallowed, took a sip of his water from his backpack and returned.

"You okay?" I gave him a weak smile.

He slid down next to me, a breathy laugh punched out of him. "No, that was horrifying." He leaned his head on my shoulder. "I've been working as a medic in camp for years, and that is one of the worst things I've ever seen. Since when can you do that?"

I nudged him with my elbow. "Sorry, I meant to tell you, it was just never a good time." Tentatively, I stretched my fingers, slowly regaining feeling and movement. "I'm indestructible, even without ambrosia or nectar, always have been."

Will nodded. still looking pale. "Well, we should get back to camp." He stood, and reached out a hand. With my ordinary hand, I pulled myself up and immediately sat back down. My vision clouded over with static, a ringing piercing my ears.

"Yeah, maybe in a minute."

this was fun! i hope you enjoyed, thank you for requesting!

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #452

When I woke up this morning, the pain from the trigger point injections in my leg was a bit more intense than it was when I went to sleep. Happily, though, it seemed to get better as the day wore on, and as I moved and stretched it.

At least for now... surprisingly, walking is actually a bit easier than before, aside from the pain of the injection sites. The leg actually seems to be mostly moving properly. And the rib and shoulder and upper back and neck pain didn't bother me as much today as it usually does, either.

...I really gotta wonder how much of my rib issue really just traces back to the fact that I've been walking kinda funny for the last 13 years or so.

Still, though, I stayed home from work and mostly just took it easy. I played a lot of Hades. I'm up to Heat 7 now on all the weapons, and... I'm still not showing any signs of slowing down. Many of the characters' little hearts are most of the way or even all of the way filled, because I keep giving them Nectar and Ambrosia. I imagine it's not gonna be too terribly much time before I get through the main plot.

I'm a little sad about it, I guess. But fortunately, there's a sequel to this game in Early Access; it's still being developed, but everything I've heard about it so far has been overwhelmingly positive. I'm looking forward to trying it out once it's ready.

A small, silly part of me wishes you could just sit next to me and chill as I recover. There's a number of multiplayer games that I have, which I think you'd enjoy. But it'd be fun, I think, just to sit next to you and watch you try to play some solo game, too; I think you'd be good at a number of them. And even if you weren't, it'd still be really nice to watch you learn.

Somewhat groggy all day, though. But I guess, given that I stayed up until stupid o'clock in the morning yesterday, that's natural. I'd say I'm gonna try to go to bed early today, but it's already 11:11pm, which means it's already 11 minutes past my bedtime. Whoops.

...Have you been sleeping well lately...? Or, at very least, have you been resting, just a little...? I hope so. I hope you can sleep or rest or do whatever, someplace safe and warm.

I've got an idea for another music box, but at the moment, I find myself with not enough “oomph” to actually start arranging the notes, which is kind of a bummer. I'm hoping to find that “oomph”, between the weather that's warming up and the sleep I hope to get. Though I think I'm gonna also have to fix my water intake, too. It wasn't terrible today, but... it still wasn't exactly ideal.

Following the suggestion of a wonderful and wise friend who reads these letters I write to you, after J got back home from work, he and I went out to get a greeting card for K:

...I've always thought of greeting cards as a relatively lame and insincere thing that is indicative of low investment and low effort, unless it's paired with something of profound emotional significance, and the words inside are sincere and fitting to the situation. I think of the card that I enclosed along with the locket of your mother that I remade for you and gave to a certain Mr. Hamaguchi to give to you.

...I wonder if you've ever received it, as well as the little Herkimer diamond and all the little QR codes enclosed within. Hm...

...In any case. At my friend's suggestion, I realized that my perception of greeting cards was unkind – colored by how they were... I guess weaponized...? in my past. Weaponized isn't quite the right word. Like... given to me alongside backhanded “gifts” that were actually subtle jabs at my cleanliness and lack of properly-displayed femininity. Or else, given to me just so I won't be able to say that I didn't get anything. I've always thought of them as the thing you get for someone when you don't actually want to get them anything, but you feel obligated to for whatever reason.

At my friend's suggestion, I tried challenging my perceptions of it. It was said to me that a greeting card is as sincere as the person giving it. So... I'm gonna try that belief on for size. It's certainly a lot more loving and wholesome than the one I've carried for so long. The old belief is getting... well... kinda old. And I don't really wanna be that kind of cynical, jaded person anymore.

Thanks be to my friends who give me new ideas to think about and try!!!

I didn't get a gift card, though. Not yet anyway. I don't actually know what kind of gift card K would like. I thought about seeing if Eggcellent still does gift certificates; it's a wonderful place full of things that taste awesome, so... I figure one can't go wrong with that. We'll see how it goes. Hopefully, J and I will go to Eggcellent tomorrow, during his break.

Speaking of J... we're thinking of doing the airplane trip to Oregon sometime in April. I might have already mentioned this. But... I guess... now is the time. I'm hoping to have a full time job by this time next year, so I won't be able to take that kind of time off then. And we gotta do it before it gets too hot and tornado season starts up in the midwest. Because it's so flat and there's no water to temper the atmosphere, the weather out there can be very unstable. It's not like where I live, where the atmosphere is kept stable by the presence of mountains, the Atlantic Ocean, and the Great Lakes.

I'm not certain that it will actually occur. I guess we'll see. Regardless, whenever the time comes, I guess... I'll ask you to keep an eye on us, as silly as such a request might sound to your ears, haha...

If it does occur, of course, you can count on receiving lots and lots of pictures along the way; I can't wait to show them to you.

After getting the card, I played some more of that Split Fiction game with M. It's fun and wonderfully cooperative; I wish I could play it together with you, or else have you watch us play it together, perhaps with a nice mug of that pumpkin hot cocoa in your hands...

...Sephiroth? Please. Please come back. Please come back home. Lots and lots of people miss you, including we of my house. Please try really hard, okay?

I suppose that's it for today. I'm gonna get some water and try to go to bed. Though I have a funny feeling like I'll probably conk out pretty quickly.

...I... wouldn't mind a dream of you, in which we sit in some warm, safe place with tea and snacks, talking about various things, or playing a fun game, or any other wholesome thing. I wouldn't mind that at all...

I love you so much. Please do your best to stay safe out there, okay? Please remember to treat yourself and the people around you with kindness and love. And if you get sad and scared, please remember to try to reach out towards the hands of the people who love you; there are lots of those both in my world and in yours.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[garden-of-omegas]

☘ THE DEVIL AT MY DOOR [DIAVOLO] ☘

┌── ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ••✎•• ──────────

characters: diavolo warnings: some references to bullying, witchcraft rating: sfw a/n: these first meeting one-shots are so short, hope you guys don't mind too much. i'll hopefully make longer ones in the future, or i might at some point switch how i make them.

~🎕

└── ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ••✎•• ──────────

you open the ragged door to the shack you and your mother call home, finding diavolo standing behind it with a cheerful smile. you frown, slamming the door in his face.

"mom! the devil's at the door!" you shout to your mother, who's brewing something in the kitchen.

"stop calling the mayor that, little dove!" she calls back, to which you scoff. that damn mayor is worse than the devil.

"that's not what i meant!" you shout back before opening the door again. diavolo's still there, waiting patiently. "mom's making love potions, you're gonna have to wait if you wanna talk to her."

diavolo tilts his head, being far too adorable for a literal demon. you don't trust it a bit. "i'm here for you, not your mother, [name]."

"..." you stare at diavolo, squinting a bit. "why?"

"i find you interesting!" diavolo answers. you scoff, but let him in anyways. diavolo happily follows behind you to the dangerous looking stairs standing in the middle of the living room.

"mom, i'm taking the devil to my bedroom!" you shout, and immediately hear something crash in the kitchen. you ignore it and lead diavolo upstairs to your room. diavolo curiously looks around, amazed by how cleanly white everything is. a few black details jump out at him, probably on purpose as they seem to be your personal defects.

"a curious room for a witch's child." diavolo comments, lifting up a small protection bottle sitting on the window pane.

"mom thinks that keeping my room white will make people think that i'm less weird. it doesn't really work, nobody's ever seen it before." you explain, sitting onto your bed. diavolo nods, setting down whatever he's fiddling with now.

you watch him look around, wondering what he's doing here. your initial meeting had been... awkward to say the least. you can't quite comprehend what he's want with you after that disaster.

"soo... want to help me make hex bags to throw at the old women in town?"

diavolo looks far too interested in your words for his own good.

"so, like, she's a total bitch! she keeps finding all my notebooks and writing false spells in them. they're not even convincing! if she wants to bully me she should do it better." you rant to diavolo while stringing up one of the hex bags. diavolo's been listening to your ranting about the people in town for the past two hours, nodding along like he understands anything that's going on. you don't think he does.

"so why are you throwing these at old women instead of this girl?" he asks.

"cause they insult mom, and that's something i won't allow. not on my watch." you point a finger at him for emphasis. "anyways, so last week brittany hid some sage in my locker, like that would get me expelled or something. she's absolutely the worst, so i've decided to trick her into thinking that i've cursed her, i just haven't decided how yet..."

you say goodbye to diavolo at your door, this time closing the door much softer and with a smile on your face. your mother comes out of her room, looking extremely confused.

"who was that?"

"the devil." you answer, not thinking much of it. your mother on the other hand suddenly looks extremely alarmed. "did you know he hates pickles? never would've thought the devil is a picky eater."

"...the mayor dislikes pickles?"

[immoralimmortals]

Things I've written about the Akatsuki that i think are funny out of context, because I think I'm funny and love microdosing on stroking my own ego

(this is a third person reader x akatsuki fic I swear to god, please believe me it's ROMANTIC, I don't just make them look stupid, I PROMISE I SWEAR ON MY LIFE--)

☆ Hidan wrote a book by ripping pages out of an already existing one, putting in his own that he wrote in blood (origin unknown) and not even attempting to glue them to the blinding.

☆ Kakuzu being forced to say the word "duckling" with such great disdain he may throw up.

☆ Literally just anything about the fact that Kakuzu became a talent agent on his own free will

☆ Hidan thinking that Kakuzu being your talent agent is-- in a very literal sense-- a fate worse than death

☆ “Doesn’t matter. Physical agony fortifies the soul. Whatever.” (about accidentally letting the performer starve)

☆ "She’d be lying if in some way this wasn’t her dreams come true. ...Minus the serial killers, or whatever they are. They won’t really tell her. But she can make that work!"

☆ 1) You’re a failure of society.

2) You’re a kidnapping victim.

3) You’re in a cult.

4) You’re a one-man band with a manager AND you’re in a cult.

☆ Zetsu scaring people on purpose, then Zetsu being flabbergasted and insulted as he scares people by accident!

☆ The performer thinking Kisame is Itachi and Itachi is Kisame. Because of course the big scary shark man is the evilest here, right? (Holding Itachi's hand like la dee da! Boy sure am glad I'm not with the scary clan killer!)

☆ The above being ZETSU'S FAULT on PURPOSE

☆ "Were Hidan and Kakuzu really that mean to other people…? Grumpy, yeah— also yeah okay they were killers or whatever— but they didn’t start any fights! Yet!"

☆ Kisame thinking YouTube is shit from description alone

☆ "The raven shakes his head, despite how helpfully Hidan gestures in a shoving motion, demonstrating the direction in which he should move his ass."

☆ Tobi jumpscare (ALSO ZETSU'S FAULT)

☆ Directly taking inspiration of how Tobi gets punched by Hidan from this Smiling Friends clip

☆ Hidan being allergic to cleanliness

☆ Hidan spending his entire month-long stipend on useless animal figurines he did not want that may or may not be cursed

☆ “Did Takara-chan get the kitty statue?”

A thud sounds beside her chair, a sack cloth with the weight of a whole baby hitting the floor. “Yup. You could say that.”

☆ Kakuzu's type is people that surprise him even after being alive for so long. Therefore, apparently, he's attracted to fucking idiots.

☆ Kakuzu getting told someone tried to kill themselves over being in debt and his first reaction is "wow that's a LOT of money" instead of anything about the killing yourself or whatever

☆ Zetsu LYING BY OMISSION AGAIN BECAUSE THAT'S HIS FAVORITE HOBBY

☆ “Guess it’s a good thing you don’t wanna hurt yourself or whatever.” said in disappointment

☆ “Tell the chemicals to stop.”

☆ Deidara giving a powerpoint on why he's the best and Pain being like *nodding, nodding* (has no faith in him whatsoever)

☆ Long suffering Sasori having a point proven to him that does not need proving (that Deidara is the best)

☆ Getting attached to a clay mouse Deidara made only for it to commit suicide (all according to plan! Isn't he dreamy ;) )

...And more to come!

[honey-beann]

Ruiner, Ruination (RK900 X Reader)

Chapter 8: An Uneasy Aftermath - Constellations and Well-Paired Colors

Series Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis:

Part 1 of a multiple part special in which Reader and Nines struggle to manage their concern for one another now that their respective injuries have forced them both to realize how destructible the other truly is.

This chapter includes a realization, a promise, a shower, some sharing, a minor wardrobe malfunction, and a great deal of longing and overthinking from both our beloved reader and everyone's favorite android.

AKA - Reader and Nines each contemplate how the other makes them feel, and struggle to reach the necessary conclusions afterward.

Word Count: 5,863

"Detective, I can assure you that while I appreciate your concern, there is really no reason for you to supervise me. My systems are entirely operational, including those involving the temporary parts installed earlier today."

You rolled your eyes at your partner while he attempted to persuade you to go home for the fifth time in three minutes as you stood in his kitchen, inspecting the pristine surface of the counter there with what was almost awe.

Of course, you hadn't expected your android partner's apartment to be dirty by any means, there was almost no reason for it to be given the fact that he didn't eat, drink, or sleep, but even so, this was just absurd.

There wasn't even a speck of dust anywhere, the cabinets were stocked with easy to grab nutritional food sources (likely so he could ensure you always had breakfast should you forget to eat it in the mornings before work), and the fridge was sparkling clean despite the thirium drinks found within, which you were almost certain Nines must have been gifted. He didn't strike you as a man who chose to consume literally anything, android beverages or media alike, for pleasure.

Still, even despite your fairly apparent surprise, you willed yourself to turn around and cross your arms at your partner before replying to his previous persuasions.

"Nines, you put me down as your emergency contact, let them call me, watched as I embarrassed myself after thinking that something terrible had happened to you, and then you revealed that you had weaseled your way into my personal health files weeks ago like it was a totally normal thing to do. No matter what you say to me, I'm not going anywhere, because I'll be damned if you don't learn some kind of lesson by being forced to have me babysit you for the night."

Nines gave a hum in response, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he shrugged and turned to make his way toward the living room,

"Whatever you say, Detective, but I don't think I loathe your presence quite enough to view it as punishment. You are getting there, though."

You scoffed at that and followed him into the next room, fighting the urge to gape at the cleanliness of this one as well as you watched your partner move to take a seat in an armchair nearby, one long leg crossing over the other as a hand moved to rest upon his knee in a way that had you staring at his fingers for what you imagined was far too long before you finally caught yourself and looked away, cheeks dusted a light pink as you cleared your throat.

"Well even if I wanted to, we both know I can’t just leave. You heard the technician, Nines, someone needs to stay with you for at least the next six hours to observe you and make sure there are no negative reactions to the temporary parts she had to install while you wait for the new ones to be manufactured and shipped out. That temporary circulatory pump is a huge concern, and you need to be careful not to overwhelm it so you don't risk damaging your thirium pump. She already told you how serious it could be if you aren't careful, especially in these first few hours as your systems get used to the less functional temporary parts." 

Nines all but rolled his eyes at your words as he leaned further back against the chair, watching you intently as he did so,

"The chances of me becoming overwhelmed, be it physically or emotionally, are incredibly slim, Detective. I was not built to experience such things."

"You also weren't built with temporary parts meant for an entirely different and non-military model of android, Nines."

You countered easily, choosing that moment to start looking around the living room rather than just stand in its doorway.

Carefully, as if afraid you might create a mess in the area simply by virtue of being there, you made your way over to a wall fitted with a large fireplace, and opened your mouth to comment on how dramatic it looked all decked out in black wrought iron, when you suddenly caught sight of the mirror that rested on the mantle and halted before you could say a single word.

In all your eagerness to bring Nines home and get him to let up on his insistence that your presence was unwarranted, you had completely forgotten about all the blue blood that decorated you and your clothing.

It stained your white button up, made dark marks on your brown pants, and was sprayed in disorganized spatters across your neck, cheeks, forehead, and hair.

But the most notable stain of all was the nearly perfect handprint, devoid of any fingerprints, that was wrapped around your right wrist.

You stared at that handprint, hands shaking slightly at your sides as you swallowed thickly, trying to keep the sound of a bullet hitting strong plastic out of your mind as you fought off the tears that sprang to your eyes at the memory.

Just this morning you had celebrated the fresh absence of your sling,

And only three hours afterward you had been hovering above your partner’s body, struggling to stop the blue blood from seeping out of the open bullet wound just below where his ribs would have been located if he’d had any.

And now you were standing in that same partner's apartment at 4:00pm, staring at the way that his blood covered your clothing and bare skin.

Everything had happened so fast, and you felt your mind reel as you tried your best to keep up with the events that had occurred throughout the day thus far.

Your vision grew cloudy as you stood there, swaying slightly in front of the fireplace, staring deep into your own reflection unblinkingly.

That is, until you felt a familiar hand graze the sleeve along your right wrist, instantly bringing you back to Earth.

There, standing at your side, was Nines, perfectly healthy and glancing down at you with what almost appeared to be worry.

"There is a shower in the bathroom down the hall, the second door on your right. You're welcome to use it."

You took a brief moment to consider how the hell your partner had figured out your inner thoughts so easily before brushing off the confusion and turning to face him better, offering him a small and slightly fragile smile,

"That would be great, but I don't really know how much good it would do me. When I checked earlier the only spare clothing in my trunk was a pair of jeans, which means I won't have a shirt to replace this one..."

You trailed off as you looked down towards that handprint once more, though you snapped back to attention immediately when Nines spoke up,

"If it is any consolation, Detective, I do not believe the blue blood present on your shirt will be visible for much longer."

You sighed in response, trying not to look too uncomfortable at his attempt to provide some semblance of comfort as you spoke,

"I know but... there's just something about it being there, even if I can't see it, that just doesn't sit right with me."

Nines was silent for a moment before he gave a sudden and rather sharp nod at your words.

"I will see what I can do. In the meantime, though, I really must insist that you take a shower. The longer thirium remains on the skin, the harder it becomes to scrub off."

You shuddered slightly at the thought of not being able to get your partner's blood off of you, and gave an almost immediate nod of agreement,

"Okay, yeah, then I should definitely shower, but you've gotta promise me you won't just leave while I'm in there."

Nines' lips curled upward ever so slightly at your words, amused by your persistent concern for his well-being but plenty willing to give in to your foolish requests if it meant you becoming more relaxed.

He hummed,

"I promise, Detective. Is that all?"

You considered his question for a few seconds before giving a slow and thoughtful nod in response, 

"Yeah, I think so. Anything I should know about the bathroom?"

Nines replied immediately, without requiring even a single moment of contemplation,

"The lock is on the door handle, the fan is to the left of the light switch, and you can lower the blinds to the window by pressing the button beside them, though I'm sure you aren't nearly tall enough for anyone to see anything indecent from the parking lot. In addition to this, you can find shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and most other common hygiene products beneath the sink. Feel free to utilize anything you find there. When you exit the shower, you should find two towels hung up to your right. Both are clean, though I do utilize the black one for myself when necessary, so be aware of that if the idea of using a towel I have used in the past causes you any discomfort."

Surprised by the sudden influx information, you spent a moment blinking rapidly before remembering that you were probably supposed to give some form of response to that,

"Oh okay, uh, thanks for letting me know. I'll see you after?"

Nines gave a hum of what you assumed was agreement before he began to walk toward the hallway he had mentioned you could find the bathroom in previously.

He pushed open the door to said bathroom and flicked on the light in two extremely fluid motions before continuing down the hall until he reached a closed door at the very end.

Said door opened to reveal a quick glance at a bed donning a soft looking black comforter and many plush looking gray silk covered pillows before Nines stepped in, his large form obscuring your view of the space as he made his way over to what you assumed was his closet towards a wall that you could not see from the angle you were standing at.

You watched for a few more moments after Nines walked out of view before you snapped yourself out of it and stepped onto the cool white tile of the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you as you took in the space.

Shining white tiles with dark green accents covered the floor, and a similarly green backsplash was present in the area between the gold faucet sink and the gold trimmed mirror, both of which shone brilliantly as they caught the light, clearly very rarely used, and kept pristine despite that.

God, you were beginning to wonder if Nines might be even more of an eerily neat guy than you'd previously thought.

Deeming that consideration far too unimportant to dwell on further, you squatted down to better reach the cabinet beneath the sink, opening it to find a rather large number of toiletries stashed beneath.

Multiple rolls of toilet paper stacked neatly, a few bottles of shaving cream, a metal razor handle with disposable single blades, two bamboo hair brushes, a few packaged toothbrushes with different bottles of toothpaste standing beside them, some dental floss, a large bottle of mouthwash, dry shampoo, deodorant, and a container with different sorted sections containing things like hair ties, tweezers, scrunchies, barrettes, bobby pins, a sewing kit, and even menstrual products within its designated cubbies.

But what caught your attention above all else was the actual showering supplies, which consisted of your favorite bar of body wash, a biodegradable mesh soap bar bag, your favorite shampoo and conditioner, the exact scent of shaving cream from the very same brand that you always used at home, and the body scrub that went along with it.

You stared at these products for a while, taken aback at the idea that Nines had somehow figured out what you liked and purchased these things for you to have at his home should you ever need them, only to brush the idea off immediately, your cheeks burning at the thought.

Of course he hadn't done all this just for you, at best he had figured out what you used and assumed it was typical for all other humans as well, leading him to buy these things in case someone ever needed to take a shower at his place (excluding himself, of course).

You stood, shower supplies in hand, and placed them on the counter of the sink for a few moments as you moved to turn the water on, taking note of the two towels, one black and one green, that hung from the rungs. 

'Both are clean, though I do utilize the black one for myself when necessary, so be aware of that if the idea of using a towel I have used before causes you any discomfort.'

Is what Nines had told you earlier on, and you swallowed thickly at the idea of sharing a towel with your partner before shaking your head in embarrassment, desperate to rid yourself of the thought as you picked up your supplies once more, placing them down carefully where they belonged in the shower before beginning the process of stripping down, trying not to pay attention to the blue blood all over your clothes and body as you did so.

And then, after giving the temperature of the water one final check, you stepped in, giving an unintentional and almost surprising sigh of relief as you did so.

The water was hot and soothing against your tense muscles, and for just a few moments, you allowed yourself time to bask in that comfort despite the stressors awaiting you back out in the real world.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, as you began the process of scrubbing semi-dried blue blood off of your skin, Nines was exiting the master suite, having laid a white button up across his neat black comforter to await your need for it.

The shirt would likely be rather large on you, given that it was one of his, but since you claimed to have a pair of your own jeans in the car, he was confident that your outfit wouldn't be so excessively unfitted that it would look unkempt.

He sighed and looked toward his wrist to check his watch, a rather human habit he’d developed despite his constant ability to know the time at a moment’s notice without the use of a device that attached to his body.

It was 4:35 now, and you had only been in the shower for around five minutes.

He glanced towards the bathroom door, the dull slap of water hitting tile the only sound emanating from your general vicinity.

He then looked at the door to his apartment, considering his options.

He had made a promise not to leave, and intended to keep it, but even so, he knew it made almost no sense to wait for you to exit the shower just for him to go down and get you your jeans anyway, and it wasn't as if you could do so yourself without new pants to wear down to the parking lot below.

Plus, he had only promised not to leave, and you had neglected to define exactly what "leaving" entailed.

Nines gave a subtle smirk at that, deciding that with that logic, you had no ground to stand on as long as he didn't actually leave the property, which he had absolutely no intention of doing in the process of collecting your spare pair of jeans.

So, with that, the android made a beeline for the front door, grabbing both his house keys as well as your car keys before he stepped out into the hallway and locked his front door behind him.

He took the steps slowly and at his leisure, though he notably went two at a time the entire way down until he reached the entrance to his apartment complex, which allowed him access to the gated parking area.

Once outside, it was easy to unlock your car and locate your pants within the trunk before shutting and locking everything all over again, your jeans slung over his forearm the same way that his shirt had been previously as he leaned against your car and looked up toward his apartment, where he was shocked to see that you hadn't bothered with closing the blinds at the window that looked into the shower.

Thankfully, he had been right about the pane being too high up on the wall to reveal anything one might consider intimate, but even still, Nines found himself staring as you ran adept fingers through your hair, rinsing the shampoo from it with your eyes peacefully shut against the consistent barrage of water raining down from the shower head above.

He continued to watch in an almost curious manner for a few more moments before realizing you were likely close to finishing, a fact which caused him to move a bit faster up the stairs during his return to the apartment, unlocking the door with ease before stepping back inside and closing the door swiftly and silently behind him.

Nines listened closely, hearing the familiar sound of water on tile as he made his way down the hall and over to his bed to set your jeans down alongside his button up.

There.

You would likely be done any minute now, and when you were, you could -

Nines’ inner thoughts were cut off by the sound of your phone ringing from somewhere across the apartment, and as he focused more on the noise emanating from the device in order to find it, he felt his brow wrinkle in curiosity.

Where could you have left that?

As Nines began what would be a very short and simple search for your cell phone, you were finishing up in the shower, fighting back a shiver as you lightly ran the soap bag containing your favorite bar soap across your torso, the unfamiliar texture tickling your skin in an unexpected manner.

The perception of yet another foreign sensation had you thinking back to all of the other unfamiliar feelings you’d experienced lately, though one in particular seemed stuck at the front of your mind.

Without even realizing what you were doing, you allowed your thoughts to wander aimlessly to the way that Nines' hands had gently cradled your hips as he’d lifted you up to the ladder earlier that morning, and how similar the memory of those hands felt to the water that was now caressing your skin, causing light blue liquid to spill down the drain as it washed away the blue blood that had stubbornly remained despite your persistent scrubbing.

Suddenly, broken out of your reverie by a slight temperature shift in the water, you startled, cheeks hot with embarrassment when you realized what you’d been thinking of. 

God, what was up with you lately?

You had been thinking about Nines almost nonstop, particularly when it came to your more physical interactions, like when he had helped you in and out of your dress for the gala a few weeks back, or when you had grazed his neck at the same aforementioned event and received a rather surprising reaction from him in response.

But even still, despite the memories of the other physical moments that had occurred between the two of you, the recollected feeling of his strong hands gripping powerfully onto your hips as he’d lifted you up with an almost practiced ease had your mind reeling and your heart racing for reasons you were fairly certain you didn't want to consider further.

And even though you tried to convince yourself that these reactions were completely normal, you still found that guilt was getting the better of you.

This was Nines you were thinking about, the cold, stubborn, and calculating military model android that you called your partner, who, despite others’ perceptions of him, felt a great deal of responsibility and worry for your well-being, as well as the well-beings of many more on top of that.

You thought back to when he had been shot earlier that morning, how he had comforted you even while he was so seriously injured and in pain, and the fact that he had done so as if it were the only possible option.

In Nine's mind, ensuring your safety, be it emotional or physical, was of the utmost importance, even when his personal safety was at risk, and as much as he would likely deny that verbally, his actions spoke volumes.

Nines had been willing to endure what most would consider to be an immense agony with a straight face just to make you feel less worried for him,

And here you were, in his bathroom, unable to stop yourself from thinking of the way his hands had felt as they’d wrapped easily around your hips, his torso just inches behind your back while he’d lifted you mere moments later, that usual air of confidence somehow both annoying and reassuring all at once as he’d done so.

Fuck, you really needed to get a grip.

Grabbing the shower valve dial in a manner that could only be described as aggressive, you held back a squeak as you forced the temperature down further, dousing yourself in much colder water in an effort to end your unwelcome thoughts.

Just moments later though, you failed to hold back a second squeak at the sound of knuckles rapping thrice against the wooden door, before Nines' voice followed shortly thereafter,

"Detective, please come out at your earliest convenience. There is something that requires your immediate attention."

At those words, you found yourself cursing under your breath before reaching to turn the water off entirely, grabbing for a towel and wrapping it around yourself all the while.

Hurriedly, and with an almost impressive level of speed considering how slippery your environment was, you stepped out of the shower and onto the mat below before allowing your feet to press against the cool tile as you made your way over to the door, previously worn clothing forgotten in a heap below the towel rack as you reached to unlock and open it, allowing a gust of steam to exit the bathroom and pour out into the hallway instead.

There, standing against the wall opposite the bathroom, stood Nines, and you watched as his eyes scanned the length of your body before halting suddenly, as if he realized too late how that may have looked.

You chose to ignore it.

"What's going on?"

You all but panted out, tightening your towel dress around your chest and ensuring it was secure even as you spoke, suddenly far more aware of your lack of clothing now that Nines was watching you.

"You received a phone call regarding a case nearby. Our presence has been requested at the scene due to the state of the victim and the proximity of the crime in comparison to our current location."

Your eyes widened as Nines spoke, and you struggled to form a response as you realized what he was saying,

"Wait, but we were supposed to be taken off of the page list for the night after what happened earlier today. Was this some kind of mistake?"

Nines shrugged his shoulders,

"I am unable to discern the level of intent that was had by dispatch when they requested our support at the scene. I simply stated we would arrive as soon as is feasible."

You gawked at your partner's words, crossing your arms over the exposed skin of your chest as you gave him a look that could only be described as pure exasperation,

"Your technician said you needed to take at least the rest of the night off, why wouldn’t you just say that we're unavailable?"

Nines gave a dismissive hum, his hand moving in a manner that suggested the dilemma you had brought up was of very little importance.

"I saw no reason to turn down the case, as all that would do is delay the inevitable."

You scoffed, adjusting your towel again to ensure it was firmly tucked into itself before you placed a hand on your hip,

"And what exactly is the inevitable in this situation? That you blow a fuse trying to interrogate a suspect because you refuse to just take it easy until your new parts come in?"

Nines shook his head, replying as if your question had been far more sincere than it actually was,

"No Detective, the inevitable is that the department sends in someone else in our stead, they neglect to solve the case, and we are left to deal with the mess that they made in the process of their failure."

You rolled your eyes, but gave a relenting sigh that your partner knew meant you no longer had any hope of not joining him at the scene,

"There are literally three other people in the android crimes division, Nines, how much mess could they possibly make?"

The android in question gave you a rather pointed look and took a step back before gesturing toward his room,

"I am confident that I don't need to answer that question for you, Detective. Now, if you're finished in the bathroom, you're more than welcome to use the bedroom at the end of the hall to change. I took it upon myself to collect your jeans and find you a shirt while you freshened up."

You glared at your partner before begrudgingly agreeing, briefly heading back into the bathroom to grab the clothing you had abandoned on the floor previously to ensure that you would have undergarments to wear, since you severely doubted Nines' ability to procure those for you.

With that, you started making your way down the hall, taking note of the way that the android was quick to follow. 

"You broke your promise about leaving you know."

You stated matter of factly as you passed the threshold to the master bedroom, trying not to look as in awe of the large space as you actually were when you turned to face your partner, who tilted his head slightly in response to your words,

"On the contrary, Detective, I was actually very careful to keep it. I neglected to leave the property, and therefore did not leave in any meaningful sense of the word."

You rolled your eyes and placed a hand on the door, preparing to shut it in order to give yourself some privacy,

"Whatever you say, Nines. Is there anything else you need, or can I get changed now?"

Nines shook his head,

“No, there is nothing else that I require, Detective. I’ll wait here in the hallway in case there’s anything you may need.”

You gave a slight nod and muttered a soft "Thanks", before you closed the door, sighing gently while stepping back to sit at the edge of the large California King sized bed, the black comforter that covered it feeling slightly cool against your skin as you began to dry your hair to the best of your ability.

After finishing up with that, you stood and prepared to get dressed, even though the shirt Nines had provided would clearly be big on you.

You started with your undergarments before moving on to your pants, stepping into the familiar clothing with ease before you tugged the large white button up Nines had given you over your head, immediately noting just how soft the fabric felt against your skin, and how despite it clearly being clean, it still had that faint smell that reminded you so thoroughly of your partner.

Turning, you looked in the mirror, letting out a quiet chuckle at the sight of yourself in Nines' shirt, the sleeves hanging well past your hands in a way that made you look like a child playing dress up again.

You shook your head at the situation you’d found yourself in, tucking the front of the shirt into your jeans before threading your belt through the loops, doing your best to look as professional as possible despite your lackluster clothing options.

You were just about to glance toward the mirror and look at your reflection one final time when a set of three firm knocks on the door brought your attention elsewhere.

"You can come in!"

You shouted back, hearing the gentle click of the door opening just a few moments later as Nines slowly stepped into the bedroom, his gaze falling to your new clothing immediately.

Laughing a bit, you held your arms out and gave a slow spin,

"How do I look? Do android tailored shirts suit me?"

You asked sarcastically, watching as Nines cocked a brow and stepped forward, his gaze flitting across your form as he fully took in the sight of you, before finally, he opened his mouth to speak,

"The clothing is plenty suitable as long as you feel comfortable wearing it."

You rolled your eyes a bit at that, shrugging as you pushed the sleeves up towards your elbows messily, crinkling the fabric in disorganized patterns that had both sleeves falling back down towards your wrists unevenly as a result.

Nines all but scoffed at your actions,

"And how do you intend to inspect a crime scene with your sleeves getting in the way, Detective?"

You shrugged dismissively as you began to search for some sort of hair tie in the pocket of your jeans

"Eh, I'll roll them up on the drive over."

You grinned to yourself as you found an elastic in your back pocket, preparing to turn toward your partner to finish your conversation when you felt a light tug at the fabric of your sleeve, which had begun to dangle off your hand once more.

Surprised, you looked toward your left arm, where the sensation was coming from, only to find that Nines was holding it between two sets of fingertips, seemingly contemplating the fabric before he looked up at you expectantly,

"May I, Little Mouse?"

You blanched at the now familiar nickname before regaining your composure and nodding slowly, barely resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation,

"If you really think you have to, then sure, but I can do it myself, you know."

You clarified quietly, your voice sounding more than just a little breathless as you spoke.

"I believe you're perfectly capable, if that's what you're worried about, Detective. I simply believe my assistance might speed up the process for us both."

Not sure how to reply, you just nodded silently, ignoring the quickening pace of your heart as your partner stepped forward, now much closer as he lifted your hand up to his shoulder so he could roll the fabric of your borrowed shirt sleeve up your arm in tight and even folds. He continued with this until finally, he reached the area just above your elbow and stopped, using the button tab to hold the sleeve in place before he gestured for your right arm, placing your hand similarly upon his shoulder before he began the process once more.

You watched closely all the while, feeling almost in awe of Nines as you studied the way his face looked up close, counting the constellations of freckles that dotted his artificial flesh, and taking note of the way that his jaw shifted as he concentrated heavily on the task at hand, completely unaware of your watchful gaze as he worked.

However, what you were entirely unaware of yourself, was just how focused on you the android truly was.

Despite his consistent perfection when it came to the task at hand, his mind was much more occupied with the way you looked in his clothing.

His shirt, that had been tailored explicitly for him and no one else.

He had never considered before that something made solely for him could look so right on someone else, much less his smaller human partner, but even so, he found himself enamored by the way your fingers had wrapped around the sleeves as they had dangled below your hands, and the way the shirt seemed to flutter about your body even after you had tucked the front of it into your jeans.

But above all else, his mind was stuck on how well the color of the fabric looked against your skin despite its neutral tones, as if you had been the person made to wear it all along.

He broke himself out of his internal reverie just as he began buttoning the second sleeve in place, his artificial breaths that he hadn't consciously chosen to pause starting up once more as he rooted himself firmly in reality again.

Despite him clearly being finished, the two of you remained in that position for just a little while longer, him with his fingers brushing gently against the skin of your arm, and you with your hand holding loosely to his shoulder, your faces suddenly seeming much closer than just seconds before as he lowered his gaze from your sleeve in order to meet your eyes, the intensity of his piercing gray/blues shocking you for a moment before you managed to regain your composure, clearing your throat lightly as you lowered your hand from his shoulder hesitantly, your gaze slowly dropping away from his and instead moving to the mirror to the right of you, where you found your reflections staring back, unyielding in their persistent attention.

Suddenly though, you watched as Nines' LED briefly circled yellow just seconds before your phone gave it's familiar notifying chirp of a work page, causing you to groan and look around for it, only to have Nines give a subtle smirk and roll of his eyes before pulling it out of his pocket and handing it to you with only a silent quirk of his brow that nearly made you want to punch that slightly smug look off his face.

He always found amusement in how easily you lost things or sometimes even outright forgot them, leaving him to remember their importance and carry them on his person in order to ensure the two of you remained at "peak efficiency".

You, on the other hand, were not nearly as big a fan of how often he'd been right regarding your persistent forgetfulness, even when you were actively trying to remember everything that you needed.

Sighing, you reached over to take your phone from your partner, mumbling out an annoyed “Thanks.” before you checked your most recent work notification and frowned, glancing up at the android standing before you,

"Are you sure you want to do this? We can just call out."

Nines didn't even seem to give your question any thought before he simply nodded and pulled your car keys from his pocket, spinning them around on his index finger casually,

"I'm sure, Detective. Is there anything else you need before we go?"

Letting out yet another sigh of pure exasperation, you shook your head, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you replied,

"Nope, nothing else. Let's get this night over with."

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