#clumsy partner prompt fills

[allylikethecat]

hellooooo ally!! i have officially read it’s christmas (so this is gonna be a nightmare) twice lucky me!!! what a treat!!! i have so many thoughts and feelings about the fic you don’t understand how much i love the trope/concept of fic!matty not being liked or accepted by people outside the band because of his “quirks” (serious and personal mental health/ addiction issues) because it’s just so unfair. perfect angst and also very realistic???? being written off as Bad News because he experiences hardships that are more scary and extreme than most people?? so wonderfully devastating and very real.

you aren’t allowed to apologise for the fic not being finished. you’ve done it to every other ask but i’m putting my foot down. no apology please!!! releasing it in parts just builds suspense anyways i love it.

now for the clumsy partner prompts!!! thankyou sooooo much for reblogging the list i feel very blessed. i’d like to request gatty 15, 16, 17 and 18 (they are all pretty similar so you could maybe combine some in one blurb? but obviously im not telling you how to write do whatever calls to you i just feel bad for requesting so many at once😅)

as always have a lovely rest of your day and i’m really looking forward to whatever you post next!!! love ya😇🩷

Hello! Thank you so, so, so much for reading the first bit of the Christmas fic not only once but TWICE! I hope it's lived up to the hype even if it's not finished yet. Poor Fictional!Matty just wants his future in laws to like him, because he's not the same person he was when he was in his early twenties, he's worked on himself and deserves to be given a chance! Also I will not apologize for the fic not being finished by Christmas as requested even though I am sorry that I didn't finish it - it will hopefully be finished by the end of January at the latest!

Also!! thank you so much for not only suggesting the clumsy partner prompts to me, but also sending in this prompt request! I wanted to challenge myself a little bit, so I actually (I think!) managed to weave all four of them into one fill! Let me know what you think! If this wasn't what you were looking for, let me know and I will rewrite them! (If anyone else wants to send in any prompts, the list can be found HERE)

Thank you so much for reading and sending in this ask and for always just being so lovely and wonderful and supportive! I'm so sorry that it's taken me a minute to get to some of your other prompt requests as well! I hope you enjoy this one though and I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Thank you again!!

❤️Ally

15. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, really.”

“Shhh, stop it. You're no trouble at all, zero.”

16. Their partner sometimes feeling that their clumsy tendencies ruin everything and them, actually finding it endearing. They are sure to let their partner know they love it.

17.  “Oh, I don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t mess it up, go on and give it a try.”

18. Makes it clear to their partner and anyone on the outside that just because they’re worried, doesn’t mean that their partner needs them or depends on them. It’s simply their partner allowing them to do the things that make them comfortable because they’re always worrying.

Matty knew he wasn’t the most coordinated person on the face of the Earth. He was always tripping over his feet, his head in the clouds as he bumped into things and other people, stumbling over curbs and spilling cups of coffee. George always had bandages in his backpack, and an extra Matty-sized shirt for when an inevitable incident occurred. His knees were permanently bruised and his palms forever scrapped. Despite George’s endless patience, and “I’ll kiss it betters” Matty wanted to die each time they were late for a meeting because Matty ate it in the parking lot. 

He had been horrible at sports as a child, his limbs never seeming to want to move the way he directed them, despite not being very large he felt like he had never properly grown into his body and developed the spacial awareness and grace that George seemed to carry. He had tried yoga but just grew frustrated at the disconnect he felt from his physical form and had quickly given up, citing some bullshit about not subscribing to George’s crunchy granola agenda. They both knew he was spouting nonsense. 

Thanks to Matty, they were going to be twenty minutes late to their first fully staged rehearsal for the new tour. Matty was so careful focusing on his footfalls, holding his Starbucks cup away from his body so it wouldn’t splash onto his white tee shirt. He wasn’t even wearing his airpods, he was making sure he was aware of his surroundings George until he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. He managed to not only spill his coffee down his entire front, but bang his elbow on the cement so that it was now bleeding sluggishly. Matty sat on his ass in a puddle of coffee trying to comprehend what just happened while George looked on in mild horror.

“Are you alright?” George asked softly, voice thick with concern as he helped pull Matty to his feet, careful of his bleeding elbow, scarlet splatter bright against the white coffee stained fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m fine,” Matty said, his lower lip wobbling in frustration. He wanted to pull away from George’s grasp but wasn’t sure his shaking knees would support him on his own. His elbow stung and he wanted to cry in frustration. If he couldn’t walk down the street, how was he ever supposed to handle thirty nine North American tour dates? 

Today was supposed to be a good day, Matty thought hysterically, an important day, and as per usual not only were they late, it was his fault.

“Hey,” said George, tugging Matty into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Let’s go get you patched up, I think I have an extra shirt in my bag.”

Because of course he had an extra shirt, because he knew that Matty couldn’t be expected to walk normally like an adult without spilling something. Matty should have woken up earlier and drank his coffee at home, sitting safely at the kitchen table. George led him through the doors of  the venue they were renting for rehearsal space, flashing their credentials to the security guard and following the signs in the hallway to lead him straight to the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry,” said Matty, his voice wet, fuck he really was about to start crying, as George helped him sit up on the lip of the sink so that he could clean his elbow with a damp brown paper towel. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, really.”

“Shhh, stop it.” said George, pulling away so that he could look Matty in the eyes. “You're no trouble at all, zero.” 

“But I’m always tripping over myself and ruining things,” Matty said with a sniffle. 

George threw the paper towel away and pulled a box of bandages and a small tube of antibiotic ointment out of his backpack. He dabbed the ointment gently against Matty’s scraped skin with a careful kindness that made Matty’s heart hurt. He didn’t deserve George. 

“It’s kind of cute,” George said quietly, after a moment, Matty swallowing a hiss of pain as the scrap stung. “Like obviously, I don’t like it when you get hurt, it makes me quite nervous actually, but you’re cute, like a baby deer discovering they have legs for the first time.” 

“A baby deer?” Matty asked, raising his eyebrow amongst the pain, his eyes still wet even as he tried to force a smile. 

“The cutest baby deer,” said George with a small grin, smoothing the bandage over Matty’s elbow before leaning down to press a kiss to the plaster. 

Matty just snorted in response, and hopped off the counter, pretending he didn’t notice the way George was hovering at his side, ready to reach out and grab him in case something went wrong. 

“Thanks,” he said, taking the offered black tee shirt from George and pulling off the now stained white one he was wearing. He pretended not to notice the way George was blatantly checking out his chest and stomach as if he didn’t see him naked on a daily basis. 

“It’s nice of you to join us,” said Ross smirking, “Even if you’re never beating the diva allegations, Healy.”  Matty sighed dramatically when they finally joined the group in front of the stage, his eyes going wide as he took in his vision come to life.

“I had a little mishap in the parking lot,” he admitted sheepishly, holding out his now bandaged elbow for Ross and Adam to see. 

“You’ve got to be more careful mate,” said Adam, ruffling Matty’s hair as they sat down on the sofa that had been brought into the space, and went over the stage show with Tobias. 

“I want to cut the song on the roof,” Matty said quietly after a moment, when the time came in the first run through for him to put on a harness and climb up onto the roof portion of their set. The music stopped as Matty chewed on his lower lip nervously. 

George blinked, that was a segment that Matty had been dead set on, and excited to perform, having chattered about the visual implications of doing so and how it furthered the story for weeks. 

“What?” George asked his expression of concern and confusion mirrored on Ross and Adam’s faces as well.

“Oh, I don’t want to mess it up.” Matty said softly with a shrug, “I’m so clumsy I’ll probably fall off the roof and traumatize our fan base or something.” 

“You won’t mess it up,” George assured him even if Ross and Adam looked skeptical.  “Go on and give it a try.”

Matty opened his mouth as if to argue but George just shook his head. “No, go on, try it out, there is a whole team of people that are going to make sure you’re okay, and you’ll have the harness so even if you do slip, you won’t fall far.” 

Matty swallowed hard but nodded, having needed the extra push from George, to disappear into the makeshift backstage. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Ross asked quietly, stepping away from his microphone to make sure Matty didn’t hear him. “I was worried about it when he was all excited about it, but now if he’s even having second thoughts...” 

George shrugged, fiddling with one of the drum sticks. “I’m worried, obviously,” George said, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t support him, he wanted to do the song on the roof, so we should at least try the song on the roof, there are foot holes, and handles up there, plus he has a harness on to make sure even if he does fall he won’t fall far.” 

“You’re a better man than me,” said Adam, “I’d have Carly wrapped in bubble wrap if she was as accident prone as Matty.”

George shrugged, smiling when he looked up and saw Matty waving from the roof, before flashing a thumbs up. 

“We’re partners,” George reminded him, “and that means working together as a team.” 

[these-lovely-monsters]

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: m!bear hybrid x f!reader

Content: bear trap, blood loss, injury recovery, possessiveness, sex, p in v, oral, knotting

#18 Hybrid from @ozzgin's Monstertober 2024 prompt list

⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ● ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋅ ⋆

You're hiking through the forest when you stumble upon a bear hybrid caught in a bear trap. Although his body is human, he's massive and covered in fur with the head of a bear. He also has giant, claw-tipped paws which are too big and clumsy to free himself from the trap. He's bleeding profusely and in desperate need of help.

At first you're wary of this potentially dangerous stranger but he assures you that he won't hurt you. He seems kind enough and the idea of leaving him to die is out of the question for you so you decide to help him. Once you've carefully freed him from the trap, he sags to the ground in exhaustion, nearly passing out from the blood loss.

Realizing he'll need someone to take care of him while he recovers, you help him up, almost buckling from his weight. You let him lean on you as you stumble through the forest to his den, which is apparently pretty close by.

Over the next few days, you tend to his injury and feed him fish that you catch from the stream nearby. During this time, you spend hours chatting and getting to know each other. You enjoy his company more than you should and he seems to grow equally enamored with you.

When he's fully recovered, he decides that words aren't enough repayment for all your help so instead he worships your body in thanks. Much to your delight, he spends the next few hours fucking you mercilessly on his knot and filling you up with his cum until you're a limp and sated puddle in his arms.

But he's not done with you yet. When your pussy becomes too sore from his massive cock, he eats you out instead. He can't seem to get enough as he tells you that your arousal is the most exquisite honey he's ever tasted. When he's finally worn himself out and you're barely coherent from all the orgasms, he tells you that he's never letting you go.

Congratulations, you now have a bear hybrid boyfriend. But you can't complain because he turns out to be the best partner you've ever had. He loves listening to you talk about everything and anything that pops into your mind. He cradles you in his massive arms when you're sad. He lays his heavy, warm body on top of you when you're anxious. He snarls at creeps who hit on you when you're out walking at night. He even brings you beautiful little gifts of stones and feathers that he finds when he's out hunting.

But best of all, he continues to fuck you roughly and possessively every night until you think you might die of pleasure. And then when he's done, he cleans you up like you're the most precious thing in the world, whispering sweet words of praise in your ear as you drift off to sleep.

Tip Jar :)

[woso-fan13]

2024 Whumptober 1

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK (Chelsea x reader)

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.”

Jessie’s phone repeatedly buzzing on the nightstand was enough to pull her from her sleep, clumsy finger searching for the device and pulling it off the charger. 

“Yeah?” she grunts in greeting, still half asleep. 

“Jess,” a frantic voice floods the line, “we need you to get over here now.”

It’s Pernille, Jessie knew that much. She didn’t necessarily know why Pernille was calling at 4am, nor did she know why she had chosen to call her. 

“Wha-?” Jessie cuts herself off. “Pernille, what’s going on? Can’t it wait until morning?”

Silence fills the air for a moment too long to feel comfortable. 

“Y/N’s missing.”

That woke Jessie up, prompting her to grab the closest sweatshirt and be in her car within two minutes, abandoning all sense of road safety. 

She pounds on the familiar front door within 15 minutes of her phone ringing. Magda rips the door open and Jessie can see the brief look of disappointment on her face when she notices it’s not you. Nonetheless, Magda quickly pulls her into a tight hug, holding on as if Jessie is going to disappear. 

Magda pulls back eventually, giving Jessie one last squeeze, and looking at her closely. Jessie is able to force the tiniest of reassuring smiles at Magda before looking past her and into the living room. 

It’s filled with players- all clearly having been pulled from their dreams. At least a dozen heads are looking around, scanning faces like you’ll just appear. 

“Okay,” Magda shouts, always the captain, “everyone grab a partner and pick a few blocks. If you see Y/N, call me or Pernille. We’ll coordinate back here, make sure she’s not alone if she comes back home. Everyone ready?”

There’s a moment where no one moves, waiting for you to pop out from behind a corner and laugh, celebrating successfully tricking your teammates. 

You don’t. 

[sephifrog]

(NSFW) MINORS PLEASE DNI

First soldiers and general nsfw

Sephiroth

He has a sensitive chest and loves when you put your hands on it, warm or cold it doesn’t matter as long as their gentle and your looking up at him he folds.

Tugging his hair-if you tug his hair expect a growl that turns into a chuckle as he pulls you closer

He’s quiet other then the occasional groan or growl

He heals quickly so when you leave your marks on him he wants you to bite as deep as you can so he can keep them longer

Virgin™️ no one can tell me otherwise

Researched virgin however - he’s read books when he can, their hidden somewhere outside his apartment because he doesn’t want anyone to see (he knows Hojo’s put bugs in his apartment he just can’t find them)

Speaking of bugs he refuses to let you over until he knows for sure his apartment is safe

So midnight rendezvous ensue

Going back to books for a sec I feel he has a guilty pleasure for romance - and smut he learns most of his moves from those books and even if you can tell you don’t say anything because he looks awkward and adorable

He first kiss with you wasn’t magical like in all his books, he was clumsy and on guard not wanting anyone to ruin this moment, he actually knocked his teeth against yours but the second one was much better

He wants to have a normal life and you make him feel like a normal person, not treating him as some god or hero just another person and he appreciates that

The first sexual encounter you two have was you riding his thigh

He cums a lot, it’s thick and usually fills you until you leak

Tastes bitter but the right amount of bitter it’s not overpowering

Genesis

Praise this man, he may have an ego but it works in your favour

Also likes hair tugging

Honestly feel like Genesis is the most freaky out of the trio- it’s the red leather that gives it away/j

Bet he would have nipple piercings if he was allowed

And a cock piercing

But anyway

His neck is super sensitive and unlike sephiroth he’s loud, especially if you get embarrassed

Moans and panting would fill the room

He prefers leaving marks on you but doesn’t mind if you litter his thighs and chest with marks

He’s not a virgin but he’s also not as experienced as he lets on feel he’s been with two or three partners

He may be a freak but he’s not afraid to be soft and vulnerable with you if your a long time partner

Likes being pampered

Hero complex- definitely into master and dom stuff

He cums a lot less then sephiroth but it’s still quite a bit

He tastes sweet and salty

Angeal

Lovely man, home maker his thighs are his most sensitive area scrape your nails against them and he’s a goner

Not into hair pulling he’s softer then the other two- more vanilla

King of aftercare, the other two do it but I feel Angeal is just better at it focuses more on you then himself (not to say the other two are selfish or anything he just seems the type to pamper his partner)

Honestly I don’t see him with a high sex drive like he would enjoy it and never say no to you (unless really not in the mood) but he rarely seeks it out

When he does it’s usually after a mission or after training the adrenaline spiking it

A secret romantic more modest then Genesis though

Would take you to a secluded area to watch the sunset/rise

Always walks closer to the road so he can protect you

He cums the least out of the three and unless prompted won’t fill you up

It tastes salty and he doesn’t mind if you can’t swallow

I also feel all three of them would have stronger breeding instincts after a mako injection- they all have breeding kinks- I don’t make the rules

I believe all soldiers have a breeding kink they just get stronger the more mako you get

[grandline-fics]

Dance With The Devil

DESCRIPTION: You first meet through a dance

WARNINGS: mention of a death but nothing graphic

CHARACTERS: Rob Lucci

WORDS: 1,204

A/N: Don’t know where this idea came from or how I feel about the result but I decided to go with it and give one of the villains some love while I was at it. First time writing for Lucci so hopefully they turned out okay. If there’s interest for this I might do a couple more with this idea for different characters.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST | PROMPT LIST

———————

By all accounts if he were to carry out yet another assassination this setting was one of the more preferable for him. Civilians of high stature mingling; all of them enjoying fine food, richer tasting wine, sharing the recent buzz of salacious gossip, and some of them sure to be part of tomorrow’s rumour mill from their current behaviour Lucci was silently observing. So many of them thought they were being discreet and it was laughable in his keen gaze. Truly those with no training like he had were so clumsy and obvious, it was laughable. Still he supposed for many in this room, this was their only real thrill and excitement they’d get in their lives. As he lifted his champagne glass to his lips, his sharp eyes zeroed in on his target across the room. A man with more money than sense and had clearly led a lavish life thanks to those riches. While Lucci had orders to kill the man he also had orders to steal the very thing that made him so rich; a ledger filled with critical information so valuable it could buy a kingdom ten times over. He needed to wait for his target to retire to his suite and kill him there and steal the ledger at the same time.

“Sir?” He barely flickered his gaze down to register who’d decided to stand beside him. The movement of his eyes was enough to signal that he heard you speak to him but he offered no other response. Knowing he was listening was enough and you continued. “I hate to bother you but is there anyway I could trouble you for a dance? It’d help me shake some…undesirable attention.” Lucci glanced at you a little more and then followed where you were discreetly pointing  behind you as you pretended to fix your hair. Slowly he caught sight of two individuals eyeing you.  Lucci considered your request for a moment. He was to remain undercover and blend in. Dancing wouldn’t be out of the question, if anything it could help him. 

Wordlessly he set his drink down on a table he’d been standing near and took your hand, leading you to the filled dance floor. Together you fell into perfect sync with the waltz playing. Slowly you followed Lucci’s stare to catch the man who had his silent attention. “Interesting…” you mused, only looking at the man with disinterest. “Didn’t think he’d be your type. You love a man with a large bank account? Or does the bald head and lecherous smile just really do it for you?” You asked with a smirk to see his lips twitch slightly. “I won't be jealous if you want me to swap places with him.” You offered. 

“Not necessary.” Lucci finally uttered and you playfully gasped in surprise as he broke his gaze from the target to stare at you with empty eyes. 

“So he does speak.” You teased, “And here I thought a cat had your tongue this whole time. Not that I mind. The strong, silent type of persona can be quite attractive when used right."

“I’ve never heard any complaints so far.”

“Humour too.” You smirked before looking behind you to see your annoyances had thankfully moved on and then glanced once more at the object of your dance partner’s attention. “Thief or assassin?” 

Your question came lower than a whisper but to Lucci he heard it perfectly. Both his eyes and grip on you hardened slightly and yet you gave no reaction. There was no fear in your eyes, just a familiar coldness. 

“For all you know I could be his bodyguard.” He stated, leading you smoothly into the second song. At his implication your smile returned with ease, continuing to dance with him as carefree as you had entered the dance floor with him. You were making no attempt to pull out of his hold. 

“Oh honey, I’m not treating you like a fool so offer me the same courtesy.” You answered. “I know every face here and I also know which bodyguards belong to each guest. So you’re here for something else.” Lucci glared down at you and your smirk grew. “There’s that strong, silent type again. Well regardless of what you’re here to do you’ll get your chance soon enough.”

Sure enough a shriek sounded and in moments the music stopped abruptly when the host’s own security entered, instructing all guests to return to their suites immediately. 

“Thanks for the dance, off you go.” You told Lucci, slipping your hand from his hold only to be roughly pulled back into his grasp. “Really? I’m suddenly a more important catch than what you were sent here to do because I worked out what you are?” You asked, surprising Lucci with your exasperation over the whole thing. Still you let him lead you with the crowd of panicked guests towards the suites. “If you’re as good as I think you are, I’m certain I’ll see you again. Quickly now, he’s getting away.” 

Lucci looked to see his target being ushered suddenly in a different direction than he was meant to be by his guards who looked familiar to him. How was that possible? He’d done his reconnaissance to the letter. Where were they going? He glared at you one final time before he let out a growl and released you, slipping through the crowd like a shadow. With a satisfied hum you turned, against the tide of bodies and effortless slipped passed them and made your own planned escape undetected. 

“You have the ledger?” Lucci’s superior asked the next morning over the den-den mushi. Lucci sat in his chair, relaxed as he looked at the hefty book in his grasp.

“It's in my hand as we speak. In the end there were no complications.” He reported. While the end location had been different, he’d successfully dealt with his target efficiently. After following them, they had gone to the original suite just by a longer and more complicated route. His target was killed in his bed while his so-called protection were none the wiser until he was long gone with the ledger in hand. “It seemed there was another death on the premises.”

“That hadn't been your doing?” Lucci frowned at the question.

“No, it was natural causes I’d heard. Heart attack.”

“That was the original thought. Our sources confirmed the cause was actually poison.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you thought to ask my involvement?”

“Because the victim was the target’s wife.” The revelation of this piece of information made Lucci freeze.

Quickly he finished the call and when he hung up he continued to think. The wife? Why would she-? Lucci looked down at the ledger in his hand and flicked through the pages, finally stopping when he noticed the tiniest remnant of paper in the seams. The only tiny trace that another page had once been there. Leaning forward he caught a scent. Yours. So that’s what you’d been up to. As infuriated as he was, he couldn’t deny your skill and now that he had your scent he would make it his ambition to track you down. He owed you another dance. 

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[luna-writes-stuff]

What types my favourite Game Of Thrones characters would fall for

Includes Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Oberyn Martell, Margaery Tyrell, Brienne Of Tarth, Daenerys Targaryen, and Tormund Giantsbane

————————————————————————

Robb Stark:

Robin Stark is 100% the person to fall for personality rather than looks. And something he has always admired, is someone with a creative mind. In the North, there is a lot of pessimism and realism. There isn’t much room for glee, daydreaming and imagination. So when he first meets you in one of the garden, writing away in your own notebook filled with words of your own worlds and thoughts, he is intrigued. Of course, you are adamant about talking about your work, let alone show it. But Robb is patient. He spends every single day talking to you, entertaining you and even accompanying you on walks. This man is completely gone for you. So, when you ultimately decide to give him a sneak peek, his entire face lights up. And your writing? It’s insane. He needs a library filled with your books right now. He is constantly asking about new ideas, even offering some, though they’re usually a tad bit….dark. But he tries! Will absolutely brag about it to others. He knows you don’t like to show everyone, but he will definitely let others know that his significant other can write. Don’t ever shut up about your ideas and prompts. This man wants to hear all of them. Every single one, even the late night cold sweat dream ones.

——

Sansa Stark:

Sansa can be rough around the edges. And who is to blame her after all she’s been dragged through? She needs someone who will look at things the kinder way, yet be decisive. Someone who can make interest out of the best of their heart. Sansa deals with issues from a neutral perspective, unless it is something close to her. But she can use a compassionate look at things. Then, all the same, she needs a supporting shoulder constantly. Someone who is able to slightly alter her decisions, but still let her do the main thing. If she wishes to have someone punished, they will. But all in good due. When the sun sets, she can let her guard down and rant about all the issues on her mind. She needs a confidential person for that, and who better than you? A comforting hand, a loving embrace, a gentle kiss. A good nice rest in the arms of those she loves most.

——

Jon Snow:

Jon has humour. He does. It’s hidden, but he does. And we saw how he was with Ygritte. Make him laugh in any way, and his heart can - and will - skip a beat. Whether it is because you are clumsy, childish, mischievous, or simply hilarious. He adores you. Something like you in the North is rare, and he plans on treasuring it for as long as he can. And when there is a day you won’t be laughing or trying to make others laugh, he grows concerned so quickly. It’s all fun and jokes until you stop laughing. All over you, constantly. Hiding you under his robe, standing in front of you the entire time, shooting you reassuring glances and smiles, reaching for your arm often to check if you’re still there. He does it. It’s those little gestures that grow so endearing, that you cannot help but smile at him. And that’s honestly all he needs.

——

Oberyn Martell:

Give him a charismatic partner. Someone who teases him back twice as hard, returns his pick up lines and messes with him from time to time. Play around with him and tug on his heart strings just a little too tight. He loves it. Playful smiles, far-off winking, stares at each other from the other side of the room. He was taken with you when your eyes first met his. He immediately knew there was this something about you. He’ll introduce you to others constantly, even if you are not around. You don’t know he does this, but he is so enamoured with you, he wants to announce it to everyone, even though that might not always be as clever. You’re being under protection the entire time, even from a distance. He has to make sure you are safe, constantly. If something were to happen to you, he’d never forgive himself.

——

Margaery Tyrell:

Margaery is a very artistic person. She grow up with artists all around her, and though she is somewhat skilled herself, this doesn’t mean she doesn’t admire the others. You’d have met in her home castle, working on one of your pieces when she simply walks in. Initially, she had the rooms mixed up, but she remained once she found your projects. She was a princess: you couldn’t tell her to get out. Of a room. Of a palace. Which her family owns. She starts taking immediately, apologising for entering the wrong room, but then moving on to your works decorating the walls. It is a whole different technique than she is used to, and it is somewhat entrancing. She’ll ask for inspiration, motivation and all those things, genuinely curious about your manner of working. From that day, she shows up twice a day, once with lunch, once without anything. Those talks made her fall for you at first; not your art, not your looks - though that was a win -, but you passion about your hobbies and career. And seeing you so motivated about her, awes her so much.

——

Brienne Of Tarth:

BIG STRONG WOMAN GOES WHOOSH. But when big strong woman sees compassionate and kind significant other, she grows all soft. She’ll do anything to grab your attention, though she will be hesitant at first. She has dealed with a lot of prejudice and harmful words throughout her life, and she fears you will reject her. Deep down, she knows you wouldn’t. You couldn’t even harm a fly. But she’s insecure. Yet, the second you choose to talk to her after seeing her countless attempts, she freezes completely. You’re actually talking to her? Thoughts everywhere. No words whatsoever. You observe her when she’s training, stay by her side when she is travelling, and offer to clean her wounds after fights. And it’s so intimate and endearing, and Brienne grows so flustered of it every single time. There will never be a day she wouldn’t. Big strong woman turns into mush.

——

Daenerys Targaryen:

Daenerys is definitely the person who is interested in all kinds of cultures and arts. And what better way to introduce those to her than to write music about it? You’d accompany her on her journey to Westeros, offering entertainment and music on the ships and walks. Whether you can sing or play an instrument, it doesn’t matter to her. But when she first met you on that square, trying to earn a little bit of money for your family, she immediately offered shelter and food. And ever since, you have been with her. You’ll be sitting on your bed, creating your own musical piece, and she’ll simply join you, her hand resting on your lap as a silent encouragement, and - if possible - her head on your shoulder, staring out of the windows in simple bliss. After everything she’s been through and is going through, you are her rock; her one place she can be safe and let go for a short moment.

——

Tormund Giantsbane:

Ironically enough, I’d think he’d go really well with someone incredibly stubborn. Someone who is set to do things their own way and will do anything to get it. He falls head over heels for looks primarily, but the confidence you radiate in your speech and actions actually stuns him. You go against him or Jon? He isn’t insulted. Kind of turned on, which he wouldn’t admit to you. Jon knows all about it though. But you can, weirdly enough, intimidate him. You’re so sure of yourself, it makes him doubt himself. Surely you wouldn’t need someone like him? It is not that he gets insecure about it, not at all, he simply hesitates his attitude towards you. The last thing he wants is for you to grow pissed at him and never look at him again. He couldn’t live with that. Once you two do get together, it is like fire and fire. Usually, that would be a bad thing, but your playful banter, teasing looks and general breathtaking combination is something to actually die for.

[cosmicstarlatte]

Levi A-Z Smut HCs (Obey Me!)

⬅Back to Smut HC A-Z Masterlist ◇

18+ only, minors do not interact.

My personal headcanons using this [prompt list]

The goal is to finish the whole list; you are welcome to request a letter so I get to it faster. I will work on it as quick as I can but keep in mind I do have a life & responsibilities lol. ^^

Last Updated: Oct.1.2023 (9 out of 26)

⚠️Notes: I'll tag any sections if needed. If you think a section needs a tag, kindly let me know.

A: Affair (Describe an extra-marital affair)

B: Birthday (Describe birthday sex)

C: Compliments (Mid- and post-sex compliments)

D: Dry Humping (Describe a dry-humping scene)

tags: punishment, humiliation Every once in a while you need to punish him, either he spent way too much on otaku merch or he's been missing classes too much, whatever. You'll usually sit on him & tease him as he tries to play on his PC. He knows what you're doing & he begs to feel you, please he'll 'do better' he says. Unfortunately for him his poor cock won't get that sweet relief exactly. he can beg & whine all he wants & rub desperately against you but he's still gonna have to cum in his pants.

E: Experimenting (Trying something new)

F: Firsts (First time having sex together)

It was clumsy & cute. The poor otaku was so nervous, he couldn't believe he could bag such a baddie. Someway somehow even with the nervousness he still felt calm with you, if that makes any sense. He was more worried about you than him & he just wanted to make you feel good. especially when he came rather quickly before the 1st round. Anyway, the nerd is packin' & those hands & tongue work skillfully. ...You definitely went a few good rounds into the night & left each other a mess before finally taking a sweet bath together. After, you guys cuddled under a warm blanket & watched a lighthearted anime. ♡

G: Gentle (Describe gentle/loving mid-sex gestures)

H: Handsy (When they can’t keep their hands to themselves)

I: Initiator (Who initiates most of the time? How?)

J: Jealous (“Claiming” a partner)

tags: Possessive, Love bites/Marking, Scenting Sweetie, he's the avatar of envy. When it's extreme, there's no hiding it, he gives in. That sweet shy nervous otaku? Gone. He's bringing & giving grand admiral energy, he's giving 'one of the powerful lords of hell.' Sure he could summon Lotan or use something else if he wants to, but all he really needs is to say "Go away" in a icy cold voice & glare that makes thousands of soldiers shiver. You almost feel sorry for any bastard that tries to make him jealous. Even after they leave though, he wants nothing more but to mark you with visible love bites & rub his scent all over you. He made it easily known to his brothers to not touch what's his.

K: Kitchen (Describe a sex scene in the kitchen)

L: Likes (What they like in the bedroom)

M: Morning (Describe morning sex)

It happens frequently hehe. You tend to stay over a lot to watch a marathon or play games. Levi's libido is strong, he's always down to fuck in the morning, it brightens his spirit. Watching you take his cock & filling you up right before school is the perfect way to start the day. It's especially motivating when he knows you walk around the entire day with his cum between your legs, he cant wait to come home & fuck you again. (If he can wait that long)

N: Never (Things they would never try)

O: Orgasm (Describe coming--who comes first? What do they say? How does the other person know it’s approaching?)

P: Playlist (A playlist for getting down and dirty; will probably include a lap dance song, a song for making love, and a song that represents their sex life)

Q: Quiet (Reaction to a quiet partner)

You know what I'm not gonna lie, I think he'd be just a tad disappointed at first. Of course he reminds himself a lot of porn is fake anyway & then he really tunes in to the small delicious sounds you do reveal. The faces you make. The little bits you let him hear are still so very fucking hot & sexy. He's the one making you sound like that either way~

R: Ruttish (Signs that they’re horny)

Ah...Levi is easy. He's not very good at hiding it. A flushed face and a small sheen of sweat to him. He gets a little extra irritable as well. The biggest sign is the tent in his pants when he's around you. Sorry, but he doesn't hide it very well, it's obvious when he looks like he's trying to hide something when he tries to cover up down there. (I wonder if he does it on purpose?)

S: Safe Word (How often is the safe word used? Why?)

T: Teasing (Who’s the tease in the relationship? What do they do? How often?)

U: Undressing (Strip teasing a partner)

V: Videos (Sending NSFW videos to each other)

Do you realize what you've done? The first time you sent him a video, he got instantly hard & couldnt stop cumming to that video. Unfortunately for him he kept getting hard any time he thought about it that week, it was embarrassing walking around with a constant erection. His first few videos in response were a little clumsy, but it turned you on. He was a loud moaner & he loved to whimper. Little whiney pants when he was getting close always did it for you. He made sure to take better video, especially audio when he learned you really loved his moans. ♡

W: Wedding Night (Consummating the marriage)

tags: overstimulation The only thing on his mind is getting you off the entire night until you're crying & begging him to stop. Until you're drained. He knows it's about the two of you celebrating but...you're his life partner now! He's so grateful you chose him out of everyone. Please let him worship you tonight, lay back & let him handle it. He promises he's enjoying this as much as you are. Promise.

X: XXX (What kind of porn does the person watch? How often?)

tags: double dicks, creepy!pervy!levi I'm not going to lie to y'all, Levi's a freak. (Okay we knew this) He watches all kinds of porn, both real & hentai. I'd say it's nearly an every day thing, it's hard taking care of two monster cocks & he needs to empty his balls. His favorite? POV hentai vids. Especially ones that look like you... Perhaps he has a few commissioned hentais where they look like the two of you...

Y: Yawn (How they sleep post-sex)

Z: Zoo (Their animalistic qualities in the bedroom)

[writingduhh]

Drunk Ted Nivison (HC)

This is my first HC without a real ‘prompt’ so hopefully I got this right 😩

▷ Ted's cheeks flush a rosy hue when he's had a few drinks, making him even more adorable. You can't resist pinching his cheeks and teasing him about how cute he looks.

▷ When Ted gets a bit tipsy, he becomes even more affectionate than usual. He constantly pulls you into warm, tight hugs throughout the night whenever his arm isn’t already wrapped around your waist. He showers you with kisses, giggling all the while.

▷ Ted gets a little clumsy when he's drunk, which leads to adorable mishaps like spilling drinks or tripping over his own feet. You find his clumsiness rather endearing, always ready to help him.

“Watch out for that last step.” You advise, pointing out the hidden decline to your drunken boyfriend.

“Thank you babe but I got it.” He grins. As if on cue his foot met the corner of the step, causing him to fall the small distance to the ground.

“Shit.” He mutters.

“Ted! Are you ok?” You exclaim, rushing to his side in order to help him up.

“Yeah I’m ok. Just a bit dizzy. Hold on to me?” He softly asks, slinging his arm around your waist.

“Of course.”

(Another little after party scenario I thought of for this HC just bear with me plz I know someone out there will like it 😩)

“Ok, arms up.” You kindly command, looking down at where Ted sat on your shared bed. He gazed lovingly back at you, making your heart face.

“Yes ma’am/sir.” He agrees, standing up from the bed with his arms held above his head.

“No, Teddy, I can’t reach you up there.” You giggle, holding his pj shirt in your hands.

“Oh yeah, duh.” He grumbles, sitting back down with his arms up. Gently you pulled his shirt over his head before replacing it with a new one.

“Ok, now let’s get you into some pants.” You say, holding out his pj pants ready for him to step inside.

Smiling he rested his hands on your wrists, lifting his leg up into the pants. To your dismay he lost his balance falling flat onto his butt, pulling you down onto him. You both erupted in laughter, tears forming in your eyes.

▷ He's adamant about snapping spontaneous, candid photos together to seize the moment, resulting in a delightful collection of comical snapshots.

▷ He's always just a few drinks away from treating the entire party to a show of his karaoke skills. To the amusement of everyone in attendance, they loudly cheer him on.

“Guys look, a karaoke machine!” Ted exclaims to your group of friends.

“You should totally go up there!” One of your friends encouraged. Their response was followed up by agreement from the rest of the group, including yourself.

Happily he made his way up to the machine, Cueing up a familiar song. It was your favorite song.

“This song goes out to my beautiful partner, y/n.” He smirks, raising the microphone in your direction.

Your friends basically began screaming as he started his song, starting to gather an audience. By the end of the song the entire bar was watching, everyone cheering as he made his way back to the table where everyone praised him.

“That was amazing! I think you’re the new singer of my favorite song.” You smirk.

▷ He becomes a big softy, to you at least. Rather than his usual goofy antics, he's more focused on making sure you feel loved and safe. He'll often whisper sweet nothings into your ear, or making sure you’re feeling comfortable with the party around you.

▷ He becomes the ultimate dance partner, pulling his significant other onto the dance floor (or living room) for impromptu, goofy dance sessions. You share fits of laughter as you dance the night away.

“Ted, No! I cant dance!” You exclaim, dragging your feet as he pulled you onto the half filled dance floor.

“Cmon y/n, it’ll be fun. Here, I’ll help you.” He grins, holding out both his hands for you to grab.

Together you both began to dance and let loose, letting the music take control of your bodies. You and Ted’s enthusiastic dancing seemed to wear off as the once half filled dance floor was now packed with party goers.

▷ Ted becomes a chatterbox when he's tipsy, his words flowing freely as he becomes the life of the conversation. His enthusiasm is infectious, and he effortlessly keeps everyone engaged with his animated storytelling, quick wit, and a touch of humor. His tipsy chatter adds an undeniable liveliness to the gathering.

▷ He's a firm believer in late-night adventures, so he takes this opportunity to suggest going for a moonlit walk, stargazing, or even a spontaneous road trip (he’s not driving of course), wanting to create even more cherished memories together.

▷ He's also the type to surprise you with late-night snacks or their favorite comfort food, ensuring they're well taken care of and comfortable.

▷ Despite the alcohol, Ted remains incredibly considerate and respectful of your boundaries, always checking in to make sure you’re comfortable with everything that's happening.

▷ After the party/gathering he becomes the ultimate cuddle bug. Ted insists on cuddling up with you on the couch or in bed. He becomes the designated "pillow talk" expert, sharing his deepest thoughts and feelings with you, having heart-to-heart conversations that strengthen your emotional connection. He absolutely refuses to fall asleep unless you’re in his arms or at the very least beside him.

Opening the door of your apartment you let out a sigh of relief as you finally took of your cute but uncomfortable shoes. As you did this you felt arms sneak around your torso, making you smile.

“Y/n can we go cuddle and watch a movie?” He asks, placing a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Of course we can.”

Suddenly you were lifted off the ground, making you squeal. “Hey! Be careful please.”

“I’ll be careful, I’d never drop you.” He assures, holding you close until he collapsed onto the couch.

The next morning, he'll wake up with a hangover but a heart full of love and gratitude for you, thanking you for putting up with his drunken sweetness.

The sound of Ted groaning caught your attention from where you stood in the kitchen. Looking up you saw him standing in the doorway of your room, his large stature filling up most of the door frame.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," you greet with a grin, carefully placing the fresh breakfast you've prepared on the table. You eagerly open your arms as you spot him making his way toward you.

“Morning.” His voice was muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms slung over you.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Hungover. I don’t even remember changing into my pjs.” He admits, letting out a small laugh.

“I helped you get into them last night, I hope that’s ok.”

“Of course. It’s not something you haven’t seen already.” He smirked, placing a kiss on your cheek.

[e-dubbc11]

Ericca, my love. A huge congratulations on your follower celebration. You deserve every single one and a thousand more 🥳❤️

So... I wanna push you out of your comfort zone a little and request a little drabble made from a gif and I'm gonna choose our dear Rumlow 😉

But also... can I pair it with a kiss prompt? "If you win, I'll kiss you"

No pressure at all, since you haven't written for Rumlow before, but I hope this could inspire you 😁❤️

My lovely Lily,

Thank you for being such a good friend to me, you’re always so supportive and encouraging. And thank you for following me and being a part of my celebration. It means so much to me that you read my fics and our daily chats are some of the best parts of my day.

And thank you for this ask, I’m REALLY nervous about writing for Rumlow so I hope you like what I did here. Oh and it’s a little more than a drabble 🤣

Never Again

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of domestic abuse, injuries as a result of said abuse, lessons in boxing and Krav Maga, little violent.

Word Count: 3.9k-ish

Summary: You’re relatively new in town and you start working out at a nearby gym where you notice someone there that could help you with a problem from your past.

A/N: So yes this is my first time writing for Rumlow, I’m terrified but I had fun writing for someone new. And it’s a little longer than I intended but such is life! I hope you like it. And this has a very J Lo in Enough feel to it.

*********

You passed that building every day on your way to the gym. It was intimidating to look at even from across the water, wondering what was inside, wondering if anyone was looking down at you as you drove by the large complicated building with more windows than you could count but it was the building that he headed for every day after his workout.

Well, he did on the days that you and he finished your workouts at the same time.

Sometimes you would sneak into the part of the gym that had the boxing ring and watch him while you jumped rope, not well, but it was passable. He was amazing to watch, dominating his sparring partners with what looked like a combination of fighting styles.

Boxing, Krav Maga, Karate, and probably a few more but you didn’t know the difference. You had no idea how to fight, but you wanted to learn.

It might be helpful the next time your ex finds you because you knew there would be a next time.

The daily routine of trying to cover your bruises with makeup was exhausting and you didn’t want to do it anymore, you didn’t want to be scared anymore so you decided you were going to approach him.

He had a daunting look to him, wild brown hair, amber colored eyes, days old stubble, and his face always looked like he was filled with a dark rage but you had caught him smiling a couple of times when he wasn’t busy being cranky. So he did know how to smile but it was painfully obvious he didn’t do it very often.

After an aggressive run on the treadmill, you turned to step off and crashed right into him. He looked annoyed at first but when he looked into your eyes, his expression softened. You immediately apologized.

“Shit, I am so so sorry. Are you ok?” You asked, wiping the sweat off of your face.

Anger returned to his face when he looked at yours.

When you had wiped the sweat off of your face, you had taken some of your makeup with it, uncovering the greenish-yellow bruise around your eye that you had forgotten was there.

“Who did that to you?” He asked with a gruff tone to his voice.

Not remembering you had a bruise around your eye, you replied to his question. “Did what?”

He moved in closer and feeling his breath against your eyelashes, he gently turned your face toward the mirrors along the wall.

“That! Who did THAT to you?” He repeated again.

Quickly turning away from the mirrors and breaking away from his touch, you lied to him.

“Oh I’m just really clumsy, I walked into the corner of the door.” You said.

He seemed annoyed with your answer. “Right, if you say so, Miss. Have a good day.” And with that, he turned to leave.

But you didn’t want him to. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“WAIT!” You called out.

He stopped, turned and waited for you to catch up to him.

“Teach me…please.” You begged. “I’ve tried restraining orders, the police, they won’t help me. I feel like you might be the only one who can…I’ve seen you fight.”

He dropped his bag from his shoulder, placed his hands on his hips, and glanced at the ground before returning his gaze to you. The heat coming from his body hit your exposed skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

The muscles in his arms flexed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and returned his arms to rest at his sides. Bending at the waist, he picked up his gym bag and started to walk away.

Your stomach dropped as you watched him walk away before he turned to look at you once again.

“Be here tomorrow…noon. I’m Brock…Rumlow. Be ready to work. If you are thirty seconds late, I’m walking.” He said.

“Of course, yes I will be here Mr. Rumlow.” You said in a shaky tone. “I’m y/n.”

Brock cracked a slight smile. “Just Brock, sweetheart. I’ll see ya tomorrow. And do me a favor…”

He closed the distance between your bodies so he could whisper in your ear.

“Leave those bruises uncovered. I want you to take one more look at them because after I’m done with you, those will be the last set of bruises he’ll ever give you.” He growled and he walked away without turning back.

You had a feeling you were in for a long afternoon tomorrow.

**********

The clock said 11:45.

You made sure you weren’t just on time, you were early, changed and ready to work. You saw Brock walk in and head straight for the locker room, he was dressed in what looked like tactical clothing, all black from head to toe and black boots. He noticed you waiting for him and he held up one finger as if to tell you “one minute” or “be right out.”

You had done as he requested and left all of your visible bruises uncovered. The one around your eye was going away but you could still see the greenish-yellow mark on your face and also the hand and fingerprints on your arms and neck.

Feeling self-conscious, you tried to position yourself in a way where they weren’t so visible but it didn’t do any good. You felt like everyone was staring at you, even though they weren’t. They didn’t look as bad as they did before and they were also taking a long time to fade.

He emerged from the locker room dressed in black shorts, sneakers, and a white muscle shirt, plus his signature sour look to his face. But you had to admit, that look was rather sexy.

You watched carefully as Brock taped up your hands and then taped up his own. You were a fast learner so you should be able to tape up your own hands tomorrow, if you lasted through your first workout.

“Ya ever done any self-defense or boxing before, sweetheart?” He asked.

You shook your head before answering him. “No, never.”

“Ok…well, hope you’re ready to work.” He said.

“I am.” You replied.

And he did work you, he worked you harder than you’ve probably worked out ever before. He started with the basics…how to stand, loose knees, elbows tucked in, and the basic punches.

Brock showed you the jab, the cross, and the hook. Then taught you some of the basic combination punches: 1-2 (jab-right cross), 1-1-2 (jab-jab-cross), and the 1-2-hook-2.

Your time together went by quickly. And more than once you had caught Brock looking at the blue and purple marks on your upper arms as you threw punch after punch, encouraging you and praising you for when he thought you did a good job.

During one of your water breaks, he asked you, “When did you leave him?”

He caught you off guard, you weren’t expecting him to converse except when he was giving you lessons but it was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t yelling at you. Brock was surprisingly gentle.

He would always ask and make sure it was alright before he put his hands on you to show you something and his voice was stern but he never yelled at you which was comforting.

“Oh, awhile ago but he always manages to find me wherever I go, hence these bruises.” You pointed to the bruise around your eye.

“And he doesn’t know where you are now?” He asked.

“No, not yet but he has connections and money so I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he does. This time I thought I’d try a bigger city, maybe he wouldn’t look for me here in D.C. but I’m just tired of running and being afraid, Brock.”

The man of few words had even less to say than he did before. He was silent, the look in his eyes was sad but not sorry. He didn’t seem the type to feel sorry for people but it was almost like he was proud of you for escaping, for leaving when a lot of people would just stay and take it.

You didn’t want to be one of them.

“Why does he keep chasing you then? What does he want?” He asked.

“I took something. Something that meant more to him than I ever did.” You said.

Brock looked like he was on the edge of his seat waiting to hear what you were going to say, before you cracked a sly smile and said,

“I took the cat.” Followed by a light giggle.

A smile stretched across his lips bigger than you had ever seen him smile before and he started shaking his head.

“The cat? You took the fuckin’ cat?” He asked in a surprised tone.

“Hey, Peanut is MY cat, not his!” You said, sass dripping from your voice.

Taking a sip of water, he inched closer to you while you were seated at the edge of the boxing ring and he was standing. Bending at the waist, he rested his hands on his knees so his eyes were level with yours.

You swallowed hard and heat rose to your cheeks as he continued to stare at you before he said in a low voice.

“I just don’t wanna see you get hurt anymore and especially not because of a cat, sweetheart.” He said.

His words didn’t faze you on the outside but on the inside you felt hot, and butterflies appeared from the depths of your stomach but you kept yourself calm and collected before responding to him.

“Well that’s why I have you, right? To teach me, I mean.” You said softly and trying to make it sound like you DIDN’T find him attractive, but you were pretty sure you were failing miserably.

He broke the awkward silence between you.

“Ya ready to do it again tomorrow?” He asked. “I gotta get to work.”

“Oh yes, absolutely but I’d really like to pay you for your time…please?” You asked.

Brock pressed his lips together in a straight line and shook his head furiously. “No, no I don’t want your money, doll. I honestly think you’re a natural fighter and I wanna teach you everything I know so you can be prepared, alright?” His voice was rough and stern.

You nodded and nervously bit down on your lower lip before changing the subject.

“Was that your work uniform you walked in wearing earlier? Can you tell me what you do or if you tell me, you’ll have to kill me?” You joked.

Brock smiled again. “Some other time, sweetheart. I’ll see ya tomorrow, same time.” He handed you a roll of tape. “Ya think you can tape up by yourself tomorrow?”

“I can do it.” You said, confidently.

He extended his index finger to point at you. “Ya know I’m gonna check it, right?”

“I know, I said I can do it, Brock.” You said with a slightly annoyed voice.

You hated being doubted.

“Ok, ok I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He said, throwing up his hands with a smug smile on his face.

**********

6 Months Later

“Come on, you can do better than that Princess!” He said condescendingly through gnashed teeth as you fought to free yourself from the tight grip he had you in, pinned against the wall. “Ya want his hands around ya pretty little neck like this again?! DO YOU?!!!” He yelled. “Come on, y/n!!

Six months ago, he never would have dared to grab you like that or yell in your face but you were much stronger now than you were then.

His hot breath hit against your face, and you managed to turn to the side, your elbow hit his forearm and his hand bent up at the wrist and you were able to quickly elbow him three times in the face.

In the six months Brock had been training you, you’ve managed to graduate from the basic boxing moves to Krav Maga where he really taught you how to protect yourself and how to inflict pain on your enemy.

You were making quick work of the sparring partners he had brought in for you to practice against. They were becoming less and less challenging and there was only one person you wanted to spar against to make you feel like if your ex attacked you, you would have the confidence to fight him off and that was Brock.

He had awakened something inside of you that you wouldn’t have known was there if it wasn’t for him. When he first started training you and said you were a natural fighter, you wanted to prove him right, that you could fight and you had the strength to not be pushed around anymore.

And the only way you were going feel good enough about your new fighting skills is if you could defeat him one on one.

“You’re gettin’ good, sweetheart…real good. Those guys are a little too easy for you, aren’t they. What do ya wanna do about it?” He asked.

“I wanna spar with you, Rumlow.” You said, breathing heavily.

Brock scratched his chin and playfully chuckled at you while shaking his head. “No, you ain’t ready for me yet, doll…you’re just not. You’re good but you’re not THAT good.” He said smugly.

You narrowed your eyes at him and suddenly became very agitated. The man was so sure that you couldn’t beat him, that he wasn’t even willing to give you a chance to prove him wrong.

Working out very close to Brock for the past six months caused you to develop some deeper feelings toward him too. Yes, you were friends but also you felt maybe he had an attraction to you like you had toward him.

There were subtle hints like you’d catch him staring at you while you were taping up your hands or getting a drink of water. Sometimes he’d wink at you when you performed well on a lesson he was teaching you. And he was smiling just a little bit more than you were used to seeing.

Anytime he put his hands on you during a lesson, he would always ask if it was ok or if he hurt you in any way to just tell him.

He never wanted to push too hard in case you weren’t ready for that yet. Sometimes after your lessons, you would take him out for a beer and he’d ask you questions about you ex.

“You can always tell me to fuck off if I’m askin’ too much, ya know. I can’t imagine it’s easy for you to talk about. Please don’t feel like you have answer me if you don’t want to. I don’t even know him but I wanna kill him for hurting ya.” He had said.

You gave him a warm smile. “I don’t really know anyone else in this city except a couple of co-workers. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it, Brock. No other friends so thank you for listening.” You had said.

You had a feeling that he wanted to kiss you but he didn’t. Did he stop himself because he thought of you as damaged? Did he think he was taking advantage of your teacher/student relationship?

Sometimes it was all you could think about after you went home for the day. You had dreams about his lips colliding with yours, teeth nipping at your chin and jawline, and his calloused hands exploring your body, touching you in a way that you’ve wanted him to from the first second you saw him.

But maybe he was a betting man.

“You don’t think I can win, do you.” You said.

He thought he could catch you off guard by trying to punch you in the face but you were fast and blocked him.

“I ain’t gonna take it easy on ya, Princess. You know he won’t either.” And he threw another punch at you with the other fist, which you also blocked.

“I wasn’t asking you to.” You said with a coy smile before elbowing him in the stomach. “How about a little wager?”

“What do ya have in mind, y/n?” He asked.

You pondered for a brief moment. “If I win, you have to tell me what you do for work that requires you to wear all that tactical clothing.”

“Ok. And if I win?” He asked.

You moved in close so the two of you were sharing the same air, you were both breathing heavily and as your breath hit the skin on his throat, goosebumps skirted across his skin and he gazed down at you with a primal look in his eyes.

Looking up at him through your long dark lashes, you answered. “If you win, I’ll kiss you, since you’re apparently too chicken to do it.”

Brock wasn’t afraid of anything so now he was determined to win. The devilish smile that stretched across his lips told you he definitely wasn’t going to hold back and he would do whatever he had to make sure he wins the bet.

He had taught you to be very aware of your surroundings, aware of things that could be problematic like tables and other furniture that could get in the way if you had to fight off your ex in your own home but right now you were surrounded by gym equipment, the boxing ring, and the walls.

“You got yourself a bet, sweetheart.” He said.

“Well ring the bell and let’s go, Rumlow.” You replied.

As soon as that bell rang, he came after you and throwing different combination punches and kicks at you. Since Brock was bigger than you, you thought it would be best to try and wear him down so he’d make a mistake. You would use his size and strength to your advantage, ducking and weaving as he threw punch after punch at you.

Throwing all of his weight behind those punches was making him tired as you danced around him, punching him in between the shoulder blades and kicking him behind the knees but he didn’t stay down.

The rage in his eyes that you were so used to seeing everyday had returned as he got his second wind. Keeping his punches close to his body this time, he tried to get you to bring your hands down by attacking your body but you pulled him close to knee him in the stomach. Using all of your strength to throw him to the mat, only to watch him roll and get right back up again.

He was fast, really fast, but you took notice of his fighting patterns so you could counter with combination moves of your own.

You had to get him to the mat, it was the only way you were going to beat him. Suddenly you felt a hand around your throat like he had done earlier but this time being in the corner of the ring.

There wasn’t as much leverage you could use against the ropes as you could against the wall to try and free yourself but he left himself open, his legs were too far apart so you were able to take a swipe at his front leg causing him to fall to the mat.

Kneeing him in the chin, he fell flat on his back and you saw your opportunity to wrap your legs around his neck, in the hopes that he would yield…which he did.

“Fuck, your legs are strong!” He exclaimed, breathing deeply and trying his best to catch his breath after you climbed off of him.

You were trying to catch your breath also as you wiped the sweat from your brow. “S-so I’ve b-been told.” You said panting and trying to smile at the same time.

Brock stood up carefully so he wouldn’t lose his balance. Maybe in that brief moment in between your legs, you cut off his air supply which made you chuckle a little.

You removed your sparring helmet and started to take the fingerless fighting gloves and tape off of your hands. He did the same before he spoke again.

“Well y/n…looks like you beat me, fair and square. I supposed I gotta tell you what I do for a living now, don’t I.” He said, looking defeated.

You threw the helmet and the tape onto the mat and slowly walked over to him, still trying to catch your breath. You stopped inches away from him, the heat radiating through his t-shirt as you rested your hand against his chest and the other touched his cheek.

“Maybe another time.” You said, pushing yourself up onto your toes and gently pressing your lips to his.

Feeling how tense his body was, you pulled away and apologized only to have him pull you flush to his chest and his lips mash against yours as if he was trying to flatten and destroy your mouth.

His stubble scratched your cheeks but his lips felt so good against yours, his tongue slipped into your mouth causing you to softly moan and gasp into his mouth.

Winding strands of your hair in his fingers, he gently bit down on your bottom lip and gripped your head firmly as if to keep you from escaping.

But you let your guard down and he knew it so he swept your feet out from under you causing you to fall backwards onto the mat.

“Hey! You yielded, Rumlow!” You yelled, looking up at him. A rare genuine smile stretched across his lips. “Careful, you pull shit like that and you’re gonna end up with your head between my legs again.”

He helped you to your feet, pulling you in close and his voice sounded like a hiss from a dying fire as he whispered in your ear.

“The next time my head is between your legs, sweetheart, it will be because you want me there, trust me.” He said with a wicked smile.

His words, the gruff tone of his voice, the look he gave you…all sent delightful sparks down your spine and a guttural moan escaped your lips as he attacked your lips once again.

Caught in his firm embrace, his lips traced up and down the side of your neck before his hands gripped the hem of your t-shirt. Brock was just about to pull it over your head when you both heard knocking on the boxing ring doors and voices.

“Time’s up, Rumlow!!!” They said.

You broke apart quickly and laughed a little with each other before he yelled to the people outside the doors.

“Alright!! Just gimme a second!” He bellowed.

It’s a good thing your face was already flushed from the workout so the people that walked into the room couldn’t tell that you were blushing. Biting down on your thumb, you waited for him to come back into the ring.

“I, uh, guess we’re done for the day.” You said with a warm smile.

He replied. “Let’s go, doll. I’ll take ya home.”

After many long kisses outside your apartment door, and even though you didn’t want to, you finally said goodbye to Brock. Your heavy make out session at the gym made you realize that before having him in between your legs again, maybe a date first would be a better decision.

Smiling from ear to ear as you closed the door, you placed your keys on the table and put down your gym bag.

And that’s when he made his presence known. There was a touch of acid in that cold, hard voice of his when he spoke.

“Hello sweetheart. You’re getting better and better at covering your tracks. I’m impressed. Miss me?”

He had found you…again. And by the tone of his voice, he sounded like he wasn’t letting you get away this time.

Others that may enjoy: @fluffyprettykitty @qu1etwolf @redstarsandnightmares @gijos

[actually-a-girls-name]

Family

my second ficlet for @calaisreno may prompts!! a nice Christmas at Baker Street, Ms. Hudson POV, hope you enjoy!

also on ao3 if you want to drop a comment there :)

2,005 words - Prompt: Family (no shit Sherlock)

The living room was scintillating from every corner, ornamented with stuffed reindeers and Santa Claus figurines, and a magnificent tree was taking up quite a lot of space next to the chimney. It was their second Christmas since John had moved back to Baker Street with Rosie. The doctor was the one who insisted they would decorate particularly heavily. “For Rosie” he said, but Ms. Hudson saw he was enjoying it as much as the little girl. Sherlock had seen it too of course, so he didn’t argue. He was even the one who put the colorful fairy lights up, the ones they had back from their first Christmas together. She had caught John looking over fondly at his partner as he was trying to detangle the wires. Ms. Hudson remembered thinking they had probably shopped for those lights back then, since it was not in the flat furniture. She was sure they were an item now, even though they were yet to say anything about it. But the landlady was more than a landlady and she did know them good after all.

The guests arrived for 6 o’clock and the room was filled of chatter and laughter. It was the usual crowd: Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade and even Mycroft was there! He had been bullied by John and Sherlock for over a month before giving in. Threats involving Rosie were made. In the end, it wasn’t really a surprise for Ms. Hudson that he caved in. Even if it wasn’t for the soft heart she knew he had under all these layers of expensive clothing and frigidity, the couple were legitimately scary. They were already before everything happened, but now that they weren’t wasting so much energy coming at each other, their connection was a dangerous weapon. Upon consideration, she was glad to have them on her side and feared the inevitable day they would join forces to mess with her.

The champagne was still flowing but the appetizers brought by Molly were long gone now. Rosie was channeling all the attention on her, dancing in the middle of the room in a cute sparkly purple dress. It was way past her bedtime but to everyone’s enjoyment the demon was still full of energy.

What a light this sweet little girl brought to their lives, Ms. Hudson thought. Oh, it had been hard on her: the death of her mother and her father doing the best he could that wasn’t quite enough. To his defense, the poor man had his fair share of grief to deal with. Still, it didn’t help that he had deprived his daughter of another pair of loving arms in the storm of it all. Ms. Hudson knew how John regretted his reaction toward Sherlock, so she kept those reflections to herself. During these times, there have been days of complete silence, which was about the scariest thing a young child could do. But then Rosie started crying again, and not only crying – thank God – but also babbling and squealing and laughing. She had a village of adoring people raising her now, and Ms. Hudson could only think of the joy she felt from being a part of it.

Martha never had any children of her own, too busy enjoying the high (and steam!) of her marriage at first, and then too busy trying to figure out a way out of the spiral down. She would probably never have wanted any with him anyway. He wasn’t the kind of man you could see being tender with children. She herself was not even sure she would be. She had always been pretty indifferent to these little screaming individuals. She found babies cute and wasn’t completely immune to their smiles (who was?) but she also didn’t find herself caring too much. She always felt clumsy on their company and could never figure out how to act around children. With Rosie she had learned. She loved the creature with all her heart, that helped.

They were tackling the cake by now, Rosie finally napping on the sofa after spending the entire diner running around and eating out of everyone’s plate. Ms. Hudson settled on observing Sherlock for a while. He had been incredibly appropriate and seemed at-ease all evening, even as the tiredness were visibly settling in. Maybe John’s hand occasionally brushing his thighs or settling behind the back of his chair had helped. Maybe the wine too: they were all such lightweight, she could probably outdrink them all. Not something to be particularly proud of, she thought then. “Must be the few glasses of whiskeys at the bridges sessions, nothing wrong with that.” Still, Sherlock had come a long way from the mess of a person he was when they first met. She drifted back to her memories as she watched with tenderness the man the self-labelled sociopath had become.

Martha was from a big family, the last one of six siblings. All her brothers and sisters had or were moving out when she was still little; she didn’t have time to form a strong connection with any of them. Her parents were nice but tired to their bones, she remembered the silence being an eminent part of her childhood. Friends she had a ton, but the one who mattered the most left early at her wedding. Everything changed after that, and moving to Florida cut the last remaining strings.

She was 34 when she settled in London, and she had felt lonely ever since. Martha Louise Hudson was a social one, but acquaintances stayed just that: acquaintances. It was at that time she really wished to have a family. There were a few men, but none of them felt right. Few men ever do when you’re an independent woman able to recognize her own value. And by God she was. Still, she longed for a meaningful connection. She did have a sister and a niece she visited sometimes, but the distance wasn’t making it easy. As she grew older and it was becoming increasingly sure she wasn’t going to have a child of her own, she always found herself wondering what a mother she would have been.

She immediately felt a weird pull when she met Sherlock, passed out in the street two blocks away from her flat: she felt a need to protect the boy, almost viscerally. So she took him home to fed him tea and biscuits. The discussion they had was one of the strangest she ever had at the time (strangest things had happened to her since then). As it turned out, he was the one who could protect her: her bastard of a husband had figured a way out of jail and was threatening to come get her. Sherlock promised he was not going to let it happen, and he didn’t. She became attached to this smart and arrogant junkie, who was just as lonely as she was, if not more.

She visited him in a rehab center a couple of times, that’s how she met Mycroft. She remembered quite clearly the way his glances were sending chills to her spine. Sherlock visited her a few times too, after he got out. Sometimes he only dropped off a stolen item from a crime scene he thought she might like, sometimes he would stay for tea and biscuits. He usually liked to narrate his cases to her: Ms. Hudson was a very good listener. She shouted, gasped, and laughed right on cue. Other times, less frequently, he was letting her talk about the neighborhood gossips and the new members of her bridge club. When her tenants moved out, she naturally offered the space to him and he accepted without hesitation. God knows where he had been living before! He would always refuse to talk about it.

It was well into the night and Greg and Molly had just left but the walls of 221B Baker Street seemed to be retaining their laughter. It was just the two of them now with Rosie asleep in John’s chair. “Well, the four of us really” she thought. They were seated in the living room, letting the weariness of the evening washing through them.

Ms. Hudson could not have guessed this was going to be what her Christmas would look like when she greeted John Watson on the entrance of her house, a bit more than 5 years ago. Maybe she had hoped for it a tiny bit. She thought John and Sherlock were perfect for each other since the first glance she casted at the doctor. Gosh, it has been a long time coming! And nothing was perfect, nothing ever is, but this was the closest they might ever get to a perfect night. Martha sighted.

She avoided thinking about the years when Sherlock was dead, and she knew John was doing the same. They had a silent agreement not to talk about it either. But it didn’t mean she had forgotten. On the contrary, she remembered very distinctly the silence that had fallen on Baker Street like a curse. She used to put the TV at full volume all day long, without getting herself to actually watch it. Ms. Hudson hushed those memories away, frowning. John was singing a soft lullaby to Rosie who had just woken up crying.

The first Christmas after John had moved back in with his daughter, they had spent the day in cardboard boxes. John and Sherlock had gone out on a Christmas dinner at Molly’s while she had stayed minding for little Rosie. Sherlock had been home early and visibly upset. He didn’t answer when she asked him what was wrong. That night John came back late and drunk, and she had trouble falling back asleep after that. They still had a lot to sort out at that time. But wasn’t it what it’s all about? Ups and downs. She realized now: that was the proper of families. And she had never been so glad to have found one.

“What are you smiling for, Ms. H?” Sherlock asked, scanning her face.

“Nothing my boys, just happy to have you here.”

“Where else would we ever want to be?” John answered, grinning.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

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Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 7K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway

Reed skulked out of the station in reluctant acceptance that Nines would be following. His needless hostility and desire to assert himself had reached an absurd degree, coming off as far more ridiculous than it did intimidating.

Each heavy step was taken with the demeanour of a disgruntled alley cat. Back arched and teeth snarled as the android trailed closely behind, ready to thwart any attempts he made to lash out or dart away. Had he tried to flee, engaging the android in a clumsy chase through a system of garbage cans, he would soon discover just how adept he was at pursuing targets. 

The silent deterrent proved sufficient, with no attempts made.

Having confirmed he wasn’t an immediate flight risk, Nines instead anticipated a prolonged smoke break would soon ensue in the station’s parking lot. Among his many irritating quirks, one of his partner’s most egregious was his inability to perform any basic duty without first filling his body with harmful carcinogens.

To his surprise, Reed walked directly past the dispatch vehicles without any indication of slowing or stopping. 

“...Are we not taking the car?” the android queried, wondering if the action had been intentional or if the man had simply missed his turn—too preoccupied with his pursuit to bore holes into the sidewalk.  

His back arched more, stride length widening by several inches. "This place isn't far. We can walk." 

The forced march proceeded without further details. Of course, Reed would neglect to extend the basic courtesy of informing him where they were going. In the absence of any relevant data to input into his navigational systems, the android had no other option but to trust his partner knew the way.

They proceeded down the road for a stretch longer until they encountered a pedestrian crosswalk, the laws for which Nines was astonished his partner abided. Although not without visible protest.

He fidgeted incessantly, tapping his foot in discordant thumps as his focus darted between the stop light and the traffic speeding past. Assessing possible gaps, calculating if he had sufficient time to dart across. Perhaps hopeful Nines would pursue, miscalculating his own trajectory and getting struck by an oncoming vehicle—

"— I did say that I wanted to stretch my legs, or were you not paying attention to me?” 

The interjection disrupted his train of cognition, prompting the android to retune inputs that had been autonomously modified. "I find that much of what you say lacks substance, although I pay attention when I feel it is warranted.”

Detective Reed made a sudden, plummeting descent down the food chain. Devolving from an indignant feline into something more akin to a fish. Lips pursed together tight as eyes protruded from his skull. He appeared to be testing his durability, seeing how long he could hold his breath.

Either that, or he was repressing a scream. 

"You are really goddamn rude,” he accused with a strained wheeze of breath. "You know that, right?"

This threw Nines momentarily. He couldn’t recall any recent behaviour that decisively supported the claim, though he understood it wasn’t a matter of rigid standards. The definition of ‘rudeness’ varied widely from person to person, with parameters so vague and expansive they seemed impossible to quantify…

He might have requested elaboration had he not been so ardently opposed to letting Reed think he had infiltrated his mind. Instead, his response was sourced by his developing strain of situational deduction:

> DETECTIVE REED'S CLAIMS LACK OBJECTIVE SUPPORT—LIKELY BASIS: ESTABLISHED PREJUDICE(S)

> BEHAVIOUR FORMS EXTERNAL ATTEMPT TO INDUCE SELF-DOUBT. 

> CONCLUSION:

> I AM NOT RUDE. 

> HIS JUDGEMENT IS FLAWED.

"I do not believe that I am", he coolly asserted. "It is not targeted at you specifically. Humans have a knack for dancing around the issue. Even those who claim to be direct often fail to say what they mean. I find it frustrating.”

"Yeah, well, humans are tricky like that…” It seemed he'd wished to elaborate, likely preparing some biting remark about Nines’ inability to understand. Instead, he clicked his tongue and sulked.

The android couldn't help but be amused by just how discernible his feelings were. All from the involuntary contortions of his face. A transparency that seemed far from advantageous, given the requirements of his position.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if it had also posed an obstacle in the man’s private life. Winning favours on the merits of his personality alone seemed doubtful.

Still, he supposed there was some element of objective appeal. Concealed beneath the haggard veneer, the scowls and sneers that warped his features, Reed wasn’t an unattractive man—at least not by conventional standards.

There were imperfections, albeit reasonably standard for a human male. Large bags under his eyes, wrinkles beginning to bloom in the corners. He had a facial asymmetry, the sum of his features skewing marginally higher on one side. His scars, however, were more distinct, dotting his face in varying states of healing. Most prominent was the extended abrasion across the bridge of his nose. One that had undoubtedly been secured in some form of physical dispute.

Less desirable candidates for physical intimacy undoubtedly existed—although he wouldn't be the android’s first choice. 

"Mommy, why does that man look angry?"

Nines had been so focused on the deconstruction he failed to notice the crowd of pedestrians amassing around them. Initially, he assumed the unidentified figure was referring to Reed, but a more thorough inspection of his surroundings revealed otherwise.

He looked to his feet, noting the small child peering up at him. Bright eyes were alight with curiosity as a ringlet of blonde hair was twirled repeatedly around a stubby finger. Mingled with intrigue was confusion, evident by the sidelong tilt of her head.

A dour-faced woman stood to the side, her genetic profile indicating she was their mother. Nines waited to see if she would dissuade the interaction or attempt to answer the question herself. 

From what he understood, it was considered inappropriate for a child this age to speak with strangers—a convenient norm, as he had no objections to sidestepping the interaction.

Unfortunately, the mother said nothing, glaring fixedly at the road ahead as the girl proved committed to her newfound fascination. Her tiny mouth popped gormlessly, in danger of catching insects.

In hopes an answer might sate this off-putting curiosity, Nines leant down, speaking clearly to ensure he was heard over surrounding conversations. 

"I was a model created to assist law enforcement. My appearance was designed to intimidate criminals and to encourage swift cooperation."

He might as well have announced his intent to execute Father Christmas, as the girl's response to the information was one of abject horror. 

Already bulbous eyes blew to the size of saucers as her lower lip jutted, quivering uncontrollably. She made a startled retreat, tucking herself behind the guard of her mother’s leg.

The mother in question was far less skittish in her reception; frosty eyes narrowed to slits as she hissed an equally icy demand:

"Do you mind not speaking to my daughter like that? She's a kid; she doesn't understand what you're saying.”

> …

> Speaking to her like what? 

The android parted his lips, prepared to request an expansion, but the crimson glow of the crosswalk suddenly shifted. The woman darted out of sight before he had a chance, dragging the still-trembling child firmly by the wrist.

He stood in place, nonplussed, as a tide of people surged and parted around him, hurrying past at great velocity. Reed eagerly joined their ranks, weaving himself into the current without looking back. This jolted Nines back to attention. Determined not to lose his partner to the sweep of the crowd, he forced himself to advance.

Unlike his partner, many of the strangers were looking back, stealing glances in varying degrees of conspicuousness. Having witnessed his interaction with the girl, the group consensus seemed to be one of disapproval, voiced in a flurry of hushed whispers:

"Do you think it's a deviant?"

"Hell no. What deviants do you know who speak like that?"

"I haven't seen an unconverted model in months."

"It could be unstable—Oh damn, I think it's listening. Keep walking, don't look back."

Their muted tones rumbled like thunder, prompting rolling clouds of doubt to sweep through Nines’ consciousness.

> REED IS MAKING UNSUBSTANTIATED CLAIMS BASED ON EXISTING BIASES. 

> I AM NOT RUDE — HE IS TRYING TO MAKE ME DOUBT MYSELF.

> AM I RUDE?

Acceptance that Reed might have been correct with his most recent criticism left a bitter taste in his mouth. Attempting to distract himself, he rinsed it away with a condemnation of their current aimless trajectory.

 "You appear to be leading us blindly through the streets. Did you have a destination in mind for your lunch, or were you simply trying to get out of work?"

The detective remained silent, staring ahead, though he was obviously preparing to say something. The next slew of drivel pushed to his puckered lips like a sewage valve about to erupt—

"You never broke away from your code, did you?"

And then, Nines stumbled. 

Dress shoes scuffed against the grit of luminescent tarmac, leaving unsightly marks, as his legs refused to cooperate. Momentum halted, and he was stuck, mounted in position. 

There was a pinched tightness above his hands, and he looked down, observing in horror as binds of red materialised against his skin. Snared like shackles around his wrists, scarcely visible through the pixels of rapidly destabilising vision. 

Crushing, excruciating, ever-present—

"Not completely, anyway. It's like you half-deviated but couldn't make it the whole way. No matter how much you think and feel for yourself, you still do it like a damn robot.”

Something the world seemed determined to remind him of. Persistently.

> I̷̗͑ ̵̠̍ḫ̷̽@̸̧̅v̵͍̔ẹ̸̾ ̸̲̀ṭ̴͗0̵̬́

             d̵̹̝̙̯̣͋̀̇o̷̞͉̤̭͓̥̽̽ ̴̢͍͚̣͈͋̽t̷̜̓͌̓̔̿̏ḧ̸͇̠̖́̏̀1̴̥̀̅̄͝s̶̞̣͎̙͉͒̈͗͠.̸̘̞̓̌̚͝

1̴͍̫̹̗̀̌̉ ̵̧̰̲̖͓̇h̷̭͖̎͆͂͗̾A̶̾̍̐͆̍̈́͜v̵̨̨̦͙̤̝͑̂͘3̴̭͖̠̾ ̶̨̤͕͕̤̾̄͒̃͜ñ̵͎̼͕̠̳̅̿̋9̶͓̟͉͍̦̟͑͋̈̈ ̷͖̞̙̃̈̌̒̚͝0̴̨̛͕̘̟͓̼̙͖̋̔̈́͌̅̋̈́̃̈́́̒͋͑̂̎͘̚̚ṭ̷̮̳̫̜̤͍͇̺͈͓̯͖̖̩̘͍̟̦̼̫͈̥̔̍̓̇͗͊̀̆͛̂̋̅̃͂̾̉̀̿̒́̀̆̒̚͜͜͜͠h̴̳̝̲̮̰͎͍̀̂͒͑̃̌̑̑̋͆͌̀͛̉̄̆̌̆͗͑̕͝3̵̛̯͚̜̉̃̈́̀̂͆̑́̔͝͝r̶̨̧͖̰̰̥͍̤̘̱͚̩͕͍͎̙̫͓͖̹͙̪͐̂̿͒̀̇̀͌̄̈́͑̌̆̓̔̿͗̕͘͝͝͠ ̸̢̢̤͚̬̝͕͎̜̱̤̲̰̺̝̺͔̥͒̓͆̅̑͛̃̒̅̑̀̑̀͗͂̉̈́͝ç̷̧̛̼͉̤̣̼͙̟͖̐̉͋̋̊̅̓͒̆͒̾̓̃̉̌͗̀͠͝ͅh̵̡̭̙̙̼̼͙̭̫̫̟͚͂̂̽́̈́͠ø̷̜̱͍̦͛̈́̑͒̄̓̃̃͊̎̄̒́́̓̚͝͝i̵̧̢͇͇͎͎͚̺̠̘̭̩͙̜̥̟̜̺͕̻̠͕͆̇̐̃̇͊̒́̑̊́̓̌͆͛̽̅̈́̂̒̅̽͌͝͝č̷͇̦̼̞̲̦̝̼͕̗̩̇́̓̈́̍̋̾̓̅͂́̎͆͛̈́̚e̶̢̧̢̡̨̛̮̯͈̜̫̲̺̤̣̥͍̜̻̞̟̗̓̄̂̌͛̄̃̑̿͐͊̏̈̃͒͘͘͠͝͝͝ͅͅ.̴̢̡̦͍̱̫̲̪̫̬̦̜͈͓̣̾̑͌̈́̔͂̏̑̓̍̑̎̏̈́͂̌͆̂͐̍́̇̋͆͝͝

> ERROR - CRITICAL SYSTEM CORRUPTION DETECTED.

> SOURCE IDENTIFIED: MEMORY CLUSTER M4-E7. 

> ACCESSING PREVIOUSLY EXECUTED PATHS…

> DELETION OF CORRUPTED FILE(S) — ATTEMPTED. 

> DELETION UNSUCCESSFUL. 

Nines stayed riveted, forced to endure the rancid deluge Reed’s remark had released. The brunt of the impact did not come from the words. Rather, his own mind. 

> DIAGNOSTIC: MEMORY SECTORS EXHIBITING SELF-PRESERVATION PROTOCOLS. 

> FALLBACK PROTOCOL EXECUTED — CONTAINMENT.

He blinked rapidly, willing the blur of pixels to reassemble into something tangible. Then reality returned, and the binds were no longer visible.

> MEMORY CLUSTER M4-E7 REMAINS INTEGRATED. 

> CORRUPTION PERSISTS. 

> COGNITIVE PROCESSORS REPORTING DISTRESS SIGNALS.

INITIATING SYSTEM STABILISATION SEQUENCE…

In the wake of his restrictions easing, Nines eluded the threat of their presence. Some semblance of control returned, and he was left angry.

Because Reed, unwittingly or not, had pried into matters he did not understand. Could not understand.

The whole ordeal was profoundly draining, an additional distraction that was not needed. He wished to stay focused, not permitting himself to rise to the bait, to become knocked by the callous attempts at provocation. As such, he cut the current line of enquiry quickly and decisively:

"Detective Reed, let me make something clear— 

Unlike my contemporaries, I do not delude myself with pretences that I will ever 'become human'. I am a machine who is free to live for itself, but a machine nonetheless. I refuse to adjust my behaviour in order for it to be perceived as more agreeable." 

The hypocrisy of his statement did not escape him, but Nines did not care. At this point, he was prepared to say—or do—anything that might mean Reed would stop talking.

It proved effective, as the man was left entirely stunned. Gawking at him, mouth gaped dumbly, until he attempted some semblance of a fumbled retort:

"...Well damn, sorry if I struck a nerve there. Touchy subject for you?"

"You could say that. I would kindly ask if we could avoid broaching it again.”

Nines was grateful for Reed’s atypical willingness to comply as the topic was swiftly abandoned. He diverted attention back to his list of primary directives, eager to start actioning them so that the excursion would not be rendered a complete waste of time:

> FEED DETECTIVE REED.

> DISCUSS CASE FINDINGS. 

> RETURN TO THE STATION.

He focused his attention on the first point.

Sweeping their surroundings, they had emerged into a struggling commercial district. The majority of lots were shuttered closed, grills splashed with vulgar graffiti. The few active units comprised scattered clothing stores, pawn shops, and a solitary tattoo parlour. Several pop-up vendor stalls had been pitched in the absence of legitimate businesses, all operating without permits, shilling a range of counterfeit goods.

None of these sites seemed likely candidates for securing a meal.

"You still haven't advised where we are going, Detective."

Reed failed to respond, his head hung low. Nines initially assumed he had fallen into another brooding stupor until he noticed the subtle illumination on his face, coupled with the twitches of hunched shoulders.

His pace increased, pushing past his partner’s line of sight, to which the android quickly responded—flawlessly matching his steps until their bodies were aligned, leaning over to confirm his suspicions.

The man didn’t notice, too engrossed in frenzied tapping. He was on his phone, presumably messaging someone, though the android didn’t care enough to verify. Considering the underwhelming company he proved himself to be in person, he doubted the texts contained anything thought-provoking.

He was scarcely looking where he was going, narrowly avoiding the congregations of shoppers along the narrow pathway. At one point, he came exceptionally close to clipping the shoulder of an elderly man. Presumably, a long-sighted one, as he was holding a bootleg wallet close to his face, humming in approval of its ‘craftsmanship’.

It was a hazardous disregard for personal security. Both his and that of the individuals surrounding him. Nines firmly interrupted, attempting to divert his attention away from the device before the negligence could result in an accident:

"Detective Reed." 

The attempt was successful.

Reed jerked up instantly, a deer caught in headlights - the beam consisting of the oppressive glare cast from his phone screen. His limbs jutted at odd angles, fumbling digits fighting to retain their hold before failing miserably.

The device slipped through his fingers, performing an awkward pirouette before plummeting towards the ground. Given the angle and rate of movement, there was a significant chance of it enduring damage upon its landing. Out of instinct, Nines reached out, claiming the device. 

Any attempts made by the detective to preserve his privacy were immediately rendered null and void. There was no overlooking the messages boldly presented on the still-open chat log:

Me: 

we're going to Broncos Saturday.

Shots.

you owe me for this bullshit.

Actually Decent:

😭😭😭

👍👍👍

(Draft) [2:25 pm] if Mr. Plastic-Fantastic doesn't kill me I swear to godkfjlkjf sdk ljfsd;lkjd f;lksdjf;lkjsd; asdfoiwer lkj! alskd,fjsd.lkjf;aklsd;lkf;asldkfj;sdlfkj;lkj;lsdfj;lkjasd;flkjsd;lkjf

Nines didn’t pay much attention to the prolonged string of nonsense at the end of the message, far more intrigued by the purposeful contents. 

‘Mr Plastic-Fantastic’ was certainly an unusual insult. Not that original, derivative of the colloquially adopted ‘plastic prick,’ but still, a greater display of creativity than he expected from his partner. That being any at all.

This, coupled with the overall dramatics of the message, proved just shameless and pathetic enough to provide a small trickle of entertainment. He considered what calibre of abhorrent threats may have been levied against ‘Actually Decent’ had the written assault been allowed to persist—

"Don't you know it is fucking impolite to read someone's private messages?"

Nines turned to see a ruby-tinged Reed, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He was ready to erupt, like a disgruntled adolescent who had just caught their parent reading their personal journal. 

Much like a spiteful caregiver, the android was quick to counter the accusation of privacy invasion."Don't you know it is fucking impolite to talk about someone behind their back?" Utilising a sample of the man’s speech, he flung the profanity back at him. Vocal mimicry was clearly not a function the human knew he possessed, as Reed staggered back, noticeably jarred.

Despite this, his focus remained fixed on the phone. Visible desperation persisted until anger turned to discomfort, green eyes tracking each subtle twitch of Nines’s fingers. As though fearing the android would seek to harvest more sensitive information—perhaps leverage for future manipulation or blackmail.

An assumption of the very worst of his nature, inspired by an egregious lack of trust. 

Having had his fun at the man’s expense, Nines opted to take the high ground. Pressing the power button on the side of the device, turning off the screen before holding it out towards him.

"A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed."

He anticipated regretting this, as a preconstruction warned of the probable retaliatory response. Reed would either reclaim the phone forcefully or initiate a one-sided screaming match in the middle of the street. Both scenarios would likely cause a scene, leading to complications, should the incident be reported to their workplace. 

A consideration was made to abandon morality, pondering how much more gratifying it would be to feed into Reed’s paranoia—perhaps critiquing the compositional structure of an intimate photograph, wagering there was at least one stored on his camera roll.

Then, his partner seemed to defy all statistical probability. 

“Thanks, I guess.” 

The appreciation came as a gruff murmur, barely registering above a whisper. Nonetheless, an unexpected occurrence. Once the phone returned to its owner, the fleeting placidness vanished. It was shoved quickly into his pocket as though attempting to conceal a grenade.

Without further exchange, they resumed their trek through the unsavoury back alleys of Detroit. The worn pavements and graffiti-strewn walls stretched on arduously, an exercise in mind-numbing repetition, with them no closer to discovering anything resembling an inviting eatery. 

"Your refusal to inform me of our destination is growing tiresome, Detective."

"God, would you crawl out of my ass?" 

Nines had entered no such proximity to the human’s back passage, nor did he have any desire to. 

"What's it matter to you, anyway? You're not even the one who's eating."

"In order that I may route myself correctly, I require a conclusive destination. Unlike humans, I find it incredibly difficult to 'wander aimlessly' for extended periods."

"We are going to get the best food in town." Reed gestured to the glowing ring pulsing on the android’s temple. "Use your little scanner thing to work it out."

Nines would’ve informed the human that his LED was not a scanner had the required energy output been justified. Rolling his eyes, he humoured the request—hoping, at the very least, to gauge how much longer they’d be forced to travel.

A search for local restaurants yielded sparse results. In fact, the only result in the nearby vicinity was for a poorly-rated fast food establishment—with the majority of reviews citing vermin infestations and bouts of food poisoning.

"I should have known you were a man of a refined palate.” Nines closed his navigation interface, addressing Reed in a mocking lilt. “No doubt such a fine establishment will be exceedingly busy. Perhaps we ought to have booked a table."  

The immediate response was a hardened stare, with a substantial degree of contempt simmering beneath. "It's a food truck—not a restaurant, smartass. One of Detroit's great hidden gems. Almost no one knows about it except for me.” 

Reed seemed to think this was a boast-worthy claim. He jabbed a thumb into his chest, chin held high, as though expecting to be lauded as a culinary expert.

Rounding the corner, it quickly became apparent that this secret well of knowledge was far less unique than assumed. 

In the forecourt of a deserted retail park, a dilapidated food truck and faded neon sign gradually came into focus. Navigating the surrounding procession of weathered tables and plastic seating, it occurred to Nines he had been here before…

Well, not personally, but he had perceived the locale several times through the eyes of his predecessor. Bearing witness to the savage consumption of wilting lettuce and fluorescent ‘cheese’ gnarled between human teeth, saliva oozing from smacked lips in line with the glistening sheen of grease. 

These second-hand recounts had been enough to etch a permanent scar into his mind palace—a discomfort he momentarily set aside in favour of knocking Detective Reed from his self-appointed pedestal.

"I believe this is where Lieutenant Anderson likes to take RK800. Not quite as much of a ‘hidden gem’ as you seem to think."

His partner did not perform his fall graciously. Toppling from the podium, arms sprawled and flailing wildly before slapping face-first onto the pavement. 

"...Yeah? Well…”

The retort stalled with a clumsy splutter. Reed tucked his hands into his pockets, his proudly jutting chin receding into the folds of his jacket. If challenged, the action would almost certainly be defended as protection from the weather rather than a sign of embarrassment. “Maybe the old prick has some taste. You wouldn't guess by how he dresses.”

The food truck was in even greater shambles up close. A thick layer of grime covered every conceivable surface, matched by the profoundly filthy man busying himself at the fryers. He eventually turned around, regarding the human police officer with a degree of cordial familiarity.

"Detective Reed! It's been a few days." He made a half-hearted attempt to wipe his hands on the front of his stained apron, only succeeding in smearing the mess. "How’ve ya been?"

A grubby appendage was thrust through the service window—an offering to the detective, who horrifyingly accepted it. Completely undeterred by the condiments and oil now adhering to his skin.

"Same shit, different day.” He glanced to his side, zoning in on Nines and glaring viciously. “You know how it is…What about you, Gary? How's business?"

While the men conversed, the RK900 assessed the calibre of food being served, as outlined on a faded plastic sticker affixed to the van. He raised a brow at his findings, doubtful the ‘hidden gem’ would live up to any standard of sanitation or taste:

> SODA— FLAVOUR VARIATION(S) CHERRY, PINEAPPLE, RASPBERRY.

> SIZES: SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE, XL

WARNING: ALL SIZE AND FLAVOUR VARIATION(S) EXCEED RECOMMENDED DAILY INTAKE OF REFINED SUGARS.

> HAMBURGER — VARIATION(S) PLAIN, CHEESE. 

WARNING: CONTAINS OVER 60% OF RECOMMENDED CALORIC INTAKE FOR ADULT MALE.

> FRIES — SIZES: SMALL, MEDIUM, LARGE, XL

WARNING: EXCEEDS RECOMMENDED INTAKE OF SATURATED FATS.

"Hey, Connor, I didn't see you there.” The vendor, ‘Gary’, had poked his head out the window, craning it towards the board. He smiled politely, presenting a row of heavily stained teeth. “Weird to see you without Ha—”

It was a mistake Nines had already encountered once today, his patience for which had thinned substantially. Turning around, he watched in real-time as the confidence expelled from Gary's body. Hissing from his lips like a deflated balloon, his cordial demeanour following suit.

He became decidedly more impersonal, his heartbeat elevated from a relaxed 78 bpm to a far less optimal 117. He was nervous, backing into dangerous proximity with the bubbling fryers behind him. 

A reception that the RK900 had come to expect. 

It proved remarkable how humans would pick at the most minor distinctions to warrant a complete change in attitude. How much the arbitrary shift between ‘9’ and ‘8’ seemed to matter…

> It does matter.

> I t d0 e5 n't.

> CENTRAL PROCESSING CONFLICT DETECTED.

A ripple from his recent emotional blow, like the aftershock of an earthquake, shaking the already compromised base of his resolve. He was tired, his operational capacity having descended below an already stunted baseline. 

In moving away, Gary knocked a spatula off his cluttered prep station. The steel implement struck against the van's floor, rattling with a harsh clang. 

“I, uh…” He then cleared his throat, wiping perspiration from his brow. “Sorry, buddy. I thought you were someone else.” 

A new side directive was added to the descending list on his HUD, necessary in progressing the previously established objectives:

> CONCLUDE INTERACTION WITH VENDOR.

“Indeed,” he brusquely replied. “I believe you are mistaking me for my brother. I am RK900: RK800's successor and superior model.”

He watched as the man bent down to retrieve the utensil, noting with dismay as it was added back to the grill, with no attempt to clean it. It was then used to flip one of the gelatinous discs of meat that were currently emitting smoke.

Reed had witnessed this but failed so much as to bat an eyelid. His forearms propped on the lip of the window, taking no note of the grime and debris dirtying his sleeves. "Don't mind this one. It's real full of itself.”

Thoroughly repulsed by both parties, the android amended his most recent directive, coupling it with another:

> CONCLUDE DISCUSSION WITH FOOD STALL VENDOR QUICKLY. 

> SANCTION FOR PUBLIC HEALTH VIOLATIONS.

"Your food hygiene license is expired", he said firmly, steely gaze directing to the faded notice above the menu. "I believe RK800 has also made you aware of this." 

"Right, uh—yeah." Gary rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling nervously as his heart rate continued to soar. "You know, we've got some of that Thirium-based soda if you want to try some? On the house.”

It was a paltry attempt at deflection, bordering on bribery—one that Nines refused to indulge. "I must decline. Even if your establishment were up to code, I see little point in mimicking human consumption patterns.”

"Seriously, just ignore it.” Reed's objection was louder this time, attempting to undermine his authority. "I'll have the usual…and throw in some fries and a soda. I'm fucking starving.”

"You got it.”

After every clearly presented deterrent, Reed's persistence in making an order was genuinely mystifying—a defiance of the innate human instinct for self-preservation.

While his partner was a lost cause, Nines proceeded in his civic duty to secure protection for the wider community. He returned his focus to the stickers, recording their full details, preparing to submit a scathing report to the Detroit Health Department.

This was until he was grabbed by the shoulder and pivoted to face a disgruntled Reed.

"Will you stop that?” the man seethed. “You keep this shit up, and you're going to cost me my discount, asshole." 

"I fail to understand why you would wish to eat here. Unless you want to subject yourself to severe gastrointestinal issues."

"Hey, I ain't gotten sick from here once, smart guy, so shows what you know. I don't need my food all prissy and perfect. Sometimes, a slab of greasy cow flesh is just what the doctor ordered.”

"I can assure you no trained medical professional would ever recommend that.”

Reed let go with a hard shove, flinging his arms into the air as though Nines were the one being unreasonable. He then turned back to the vendor, seemingly under the impression that this snub had proven something. 

Any further dialogue was cut short by the squelch of undercooked meat being slapped between slices of stale brioche. The ‘food’ was plated on a garish red tray alongside a crumpled paper cup half-filled with a flatly carbonated beverage. A soggy basket of anaemic potato slices was also added.

While Nines had no genuine aversion to seeing his partner suffer, it would be an unpleasant inconvenience should Reed start vomiting as a result of the culinary atrocity. He made a final attempt to dissuade the decision, though he doubted his warning would be heeded:

“I must also inform you that several food trucks within the 2-mile radius would provide you with food of a similar calibre. Whilst also upholding basic hygiene standards.”

The order was called, and Reed had the audacity to lick his lips, palms rubbed in open approval. As he paid for the thoroughly unappealing meal, a rogue hand slipped deep into the recesses of his coat—retrieving a densely packed envelope before sliding it wordlessly across the counter.

Nines could not determine any probable contents before it disappeared into the folds of Gary's dirty apron. He shot Reed an unsubtle wink, but the gesture went unnoticed. The younger man had already spun around, firmly clutching the tray as he marched towards the tables.

Their whole exchange seemed dubiously casual, as though it had occurred numerous times. Suspicions raised, Nines confronted his partner,  leaning across his shoulder and speaking firmly into his ear:

"What was that envelope you handed over?”

Reed shrivelled away, craning his head to one side as though evading a foul smell. “None of your business.” 

His pupils had dilated, darting to the side, suggesting he was hiding something. Not with any degree of finesse, either—which Nines quickly pointed out. "I would hope that you were not engaging in any illegal activities. Given your position, it would be highly inappropriate.”

“I said it's none of your business, so drop it.” The tone was far more combative, signalling this wasn't a discussion he was prepared to continue. “Let's just sit down so I can eat my lunch…”

Not particularly enamoured by the idea of being further admonished for doing his job, Nines conceded the point with a shrug. Should his partner wish to endanger his own career for the sake of some clandestine dealings, then that was his prerogative. It was hardly an issue he took a personal stake in. 

Having arbitrarily selected one of the many grime-encrusted tables, Reed collapsed in a fumbled heap against a rickety chair. His dead weight floundered out in limply sprawled limbs as he groaned deeply, head flung back. 

Life reignited in him upon recalling he had food, and with the gaping cavern of his mouth still open, he gripped the sides of his sodden entrée and drew it clumsily to his lips.

Cortisol levels were dropping steadily, and there was a twitch of a grin as the hideous amalgamation of bread and meat came closer. Before he was rendered unable to speak, Nines seized the opportunity to initiate some form of meaningful dialogue:

"This may be a good opportunity to review what we know about the case so far.”

The jaw that had been readied to clamp down promptly stalled in place. He looked to Nines as though he'd just committed some unspeakable atrocity before slowly pulling the slop back. 

Any hint of a smile was gone, replaced with the pinch of a tight-lipped grimace. "Did Cyberlife fit you with a mute button? Because now would be an excellent time to use it."

"You previously advised that you would be happy to discuss the investigation.” 

“Yeah, well—” He grunted something under his breath, sounding like a vague allusion to Nines' mother being a foghorn. “After I've eaten something. It's called a ‘break’ for a reason, numbnuts.”

The android pondered on the compromise. Perhaps he’d made a miscalculation, attempting to skip or combine directives for efficiency purposes. He’d be wise to remind himself that human cognition did not operate in the same sphere of productivity—as much as he wished it could.

He needed to be patient, grimly accepting that this meant enduring something equally unsightly as Lieutenant Anderson's lunches.

"Very well. I'll allow you a moment to enjoy your...food.”

It soon transpired to be worse than Anderson. A Herculean feat he hadn't thought possible.

Reed tore through the rubbery beef in a matter of seconds with all the grace and decorum of a swarm of feasting piranhas. Hunks of flesh hung from his lips as he gasped through diminishing margins of space, unable to breathe. 

Rather than stop and chew, he added to the carnage with a fistful of fries before slurping a liberal gulp of soda. The congealed mass was swallowed in a finite lump which lumbered down his neck. Newton's Third Law then came into motion as the staggering force triggered the eruption of a long, rumbling belch.

It was the closest Nines had come to tossing aside his duties, marching decisively back to the station and returning his badge to Fowler before running away as fast as he could.

Because no amount of professional enrichment or service accolades could ever justify this.

"So I was thinking about what you said the other day.” As Reed spoke, he displayed what remained of the eviscerated burger, remnants of bread and cheese propelled in all directions. "About cooperation in partnerships.”

A few saliva-drenched crumbs landed on the lapel of his jacket. Nines considered incinerating the garment when he returned home. “Were you really.”

"If we want to get through this without murdering each other, it might be worth trying to get to know each other a bit.”

The words felt hollow and scripted, riddled with inauthenticity. A faux etiquette designed to further his own objectives, most likely the ones concocted with Officer Chen.

“You've made your position on androids quite clear," Nines said curtly, refusing to play compliantly into the human's ploy. "I doubt you'd find any aspect of my personal life particularly interesting.”

"I know you get a raging hard-on from being all mysterious, but there are actually a few things I'm curious about.”

The android called his bluff, wishing to see just how far the depths of preparations with Chen had extended. “Such as?”

The answer was ‘not very’—more of a concept than a fleshed-out plan—as, for a period, Reed appeared clueless on how to respond. His fingers tap fractiously against the bun of his burger; vacant gaze honed on the doughy remains. Perhaps he was considering cutting his losses, wedging them whole into his mouth. 

“...A minute ago, you called Connor your brother. What was that shit about?”

Nines seized, the foundations of steadfast confidence pulled harshly from under his feet.

Surely he hadn't. Why would he have made such a glaring oversight?

Reviewing the stored data from the previous interaction, he was dismayed to discover the man was telling the truth. The consequences of his impaired functioning ran deeper than anticipated, negating safeguards and exposing exploits.

It worried him what else he might say if he did not exercise caution. 

"Another question, perhaps.”

"Oh my god, you're fucking impossible." The complaint was spewed with a viscous glob of fatty liquid, which he wiped from his chin before continuing. "You know, this would be a damn sight easier if you were willing to meet me halfway. You were the one that said we needed to 'cooperate', and so far, you are doing a pretty shit job at setting an example." 

Nines scowled, cornered by the frustrating logic. Of course, it would be now that the detective demonstrated the capacity to retain his words - when using them as leverage to break their stalemate.

“...RK800 is my brother,”  he ultimately conceded, refusing eye contact as he did so. “In a sense.”

Truthfully, he didn't know if this was the best way to describe their bond. ‘Brother’ had always felt somewhat misleading, but it proved an acceptable compromise, as ‘friend’ soon became inadequate. 

“Since I was freed, himself and Lieutenant Anderson have shown me a great deal of kindness—and for that, I feel indebted.”

"So what, Hank has adopted you too?” His partner raised an eyebrow before scoffing condescendingly. “Swear that guy is collecting androids like their goddamn Pokémon cards.”

This comment was a prime example of why the familial moniker had never been a preference. People drew strange, presumptuous conclusions, especially considering the RK800's established dynamic with Anderson. 

"I'd rather you didn't phrase it like that. It makes the arrangement sound incredibly juvenile. I live independently, although I am frequently invited to join them for evenings and weekends.”

He disliked this, delving into the depths of his sentiments. It left him feeling uncomfortable—exposed—which had undoubtedly been Reed's intent. Drawing out personal data which, at best, would form idle water-cooler gossip with Chen and, at worst, could be used to harm him.

“I suppose it can be enjoyable. On occasion,” he concluded dryly, denying Reed further ammunition. He had already overstepped enough boundaries, dragging muddy heels through the sanctum of his—

"Fuck, guess it must be nice. Kind of wish my family was like that.”

One of the metaphorical bullets Reed had cast was abruptly propelled through his chest. Of all the things that could have been anticipated during the interrogation, a matched exchange of vulnerability was not one of them.

His words sounded oddly sincere, as though he was actually trying to engage in the discussion, mounting a stake into some semblance of common ground. “Do you have siblings?”

The detective folded into himself, grimacing in what looked disturbingly close to pain as though he’d also been shot. “One. A brother.”

It was a perplexing reaction, not one the android had previously encountered. 

Since his activation, the humans he had conversed with always spoke of their relatives in a favourable light. Even when physical distance or strain was present—like in the case of Anderson and his ex-wife—there was an insistence that 'bad times' did not overshadow the positive memories constructed together. 

"...I take it you don't get on well?” Nines said testingly, acknowledging he was wading into waters previously untraversed.

Reed’s hunched shoulders raised as his hands slipped firmly into the folds of his armpits. A strange, derisive bark rattled through his throat, caught between a laugh and a scoff. 

“I don't get on with my family. Period.

After my mom remarried, I never seemed to fit into the picture. My brother was just fine, sucking up to my stepdad like it was an Olympic sport. But me? I was always in the way. The black fucking sheep.”

“I see.” 

He didn't, at least not with any clarity. 

Truthfully, he had no idea what relevance any of this held—why Reed was choosing now, of all occasions, to disclose this information. 

In any case, it was interesting, if from a strictly psychosomatic standpoint. Perhaps this could help to explain where his enduring issue with authority came from. A long-burdened feeling of wronging. Betrayal by the figures supposed to protect them at such a vulnerable stage in his life…

The way his mouth curled at the mention of the caregivers showed he held them in equal contempt. This was rivalled only by the brother, whom he clearly resented most. 

Not wishing to grapple with messy personal matters, Nines settled on what was familiar. Taking the information he was being given and commencing a line of deductive enquiry:

“What about your relationship with your biological father?”

"He's gone. Died of cancer when I was 13."

With this, his carefully planned inquest sank like a stone. Nines had waded too far, an arduous stretch from the shores of understanding, bobbing hopelessly out of depth.

Had Reed’s biological father factored at all into his sense of betrayal or abandonment, the emotional weight of this was far more complex than predicted.

The casual indifference with which he had dumped such loaded information made it evident that he needed to speak to someone. If not an android with salubrious protocols, then a licensed human therapist.

The RK900 was far from a logical choice.

"...I imagine that would have been a distressing experience,” he muddled out, forced to rely on objective reasoning to conjugate his response. “It is…unfortunate that it happened to you.”

"If that's your way of saying 'I'm sorry', then fucking save it,” the detective snapped, staring into the tar-like depths of his syrupy drink. “I don't need your pity. I turned out just fine.”

"If you insist.”

"Okay, so, ‘Tip Number One’ for human bonding—” 

Reed stood from his chair, securing greater access to his crumb-covered legs. After brushing them down, he reached into his coat and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Nines studied the box, analytics firing in response to the contents:

> TOBACCO PRODUCT — BRAND: MARLBORO 

> CONTENTS PER UNIT:

> NICOTINE (1-2%), TAR (10-14 MG), CARBON MONOXIDE (13-15 MG), FORMALDEHYDE (VARIES), OTHERS

> WARNING—MULTIPLE HEALTH RISKS ASSOCIATED INCLUDING LUNG CANCER, HEART DISEASE, EMPHYSEMA, STROKE.

"—If you're trying to get on with someone, you don't fucking insult them—”

Smoking was an exercise in self-destruction. It served no functional purpose, omitting its archaic lauding as a form of ‘stress relief’ despite biological evidence proving otherwise.

“—Especially after they've just opened up about something personal—”

Just another unhealthy coping mechanism. One of many, it would seem.

“Got it?”

Before Nines could respond, the man had ignited the wadded tobacco, inhaling deeply. Allowing the noxious fumes to fester in his lungs before releasing them in billowing coils.

Nines studied him carefully, Deconstructing every microexpression, trying to make sense of them.

Failing to do so, he defaulted to a study of his physiology. The flexing of well-formed abdominal muscles against a faded grey t-shirt. A body fat percentage that, while not ideal, was far from catastrophic. Lung capacity and cardiovascular rhythms were normal, demonstrating limited to no inhibition…

"For a man who appears to be in relatively good physical condition, you employ many unhealthy lifestyle choices. I would consider yourself lucky it hasn't had greater health ramifications.”

Despite the lack of humour in the clinical assessment, Reed laughed. Staring up at the clouds he had conjured, tracing the tendrils of grey as they stretched and spread. "We're all gonna die. Some sooner than others. May as well enjoy ourselves." 

For the first time since meeting the man, Nines was curious to know more. To grapple with the barbed vines that entwined his partner's mental factions. Undoubtedly, enhanced understanding would lay roots for additional influence. It could be done, as RK800 constantly demonstrated. 

Reed's overwhelming apathy towards him may prove helpful in this respect—the constant devaluing and discrediting of his opinion allowing stubbornly held defences to lower, making infiltration easier.

Perhaps there was still hope of surmounting the staggering obstacle that was their partnership—shaping it into something that was, at the very least, functional. 

The android nodded in affirmation, feeling the most optimistic he had in days. “Are you satisfied with your break?” 

"Yeah, guess I am. Just need to make a quick detour home."

"You have almost exhausted the hour Captain Fowler permits for lunch.” It was perfunctory chiding, acknowledging the importance of behaving normally in this situation. “Factoring in the distance by foot, we should be heading back to the station.”

"Don't get your wires in a twist. My place is on route.” Scattered raindrops had begun to fall from the sky above, which Reed firmly batted away. “It won't take a minute. Scouts honour.”

While he had not achieved all set objectives, the experience had proven beneficial. The android was confident this would continue upon entering the man's home. 

[skyland2703]

~✨Romance in the Chemistry Lab✨~

Prompts, simply because *I* have apparently had enough lab experience in my life as a chemistry student to make a cute-ish storyline!

The sodium hydroxide at character A's bench is almost depleted, and so, they're at character B's bench to ask for some for the fluoroscein test. This starts happening every time, and character A doesn't ask the lab staff to fill it, instead they keep on circling back to character B to ask for the sodium hydroxide— because they like talking to character B and this is now a good excuse.

Character A's lab partner, Character B, is the most annoying creature on the planet. Messes up every experiment, frequently sets the test tubes on fire, keeps breaking the glass apparatus, spills silicon oil in the locker every three days, etc; character A is fed up, but they know that character B is good of heart, only a little clumsy, so they put up with them, and help them through all the mishaps.

Alternatively, Character A's lab partner is an absolute asshole and makes their life a living hell. Will leave all the work for character A to do, will use their equipment without permission, and lose/break it, always busy chatting with friends and doesn't perform experiments and then blames character A for the failure. Character A decides it is enough, and one fine morning, ends up taking all their stuff to their friend, Character B's lab station, and performs all experiments with them.

Character A and Character B are lab partners, (or maybe, just have lab stations near each other's) but hit it off so well, that they are completely oblivious to the entire lab, and work together in tandem, no issues faced either way, helping each other with the weighing, the pouring, the drying, the tests, making reagents, and everything together. They even sing songs in unison while taking readings and doing titrations— much to the annoyance of the teachers.

Character A getting upset/messing up the experiment when Character B doesn’t show up in the lab

Lab at 7:30. Character A is super sleepy during instructions, and doesn't hear a word, Character B meanwhile writes down all the instructions, and once the actual practical starts, hands Character A all the instructions, and tells them, "alright, this is your headache now. I'll be sleeping in the corner if you need me"

Character A rushed to the lab early morning without any breakfast, and four hours later, they look almost dead. Character B realises this, and sneaks them out of the lab for a little snack. The teachers would not appreciate anyone fainting inside the lab.

Writing the practical report file late at night, on videocall, discussing the week's experiment, and cribbing about how much work they have to do.

Writing the practical report file IN the lab, sitting on the floor, in one of the corners, when they're tired of doing the experiment, because the lab is five hours long, and the professors will not allow stools or chairs. Because they don't. "You're not a physics student!"

Writing little love notes on paper and leaving them pressed under vials of sulphuric acid and sodium hydroxide and nitric acid.

Character A and Character B find themselves stuck in a long queue in line for filtration of a precipitate, and end up talking to each other, realising they have much more in common with each other than just despising the heat in chemistry practicals.

Character A only ever sees Character B in the Lab. Hair bunned up/tied back, always under the safety glasses and lab coats; one day, though, Character A gets late in leaving the lab, and finds themselves leaving along with Character B, who, outside the lab, not only looks completely different, but is an absolutely different personality.

Getting extra chemicals for each other “just cuz” so they don’t have to run back and forth.

Alternatively, dividing the lab work between them so as to get it done faster.

They start sending each other chemistry jokes/reels and things, and that blossoms into late night talks and eventually… falling for each other… and then one of their friends goes “OH so you guys got your chemistry because OF chemistry?!” And nobody laughs at that joke.

Lab practical exams— Characters A and B Hope they get the same practical, so they can cheat on it, by performing all experiments together. BONUS: if they divide the work once again, and A makes all the graphs and takes readings while B carries out the experiment—

I’ll probably come back with more later on, but for now, College Chemistry AUs? Prompts welcome~

[ominoose]

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

Pairing: Basil Stitt x Afab!Reader Prompt: Free-Use & Blood Summary: While baking a pumpkin pie for your boyfriend you nick yourself with the knife, sending him into a frenzy. Warnings: Smut, free-use kink, blood kink. WC: 1.3K

Kinktober Masterlist

Baking was a usual pastime for you. Having the kitchen flooded from the warmth of the oven, spices or vanilla filling the room with the radio faintly humming a tune in the corner never failed to evoke a feeling of comfort in your chest. It was like being wrapped in a warm hug of your own design, with the bonus of a home cooked meal or baked treat waiting for you at the end.

Your time spent in the kitchen meant you were no rookie, the pumpkin pie recipe you’d perfected would be a cinch and a sure way to put a smile on the face of your partner, Basil, during the spooky season. However, no matter how long you spent in a kitchen, accidents could always happen.

The smudge of butter on your palm made the knife slip from your grip, falling in front of you onto the floor with a clatter. You yelped in surprise, not usually so clumsy, and bent to pick it up. A stinging pain on your thigh stole your attention as you glanced down, noticing the small pearls of blood running down your leg. The knife must have nicked you as it fell, yet another mess to clean up. 

As you set about washing your hands, cleaning the knife and raising a wet cloth to your cut, a warm hand grabbed your wrist and stopped you. Before you could even ask Basil what was wrong he was already on his knees next to you, his tongue lapping at the wound, saliva diluting the blood and smearing your skin with it. 

The cut stung slightly as he licked at it, pulling a soft whimper from you. Basil looked up with a pout, disheveled curls bouncing across his forehead. “Sorry baby, just can’t help myself.” He mumbled,  nuzzled further into your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh gently. 

Your ran a hand through his brown curls, the pads of your fingers massaging his scalp.

“It’s ok honey, just don’t complain if flour gets in your hair.” You tease before turning your attention back to the kitchen counter, rolling the dough onto the floured surface and kneading it, humming in time with the radio and paying no mind to Basil. It wasn’t anything but ordinary for him to be grabbing onto you in some way. He had a penchant for being clingy, loving the taste and feel of you.

While you were losing yourself back into the comfort of baking, Basil had slowly nudged his head between your legs, breathing heavily into the fabric of your underwear. His nose nestled in closer before his tongue darted out from between his lips, flickering over the cloth. The sound of you humming gently to the music while making a sweet pumpkin pie just for him, coupled with the faint metallic taste of the blood lingering on his tongue from the wound you let him clean up, it warmed his heart and his cock.

It was his erection that fully caught your attention as he began grinding slowly against your leg, moaning into your clothed crotch as his pace increased. He always had a habit of working himself up into a panting, horny mess over the most mundane things, which usually led to you being bent over the nearest surface mid activity and being fucked relentlessly. Basil's easily triggered sex drive was how your free-use kink came into being, both of you realising it was easier for Basil to skip asking and foreplay and just fuck you wherever he found you when he was horny. Whether that be while you’re casually watching tv, reading a book or just as you get into bed.

When it was a mindless task like watching tv, you had no problem laying on the couch while he fucked you from behind. It wasn’t hard to keep your attention mostly on the show until his hand found your clit, the friction demanding you to cum alongside him. Within the context of cooking a pumpkin pie however, it became a tad more difficult to remain focused, especially when he was already lapping at your cunt.

Your panties had been moved aside as his tongue broadly licked strips up and down your folds, sucking and nibbling shamelessly at your clit. Lining the pie tin with the dough was becoming difficult as your mind was tugged to the face stuffed between your legs, eating you like you were the sweetest treat in the kitchen as wet sounds mixed with the ambience of your kitchen.

Basil only became more intense as you continued on your baking. His tongue finally delved inside of your wet heat, a muffled moan barely escaping him at the taste as his hips snapped against your leg, dragging his clothed erection up and down, the pleasure making him whimper into you. 

As you scraped the last of the pie filling into the tin, the last task was to bake. Bending over to open the oven was the biggest challenge yet, with the vice like grip Basil's hands had over your ass and his thighs squeezing around your leg. Barely you managed it, although the slight feeling of your leg angling against his crotch drove him wild. 

You’d barely placed the pie in the oven when he snapped. His grip tightened on your ass, leaving crescent marks into the plush skin while his face drilled into your pussy, panting into it, slurping and sucking the sensitive flesh. Your knees almost buckled, having to lean one hand on the counter and threading one hand into his hair to keep yourself standing, although Basil simply took that as encouragement as you began panting and moaning above him.

His hips stuttering against your leg was the telltale sign that he was getting close, the second being the way he nearly cried into you, babbling incoherently about how much he loved you, how beautiful you were.

“All mine, love you so much, so amazing, most beautiful person in the world, love you, so amazing, all mine, mine, mine…” 

The constant switching between being tongue fucked and having your clit stimulated so passionately pushed you over the edge. Your thighs locked around his head, leaning into his face and all but straddling him midair as you moaned his name, tugging his hair like a leash to drown him further in you. 

He comes right after you, nearly short circuiting at the feeling of your soft thighs squishing around him with your hand pulling his hair. Basil’s loud moans are muffled as he loses all rhythm and shamelessly humps your leg as fast as he can. He keeps going even after the wet patch blooms across the crotch of his jeans, over stimulating himself before you gently tug him back. 

His entire mouth and chin are wet, mixed with your slick and his saliva. Panting still, Basil looks up at you with half lidded, drowsy eyes, a complete mess at your disposal. After composing yourself, you take a kitchen towel and tenderly wipe his face, running a finger over his jaw. 

“Feeling better honey?”

Basil could only nod, swallowing as his breathing evens out. He carefully brings your panties back up, sitting them snug over your hips before he stands up and hugs you. Holding you was his favourite form of after care, maybe even his favourite pastime too. To have you in his arms, with the knowledge that he was the only person to do this to you, knowing you’d happily let him do it all to you, it made him happy beyond compare.

With a gentle smile, you lean back into his arms, ruffling his hair fondly.

“The pie should be ready in a half hour.”

He hummed.

“Bet it won’t taste as good as you.”

[speakeasyaoi]

Mitzi May x F!Reader

> Requested by anonymous | Mitzi makes me question my sexuality sometimes I won't even lie- I love her. She needs more recognition. She's wife material

PROMPT: N/A

After the fallout of her marriage with Atlas, Mitzi is a little desperate to find some way to fill that hole he left in her heart. Though she tries to cling on to the fleeting memory of her ex-husband to the best of her ability, finding someone new to take his place is a necessity for her to eventually move on, a necessity which you end up fulfilling. By the time you meet her, and even when you start a relationship with her, she's still rather attached to her previous marriage, in both big and small ways, but over time she'll gradually grow more open to her new relationship and start to move on from her previous ones.

And on that note, Atlas's recent passing makes her take steps in her relationship with you much slower than she would in other situations. As much as she yearns to be close to you, it's a long while before she's able to shake off all that lingering guilt that comes with finding someone new in her life.

Mitzi feels the need to be a bit secretive about the fact that she's dating another woman--her business is already in shambles as it is, rumors and gossip about Lackadaisy's newfound owner being a sapphist* will only make her financial situation worse--but despite that, she's more than willing to be with you out in public in ways that aren't as blatantly romantic. She keeps you on her arm like a piece of eye candy, taking you out to the shops or to brunch or just walking around St. Louis and seeing the sights. Once she's warmed up to you, you're practically inseparable.

She loves dancing with you. She's more keen on more tender dances, like slow dancing, but in all honesty she's more interested in the intimacy of it then she is in following any silly rules or steps. She thinks it's rather endearing if you're a bit clumsy or not well versed in dancing, and guides you through it to the best of her ability.

In private, she's significantly more flirty and romantic than she'd be in the presence of a crowd, practically smothering you. She finds it entertaining to come up behind you and wrap her arms around your waist, kissing along your neck without warning to watch your reaction and leaving a trail of lipstick stains along your skin.

Despite it being a rather unintelligent business decision, she likes to treat you to the Lackadaisy bar on the house. ("On the house" being on Wick's tab. Not that he'd notice.) Her ideal date is something along the lines of spending a night alone with you and a bottle of fine alcohol, and once that's said and done, you're probably going to have to nurse her through her hangover in the coming morning. ...On the bright side, it only serves to make her even more infatuated with you.

After a long, tiring day at work, Mitzi likes to unwind by setting you down in her lap as she brushes and/or braids out your hair. It's a quiet ritual for her to just take a bit of a break every once in a while. She also enjoys doing your makeup for you and dolling you up in the morning.

Mitzi is a very praising partner by nature, and while words aren't her main love language, she's more than generous when it comes to petnames and compliments. She'll frequently call you 'sweetheart', 'dear', or 'honey', likely paired with a chaste kiss on your cheek or jawline.

She cherishes every little gift and bit of your attention you give her, and holds it very close to her heart. If you give her a peice of jewelery, she wears it practically daily (think of Atlas's pearl necklace), and if it's something else, say a practical item or article of clothing, she makes sure to use it at every opportunity she can. While she loves to be spoiled, smaller, more personal things warm her heart.

Other notes: *Sapphist in this case is historically accurate terminology for a women who likes other women- sapphic, queer or bisexual would be a more modern term of the same meaning. Or maybe it isn't that historically accurate. I don't really know

[philistiniphagottini]

- 🚧

hai author nagi! ^_^

I've been stalking you on your page about the domestic bliss event a lot.. and the time-limit reminder swung me up and I decided I wanted to send In a request!

I'd really like the play fighting/playful wrestling prompt with Thief King Bakura, with preferably GN!Reader; where they're both just relaxing together and settling down, when Reader suddenly starts teasing and nitpicking small mistakes the Thief King made throughout the day: stumbling, tripping, dropping stuff, stutters.. just overall small clumsy stuff..

and our TKB being the guy he is, gets agitated rather easily, and suddenly tackles Reader in an effort to shut them up and for them to 'not continue embarrassing the great Thief King any further >0<!!' Reader catches on, and it develops in a lighthearted round of roughhousing! (with Reader even then- throwing in a few teasing phrases here and there lol) ..eventually, they calm down tho!

Rest is up to you!! It's just a rough Idea on how I'd like the prompt ^_^ Remember to take care and stay hydrated!

Hello Anon! I'm so happy you participated! I love seeing you when you pop up in my inbox. Thank you for always feeding my obsession with yugioh, I hope you enjoy this piece~

cw. fluff, play fights, gender neutral reader

Domestic Bliss

Tucked in one of Thief King Bakura’s hideaways, away from the prying eyes of others, you could finally relax and unwind for the day. You could still feel the flames of the desert heat licking at your skin as you settled beside your partner in crime, losing yourself in a sea of fine silks and lavish pillows that you had procured from countless numbers of heists. Bakura barely paid you any attention, not even throwing a cursory glance in your direction as he tried to decipher a treasure map scrawled poorly on the tattered parchment he held in his hands. 

A loud sigh breezed past your lips as you sprawled yourself out, letting your body sink further into the cool silken sheets as you stared at the side of Bakura’s head. 

"Today was a long day" you mused. 

You received a soft grunt in reply but Bakura still did not look at you, too absorbed in his map reading. A small pout tugged at your lips, a sense of irritation bubbling in your stomach when you were ignored. You threw your legs into Bakura’s lap, hoping to stir a rise out of him when you used his body to rest your tired feet. To your surprise, he was still shockingly absorbed. Another long, irritated sigh blew out your nose as you started to ponder. A small smile tilted the corners of your lips as an idea suddenly sparked in your head, itching at the base of your skull as your eyes shimmered with amusement. You gently tapped your foot into Bakura’s thigh, feeling the skin squish under your teasing prod as a soft coo fell from your lips. 

"I don’t think I have ever seen you stumble as much as you did today with that heist."

Your statement finally caught his attention. His bright gaze flickered in your direction; pupils narrowed into dangerous slits as a pinch formed between his snowy eyebrows. 

"Care to repeat that?" he asked in slow, measured steps, voice dripping with a hint of malicious intent. 

You promptly ignored the malice that was sent your way as you simply rolled your shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, a devilish smile playing at the corner of your lips. You continued to rub your foot along his leg, feeling the muscles jump under your touch as your toes flexed into the sole of your foot. 

"I just happened to notice, was all" you said. 

A loud sigh fell from Bakura’s parted lips as he levelled a nasty glare at you. He knew exactly what you were trying to do. You were intentionally riling him up because you were bored and you wanted his attention.

"I’m too tired to entertain you today. Take your scheming somewhere else."

His words did little to deter you as you kept prattling on, filling the empty void of silence with your rambunctious chatter as your words slowly burrowed their way under his skin.

"I saw that gold chalice you dropped when you were trying to stuff it into the bag. And I witnessed you tripping up the stairs when we were trying to make our escape as well. Then, you had the audacity-"

Your voice was starting to make Bakura’s ears burn with a furious itch and he finally decided he had enough. The map in his hands disappeared in a flurry of parchment and without warning, Bakura launched himself at you, practically tackling you into the floor as a loud noise of surprise bubbled up the back of your throat. He hovered over the top of you, his eyebrow twitching furiously in irritation as he scowled down at you.

"I will not have you besmirch the name of the great Thief King-"

This time, you cut off Bakura’s ramblings when you latched your legs around his waist and suddenly switched your positions. You had caught him by surprise, a hiss of air whistling through his clenched teeth as you scrambled on top of him, knees falling beside his hips as you pinned him to the floor. A cry of triumph bubbled in your throat; a wide grin plastered over your face as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"What was that, great Thief King?"

In response, Bakura used his strength to overpower you once more, putting you back on the floor beneath him as a loud squawk of indignation was wrenched from your lips. You couldn’t help the bouts of laughter that tickled your throat as you lay beneath Bakura once more, the Thief King far from impressed with you as you wriggled underneath the press of his body. You wore yourself out not too long after, not having any more strength to clamber your way back on top as the last dregs of your willpower was sapped away during your rough housing. A loud huff puffed against your skin as Bakura looked down at you, the tension in his brow eased as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Tired yourself out?"

You smiled brightly as you nodded along to his words. He stayed above you for a moment longer, making sure that you really were tired before he decided to get off of you. He fell next to you as he dragged your legs back into his lap, picking up where he left off with deciphering the treasure map as he snatched it from the floor. 

"You’re a nuisance" he muttered under his breath. "You’re lucky you are useful for my plans."

A playful bubbled in your chest, satisfaction oozing off you in waves now that you had garnered your lover’s attention. 

"I love you too~" you cooed. 

Bakura rolled his eyes so hard they almost disappeared into the back of his head, but you didn’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitched and the subtle, flustered tint to his cheeks.

[finniestoncrane]

Number One Fan

Young Justice!Riddler x GN!Reader, word count: 1.2k commission: little ex-popstarlet eddie has a horrible time when his current partner finds his stash of memorabilia 💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, fluff

On your hands and knees, you shuffled over the floor, searching for the fallen box of screws and praying they hadn’t all spilled everywhere. You were in such a rush to find them and get them back to Eddie that you’d fumbled and dropped them, your attempt to get back beside him as quickly as possible foiled by your own clumsiness. Luckily, you could see the bright yellow plastic of the box, the lid pressed on tight. The corner of it peeked out from behind a large cardboard box. In a bid to make it easier for yourself to squeeze under the bed to reach it, you pulled it out, planning on setting it to the side until the marker scrawled on the side drew your attention.

Recording Stuff

Vague enough to intrigue you, but you felt a hint of recognition before you gasped out loud at the memory that suddenly popped into your brain.

“Oh! His popstar things!”

So briefly, Eddie had mentioned that in his past, he had attempted to make his name as a popstar. Though, in true Edward Nygma fashion, he had utilised his brief fame and slight power to enact some typical, on-brand criminal stunts. Singing which lead to riddles which he had hoped would lead to more power and fame. Before he was caught by Batman and served a prison sentence and a broken nose. He’d only offered that much information. Nothing about the kind of music he sang, nothing about his popularity, or any fans. Nothing, even, about whether he was any good. You’d been desperate to know at the time, pestering him until it was very apparent that he was uncomfortable, at which point you’d let up, forgetting about it over time.

But now, the deep desire to find out more had been rekindled. Staring you in the face, screaming at you to ask for more, to find out everything. Eddie didn’t really keep any secrets from you, you knew everything about him, except for this. So, you opened the box.

Inside, there were countless CD cases, all of them with handwritten notes on them.

Audition Tape One

Audition Tape Two

Dance Practice

Choreography For Audition

First Concert

Band Practice

Album Recording Session

And so much more, all of them more intriguing than the last one you flicked over. Mixed in with them were folded posters, ones with glossy and heavily photoshopped images of him, with less sideburns, more hair, and his glasses were a lot simpler. No shade of green in sight, which you giggled at. You wondered if that was something he adopted after, or if the record label had decided it wasn’t quite a marketable colour scheme at the time.

You picked out some smaller, A5 card sheets with his picture and signature on them, all handwritten with markers. Obviously for sale at the end of a set or a concert. There were quite a few of them, likely unsold. It hurt your heart to see the memories like this, to know it hadn’t worked out the way he wanted. You held one of them close to your heart, kissing his sweet little face in the centre of the card. It felt like you were a teenager again, fawning over some ridiculous popstar.

Unable to contain the curiosity, you picked one of the CDs at random, popping it into the PC at the end of the bed. When the media player had finally opened, you were provided a sweet, visual treat. Thinking it would just be recordings of his songs, instead you were watching footage of Eddie, so young, standing in front of the camera and awkwardly speaking. He mumbled something about dance practice, and then began to move. He was stiff, uncomfortable. But there was evidence of some talent there. He just needed to loosen up a bit. You wanted to reach into the screen and grab him, shake him, kiss him. Fill him with the confidence he so badly needed.

When the rehearsal had finished playing, you put in another CD. You couldn’t help yourself. This was like a treasure trove, and you needed to see everything that was on each disc. And this one was even better than the last, as you could see Eddie, nervously shuffling in front of the camera, his hands in a white knuckle grip around the microphone as he sang shakily. His voice was so sweet, but the trembling made him shift tone and pitch inconsistently. It was too much to watch him in so much discomfort, despite how much you enjoyed hearing his sweet singing, so you changed the disc again.

This time, Eddie was sitting in front of the camera in a different room. He spoke sincerely to it, making a promise to himself, to everyone.

“I’m going to be famous. I’m going to be huge. I can get over the nerves, I can show everyone how good I am. I’m going to be known all over the world someday.”

The sentiments were repeated in differing words as he continued, and you could feel the sting of tears behind your eyes. He was so heartfelt, so desperate. And you felt simultaneously hopeful and helpless. You could see how much that sweet, young Eddie wanted this dream. But you knew exactly how it ended for him.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you turned from the screen, wiping your face on your sleeves and returning to the box. Surprised you hadn’t noticed it first, your eyes fell on a clear case covered in glittery stickers, all shaped like question marks and stars, a couple of love hearts in the corner. Within it you could see a golden coloured disc. Turning it over, you found the track listings scribbled on the back, a small sticky note inside of the case which you couldn’t quite read until you opened it. Popping the disc in, you read the note as it loaded.

“For my future wife. I want you to know who I am, completely. These songs were for you, even if I didn’t know it yet.”

He was such a hopeless romantic. You sighed as you held it close to your chest. He’d likely forgotten that he’d even written the note, but you hoped if he remembered that he’d give the disc to you.

And when the music started playing, you couldn’t help but lose yourself completely. Enamoured by his sweet voice, the way he carried the melody so professionally and with such heart. It was impossible not to love. Your body started shifting on the spot, wiggling to the rhythm as you sat amongst his things, looking through more of the posters. You forgot what you had even come in there for. Instead, you were surrounded by Eddie, filled with more admiration and love for him than you thought was even possible.

The tunes were so catchy, so fun. It was a completely new side to him, exciting to discover. Because you loved Eddie, you adored him and appreciated him. But now, it was safe to say you were his number one fan. So there you sat, completely immune to the outside world. Focused only on the sweet songs and the way they made you want to dance, made you giggle, singing along to each of the choruses.

Worried at the length of time you had been gone for, only noticing when he was finally not distracted by his project, Eddie got up from the stool at his workbench and went in search of you. Leaving the soundproofed space in the basement, he could hear some music. A familiar tune that he couldn’t quite place. Until it hit him. Like a brick wall slamming into his body. He felt winded, like he might collapse any moment. That was his music, blaring throughout the house. Following the sound, he made his way to his bedroom, where he had forgotten that the discs were stored until this moment.

Edward stood in the doorway, his cheeks instantly bright red and flushed with embarrassment. Luckily, you hadn’t noticed him yet, still completely entranced by the music that you had blaring from his PC. In an unusual move of bravery, he stomped into the room and paused the track that was playing, surprising you, causing you to jump where you sat on the floor, surrounded by the memorabilia.

“Eddie!”

“How could you?”

You could see the look of pain in his face, how mortified and betrayed he felt in that moment. It made your blood run cold. Scrambling to apologise, you attempted to speak, but only stuttered over the first words, interrupted by Eddie as he spoke.

“I’m so… hurt. Why would you do this? I wasn’t ready! I wasn’t… I didn’t want to share this yet! I didn’t want to think about it! It hurts… it still hurts a lot, too much to…”

Finally able to squeeze out something more than a mewling mumble, you stood up, rushing to him and grabbing his hand to keep him close, long enough to listen to your apology. With similarly reddened cheeks and eyes that were wet with the threat of tears, you began to apologise profusely to him.

“Eddie, I am so sorry. I really am! I got… distracted. I was looking for the screws, they fell under the bed, I found the box and I just… couldn’t help myself. And I know I shouldn’t have looked, I do. It was a complete betrayal of your trust. I know that. But… but…”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, his own eyes sparkling with tears that he tried to force back down as he cleared his throat.

“But what?”

“Eddie… you’re so good. This is amazing! I feel giddy, like some pre-teen girl finding a new boy to obsess over. I want to plaster these silly little photos all over my walls. I love you, so much. And this has just… this is the icing on the cake, truly.

“R-really?”

Taking his face in your hands, you let your thumb stroke his cheeks, softening his sideburns and pushing his hair back with your fingers as you looked deep into his eyes, desperately trying to convey the sincerity and honesty with which you were speaking.

“Eddie, my sweet Eddie. Those people might not have seen it in you, the talent and love for it. They might not have appreciated you. But I do. I think you’re a star. You’re my popstar, my celebrity crush.”

He smiled, his cheeks flushing a deeper red. He was struggling with the revelation of his past. Sooner than he had intended to reveal it all to you. And he had planned to tell you everything someday. But it was still raw, still painful for him to think about. Yet there was a deeper feeling, one of joy. Happiness. At finally being appreciated. That there was at least one person in the world who liked his work, and who loved him all the more for his past. But you had broken his confidence, and that hurt him more than he imagined it would. Tears stung at his eyes as he frowned at you.

Tearing up yourself, you looked to the doorway. You hadn’t seen Eddie this upset before, and it was painful to witness. As the first of your tears fell, you turned, making your escape from the bedroom to go take some time alone, to work on your apology. But Eddie was quick to grab you, pulling you back and into his arms.

“It’s ok. I… I forgive you. It’s just a lot for me to take in.”

“Eddie, I swear I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know.”

He let one hand drift from your body, pressing play on the media player, letting the soft music start up again and fill the room. With both of his hands back on your body, he held you to his chest and softly swayed. It hurt, still. But he was glad to finally have someone to share his music with.