#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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[thequietkid-moonie]

MHA request: "Realizing their feeling after reader gets (badly) injured" prompt for Momo and Nejire with their partners if that's ok.

Realizing their feeling after reader gets badly injured

[ SCENARIO ] [ Momo, Nejire ]

[ My hero academia / Boku no hero academia ]

Hehe I like this prompt ~ I think i wrote it well, I hope it is of your liking 🩷 I had tons of fun writing it so thank you for your request! Specially for request such lovely ladies <333

Momo Yaoyorozu

For Momo to fall in love it isn't too dificult, after getting to know you for her to develop romantic feelings doesn't have to pass much time and goes just by how close you two grow, still it will take her a while to fully understand her feelings for you, between being pretty shy when it comes to romantic stuff and her sense of responsability she just has troubles understanding them

Even so, she has clear that you are important for her and that she really cares for you, so at the end she act on those feelings by wanting to be close and wanting to protect you, it isn't that she will underestimate you but as a hero and for how much she cares for you she has clear that she wants to help you and protect you

She will obviously get worried if you ever get hurt but the moment she get to know that you have being get seriously hurt she feels time stop for a second, she freeze for a moment that feels like an eternity until she is able to react again. If she is there present when you got hurt she will have to force herself to move again and it will be to go to your side and try to help by any way she can, if the news reached her it would be a little more dificult for her to react, having to gaing the courage to ask about your condition before trying to go and see you

While Momo has to wait until is safe to go to your side and check on you her mind is going back an forth between trying to surpress the thoughts of the worst scenario posible and wondering if things could have being diferent if only she was there or if she reacted quicker, she is so worried that it isn't only obvious but is making her clumsy and distracted, the worst your injuries where the less she can concentrate in anything else

For Momo is until she can finally see you safe and sound that she can breath again, feeling a little more relief when finally seeing you awaken but the sight of you with bandages or even being weaker squeeze her heart, even when she feels like crying she tries to stay calm when being at your side, trying to keep the conversation so her mind won't start getting filled with the anxiety again, asking you how are you feeling and talking about anything really

For Momo to finally realice not only that she is in love but also how much you mean to her, how she would be heartbroken if something happens to you and not just because you are friends. It is after seeing you awake again that she feels an inmense relief but at the same time still worry what with lead her to question her feelings, to question why she feels in such weird way

Momo thinks that this is the worst moment to understand her feeling since now you probably are dealing with too much for her to bring up something like a love confesion, she will prefer to focus on helping you in your recovery and make sure you are safe and sound, to wait until you are fully recovered and in your own feet again to think more seriously about confesing that she wishes to be there for you in the good and in the bad, to make sure you don't have to go throught bad times alone, to tell you how much she wishes to spend the rest of her life at your side

Nejire Hado

No matter how aware Nejire is about the fact that being a hero can be risky, that a hero put other's lifes and safety before their own in the battlefield, that has never stoped her from being optimistic and cheerful, her work won't stop her from being who she is nor stop her from falling in love

It can be a little dificult for her to notice the growing feelings she has for you because she just takes it as something natural, she doesn't question the happines and comfort she feels when being around you because it isn't something bad, she even have promised to herself (and probably to you too) thats as a hero she will always be there for you when you need it, even if you were a hero too that won't change her promise nor determination!

Nejire has being inmerse in her happiness that the moment you get seriously hurt is a really cruel hit for her, it brings her feet to earth and make her see that she need to focus more, as a hero she can't allow herself another error that end up with someone seriously hurt, but also now that she is seeing you hurt, cover in your own blood and having to be taken away by the doctors is when she realice that she doesn't want to see this scene ever again, her heart won't be able to handle it in the slighest

If she was there present when you were hurt then she will feel impotent and a quite guilt since she could have done more to prevent it (specially if you got hurt while trying to protect her), if she wasn't there then she will be incredibly sad, wishing she could be there to try to prevent it or simply help you and comfort you in the moment, but not matter what she tries to overcome her worries and sadness by promising to do better next time and just concentrate on thinking that you will be alright!

But no matter how much she tries to stay calm and positive Nejire can't help but go over and over again around the thought of how she wouldn't be able to continue if something happens to you, she doesn't want to be without you, there is still so much she wants to do with you! She haven't even told you that she loves you!

At the end understanding the love she has for you is what give her strenght to wish for the best for you, to wait not so patiently for you to recover and ask constantly until she is finally allowed to see you, and, just like she has always being, once she finally can be at your side she will be ranting about how sorry she is that she wasn't able to help you, about how worried she has being about you, even admiting that she has cried at the only thought of losing you just before confesing how much she loves you, how she wants to be at your side, how she wants to become your hero and protect thats smile she loves so much for the rest of your lifes

At the end she just couldn't stop herself from confesing the feelings she just have understood but she doesn't care, not even if she doesn't get an answer right away for how sudden it have being, right now the only thing she cares is to make sure you will be alright and alive, to help you recover so you don't leave her

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Keep the Memories of Who I Was Before

Jayce and Viktor were found alive after the Machine Herald's defeat. Viktor doesn't remember anything of Hextech.

I recently participated in a writing challenge/gift exchange where we we got to choose the trope and relationship type but not the fandom that our gifters would write for us. I got assigned to write an M/M fic for the trope "Amnesia - A has lost memories of painful event; B fills in the blanks even though it hurts them both". I was still reeling from season 2 when I got my prompt, so naturally I filled it with jayvik.

If you want reading music for this, I suggest "The Line" by Twenty One Pilots, "Imperfection" by Evanescence, and "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths.

I'll post a preview here, and the rest is available on AO3!

~

Jayce preferred the hospital to his lab. Not in general, no, but waiting for Viktor to wake up was infinitely more preferable when he could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor. There was a heartbeat. Viktor was alive. He was alive and stable instead of being stuck in the goo cube, instead of a rapidly cooling corpse on the table of their lab as Jayce fused him with the Hexcore.

They were both in bad shape when Ekko had found them, but Jayce had woken up first. It had been in time to see Mel off. She had given him a gold bracelet with the instruction to break it if he was ever in danger. She would come racing back to him as fast as she could. Jayce wore it where he used to wear the runic bracelet. At first, he thought it would have hurt where the Rune had once been fused to his skin, but instead his wrist was mostly numb there. He still couldn't fully move the fingers on his left hand. The doctors weren't sure if he would ever fully regain mobility in his hand or still-healing broken leg. There was something wrong with his breathing as well.

It was a small price to pay for saving the world. It was a small price to pay to save Viktor.

(But it also didn’t quite make sense, not by science alone. “Were you caught in the Grey? Because this almost matches the damage sometimes caused by prolonged exposure.” one of the doctors had asked. And while the air hadn’t been pleasant in the Ruined Zaun, Jayce couldn’t say he had been. The damage to his lungs was inexplicable, not something he could dismiss as his body rebelling against the abuse he had put it through, fighting the Machine Herald instead of healing.)

Other than his wrist, Jayce didn’t see any scars from the Arcane on his own body. If Viktor had died, and somehow Jayce had found the strength to live, he would have been devastated by this, by how he didn’t bear scars in the last place where Viktor had touched him. Now, Jayce was sure that the lack of fingerprint scars on his forehead was why he was allowed near Viktor.

Mel hadn't given him a ring. Maybe she had known he would find another magical bracelet far more comforting than another thing to make his nerve-damaged fingers clumsy. Maybe it was because one of their last conversations.

“I don’t know when I’ll come back, assuming I don’t need to come save you,” she had said to him. It had gone unsaid that she didn’t know if she would come back. She had inherited all her family’s holdings in Noxus, and she had to manage them. And that wasn’t counting the danger that awaited her in Noxus. If Viktor was well enough to travel (not that he had ever been truly well for as long as Jayce had known him, but perhaps the fresh air of Noxus would have helped his breathing), if Jayce had the strength to fight and hold a hammer, he would have insisted on going with her. “But I want you to be happy, not waiting for me to return. Maybe, if you and your partner are up for it, we can pick things back up when you and I can stay together for good. And if not, I’ll still be glad to be your friend.”

The first day Jayce had spent at Viktor’s bedside, he had spent it sewing up the blanket from where it had been cut off of Viktor. Had it been medical expediency, or had it been an attempt to destroy the last bit of armor that Viktor had from the cold?

Afterwards, all he could do was sit and fiddle with Mel’s bracelet.

The heartbeat monitor changed its tempo, faster than it had been a minute ago, and Jayce glanced up from the bracelet. Viktor was just as still as he was however many minutes ago that Jayce had become distracted twisting the bracelet around his wrist. Just as still except for the movement behind his eyes, like he was having a dream.

As far as Jayce knew, Viktor hadn’t dreamt when he was in the cocoon that the Hexcore had made for him in their lab. Why would he have dreamt? The Hexcore lulled people into dreamless solitude.

Why wouldn’t Viktor have dreamt? Jayce hadn’t been able to keep his eyes on Viktor’s face at all moments, no matter how much he had wanted to. And the Hexcore hadn’t been controlling Viktor then, not yet. Not fully.

Jayce couldn’t remember if Viktor had dreamt during the long nights in the hospital. He should have paid more attention to him back then.

And Viktor gasped. He gasped down air like a drowning man. It took a moment for Jayce to realize that he had never heard Viktor breath so deeply before, not even when he had been hooked up to oxygen tanks with medicine for his lungs flowing through an IV drip feed. Jayce found himself grinning.

Viktor’s eyes opened. They were the same amber color that they had been before Viktor had died, not the washed-out cosmic yellow with iridescent streaks. Not the cold eyes of the Herald, nor the iridescent and exhausted eyes of the Mage.

Viktor’s gloriously amber eyes looked around the room, blinking. Those eyes turned to Jayce, and the confusion in them didn’t clear. “Do I know you?”

Jayce felt the grin slide from his face. “Viktor, it’s me, Jayce, your partner.”

“Oh. I must be having a reaction to whatever medication I’m on,” Viktor said. The doctors were kinder than Jayce had expected. Giving Viktor pain medication was the humane thing to do, but Jayce was still surprised that Piltover doctors really treat the man who had tried to transmute humane to arcane with compassion.

Viktor smiled softly at him. “While we wait for the medication to wear off, could you remind me how I managed to get such a handsome husband?”

Jayce tamped down on the fluttering feeling in his chest. Like Viktor had said, the medication was really doing a number on him. “We’re not married.”

Viktor looked away from him, embarrassment clear on his face. “Well, don’t expect me to plan the wedding until after I can think clearly again.”

“We’re lab partners. What, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Viktor’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “I had received news of an explosion set off during a break-in. I had been asked to check it out since it appeared to be some sort of research lab. At least, that’s what the enforcers told me. I didn’t see it. Was there another explosion?”

“No, there wasn’t.” Not thanks to the break-in, anyways. Not directly, even if it had been Jinx – Powder – setting it off just like she had sent her bomb to the Council. “You came to the lab, and, Viktor, that was almost eight years ago.”

“Eight years?” Viktor began to move his hands, like he was going to check his face for wrinkles or – no, he wouldn’t be checking his hair. Jayce had resisted the urge to run his hands through Viktor’s hair, to see if the white steaks were at all a different texture than the brown since they were lasting scars from the Hexcore’s transformation. But if Viktor didn’t remember the last eight years, then why would he remember his transformation? “That doesn’t sound right, how could I have forgotten –”

Viktor was cut off by the sound of his handcuffs pulling taught against the hospital bed. Confusion, no, fear, filled his eyes. He tugged again as if to confirm, more forcefully this time.

“Why am I in handcuffs?” Viktor looked down and began to tremble. “What’s wrong with my hand?”

His right hand was flesh once more, but there was an iridescent, sinuous pattern cast upon it, fading as it traveled up his arm. The same scars were strewn across his cheekbones and jaw, where his flesh had connected to the purple metal of his body. Jayce suspected that his leg was covered in the same scars, though he hadn’t lifted the blanket to check, nor had he asked the doctors who had transferred Viktor out of Jayce’s blanket and into a proper hospital gown.

“Don’t worry,” Jayce said, feeling useless. “It’ll…”

The door opened and one of the orderlies walked in. “You’re awake. I’ll let the enforcers know you’re awake. Mr. Talis, I’ll need you to leave the room while I examine the patient.”

Jayce would fight everyone who dared lay a cruel finger on Viktor, but he also knew he had to conserve his strength. “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

“Doctor’s oath I won’t,” the orderly said. “You’ll have to talk to the enforcers for the rest.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 20 - Outlook

Wolfstar, January 20, word count 692

Previous part First part

Remus used the code for the side door he’d been given and let himself in. He walked down the corridor, ignoring the ones branching off it and all the doors until he got to the big double door at the end. He pushed it open and was greeted by a flurry of activity as the staff set up for the evening. 

“Remus, finally, I thought you weren’t coming,” Karl scoffed as he flicked through a pile of papers in his hands. Remus checked his watch and the clock on the wall. He was bang on time. He took a steadying breath. He’d hoped Karl wouldn’t be a total twat from the get-go, but that outlook didn’t look so good. He imagined Sirius throwing peas at him all night, bouncing them off that ridiculous haircut, and he felt ready to deal with Karl.

“Am I back in the kitchen tonight?” He asked, trying to keep his tone pleasant. Karl laughed in his face. It took all of Remus’s will not to walk out right there and then. 

“No, Remus, you’ll be on champagne again. Setting up the food plates takes a certain finesse, you’re much more suited to serving,” Remus ground his teeth. His performance had been perfectly fine for all the months he’d been restocking the trays of food. He walked away from Karl before he said something to get him fired. He needed the money.

Remus set to work opening the crates of champagne and setting the bottles up for later. The guests would be arriving in an hour, and he’d start pouring just before. He laid out all the trays he and the other servers would be carrying around all night and carefully checked each glass as it went on the trays. If there were any smudges on the glasses, he’d be in for it.

He checked the clock again, ten minutes until the guest began arriving. He picked up a bottle of champagne and popped the cork, catching it in his palm and depositing it in one of the crates he’d hidden behind the table to serve as his bin. 

Remus filled the last glass with champagne. The other trays had already been taken out by the rest of the servers and his was the last one. 

“Remus, where the fuck are you?” Karl hissed as his head appeared around the door. “The guests are starting to arrive; you should be out here already!” The head disappeared, and Remus had to count to ten before he picked up his tray and walked out into the ballroom, where there wasn’t a single guest. He hated Karl. 

The ballroom doors opened a few minutes later to reveal a tall haughty woman, wrapped in a fur coat and covered in emeralds. She removed the heavy coat and threw it at one of the girls waiting to accept coats. The poor thing toppled over when it hit her in the face. 

“Clumsy oaf, don’t you dare get blood on it!” The woman spat, her nostrils flaring. 

“S-s-sorry, Ma’am,” The girl said as she quickly handed the coat to her partner and hurried into the back. She had a large gash on her forehead, probably from the heavy clasp on the coat. “I don’t know why you continue to use this sub-par agency, Orion, they are dreadful,” She told the impeccably dressed man who walked up behind her. 

“Apologies, my dear, I shall look elsewhere next time,” He placated her with a chaste kiss to the cheek and guided her further into the ballroom with his hand at the small of her back. 

“Come along, Sirius, stop dawdling!” The woman called over her shoulder. Remus’s head snapped up just as Sirius walked around the corner. Their eyes locked, and Sirius’s face broke open with his most dazzling smile. 

“Stop smiling like that, Sirius, you look like a simpleton. Come over here and prepare to greet our guests,”

“Oui, Maman,” Sirius said, his smile falling from his face as he went to stand beside his parents. He winked at Remus when his parents weren’t paying attention. Well, Remus thought, tonight was going to be interesting. 

Next part

[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

[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.”

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of the Devil

>Caged // Part 5

pairings: (established) sam winchester x gn!reader, destiel is there :D

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together. after reaching out to rowena, all you can do is wait. and all sam can do is hope he can distract you well enough

warnings: torture, ptsd, flashbacks, hallucinations, graphic depictions of said torture, suggested SA

word count: 3,431

A/N: this part has suffered multiple rewrites and edits. you must like this one, this is a threat/j also! if you’d like to be tagged in this series or my one shots, just lmk!! ^.^

read other parts here

———————

Soggy biscuits absorbed with rich, homemade gravy fill up your vision as it is what you’ve been staring at for you’d say felt like the last hour. Sam would say it’s only been 10 minutes. The overwhelmingly intoxicating smell of fresh breakfast made your body beg you for more food, but you could hardly stomach the half of a biscuit you managed to force down in the first place. So now you have just been crushing the other half of the biscuit and mixing it into the gravy, creating almost a paste at this point.

The men around you conversed lightly amongst themselves and you appreciated their commitment to making this moment feel as normal as possible, but your back radiated with itchy heat that screamed you were being perceived.

The red dots still have not left the microwave but you hadn’t really moved much either. After Dean finished making breakfast with the not-so-helpful hand of his beloved clumsy angel, he plated up a generous portion for his baby brother, his loving partner, and a smaller portion for his troubled friend. You smiled and uttered a quiet ‘thanks’ while taking the plate and setting it in front of yourself.

Since then, you’ve really just been picking at your food, and you can feel Sam’s eyes on you but the heat that flashes up your back isn't a result of his presence. No, it was a much more sinister glare, a wicked perception.

“No, it was too much flour,” Dean rolled his eyes at Cas’ previous statement that you didn’t pay attention to.

“But you told me too much heat is what can ruin a good sauce,” Cas tilts his head with the statement.

“Yeah, but so can clumpin’ it up with too much damn flour,” Dean sets down his fork and turns to him as he emphasizes his repeated words.

“Well this time it was perfect, thanks guys,” Sam interrupts with a light chuckle. Dean and Cas must’ve been arguing about the first time Cas tried to help with breakfast, the gravy came out way too thick and still, to this day, the two argue about what really caused the mess up and who’s fault it ultimately was.

You remember this argument well. It started with Cas genuinely not understanding what went wrong in Deans step-by-step instructions of making gravy. When the gravy came out a thick and clumpy mess, Cas deemed it Dean's fault for not mentioning what heat to keep it at and Dean insisted that heat had nothing to do with it but that Cas misread the measurements. A small smile lifts your lips against your own will as you remember how confused Cas was at Dean’s irrational frustration. They weren’t mean to each other, they were both just too stubborn and so set in their own stories that it prompted bickering all this time later. You actually found it quite sweet that this is what their arguments consisted of.

“My brother and his shitty cooking skills.”

You tensed, looking up to see the red dots were gone. You refused to look behind you, where the bored voice came from. You know who it is. You just want him to go away.

“Doesn’t Dean know that angels can’t technically ‘enjoy’ food?” You can hear his voice twisting with his scrunched face. The facial expressions of The Devil are probably the most unsettling thing about his appearance. The contortions of his face never gave way to match what he’s actually thinking but only what he’s saying at the moment.

You ignore him but set down your fork, settling your hands in your lap. You hope that if you can just ignore him long enough that he’ll go away. But what has hope ever really gotten you?

“Someone needs some more time in the kitchen though,” Dean mumbled, half joking. Cas just rolls eyes.

Sam shakes his head with a scoffed laugh and takes a sip of coffee. As he sets it back down, he turns to look over at you, “are you finished?” He asks as if it’s not obvious that you are. You just nod and Sam stands up and gently grabs yours and his plates to take to the sink.

“Thanks guys, food was good,” you give Dean and Cas a half smile of appreciation and they both return the act.

“So when is Rowena going to get here?” Dean asks, wiping off his hands and pushing aside his plate.

“She said she has some business to finish up in Georgia but that she’ll come here right after,” Sam sets the dishes down after properly rinsing off his minimal crumbs and your paste mixture, which oddly enough resembles Cas’ messed up gravy. “She said it would be tomorrow at the latest,” Sam turns to face the group, drying his hands on the dedicated towel hung from the dishwasher.

“Rowena,” Lucifer says in a voice with a sultry emphasis, a smirk painting his lips, “what a treat.”

“Thinking we just take it easy,” Sam looks at you which leads the other two to do the same, your face burning from the intense spotlight. But you only focus on Sam and nod.

“Speakin’ of,” Dean clears his throat, looking at you a bit warrily, “any signs of him?”

You sigh, knowing you have to tell him the truth, but when you look behind you, you see that Lucifer is gone and so is the suffocating air that comes with his presence.

You don’t respond and Dean says something else but you still look around the room for him. So distracted that you don’t even realize that Sam has maneuvered around the counter and back in front of you again.

“Can you hear me?” Sam’s voice pulls your head out of whatever cloud Lucifer left it in and as you sit up you can hear the blood rushing back through your body from a need to escape your awful posture from the last little while. All three of them are watching you. Not four, three, you remind yourself.

Sam’s eyes aren’t panicked or scared but observant with worry and almost guilt. His hand is placed over yours and you can tell that he’s unsettled by this whole ordeal but if he’s experiencing anything beyond inconvenience then he’s doing a hell of a job at hiding it.

Dean is not the same, his eyes are hardened into solid anger that he shoves his fear behind. He looks ready to rip out Lucifer’s lungs and his eyes glaze over the room even though he knows he won’t be able to see anything himself. And another thing- pity is what it was. Dean's eyes are angry but the underlying muscles in his face melt with pity.

And Cas, god, Cas. He’s smiling and it’s not creepy, no, it’s comforting and warm. Simple and a stark reminder that it’s going to be okay. Cas knows that you aren’t okay but he knows you're safe and that’s exactly what his smile reminds you. It’s a smile of acceptance that yes, you’re struggling, but you’re also here in the bunker with your family.

You drag your eyes back over to Sam where he’s still waiting for a response. He assumed you could hear him now, but he gives you a moment to catch up with yourself.

“Yeah,” you utter, looking back down at your hands, “sorry, I think he’s gone now,” you shake off, still a little unsettled at how he just vanished.

“We can use the sigil just in case,” Sam offers but you shake your head.

“No, it’s okay,” you try to assure, hoping to sound more confident in your claim, “he’s really gone, I don’t know why, but he is.”

“Okay, good,” Sam smiles warmly, but you can still see the unease in his eyes. “How about we go watch a movie? Just relax?” Sam offers, hoping to find a way to distract you for a while before Rowena can’t get here.

You nod and Sam leads you back to your shared room after waving off Dean and Cas’ cautiously questioning eyes.

Sam leads you to the bed while he sets up his movie. He stole a few extra cushions from a hall closet to make the bed more ‘couch-like’ as he puts it. He’s currently working finding the perfect spot to place the laptop so your neck doesn’t strain and you can’t help the smile that his excessive thoughtfulness provokes.

Once everything is situated, Sam starts a movie that you made him pick because you didn’t want to deal with the overwhelming amount of choices spread across the streaming services subscribed to in your family unit. He then slides in next to you and pulls you close to him.

Sam really needs this, after the nights of sleeping in an empty bed and wondering if you were even alive, he needs this moment to be as cheesy and wholesome as he could. He thought if he could get Dean to make fun of the sweetness of it then just maybe would Sam have reached cheesy enough.

He can’t help as his hand idly rubs the more comfortable parts of you back, and he’s extra careful as to not let his gauze get too jumbled, making sure to just use his fingers.

This is nice, this really is what you both needed. There were no physical wounds to care for upon your return and in turn, no reminder of just how fresh it all is for you. But this here? Pressed so close into Sam that you wonder how long it will take to become one. It’s the closest thing to stitches and isopropyl you’ll get.

So you enjoy it and you take it for granted. And you ignore the tension that flexes your muscles when Sam gets too close to your neck. And you force the memories that some scenes in this completely innocent movie reminds you of. And you soak up all of the affection that you’ve been missing out on for too damn long.

The low rumble in Sam’s chest when he laughs at a particularly funny scene feels like home and the way he settles back around you after the scene is over feels like security.

The crook of his neck you’ve nestled into and the radiance of his comforting body heat is enough to pull you right into an irresistible sleep.

———

Harsh strikes of lightning, that’s new. He’s never ventured outside of the musky cellar he’s kept you in, why bring you outside now?

Cold iron bars fence the perimeter of a cramped cage suspended in what looks like a storm cloud. This is all new, almost incomprehensible, why show you this? What is this?

Screams, gut wrenching, blood curdling screams erupt from the too-small cage and you instantly recognize them as Sam’s. The rattle of his voice was so distinct, but it wasn’t his angry scream of pain. No, it was almost a whimper, an exhausted string of pure disparity.

Lucifer’s own shouts of mocks and profanity litter the free space of sound not already occupied by sharp lightning or pathetic screams.

You don’t have any control over your perception of the scene before you and you feel like you're on a rollercoaster as you're zoomed all the way in and past the bars of the cage.

Fuck.

Is that Sam?

His hair is a matted and sticky mess of blood, making it look like dye, and syrupy strands fall in front of his face, leaving only his gaping mouth visible. He’s completely bare, his skin exposed, scarred and stained. He’s weak and thin, eerily thin.

His hands are strung on hooks, like if Jesus was crucified through his wrists, and you see that the scruff of his neck is pulled back by a third hook. Just like Lucifer did to you.

Where the fuck is your earthly body? Because you need to vomit all 2 ounces of breakfast that hasn’t really settled in your stomach anyways.

You try to look around or to move or, fuck, just close your eyes, but you can’t.

A set of giggles would make a chill run up your back if you had yours right now.

“Our time really did get cut short, doll,” Lucifer coos, his voice an echo in this weird dimension and not coming from any corner in particular.

You can’t speak because you don’t have a mouth.

“Just imagine the fun I could’ve had,” Lucifer hums, his voice still distant but you can hear the movements of his mouth. It’s disgusting.

Sam’s back arches forward with a sharp gasp strangling his throat as a bloody hand punches through his chest. Crunching bones and soppy skin ripping through your own non-existent ears. A shimmering heart, coated in blood, is gripped in a tight hold of the arm that ripped out of Sam’s rib cage. The arm is yanked back out and out comes The Devil himself, a livid scowl on his lips as he squeezes the life out of Sam’s heart and splatters it on the iron floors.

“Think of what I could’ve done to you,” he sneers, “that body, those screams, your heart,” he spits, mouth practically foaming with rage. The drips of blood on the tips of his fingers land on the ground with sharp snaps, leading a trail and you now realize he’s walking closer to you.

You.

Actually you, fuck. Your body is back and The Devil is grinning ear to ear.

“Let’s find out,” he purrs, lifting his blood soaked hand and running it along your jaw, leaving a sticky path of pungent blood, only amplifying the rotting iron stench in this cage.

And with your body returns your fear, and your nausea, and your chills.

Lucifer grips your throat with his bloody hand, lifting you off your feet and you’ve realized Sam’s body is gone. He keeps his grip sturdy on your throat and even though you can’t breathe, you aren’t feeling faint. He’s preventing you from passing out.

Lucifer drags you over to the hooks where Sam was and he pinches the back of your neck to string you up like a carcass.

His hand traces from your neck and down to your shoulder, shoving hard. He shakes your shoulders and his face melts with annoyance when suddenly you’re ripped off the hook like a blown piercing and you’re-.

“Wake up, you’re okay,” Sam’s voice floats on you like a stern warning, like he’s unsure his words will actually mean something. The urgency in his voice is something you don’t miss.

Your eyes shoot open and you swallow a gulp of air, clawing at your throat to make sure his hands are gone. And you feel your face to make sure the blood is gone too. Sam’s hands are clasped on your shoulders like he had to shake you awake. Oh. You look up at him with quick breaths and a panicked expression, letting what the fuck you just saw catch up to you.

“It was just a dream, you’re okay,” Sam loosens his hold on your shoulders and you slump down into the bed a bit. You can’t find yourself too look at him, the image of cage-him being so vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before burns the backs of your eyelids.

Sam was your person, the man you love and have chosen to spend your life with. And yes, you’ve seen him in many different ways, you’ve seen him more than anyone else has- well at least you thought.

“Hey,” he coos. God, it’s sweet and loving, but it’s in the same way Lucifer just mocked you. Sam gently grabs your jaw, kind and soft, but fuck Lucifer just did the same with Sam’s blood leaving it’s stain. You flinch away, pressing into the headboard and groaning. You feel absolutely sick. “Okay, okay,” he speeds out, not expecting the reaction but adjusting quickly. “Do you want some water?”

You ignore him, bolting from your spot and dashing into the bathroom. Slamming the door behind you, you fall to your knees and involuntarily rid your body of nutrients it desperately needs. There’s rustling around you but you don’t waste time placing it.

What did Lucifer do to Sam? He never talked about it beyond a simple explanation of he was dead for a few months and suffered hallucinations after getting his soul back. Sam was never openly prepared to share his past with you, but when he did he was honest and delicate. It’s just that… this was never something you even expected for him to share. And the implications that came with what Lucifer said. It makes you lurch again, this time spewing nothing but splatters of stomach acid that burns your throat.

“Let it out, honey,” Sam sets a glass down on the ceramic counter of the bathroom and he sinks down to your level with some paper towels.

You take your time, arms wrapped around the toilet bowl. You reach for the glass, rinsing out your mouth and flushing the water away. Settling into the wall next to the toilet, you still don’t look at Sam’s face.

“Feel any better?” Sam asks, dipping down his gaze to hopefully pull yours to him. It doesn’t work.

“Uh,” you clear your throat, settling your elbows on your knees, “No, not really.”

“What happened?” He asks carefully, honestly a little afraid of what you might say.

You swallow the tickle of nausea and flick your eyes daringly to Sam’s, the image of dark red mats of hair sticking to his cheeks. You force your eyes closed and take a steady breath.

“He was there,” you settle on saying, your words surprisingly still as you spoke them.

“In your dream?” Sam inquires, confusion bending his brows.

“Yeah.”

“Was it him him or a memory?” Sam asks, already finding a prime spot to paint a sigil if need be.

Oh, it was a memory alright, just not yours. “It was him,” you nod, eyes unfocused. You grab your wrists, rubbing them to remind yourself that cool iron no longer latches onto your skin but only your own grasp. “He’s gone now, I- I don’t see him.” You decide to keep seeing Sam like that to yourself.

“I hate this,” you admit with a scoff, landing your head into the wall behind you with more force than you meant to but you ignore the wave of pain.

“I know, honey,” Sam says solemnly, wishing he could do more for you, “once Rowena gets here, we’ll have more answers. More solutions.”

But with waiting comes uncertainties and fears of what if she can’t help at all?

“We’ll fix this, I’ll fix this,” Sam promises, holding your hands firmly. You open your eyes, finally looking over at Sam who has no doubt in his mind that you will be okay.

With some subtle coaxing, Sam finally gets you off of the cold floor and brings you back to the bed. You don’t feel safe sleeping and Sam can understand this, and without The Devil present, a sigil won’t work on kicking him in a corner for a few hours. So for now, Sam sits with you and pulls out a deck of cards.

“Blackjack,” Sam straightens his posture and you get an assaulting flash of the spread of his arms past their resilience, latched on hooks. You advert your gaze to the cards instead. He settles the blankets into a makeshift table and deals, “go.”

You chuckle a small laugh which spreads to Sam’s lips as you peek at the hidden card, “uh, hit me,” you shrug. He flips a card and you add it up to 17. “Hit me,” Sam flips down another card and you hiss.

A small smirk and he takes the cards away, starting a new round.

Round after round, wins and loses, flashes and waves of nausea. But you power through for Sam. You hold yourself as tightly wound as you could and you forced yourself to shove away the weeks of torture so that you can have just now.

You keep your senses keen for Lucifer’s return, not wanting to let your guard down for even a second because the bastard really stepped up his game by showing you Sam like that against his will.

Maybe it’s somewhat of a good thing, though, because now you feel nothing but pure hatred. And as you do the simple math of the ‘distracting’ game supplied by your love, you think of every way possible to make Lucifer fucking pay.

———————

thanks so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @internallysalad @checkedoutghost

[caliburn-not-calculator]

Detective au boys making out for a little new years, just, kissing, not much else I wrote this fast

Colour blazed across the black sky, the stars merely glittering after images of the fireworks that shattered both the dark and silence. Their booms reverberated through the city streets, the cheers and cries of people in plazas and hanging from their window joining them in a manic joyous chorus. Gold glittered over wet cobbles, violet and flaming crimson spilled over the river winding through the city, and silver fire made the moonlight all the more brilliant.

But to the two panting figures on a nondescript rooftop, the spectacle went unnoticed. Their flushed faces were periodically illuminated, red tinging each colour lighting up their skin, dark and gold hair chromatic under the fireworks. It gleamed off damp lips, flickered in half lidded eyes, and hid the thundering of their hearts. But in the end no riot or grand scene could distract Maxim from the feeling of Veerle's mouth against his own.

His hands hot against his chest. His breath spark and smoke filled over his cheeks and tongue. His gold eyes shattered with kaleidoscopic light each time they fluttered open. He tasted like honey and a forest fire and sharp iron. From the tea he drank, the cigarette he’d snuffed out on the balustrade, the split lip he’d gotten from a rough hit during their freshly solved case. But Maxim didn’t focus on that, didn’t think about the perpetrator bound in a room bellow, or the authorities on their way.

He didn’t think of much at all, besides keeping Veerle’s body flush against his own and maintaining his balance no matter how much his knees shook. Focusing on staying standing despite how every tug at his hair sent sparks crackling down his spine. How the weight against him threatened to send him teetering backward. He’d hardly mind collapsing to find himself under Veerle, in his awkward yet sweet care, but he’d prefer something other than cold stone at his back.

But that was for later, when they were alone in bed and he wouldn’t have to worry about fabric seperating him from the warmth of Veerle’s skin. For now, he kissed back with a clumsy, desperate vigour. His teeth scrapped soft lips, flesh giving easily at a light nip, a gasping whine spilling forth and letting Maxim slip his tongue inside. At some point during their relationship he’d realised Veerle enjoyed that. He’d correlated the pleased keen and tightening grip with the action, and dutifully added it to the slowly building list of his partner’s likes.

Maxim may not be an expert on a craft like this, far from it if he were being honest, but some part of him never stopped wanting to learn new things. And how could he not want to know how to make Veerle happy. How could he not want more of his kisses and affections and sounds.

Once he’d been desperate for anything but, but the memory was a mere shadow in moments like this.

The detective snagged a hand in his tie, yanking him impossibly closer, chest to chest, their lips sealed tight enough to muffle their moans. Maxim wrapped his arms more tightly around him, tensing at the slight shock. His heart stuttered. His nails dug into Veerle’s skin through his shirt. The pressure on his throat sent heat straight through every nerve and vein and startled a noise more whine than moan from him.

The uptick of smirk could be felt against his lips. If he wasn’t so preoccupied he’d have rolled his eyes, or whispered something back to Veerle to prompt a similar sound, but he was in no mood to bicker. No mood for anything but more of this. More of VR-LA melting into his chest and mouth and his soft sounds turning his blood molten.

He was sure he’d suffocate if they didn’t part soon, that Veerle would steal away his breath and leave him downing of the taste of his tongue and heat of his kiss. Maxim made no move to pull away. Firm and steady as he could he remained, holding him tight, letting him tease with light tugs at his hair and tie. He knew Veerle shook too, that it was too much yet nowhere near enough for him as well. Warmth seeped through his shirt and skin as the detective shifted against his chest, held in place as he wanted yet arching in and away with small weakening jolts.

Maxim had no idea how he was still standing, how he was not suffocating, but didn’t linger on the thought. Only Veerle’s lips and hands and the press of his body. There, he’d linger for eternity, if it would be allowed.

[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~