#heavy on that gavin tag

[anatomical-puppet]

woahhh i actually wrote something.. unprecedented….. there isn’t enough content of klav being a teenage shithead so i am doing my part !!! klavier stays out wayyyy past his curfew and fails to sneak back in without kristoph noticing. and then they fight ^_^

[that-was-anticlimactic]

hii corey ♪ for the ask game :]

"my life's not empty / they don't not like me at all / i don't not leave the house / cause i don't not prefer to stay at home / i don't stink / i'm not a waste / i'm not all alone in thinking that i am not all alone"

i'm not a loser - spongebob (broadway)

send me a ♪ and i'll put my music on shuffle and give you my favorite line from a song <3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unraveled 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A curious man wanders into your dress shop with a lot of questions.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (Cavill)

Note: thanks for waiting on this one.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The carriage stops outside a brick building. A walk-up in Marleybone, just along Upper Baker Street. An address you couldn’t even dream of living near, let alone within. You peer up at the facade, the orange brick unstained by the coal and smoke of the backstreets. 

Gavin appears to open the door and sets a step down before you can emerge. He offers his hand gallantly and you let him assist you down to the road. You thank him as you peer up at the arched front door of 221b. 

“You need only knock, miss,” Gavin goes to pat the horse’s haunch as it kicks. “Ask for Mr. Holmes, he is expecting you.” 

You grip your bag tight and set your chin. You might not belong but only you are troubled by it. You climb the steps alongside the iron rail and lift the heavy knocker mounted on the thick wooden door. It’s clang rattles even you. 

You wait, both hands on the handles of the bag. Gavin appears behind you with the rolls of fabric, breathless as he struggles to keep them from touching the ground. You return your attention to the door as it opens. 

“Hello, I’m looking for Mr.--” 

“Holmes,” the very man you’re seeking stands before you, “forgive me, my housekeeper... resigned.” 

“Not to worry, sir,” you assure him. 

“Come in,” he backs up, gesturing you within with his large hand. “And how was your journey? I hope you didn’t come upon any scoundrels.” 

“Only upon her destination, sir,” Gavin japes as he steps in behind you. 

“Eh,” Holmes tilts his head at the driver, “allow me.” 

Holmes takes the rolls of fabric from Gavin. He hugs them effortlessly in on arm as he faces you again, dismissing the driver with no more than a nod. You stand rigidly by the wall, hesitant to go any further. The door closes and the click makes you flinch. 

“Allow me to show you around,” Holmes offers, looming in the tight space of the entryway. 

“I need only see your sister,” you insist. 

“Ah, yes, Enola, you will, but it only polite to get you acquainted with the space,” he rebuffs. 

“With respect, sir, I’ve come out of my way and without warning to this appointment. More work does await me at my shop,” you squeeze the leather handles until they squeak, “it is a lovely home, I’m sure, but I’ve come upon business, haven’t I?” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t take very long,” he counters, “yet, if you’d rather keep this formal, by all means, I will take you to my sister.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

You bite down, wondering if perhaps you were more curt than you should be. The apartment is rather far from your neighbourhood and the travel time alone will impose upon your ongoing commissions. You don’t expect he considered that. He does seem the type to command rather than ask. 

He directs you to the stairs, just across from the door, and waves you onward. He follows as your skirts brush the top of your boots with each step. The wallpaper is tightly decorated with framed newspapers and portraits, cluttered together but not garishly so. 

You get to the top and he advises you to go left. You obey as he keeps pace. 

“Did you... discover what led to that woman’s fate? Or who she was?” You ask as you take measured steps. 

He isn’t demure as he walks next to you, crowded against you as his broad figure allows for little space, “sadly, yes and no. Not her name. Only that she was a factory woman. I won’t say much on the matter as it is ongoing and confidentiality is a part of my contract, I would only gird you to keep your doors locked and yourself alert.” 

You chew on his answer. It makes you nervous. You know the woman was found close to your shop and home. The news has been whispered for blocks. 

“I will be sure to hede your advice,” you say. 

You walk past a door as he stops to knock on it. You spin back, skirts swirling around you, and he glances at you as he plants his hand on the door frame. There is activity from within, scratching and creaking. He sighs and stands straight as he slides his hand down the pillar. He raps with his knuckles again. 

“Enola,” he booms through, his voice shaking you. “I told you to be ready.” 

You hear furious footsteps and the lock flicks back with similar furor. It opens and a young woman with a slumping bun greets Mr. Holmes. Strands fall loose from the clip and her blouse is half untucked as her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. She has a long oval face, flushed as she shows her teeth. 

“I told you, I’m busy--” 

“Not so busy that you would waste this good woman’s time,” Holmes insists, “she traveled all this way. We discussed this.” 

She flutters her lashes and huffs. Her eyes flit over to you and she softens her expression, “if her time is wasted, it is hardly my fault.” 

“Hm,” he hums flatly, “isn’t it? It wasn’t I who fed your dresses to the furnace.” 

She smiles, a smug look that pinches her cheeks, “I was cold.” 

“Sister,” he warns dangerously, crossing his arms, his breadth wider than ever. 

“You know what, I welcome her company. Much preferable to your own,” the woman sneers and turns her shoulder to her brother, “come on, then. Suppose I need a dress for the banquet.” 

You inch forward. A flare of resent burns in you at the position Mr. Holmes has put you in. Plainly, this appointment was not upon his sister’s behest. She holds the door for you and her brother exhales deeply. 

“All you need do is stand still, I’m certain you can handle that, sister,” he rebukes, “do let me know when you are finished and I will call the carriage.” 

“Thank you,” you utter without looking at him. He sets the rolls just inside the door and backs up to watch you. 

You enter the bedroom and find it cluttered and cramped. There are books in stacks with more littered around the bottom. A dried-up paint palette and an easel draped over with several jackets and unpaired stockings. There is a four-post bed with scrambled covers and a canopy twisted around the poles. Vials upon vials line shelves and an inkwell stands uncapped over untidy sheets of paper. 

“Very well,” the woman shuts the door, “I am Enola, the famous detective’s ne’er do well sister and you are the seamstress who will make me a peacock.” 

You stare at her and swallow tightly. You offer your name before you begin, “I’ve only come upon his request--” 

“Ah, yes, I’m certain you have. He’s still trying to make a lady of me. I see through his guise, though he doesn’t think it. He underestimates me, see. He lies but I will go along for I will more easily avoid his snare if I do.” 

You nod and narrow your eyes. The wealthy can always afford to be so eccentric. You don’t think any woman you know would view a new dress as such a curse. She is young, she cannot know. 

“If you don’t mind, I’ll only take your measurements,” you offer, “I can always fit upon the dress form.” 

“Do what you must,” she sighs, “shall I strip down?” 

You put your bag on a chair as she unbuttons her blouse, “not-- if you--” You look up at her as she reveals a corset and reaches to undo her skirt. You focus on your bag and scoop out your measuring tape. 

You approach her as her skirt heaps at her feet. She is tall, her legs on long, her figure lithe. You begin your work silently. She raises her arms as you request and puts them back down. 

“Suppose if I wasn’t here, I might’ve become a dressmaker. I always enjoyed stitching,” she muses as you scribble down each number, “it seems lonely work. Quiet work.” 

“It’s work,” you say as you take out the envelope and unfold the page to examine the dress again. You hold it up and glance past it at Enola. 

“May I see that?” She asks but doesn’t await an answer before she snatches the paper. “Oh, is this really what he chose? No, no, no, this won’t do. I want my shoulders covered.” 

You slip the envelope back in your bag, “it is only what I was given. If you prefer adjustments, it is your dress.” 

“Yes, my dress and my body,” she crumples the paper and tosses it onto the rug. 

You close up your notebook and go to the rolls of fabric, “would it be too much for me to do some piecework?” 

“If you insist,” she pouts. 

You take out your scissors and turn your back to her. She isn’t rude, per se, but you’re not in the habit of associating with this sort of clientele. You get numbers on a sheet and you sew. A living form is not quite your forte. 

-🪡

When you finish, you can sense Enola’s agitated impatience. You don’t blame her. It’s plain she didn’t want the dress or your visit. It is more so upon the shoulders of her brother. Mr. Holmes. You’re similarly irked that he would put you in this position. 

Enola is already fiddling with some instrument before you can go. You emerge and pull the door shut after you. You stand in the hallway, bag at the crook of your elbow as you hug the fabric. You move with hampered steps towards the stairs. As the top creaks beneath your weight, your name is called from further down the hallway. 

“Ah, are you set then?” Mr. Holmes asks as he stops just outside a door, “I was thinking, to make up for your efforts, you might want to stay for tea.” 

You look down at your armful and back to him, “that’s very generous, but--” 

“I believe I paid an adequate fee for the appointment,” he strides slowly towards you, “but I am open to a barter if it was not sufficient.” 

You feel the heavy sovereign tucked into your jacket. You crook your lips and raise your chin, “no sir, it will do for today and the making of the dress. The fabric... I don’t have any as rich as the style requested.” 

“Another service I may require of you. If you wouldn’t mind to select the material, I would be happy to reimburse the expense.” 

“Would there be a colour? A fabric preferred? Velvet? Satin? Chiffon?” You prompt, “I solely work in cotton and wool, as I forewarned.” 

“Perhaps we might find a fabric seller at Covent Garden? You could accompany me on my next sojourn--” 

“I don’t know if I would have the time. I could write down some fabrics which would suit the silhouette we agreed upon,” you offer. 

“Mmm,” he hums, “you are rather professional. How about tea, then? Melinda from across the road sent some mutton over.” 

“The hour should see me back to my shop,” you shift your bag. 

“You are fastidious,” he stops before you and puts a hand on the fabric, “please, allow me, you are overburdened.” 

“I’m--” 

You can’t argue as he takes the fabric from you. You let him have it if only to avoid disaster you lean back on your heel. He angles the rolls under his arm easily and grins. A curl strays down his forehead. 

“I suppose you are right, given recent events, it would be best to see you home before the evening sets,” he says, “I would gladly see you home safe, miss.” 

He is overly polite, or perhaps you aren’t used to it. It is his home, he supplied the carriage, and he has paid generously. It makes each denial feel trite. 

“If you must, but I would be just fine on my own comportment,” you accept. 

“It isn’t any fuss, I will fetch a jacket and the driver,” he extends his arm past you, “after you.” 

You spin on your heel and face the staircase. You descend with your hand on the railing. As you come to the bottom, you wander towards the entry way and take in the fineness of the decor. Is much more becoming than your slanted rooms. 

Mr. Holmes places the rolls just beside the door and takes a jacket from the rack. He pulls it on and tells you to wait before he disappears outside. You linger as you are, sliding your bag down to your hands. 

When he returns, he reaches within to retrieve the fabric first. “Gavin is bringing up the carriage,” he declares and offers his free arm, “shall we?” 

You consider him. You wouldn’t want to be unkind. You step through the door, pulling it shut as you accept his bent arm, your hand in the crook. He accompanies you down the narrow steps, each step crowded by his. 

Gavin appears in the driver’s seat and reins the horse to a halt. The beast looks miserable. Mr. Holmes escorts you to the door and releases you to open it. He helps you with a strong hand and you sit within with your bag on your lap. He shoves the fabric in ahead of him, his head bowed as he fits through the small door. 

He closes it with a snap and settles on the bench on the other side of you. You stare across at the cotton, expecting he’d have taken that seat instead. His leg is on your skirt. 

You keep your hands on your bag. He knocks on the ceiling and the carriage rumbles into motion. You rock with it along the street, silent as you wring the leather handles. 

“I hope my sister did not cause too much stress. I know she can be a lot but she’s old enough now. She should start behaving as a lady,” he spreads a large hand across his thigh. “Perhaps, once she finds a husband, that will be easier.” 

You nod, uncertain of a proper response. 

“Not to mean... I don’t mean to assume, I am known however for my observations, and I have concluded you are not married,” he continues, “I gather if it were the case, you might not have a shop to sew in.” 

“Suppose not,” you reply dully. 

“It is only to say that my opinion of my sister isn’t general. A woman such as yourself is admirable.” 

“A spinster?” You supply. 

“I didn’t--” 

“I’ve chosen not to marry, that is true. I am not bothered by that fact,” you say, “isn’t that what you deal in, detective, facts?” 

“Fair,” he shifts on the bench, “but not everyone can detach emotion from facts.” 

“And why should I be emotional about that fact? I am much more happier than any woman could be with a husband,” you stare at the opposite wall of the carriage. “And I will assume, sir, as I am no detective, that you have neither taken to the altar.” 

He curls the fingers on his left hand, “I have not.” 

“And I’m certain you enjoy your bachelor lifestyle in your grand apartment,” you return, “while my own is not so extravagant, I find solace in it. On that, I think you might understand me.” 

He takes a breath and lets it out with a thoughtful hum, “I suppose we are similar in some way.” 

[enchantedflameandflower]

Billy Butcher fic! H/c with a lot of c a bit of fluff and just a minute of soft!Billy for fun! 18+

“It ain’t an insult, ya know. Callin’ ya princess. Think of it like…what’s that story…Beauty and the Beast.” He gestured to himself on the word ‘beast’ and she turned to face him. She couldn’t help grinning.

“You have a talking tea cup hidden somewhere in that coat?” she teased him, her eyes shining as she stepped closer. 

He reached out to her, sliding his hand around her waist beneath her robe and tugging her closer. “No, but I can make some magic if ya like. Just say the word.”

“Hmm,” Addison hummed. Such a bastard.  

more below the cut!

~*~*~

I also just started a x reader fic with Karl's character from Pete's Dragon! Check it out here! Gavin x reader

Tag List: @2dead2function @secretdreamlandmentality @nosebeers @vavafaure1994

This takes place before and during the last ep of Season 3! I really really hope you enjoy! Thank you so so much to everyone reading, you're the best! I am so sorry I've been so slow, things have been really hard lately <3

Karl Urban Masterlist

Part 1

previous (Part 36)

~*~*~

Part 37

As soon as she turned the shower off the next evening she heard his heartbeat. She stepped out, drying off quickly and pulling on her nightgown and robe before she went out to the living room. 

Butcher was standing by her big glass windows, scrolling through something on his phone and she watched him for a second before she spoke up. He looked good, no cuts or bruises, no scowl, but still there was something weighing heavy on him, she could tell. Something besides Ryan, and..and the other stuff.

“Hey,” she murmured softly, rounding the high counter to go into the open kitchen. 

“‘Ello, princess,” he looked up and turned toward her, stuffing his phone in his pocket. 

Addison grabbed a tea kettle, filling it with the filtered water from her fridge. “You’re never going to stop with that are you.”

“You’re wearin’ a French silk robe, sunshine. It looks more expensive than my whole apartment.”

Addison bristled. “I’m…sure that’s not true. Anyway, I have sensitive skin,” but her lips quirked when he caught her gaze with a cheeky grin. “And I bought it for myself for my birthday. When I didn’t get anything else, you know,” she lifted her brow. 

“Aye,” he winced, “sorry, love.”  He came into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he watched her turn the stove on. “It ain’t an insult, ya know. Callin’ ya princess. Think of it like…what’s that story…Beauty and the Beast.” He gestured to himself on the word ‘beast’ and Addison turned to face him. She couldn’t help grinning.

“You have a talking tea cup hidden somewhere in that coat?” she teased him, her eyes shining as she stepped closer. 

He reached out to her, sliding his hand around her waist beneath her robe and tugging her closer. “No, but I can make some magic if ya like. Just say the word.”

“Hmm,” Addison hummed. Such a bastard.  

He seemed to take that as word enough and he added his other hand into the mix, curling his strong fingers around her hip and pulling her against him. He dipped his head, pressing his mouth to hers and she sighed softly as she easily gave in to his kiss. His scent filled her senses, his beard tickling her skin and she made some soft little sound that made him press her closer but she pulled away again almost immediately. 

“Oi,” he protested. 

Addison searched his dark eyes. “Just checking. I thought you might turn into a prince,” she whispered, grinning up at him. 

He shook his head. “Sorry, princess, still a right bastard.”

“Ah well…”

He captured her lips again and she reached up to twine her arms around his neck but the tea kettle whistled and he had to reluctantly let her go.

“Tea?”

“Sure,” he answered. 

“Any luck finding Mindstorm?” she asked carefully, pulling two cups down from the cupboard.

“Not a bit,” Billy answered and secretly she felt a swell of relief. Mindstorm was unpredictable and terrifying. She wasn’t sure Billy even understood how much. 

They curled up on the couch together and Addison put on an old movie. When she was done with her tea she set it aside and Billy lifted his arm to draw her against him, her head against his shoulder. When he started running his fingers through her hair all hope of staying awake left her.

Halfway through the movie she had fallen deep asleep against him. She only woke up again when he scooped her up in his arms to carry her into the bedroom. 

“Mmm,” she half-protested sleepily. “I’m too heavy now.”

Billy scoffed. “Don’t be daft. You’re perfect, love. I can carry ya both.”

******

It was the very next night, Addison was woken up by Billy climbing into her bed in the middle of the night again. She flicked her gaze to the bedside clock. Two am. She couldn’t help a little flutter of…relief? Joy? …whatever it was - that he had come back another night in a row, even if she was annoyed at being woken. 

He climbed in the bed slowly at least, lifting the heavy blankets and trying not to jostle her, but it was of no use. 

Addison smiled to herself and made a soft little noise, shifting lazily. She couldn’t help teasing him. “Mmmmm,” she breathed. “Joe, is that you?”

Butcher froze and she could just see him rolling his eyes in the darkness as he huffed at her and flopped down on the bed, yanking the comforter dramatically. “You think you’re a real comedian, dontcha?” he grumbled.

Addison chirped happily, but then he slid his hand over her waist and it was freezing, making her yelp.

“Come warm me up now, love, to make up for that, yeah?”

Addison laughed quietly and he dragged her body into the curve of his, her back pressing to his chest. Though his hands were cold the rest of him was warm and toasty as usual and she almost moaned at how good it felt. 

Pressed against him now, she quickly drifted off again and was only woken hours later by the sound of Billy’s heart starting to speed. He was entwined with her, wrapped tight around her body and clinging as if she were his lifeline. 

“Billy?” she whispered. Another nightmare. He squeezed her tighter, his body jerking violently, but holding her seemed to calm him and he fell back asleep. His pain was palpable and she felt her own heart squeeze. She laid down, closing her eyes, but keeping close to him. 

When she woke again he was still clinging to her. Soft morning light was just starting to peek around the curtains. 

He blinked slowly, his gaze landing on her as he came to. His arm moved and he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her hair.

“I didn’t expect you two nights in a row,” she murmured after awhile. 

“I don’t think it’s…this…is…a good idea,” he murmured gruffly. “But I ain’t disappearing either. Not now.”

“Well I never said I thought it was a good idea,” she deadpanned. But it was true. “But now it’s done, I can’t help but want this. I meant what I said Billy. I can do this on my own. But I still want you as long as you’ll stay.”

He shifted, tucking her in against his body. “I can’t say I won’t be terrible at all of it. And I can’t say I’ll stop… But I want to know…” he shifted again, and her eyes pricked with unshed tears at him finally admitting he wanted to know the baby, before he spoke again. “But I won’t risk you. Not at all. And you damn well better take your own safety more seriously now because I will not stay just to see you get hurt or worse while you’re…” he swallowed. He still couldn’t quite say it out loud.

“I will,” she whispered. 

“But Addi…” he moved and turned her so he could look into her eyes again. “You gotta promise me…don’t let me fuck this up. If I…” he frowned closing his eyes for a moment. “If I fuck up, you do what you have to. Get away from me, protect…her or him, at whatever cost to me, it don’t matter. Promise me,” he whispered fiercely.

“I promise.” She whispered. Of course. She would. 

“That's my girl.”

“But you have to promise me something in return. Please try to just stay alive. Please.”

He didn’t answer. 

*******

Addison’s phone rang just as she was getting ready for bed a few nights later. It was late, and Billy almost never called. She dried her hands quickly and went to the bedroom to grab her iPhone off the nightstand.

Grace Mallory.

The only thing it could be was very bad.

“Hey boss,” Addison answered curtly. 

“Addison. Are you with Butcher?”

“Nope,” Addison sat down on the edge of her bed, tense, although she tried to pretend she wasn’t. She didn’t mean to be short but it was just in her nature not to give any more information than she had to. Even to Mallory.

“He’s not answering my calls, and now his phone’s off,” her tone was strained, and Addison sensed there was a lot she hadn’t been told.

“Why wouldn’t Billy answer your call?” she asked. Of course, Billy was never predictable, but since Ryan was with Grace, he was unlikely to ignore her. Which meant there was something else going on.

“It ended…poorly…the last time he was here,” Grace answered, her tone sour.

Addison sighed inwardly. They both had a temper and a mean streak. Something bad must’ve  happened and whatever it was must’ve been awful for Ryan, but that seemed to be a problem for another time. “Well, he told me he probably wouldn’t be reachable tonight.”

“And you’re just fine with that?” Grace scoffed.

“Yeah. I am Grace. I’m not going to be his fucking keeper. Why? What’s going on?”

“There’s a problem.”

“Isn’t there always?” Addison answered dryly.

“If you hear from him, tell him I need to talk with him urgently.” And she hung up. 

It wasn’t even an hour later Vought Tower blowing up was all over the news.

*****

Addison’s phone was across the room when it rang again the next morning. She’d barely slept all night but she was racing across the room and fumbling the answer button on before the first ring even finished. 

“What the fuck M.M.. Is everyone ok?”

His answering sigh was the heaviest she’d heard yet. “Not Maeve. But otherwise…yeah. It’s bad, but Butcher’s alive.”

Addison took a huge breath, slumping to the counter stool. Her hands were shaking but she managed to keep the phone pressed to her ear, while she pressed her other hand to her face. She knew she had to be prepared, but to lose him now… “Thank fuck he had that shit running though his veins then, I guess...”

“He didn’t.”

Addison’s head shot up. “What?” she froze. There was no way…

“He didn’t take it, Addi. I don’t know why, but he didn’t take it.”

*~*~*~*

Part 38

I'm working on the next parts now, plus more Gavin x Reader and Billy x reader requests! This is the first time the story is taking a major turn from the show, hope it’s fun to read!

[dominimoonbeam]

What's Happening?

Gavin/Freelancer sickfic I wrote for @glassbearclock my beloved!

Early early relationship, Freelancer has a cold but is worried that if they cancel on a date with Gavin he won't come back.

tags: sickfic, relationship uncertainties, gavin is a caregiver, light angst

What's Happening?

Freelancer felt like shit. They’d been sucking on throat lozenges like their life depended on it all morning. And it sort of did. At least their sex life did.

Gavin was a daemon, so it wasn’t like they could get him sick, they just had to not be disgusting when he came over tonight.

Fuck, they were so tired, but they dragged themself to the pharmacy and tried to find the strongest cold medicine that wouldn’t completely knock them out. They read the label on another bottle and had to bite off a laugh when it said not to operate heavy machinery. Did Gavin’s dick count? Were they the one operating it? No.

When they noticed someone sneaking a glance at them, they realized they’d laughed aloud. Oh shit, were they acting weird? They felt like a furnace in their hoodie, even though everyone else was wearing big jackets and it was snowing out.

The walk home felt twice as long as ever before. They were so worn out. They had to resist the panicked urge to pop the bottle in that shopping bag and take a few drinks. They needed to get their shit together. They needed to perk up. They had an incubus coming over!

Oh god, what if they couldn’t get it together? What if he realized they were sick? If they weren’t any good tonight, then would he come back again?

They liked Gavin. A lot. And not just for the sex. The sex was amazing, of course. It was the stuff of fantasies that Freelancer had only read and daydreamed about before. Their own brief sexual encounters with other people had been okay, but nothing like this. And Gavin made them feel like they were the deviant, like they were just as prolific and skilled as he was. It felt amazing and empowering and fun. They weren’t ready to give that up, but more than that, so much more than that, they were worried about losing Gavin.

They wanted to believe they were more than just a good meal to him, more than just benefits. They wanted to believe they were friends. But the level of worry they had over not being able to perform tonight was making them realize they really weren’t sure.

And if he didn’t come back, how would they find him? How would they ask how he was doing or if he wanted to hang out?

They were lightheaded by the time they got to their building and leaned heavily against the wall in the elevator. The ding seemed impossibly loud.

Okay. They just had to get to their apartment, chug some of that cold medicine, take a shower, and act like they weren’t ready to sleep for twelve hours.

The elevator dinged and the door rattled open. Freelancer walked down the hall, surprised by how it stretched and wobbled. That can’t be good. They managed to get their keys out and in the door, pushing it open and stumbling in.

“You’re late,” Gavin called from the living room, sounding seductive and guarded like always. “I was starting to think you were standing me up, Deviant. I was about to—Deviant?”

Their knees hit the floor just inside their apartment and they dropped their backpack and the shopping bag, somehow fumbling both in an attempt to hang on to them and to themself while their vision turned too bright and the ground kept sliding under them.

“Deviant?” He was closer. Was that panic in his voice? Shit.

They tried to say they were okay and to apologize, maybe even laugh at how clumsy they were, but everything went dark.

-

Gavin had only gotten there a few minutes before them. He’d actually been late, largely because he was struggling over how eager he was to see them. It wasn’t normal. He shouldn’t be that invested in one of his charges. They came and went. They were there for a good time, a good time he delivered, but he’d always been careful not to get too attached.

So, he’d been intentionally late.

And it hadn’t even mattered because his deviant wasn’t home yet anyway. So he sat on the couch and wondered where they were, if he should leave, if they were over him and onto other things…

And then the door had opened and he’d stayed on the couch, trying not to act overly eager.

And then his deviant had stumbled.

Gavin was there in a flash, standing over them and trying to understand what had happened. Their aura was…strange, and they were breathing fast. They mumbled out a tangle of what he assumed was supposed to be words before their body keeled forward in a dead faint.

Gavin caught them, one hand cupping their head before it could hit the floor. Panic stampeded through him. “Deviant?” he spoke gently, picking them up in his arms and carrying them to the couch. With a thought, he’d closed the front door.

He put them on the couch and their eyes were already fluttering open. “What’s happening?” he almost pleaded, touching their face and neck. They were so hot. This couldn’t be normal for humans. He used magic to search for injuries, for anything he could heal, but there was nothing.

They looked teary, pressing their lips and swallowing hard. They flinched, like that hurt. “Shit… I’m sorry, Gav…” They sat up. He stayed on the coffee table, hands roaming their upper body, afraid they’d tip over again. They coughed and tried to hide it against their arm.

“You’re sick?”

“I’m okay.”

“We should take you to a hospital.”

They smiled a little. “For a cold? No. Seriously, I’m fine.”

“You fainted!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for it!”

They caught one of his hands. They were so warm, but they looked up at him so calmly through those glassy eyes and past those flushed cheeks. “It’s okay, really. I just overdid it, I guess. I probably shouldn’t have gone out.”

“Why did you?”

They deflated, looking down. “I was getting cold medicine. I thought if I could get something to shake the symptoms… you wouldn’t notice.”

He blinked. “I mean, I’m glad you want me that bad, but I’m not sure my dick is actually worth dying for.”

They snorted a laugh and then coughed again, curling an arm over their face. “I mean, I wouldn’t say it’s not... But I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Gavin felt like the world had dropped out from under him. He stared at them. “What?” Disappoint him?

“I know you hang out with me for…” Their aura flinched and twisted, filling with self-doubt and delicate fear. “I didn’t want you to leave or… not come back,” they confessed quietly, shoulders sagging.

Gavin tried to absorb all of that. They had gone out when they were sick to try to get this cold medicine in hopes that he would somehow not notice they were sick so he’d fuck them, not because they wanted to get laid, but because… because they thought that was his only reason for hanging out with them? And why wouldn’t they think that, when he’d definitely always put it that way for himself and for them. But they wanted him to hang out with them… Enough to go through all this effort. Enough to put out when they were definitely not into it. There was a lot about this he hated but the crystal clear center was what almost had him choking up.

Fortunately, his deviant was definitely too sick to notice at the moment.

“I like you,” Gavin said, a little terrified to say it and sort of hoping that fever would keep them from remembering.

They looked up at him, their aura smoothing out with hope. It was beautiful. And it had cost him nothing but the truth. “So… You’ll come back sometime?”

He sighed, pushing some of their hair out of their face. “Oh, deviant… I’m not leaving you like this.”

They blinked and then straightened where they sat. “Y-You want to… I was worried the whole sick thing would be a turn off…”

He laughed darkly. “It’s not, but we’re not going to fuck. You fainted from walking down the hall. What I do with you might kill you right now.”

His deviant chewed their lip, leaning closer. Their weak aura even flared with interest. He smiled. They were incredible. “I don’t think it would… We could try.” They started coughing again, this time rooting around in the pocket of their hoodie, dumping little wrappers before coming out with what looked like a candy. They shoved it in their mouth and sucked.

Gavin ignored the way his dick jumped in his pants. No. Nope. He was not going to take that bait. He snagged one of the wrappers and spread it out, reading it. Medicine.

“We should put you to bed, right? The right way, I mean,” he smirked, floundering a little. What did people do with sick people? “We should get you in your pajamas and into bed and then… water?”

“Yeah, I’ll go to bed… You don’t have to stay, Gavin. I know this isn’t fun—”

“Who says it’s not fun? I’ve never taken care of a human before. Maybe I’ll be good at it…” He smiled. “I’m good at most things I do.”

His deviant smiled. “I believe you.”

He shivered pleasantly and scooped them up. The deviant gasped, throwing arms around his neck in surprise when he picked them up. Somewhere between the living room and their bedroom he vanished their clothes, enjoyed their surprised gasp against his neck and the naked skin in his arms for a split-second, before putting their favorite pajamas on them just as quickly. He settled them on the bed and pulled the covers up over them. He’d never actually pulled the covers up before…

For a second, he stared at them and they stared at him. They were so cute.

What else?

Fluids? That was an illness thing, right? He used magic to make a big glass of water and then considered their sore throat and added a cup of tea.

Deviant smiled, their aura practically shining with happiness despite.

Was it so easy to make all humans happy? Or just his human? He changed into his own comfy sweatpants and crawled in bed with them. “What else do you need?” He pulled their body against his, again surprised by the heat radiating off of them.

“No, that’s great. Thank you. You don’t have to stay.” Their eyelids were heavy.

He stroked their hair the way he knew they liked, of course, usually he did it as a part of aftercare, but care was care, right? “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” they whispered, half-asleep already but the answer coming fast and easy.

“Then I’ll stay.”

They smiled to themself and curled into his chest. He kissed their head. When they were asleep, he magicked their phone from their bag to his hand. He googled colds and what to do. When they woke up, he’d make soup and make sure they drank some of those liquids. It looked like he’d need a thermometer and maybe medicine to reduce a fever if they kept this up. He was going to be a fucking expert when they woke up, but, until then, he stroked their hair and their back and relished the steady pulse of their aura.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Petrichor

Summary: In which Gavin Reed is so boyfriend that I nearly gave myself teeth rot with them being stinking adorable and domestic.

Pairing: Gavin Reed x afab!Reader

Word Count: -3.8k (That got out of control so fast)

Content Warnings: Cuddlefucking 18+!, A Whole Lot Of Feelings, Angst, Mentions Of Blood, They Are So In Love With Each Other, Gavin Being A Massive Softy, Ye Good Olde Missionary (But Freak It A Little), Unprotected P In V, Creampie, Oral (F Receiving), Tongue Fucking, Funishment, Overstimulation, Soft Sleepy Morning Sex, L-Bombs, Internalised Self-Loathing/Affirmation

A/N: I appear to have very strong feelings about Gavin “Phck!” Reed.

Tagging: @ohlookapan @queer-crusader @somethingblu3 @blueberrypancakesworld

And just like the rain

You cast the dust into nothing

And wash out the salt from my hands

So touch me again

I feel my shadow dissolving

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?

- Rain By Sleep Token

The peculiar taste of iron slithered into your mouth and laced itself all over your tongue. In an absentminded movement, you swiped the tip of it along a hardly even there incision on your bottom lip where teeth had just nipped and torn at the sensitive skin, effectively reopening the frequently brutalized patch towards the right corner of your mouth.

Tiny droplets of red oozed out of the opening and you lapped it all up, just like you always did when the steadily lingering sensations of anxiety and nervosity roared up again, the constant white noise of emotional dread growing into the feeling of your ribcage painstakingly getting dismembered rib by rib until you insides laid bare again.

You only started biting right at your lip when the soft tissue on the inside of your mouth just wouldn’t cut it anymore, ceased to give you the sensory distraction you longed for so much.

You exhaled a shallow breath to not stir the already bubbling concoction boiling up right behind your sternum. However, the slight rise and fall of your chest were already enough to elevate the nervous buzzing to a beehive of paralyzing thrashing of existential dread that terrorized your mind with such tyranny that it sparked psychosomatic symptoms to ripple through your body.

Your upper lip twitched and you instinctively bit down on the patch of swollen tissue on your bottom one anew, suckling at the broken skin. The sharp little sting emitting from the scratch came as a strangely soothing sensation, strange not in the way that it soothed you but strange in the sense that you knew something like this shouldn’t be that calming to you for it was considered an unhealthy coping mechanism by many.

Breathe, just breathe, for this, too, shall pass.

You admonished yourself to not get lost in the rapturing sea of your own emotions. There wasn’t anything new to discover, no new island of calm to shipwreck upon that would suddenly shelter you from the chronic overthinking, no, you had to stay afloat until the storm eventually died down. Allowing your eyes to flutter shut as tightly as you needed them to be, you searched for something else to direct your focus to, and the low drumming of plump raindrops against the window caught your attention. Sunday morning, 9 am, heavy rain from dark, low-hanging clouds, truly a Detroit classic.

You liked the sound of rain, always enjoyed it unless you had to be somewhere else than hidden away underneath your duvet. It paired well with a steaming hot cup of tea or coffee when you felt good enough to risk the caffeine jitters, maybe a few cookies on the side to let your teeth sink into something other than the already thoroughly tortured skin of your bottom lip.

Later, you’d get up, later, once the vile concoction of should’ve, would’ve, could’ve had imploded into a gust of hot air, you’d treat yourself to those things and perhaps a comfortingly hot shower as well. You surely could use one after tossing and turning all night, only being able to slip into the twilight zone of not really being awake but also not properly asleep.

The tapping of the rain against the thick glass surface carried your thoughts away successfully, calmed them with every stiff breeze that intensified the rumbling outside your apartment. The more your thoughts wandered, drifted off into imaginary images about a breakfast to be had or the comforts of being able to stay in today, the more your breathing loosened up, the exhaustive tension simmering down until the very back of your throat fell into a state of such relaxation that a quiet and low snore hummed out of your mouth.

A desperately longed-for calm washed through your sleep-deprived body and with a faint smile tugging around your mouth, you stretched; one arm folding underneath your pillow and everything else spread out away from you, torso turned half to the side and half on your belly. Whilst a jawn rumbled through your chest, you arched your back, spine lightly cracking from not being moved properly for today.

As your statue was softly writhing underneath the cozy blanket, the curve of your behind pressed into a warm lap, ass rubbing over a ruffled waistband and soft cotton fabric. Immediately, a sleep-drunk Gavin behind you crooned against the back of your head. He uttered a breathy “Hey” into your hair, his voice still raspy as his broad hand snaked around your waist pulling you closer underneath the shared covers.

You hummed in return, body and mind not really there enough to form words out of cohesive letters. Instead, you followed his tug and shimmied closer, his front gradually pressing against your back, your bodies reacting to one another in this drowsy, sluggish haze of a slowly unfolding Sunday morning.

Every last bit of tension appeared to eventually leave your body as the warmth of Gavin’s skin seeped through the thin fabric of your shirt. Like a gentle, oversized heating pad, he cupped your body with his, inviting your muscles to relax in his hold.

Another little groan fell from his lips as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the tip of his nose stroking along the shell of your ear gingerly before warm lips left a gentle trail of kisses right underneath your earlobe. The sensation of his loving caresses sent a warm shudder all across your skin, egging you on to want to feel more of them, more of Gavin; with a lazy smile adorning your face, you rolled your hips back again, pushing and grinding yourself into his crotch as the wash of nipping pecks quickly caused you to throb around nothing.

“ ‘Ts mean!” It trickled from your lips in a quiet whine which was met by a snarky huff.

“Last time I checked, t’was your ass in my lap, babe.” The sleepy rumble in his tone made your skin pebble against his mouth.

“I dunno what you’re on about.” You stated in a whim of play-pretend innocence.

“Don’t mind reminding you.”, Gavin cooed right into your ear, his warm breath breezing along your neck as he jutted his waist against the round of your behind, “Got me all hard just like that already.”

Feeling his rigid cock pressing into your rear pulled a needy groan from your tongue, insides clenching down again with your hips instinctively pushing anew. The need to close the already sparse distance between your bodies, to feel Gavin thrusting inside of you to render your brain oh so beautifully numb for a while spread like wildfire, however, grinding on him like that already felt so good that it was hard to tear yourself away. Fortunately, Gavin picked right up on you shuffling away from him just enough to roll onto your back, nearly tearing off his shorts, the cloth already cracking and ripping dangerously at the seams. He paid it no mind, a sluggishly buffering brain way too busy with coordinating hands that helped to shimmy out of the fabric.

Following his lead, you rid yourself of the gradually dampening cotton from between your legs, discarding the slip to the floor with a swift jerk of your wrist, the lacey thing bunching up on the floor.

“Oh, sweets.”, Gavin’s half-lidded gaze dropped to your chewed-up bottom lip almost immediately after swinging his body on top of yours, hips dipping against the insides of your thighs gently, “That bad of a night?”

Upon his words, you couldn’t help but flinch a little, a sense of shame and discomfort taking brief hold of your features.

“Just…the last few days, you know?” You admitted, every word already beyond your comfort zone.

“I know.”, Your lover nodded his head softly in understandment, recalling how those past days spent with your family certainly did a number on you, “Want me to take care of that?”

“Uh-huh.” The coy mumble left your moth reluctantly because it still evoked some sort of embarrassment to admit that you needed him to take care of you in that peculiar way.

“Issok, babe. I know it’s been rough but you’ve been so brave and good through all of it.”, Gavin threw you a sincere smile before he leaned in, plush lips slowly kissing along your collarbone, “ ‘m so proud of you.”

His praise threatened to draw tears from your eyes, a certain wetness already prickling at your tear ducts.

“I mean it. ‘twas a rough one.” Lips wandered from your collarbone to the edge of your yaw, teeth playfully pulling and biting.

“Wasn’t that bad…” You tried pushing back in some sort of conditioned self-defense, not ready to admit just how much your family tended to fuck you up.

“Ay, shhh. Don’t wanna hear any of that.”; Gavin’s lips mouthed against the corner of yours, voice lulling you in gingerly, “No need to lie to yourself. Sometimes family is messy.”

You knew he was right about that, yet, the profound fact broke something within.

“Hey, I got you.” Gavin immediately took notice of your violently thrashing state of mind and pressed his lips right onto yours in quiet affirmation.

Your shaking hands shot up to find purchase with palms pressed against his shoulder blades, tugging at him in the still raging need to feel him more and your lover followed your demand; pushing himself into your wet and throbbing cunt in a slow thrust.

“Fuck…” You groaned out against his cheek before you hid your face in his chest, deeply chocolate-brown hairs tickling your chin.

“Too much?” It shot out of his mouth, Gavin being ready to pull back in this very second.

“No…you feel so fucking good.” Feeling him stretching you out like that coaxed a low hum from you as you savored the moment, reveling in being one with him.

“Hm’kay, how about that?” He bottomed out again, leaving just the swollen tip to rest within, teasing you before setting a slow yet heavy pace.

Gavin knew what he was doing to you - with you -, rendering your brain deliciously quiet with every rough roll of his hips, only the sound of skin slapping against filling your head as you allowed yourself to let go.

Dipping further down, Gavin drilled himself inside of you as far as he possible, shoving at your knees until they rested against his upper sides. He hit spots that you couldn’t possibly reach with just your fingers; not in that intensity and not whilst making you feel so fucking full.

“Love you so much.”, Gavin’s breathing started to get labored and a little shallow, “ ‘nd I know it’ll be okay. I’ll make it be okay.”

One of his hands slithered underneath your back, pulling you impossibly close, cradling you and effectively muffling your little cries and moans with his chest. Taking everything Gavin had to offer, you curled up against him, almost crawling into him if it wasn’t for the layers of skin and muscles not allowing you to, and from the very pit of your stomach you felt it rearing its ugly head again; dread.

A vile pang of worthlessness jolted through your chest and nothing could stop it from happening, making you wince against Gavin’s collarbone. It came as a high-pitched, ugly wail and Gavin sure knew you well enough to sense what venom your mind started spewing again.

“Nuh-uh, babe.”, He cooed, palm flat against the small of your back and never ceasing to hold you close, “You’re my favorite person ‘nd I don’t care if your family is too fricking dense to see how wonderful you are. I do.”

His pace eased up, thrusts coming softer and even slower than before, the dragged-out movements setting your body ablaze to counteract the ruckus that was avalanching through your thoughts.

“They don’t deserve getting to you like that, sweets. You’re simply too good for them and they know.” Gavin hummed to you, talking, guiding you through this truly awkward patch of arousal clashing with anxiousness until it was undeniable that the former one had taken over.

“Gavin…”, Your voice was nearly inaudible with your face smothered by his chest, “...need you.”

You couldn’t see it, but Gavin above you grinned, knowing he’d won against your head, for now at least, as he pushed both of you into the mattress, swiftly taking his hand from your back and instead throwing one of your ankles over his broad shoulder. He drilled himself into you with a kind of precision that you’d never encountered before, hitting spots that made you see white flickers behind closed eyes.

Your lover coaxed your body right to the edge and you felt the orgasm building with such ferocity that it had you trembling, everything else reduced to the rhythmic throbbing and clenching of your leaking cunt. You pulled him in, muscles rendering rigid and ready to snap at the very next thrust.

“Oh, fuck…” Gavin groaned, feeling you tightening around him and pushing him equally close to unloading himself as deep as possible within.

“Please, jus-”, You pleaded unto him to hold on for a tiny little moment longer, breath hiccuping in the back of your throat, “Shit-...fuck…”

You couldn’t even properly finish the sentence as thoroughly penetrated muscles started contracting, leading your whole body to flinch in a moment of blissed out ecstasy. For a fewheavenly seconds, your mind was quiet, the dark of your former thoughts getting shushed by a thrashing firework of synapses firing dopamine and oxitocyn in tandem.

Towering above you and pressing his hips into your ass as hard as he possibly could without seriously hurting you, Gavin grunted out and that noise alone made you throb once more for it was one of your favorite sounds to ever grace your ear. The sounds of Gavin unraveling nestled between your thighs in whatever shape or form filled you with a sense of pride and accomplishment but also love, sheer and unbridled love for the person you were with day in and day out.

“Ouw…” You muttered into the slowly forming space between your bodies as you pulled your face from his collarbone and realized just how hard you’d clawed your fingers into his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, y’know I like it when you do that.” He smiled down at you, gray eyes with just a hint of blue darting right at you with a gentle spark in them.

It was contagious, hopping right onto your face without a warning as your half-lidded gaze studied his features and eventually got hung up on the old, nearly entirely faded streak of scar tissue reaching from the bridge of his nose to the soft curve of his left cheek. You raised a hand to let your fingers trace the delicate skin, Gavin tilting his head into your palm at your gentle touch.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” That appeared to take Gavin by surprise because a faint hint of pinkish blush crept into his cheeks, one that wasn’t caused by physical effort.

“Naah- “ You interrupted him right there and then.

“I mean it, Gavin. You’re awfully handsome. Can’t even mope around in peace with having those pretty eyes on me.” It elicited a wide smile to form on his flushed lips that just proved your point.

“See? Can’t have a panic attack when you beam at me like that, love.” Your fingers wandered from his cheek to his head, eager to ruffle through the luscious and ruffled tufts of his soft hair.

“If that’s so I’m afraid it’s only going to get worse.” Gavin breathed deeply, openly enjoying how you toyed with his hair.

“Oh, how come?” You allowed yourself to tug a little teasingly, pulling a quiet moan from your lover.

“Well, I’m not only going to be all over you all day long with that stupid smile on my face, but I’m also going to serve you breakfast in bed.”, He leaned in closer, the tip of his nose almost touching yours, “And if you keep tugging at my hair like that, missy, I might just treat myself to breakfast in bed right about now.”

“You mean like that?” You were well aware that your body wasn’t ready for round two just yet, everything still overstimulated in the wake of a slowly fading orgasm, however, you couldn’t help but tug at his hair again, this time with a little more ferocity.

“Oh, don’t you cry to me, babe.”, Gavin mouthed out in a low groan, “You brought that onto yourself now.”

In a smooth and devilishly swift movement that told on him being a police detective after all, he pulled himself out of you, leaving you to ooze the amalgamation of your shared release onto the sheet below, but only enough to crawl back, seating himself on his heels and grab you by the thighs.

“Gavin!” You shrieked out, voice half gasp half laughter, as he yanked you with him, eyebrows cocking at you in that unapologetically arrogant way he mainly reserved for his colleagues.

“Nuh-uh!” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, ready to shove his head between your thighs the very next moment.

You squirmed in his grasp, the expected overstimulation rippling through your sore muscles as you felt the full width of his tongue lick against your soaked folds, tip parting them until it nudged against a still swollen clit.

His name fell from your trembling lips again and again but he wouldn’t budge and you knew that you got yourself into this position where pain and pleasure went hand in hand. The overstimulation had your muscles twitching but Gavin held you in an unyielding grasp as he lapped at your cunt like the man on a clear mission that he was; administering the threatened funishiment until you were nothing but whimpering putty in his hold.

As soon as the prickling discomfort of heavy overstimulation eased up, nothing but pure bliss filled every fiber, actively rendering any thought nill and void with Gavin gingerly closing his tender lips around your clit. He suckled carefully, attentive to not hurt you but to drive you wild just the right amount. You writhed, nearly thrashing and bucking your hips into his face whilst choked whines and whimpers stumbled out of your mouth helplessly.

Pushing you further and further got Gavin hard again, blood rushing down to a gradually stiffening cock but this wasn’t about him and he’d rather eat you out until his jaw rendered slack and sore before making it about him.

It was merely 10:30am by now and there would be more than enough time in this day to take you out for lunch and enjoy you on the sofa for dessert. Right now, all he wanted was to feel you getting off again, to feel it gushing onto his chin mixed with the salty taste of himself in between notes of the much sweeter you.

Just the thought of it caused his cock to twitch against his lower abdomen in a wet thud, maybe he’d really just stay like that for hours with you on his tongue, coaxing orgasms from your body until you couldn’t walk straight anymore, maybe. He’d like that, Gavin’s mind conjuring the mental image of you waddling to the bathroom on shaky legs as he doubled down and pushed this tongue into your clenching cunt.

The gentle stretch of his tongue had your head lolling into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut, and lips agape to make way for a guttural groan to escape you. At this very moment, you could not give a single damn about anything besides Gavin fucking you on his tongue, the soft and nimble muscle massaging you from the inside whilst his nose flicked over your clit with every bop of his head.

The night before, you’d gone off on him leaving his things scattered everywhere all the time. You had berated him for at least a solid 15 minutes about how you’d grown very sick of his messy shit and how you were tired of cleaning up after him, however, right now all your anger had evaporated and you thought to yourself that you’d pack a hundred pairs of socks back together if he’d just never stop fucking you like this.

For a split second, you found yourself worried if you might have just dislocated his jaw with your thighs clenching down around his pretty face so hard as the second orgasm took you by storm. The new waves of spasming muscles rendered you incapable and tore the control over your body right from you, your insides throbbing around a still moving, still thrusting tongue that didn’t stop until Gavin had savored every last contraction.

You cried out to him, chanted his name like a prayer til your throat felt sore.

“So fuckin’ beautiful.”, Gavin huffed after releasing you from his grasp and pulling away from you to give you a chance to recover, “Can’t even describe how fucking nice it feels to have you all over me, babe.”

Through weary eyes, you squinted at your lover, chin glistening with your wetness and his thumb running along his bottom lip to capture a generous droplet before popping it into his mouth.

“You are such a horndog, Gavin Reed.” It rolled over your tongue in an amused gasp as you tried to prop yourself onto your elbows, muscles and bones feeling thoroughly wobbly.

“Guilty as charged but I don’t hear you complaining ‘bout it, hm?” With a wide grin on his face, Gavin tilted his head to the side, damp strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

“It’s not a complaint. It’s just a simple observation I was stating.” You smiled back.

“Uh-huh, alrighty then, how about I observe what’s in the fridge and make breakfast?”, Gavin wiped his face with the back of his hand, chest still rising and falling quickly to catch his breath, “Fancy a sandwich?”

“Fuck yeah!”, It just splurged out of you, post-orgasm munchies were certainly no joke with you this time, “Ham, cheese, chili sauce?”

“I see what I can do, chief.” He blew you a little kiss before grasping for his briefs.

[grandmasterswife]

Secrets Above the Stairs

->Pairing: Childhood Bestfriend!Reader x Rafe

->Summary: Rafe comes to you distraught with a confession after helping his dad commit a crime.

->Warnings/Tags: Vulnerable!Rafe, mentions of doing coke lol, angst

->A/n: This is incredibly short, but I loved writing it. I am such a whore for comforting the vulnerable. Anyway, this takes place during Season 2, episode 2 when Ward kills Gavin bc he's blackmailing him and then comes home and asks for Rafe's help to get rid of the body.

First time sharing my writing, pls be nice <;3.

Your eyes burn at the bright light in contrast to the dark room that you had previously been asleep in. Your phone is dinging with messages that you figure you’ll ignore and read in the morning, until the obnoxious ringer goes off indicating you’re getting a phone call.

‘My fucking god.

You snatch the phone into your hand and squint your eyes enough so you can see the answer button without bothering to look at who was calling. Your eyelids scratch against your eyes like sandpaper, and you can’t fight the heaviness weighing them down.

You try to say something into the phone but all that comes out is a gravelly murmur.

“Can I-,” There’s a short sniffle, “Can I come up to your room?” His octave is low and soft, if he was anyone else you would have second guessed who was calling.

Rafe’s distraught voice pumped adrenaline into your body, forcing you to sit up in bed.

“Are you okay?”

“I just- I need to come up. You’re home, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Grabbing pants wasn’t of importance to you at the moment, mostly because you didn’t want to dig around your drawers to find something and waste more time. You were just glad tonight was one of the nights you decided to wear an oversized t-shirt to bed.

You hurry down the stairs, using your phone screen as a flashlight to find the steps and illuminate the space between the halls and door. The metal handle is just as cold as the tiles on the floor, and as goosebumps raise all over your body, you're desperate to get him to your room so you can jump back into your warm covers.

Your selfish desire ceases the second you open the door. Rafe Cameron, the usual cocky but otherwise unemotional boy you were once bonded with, is at your doorstep with wet cheeks and a heavy expression that left you with about a hundred thoughts running through your mind of what could have happened. You pull the door further open, and he walks in past you. The moonlight disappears as you close the entrance, leaving you in pitch black. You wait to ask any questions till you’ve made it to your bedroom.

“This w—” You started to whisper.

“I remember where it is.”

You momentarily forget that this used to be a second home to him. He knows how many steps lead up to your second floor, and which dishes are in which cabinet. He knows that you wear little to nothing at nighttime because your room is hotter than the rest of the house, he knows which part of the couch you prefer to lay on, and most of all, he knows you’re the only one aware of the kind of person his dad is.

You get to the top of the stairs and after a few more steps and turns, you push your door open and close it behind him. After turning on your lamp, your stomach sinks at the sight of your former best friends' dazed expression and nervous fidgeting. You barely manage to suppress the urge to wrap your arms around him, instead you wrap them around yourself and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“What’s going on?”

“I haven’t been in here since freshmen year of high school.” He says flatly, looking around the dimly lit room. The rays of orange from your lamp display across the walls and furniture.

He sounds distant when he speaks, and your arms tighten around your torso. Rafe Cameron was not one to be fazed. At least not the one you knew. Not your Rafe. You heard about his short temper and drug habits only after the two of you had stopped hanging out. You saw him at a party last summer with a rolled-up bill up his nose sniffing white lines from a table. Maybe you should have intervened then, but you weren’t sure what your place was in his life anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” You clear your throat, “Are you gonna talk to me?"

“I have this- this... stuff that I’m dealing with. And uh, I don’t think I can tell anyone else. I’m not even sure I should tell you.” He sits down beside you and curiosity fills your mind.

“Rafe,” you tuck a leg underneath yourself and adjust so your body is facing him, “what happened?”

In this moment, you weren’t just ex-friends who grew apart over the years, making small talk in the name of nostalgia. In this moment, you’re the kids cannonballing into your pool at the family barbeque, the teenagers sneaking alcohol from your parents’ liquor cabinet just to get drunk in your room, the friends who spent every day together. In this moment, you never grew apart and you still understood each other.

“I did something. And- and I- I did it to protect my dad, you know? But someone knew. He fucking knew I did it and he was trying to blackmail my dad for money. And so, he—”

“What’d he do? What did you do?”

His blue eyes observe your face like he’s trying to determine his next words. You want him to talk to you, so you lean closer to put a hand on his knee for support.

“He killed our pilot, Gavin. He asked me to help him-” He lets out a shaky breath as he rubs his face, like he's trying to wake up from a nightmare. “Help him get rid of it.”

“Did you…?”

Even with him turning away, you see his eyes moisten. He opens his mouth like he's about to answer but instead, he clenches his jaw shut and looks up to the ceiling. Your face twists with concern at his reaction, but you don't want to say anything else until he answers.

“I did, Y/n.” His voice cracked.

You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to criticize Ward or ask what the hell happened to him after you stopped being friends, but neither would do him any good. Instead, you sigh and give in to the urge telling you to pull him into you. You wonder why he didn't go to Topper or Kelce; you never spotted him in public without one of them at his side. But as he embraces you tightly, you quickly realize what he wants is comfort and you wince at the sobs that start to erupt out of him. In between sniffles, he starts to tell you everything. Not just about what his dad did tonight, but about what he did that led to it in the first place; he killed a cop.

“I think there might be something wrong with me.”

Might is an understatement.

“That is some pretty fucked up stuff, Rafe.”

“I need you. I don’t know how to fix this on my own.” He lifts his head up. His face is only an inch away from yours, you can feel his warm breath on your skin as his eyes gaze into yours like he’s searching for something.

“Okay,” You put your hands on his shoulders to create space between you, “Stay here tonight. I’ll help you. We’ll fix it.”

[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. 

[deathblacksmoke]

Dramamine—Part 2

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo

Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit’s Foot starts hosting an open mic night.

CW: Light angst, pining, self-doubt/self-loathing

*Content warnings will be updated by chapter*

Word Count: 1.2K

Taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @circle-with-me / @darksigns-exe / @xxrainstorm / @monotoniscreaming / @agravemisstake / @iknownothingpeople

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future fics!

Author's Note: Thank you as always Lady V for the beta and for everyone encouraging (and hand-holding) me through this series.

dividers by @cafekitsune 💐

If anyone asks, he’s never heard of Noah Sebastian Davis. He didn’t go home and do his best, non-creepy internet stalk. He didn’t find a YouTube profile full of covers and make himself late for work, unable to stop watching. He isn’t spending any amount of time more than what’s normal thinking about the long-haired and pretty-faced boy that just waltzed into his bar and burrowed his way into his chest, causing a hollow ache in his gut. He hasn’t made himself sick to his stomach about it.

See you next week echoes in his brain. He can’t stand it.

He can’t have this feeling meaning what he’s worrying it means. He doesn’t know him and he doesn’t feel this way about anyone. Not anymore. He hasn’t for over 700 days and he never will again. It’s a promise he made to himself, so it’ll pass. It has to pass.

“Is this everyone for tonight?” Nick asks Jolly, holding up the open mic schedule to him. He tries his best to play like he’s not disappointed, but he can’t deny that his heart sank when he noticed a name missing.

Granted, he hasn’t tried very hard to move past this, but he’s had a week. He’s had 7 days to figure his mind out, get a little understanding on why he’s so stuck on this, why after all this time of nothing—of suffering—his brain has decided that romantic feelings are possible for him again, and why it’s so hyperfixated on this person. He doesn’t know what it is about him, and he doesn’t even know him. He knows he can get over it, because he has to. This isn’t an option. He’s had a week to prepare to see Noah again, worried about how he’ll act normal.

It seems that he won’t have to worry about any of that tonight, but his chest feels heavy and his dismay is clear when he slams the list back down on the bar. He doesn’t want to admit that he came in this morning a little happier than normal, a dull excitement buzzing through his limbs. He hoped no one noticed, but he caught Folio smirking at him and he found himself not caring. He doesn’t want to admit that the missing name deflated him.

“That’s everyone for now,” Jolly answers. Nick’s body feels heavy, immediately slumping. “We have some space left for last-minute slots if anyone shows up. We had a few last week.”

He refrains from asking who the last-minute additions were last week. He doesn’t want to be too obvious—he fears he already is. He wants to ask Jolly if he still has the list from last week, so he can look at it and see if Pretty Boy is just a poor planner.

Instead, he sinks back into his normal self. He refuses to get his hopes up. He refuses to deal with the humiliation if he allows himself to hope and Noah doesn’t show. It’s better this way.

To his irritation, the turnout this week is much better than last. Gavin isn’t turning people away at the door this time, but when Nick takes a look around at the packed bar, he wonders if maybe he should be. His bar stools have been full all night and it’s a little claustrophobic. 

The tips are good enough to make it worth it, but he’s teetering the line between okay and overwhelmed. The bar hasn’t been this busy in years, not even on a weekend night. He doesn’t remember how to handle it all with grace, not actually sure that’s a talent he’s ever had.

The patrons seem to be endeared by his piss poor attitude, somehow. They’re handing him $20 bills, signing their receipts with little hearts, scrawling their phone numbers on the back. He tries to hide the way it makes him feel a little nauseated to flirt back. He has a feeling they don’t find themselves in places like this often, a grouchy tattooed bartender a novelty. It exhausts him, turns his stomach, even as he pockets the bills that will keep his lights on for the month.

He’s grateful, at least, for the distraction. The swaths of people packed into the building, the constant line of people at his bar, it’s enough to keep him from wondering if Noah is somewhere in that crowd. It’s keeping his thoughts of where is he? what is he doing? why do I care? at bay, for the moment.

He’s just gotten the hang of it when he catches something familiar out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey guys, I’m Noah—” and suddenly Nick’s vision narrows.

He can almost feel the hearts forming in his pupils, and he has half a mind to be embarrassed, but the other half is too focused to care. When he starts strumming a Rilo Kiley song, it’s so painfully earnest that he can’t help but feel endeared. He can’t ignore the way his cheeks warm.

Now, some days, they last longer than others But this day by the lake went too fast

“What’s that look all about?” Folio asks him, pulling Nick from his thoughts immediately. He does feel embarrassed now, rolling his eyes to help push it away. 

It’s less embarrassing if you react with an angry annoyance, he figures.

“Shut the fuck up, Folio.”

He doesn’t see Noah after he finishes his slot. He figures he played and left and that’s okay. He doesn’t take it personally. He’s too busy tonight to worry about it, anyway. Even as the open mic has ended, the swath has only thinned out slightly. He may actually have to do a last call tonight.

He doesn’t let out a sigh of relief when he looks to the door and sees Noah walking through it, slouched over in a way that looks terribly uncomfortable, especially since he’s still towering over everyone here.

He pulls a Yuengling from the fridge as Noah approaches the bar, not caring to feel shame at the fact that he remembered. Noah smiles sweetly when Nick slides it to him without having to ask, pulling a $10 bill from his pocket and handing it over.

“What are the chances of someone giving me a ride home tonight?” Noah asks, and he’s so shy that Nick finds himself wanting to do anything he asks. He reminds himself that he can’t. He needs to move past it.

“Uber?” Nick says with a laugh, and Noah shakes his head, face souring in a way that could almost make Nick feel guilty. He won’t ask why. “Well, how did you get here?”

“I drove,” Noah says, making Nick raise his eyebrows. Noah isn’t drunk, and hasn’t been up to the bar tonight before now. “They booted my car,” Noah continues, visibly cringing. Nick feels a little soft for him. “I have a lot of unpaid parking tickets.”

He’s glad Folio fucked off to who knows where because he’s not around to hear this, tease Nick for going soft. 

“All right, pretty boy, give me an hour and I’ll give you a lift.”

[glass-noodle]

Do you have any hankcon fic recs? 👉👈

I DO 👀

(more under the cut because this got super long)

Most of these fics contain nsfw, if that's alright with you. Nsfw marked with an *

IRQ (Interrupt Request)* by rara_avis. Follows canon except that Hank and Connor become intimate just after the bridge scene. Lots of cool formatting and technical language as the story delves into Connor's psyche on his journey to deviation, which I think is so cool and really makes the fic stand out. I always come back to this one🥹

slow down, you're doing fine* by jilliancares. Hank helps Connor navigate various emotions post-revolution. I love the slow burn, and I love how the author writes Connor struggling to identify what he's feeling despite knowing the names for each emotion.

Instructions Not Included* by Vinci. Set directly after the revolution, Connor is experiencing strange Feelings and it all comes to a head when he and Hank are forced to go undercover at the Eden Club. Sexy, sweet, and well-written. What more could you ask for!

Skin Deep* by bughnrahk. A canon-universe soulmate AU which I'm admittedly not usually drawn to, but this one is written so well. Hank struggling to come to terms with not only having a soulmate at 53, but an android soulmate, and Connor confronting both the fact that he's alive and the fact that he has a soulmate, is written in such an exciting and captivating way.

the other way to someday* by theslap/bigspoonnoya. Connor is Cole's second grade teacher - his very attractive second grade teacher. You can probably already tell that I'm a sucker for canon fics, but this AU had me crying and laughing and fanning myself the whole way through. A fandom classic

Buried Beneath the Snow* by ConnorRK. MIND THE TAGS, heavy CWs for this fic. Gavin is not a good guy in this. That being said, if you're looking for insanely good writing and characterization, loads of hurt/comfort, Connor whump, and protective Hank, this is your fic. An Eden Club AU set post failed-revolution; Connor is resold as an Eden Club android with no memories of being a deviant hunter, and no memories of Hank. The slow burn and Connor and Hank falling for each other despite Connor having no memories of the time they spent together, and despite the fact that his memory is wiped every 2 hours, has had me crying at 2 am more than once

stargazing by Molias. Honestly, everything by this author is fantastic, so you should definitely check out the rest of their work. But I have a soft spot for this fic and A Secret Singing in Our Fingertips* by the same author. They're both so lovely and sweet and full of emotion; whenever I want to read something that will make me absolutely swoon, I come to these fics.

Seiche by CeilingKiwi. On the other hand, if you're looking to get your feelings hurt this fine MerMay, this is for you. A gorgeous and heartwrenchingly bittersweet merman AU featuring depressed organic!merman Hank and abandoned android!merman Connor, and the ways they try and keep each other from falling apart.

you, the moon. you, the road. by plutoandpersephone. A post-revolution oneshot - Hank is injured on the job, and Connor is forced to confront the emotions that have been steadily, silently building within him since deviating. The writing in this fic leaves me breathless; it's the type of fic you never want to end. While you're at it, check out dieu et mon droit*, a prince Connor/president Hank AU fandom staple ;)

anything by Jolli_Bean. Honestly, I can't decide which fic of theirs I like best, haha. Just know that there's something for everyone - short or long, sweet or dramatic, canon or AU; all of them gorgeously written.

he's making a list; i'm checking him out* by connorsjorts. The mall santa AU we all deserve! This fic is so fun. Sweet, cute, sexy, and full of Christmas shenanigans.

Count the Stars by dbhprincess. Another stargazing fic because I'm a sucker for them apparently. Complete with sharing a sleeping bag, mildly awkward/sexy shenanigans, and first kisses <3 (also check out their Martian AU series, No Longer Alone!)

Whole* by blackeyedblonde. This time it's Connor who's injured at work, and they're both more than a little overcome with emotion. I enjoy any story that explores Connor's android features and his ability to feel pain, and the shaky aftermath of tenderness and desperation that follows a grievous injury is something I will ALWAYS eat up.

For mostly-smut fics (some with more plot, some with very little. Also mostly bottom!Connor, sorry if you're a big fan of bottom!Hank):

Tell Me How to Feel a Thing (I Want it All)* by bibliomaniac

Nightcall* by FAB900

Pulse* by biocomp

concede, comply (contend, deny) by biocomp

Slide On In* by teasoni

Glut* by bigolegay

Pleasure Liberation* by (orphan_account)

Knuckle, Buckle, Kneel* by Synekdokee

Flowers in My Mouth* by Molias

Finally, there are a couple of fics that I'm currently reading: Synthetic Blues* (ongoing) by jaemyun, downloading to paris (ongoing) by sevdrag, A Seraphim Story* (finished) by anonymousEDward, and Electric Indigo* (ongoing; unsure if on hiatus) by taranoire. All worth checking out!!

WHEW. Okay, I think I'm done. There are sooo many good fics out there, and I've only read a few out of a sea of thousands. If anyone has their own recs, feel free to add them! I will definitely be adding more the more I read :)

[spentgladiator]

Got tagged by @thefuzzhead for a music meme!!!

The aim is to put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs + tag 10 people. I shuffled my liked songs on spotify which is a good cross section but not comprehensive of my music tastes

New Star Song - The Mountain Goats

That's Just the Way that I Feel - Purple Mountains

TiK ToK - Ke$ha

Victorious - Panic at the Disco

You're Part of it - Ben Quad

Rambin' Man - Allman Brothers Band

Sweet and Tender Hooligan - The Smiths

The (Shipped) Gold Standard - Fall Out Boy

We Own The Night - Dance Gavin Dance

Scotch Grove - The Mountain Goats

Hmm. Man heavy.

I tag @rileyquinn32 @nonactingspicyperson @starwarspissorgy @thesecondcharlie @sun-through-the-trees @muckmage @parad0xymoron @lumeninfusco (I'm sure you did one like this not long ago LOL) @catnipfelix @drsarahphd

[cashandprizes]

Wip Wednesday

First things first - it's still Wednesday in some parts of the world. Second I was tagged by my beloved @autisticempathydaemon who has baited me with a tag game into sharing my nonsense once again.

Well folks. We're back with stripper!Gavin and Lasko, despite the fact that Gavin is BODYING me and WILL NOT whisper his secrets to me. His voice eludes me, but man can I spin this guy around a pole as revenge. The gist is Gavin works as a stripper at an empowered strip club (get your bag and your meal girl) as one of the most popular dancers because he's a demon and the rest of the DAMN crew go out for a fun night.

Also Lasko and FL are dating currently and Lasko/Gavin/FL is endgame, even though the fic is Lasko-centric (for now????)

Honestly these club names have hands too, if you have ideas for stage names or the club's name I am open. Please help me.

Recommended listening is of course, Money by Cardi B, because this is slowly becoming more and more like a song fic.

Anyway, while this is technically not explicit, it's probably nsfw so my usual content warnings apply here. Minors do not interact, canon-typical anxiety for Lasko, warnings for language from Miss Cardio Bascular, they're in a literal strip club

Get a little cash,

“It’s just, you know, very, um, impressive?” Lasko stutters, quickly lifting his drink to his mouth and taking several sips. “The… work they do, you know!” Lasko averts his eyes, looking away from his friend and inadvertently ending up watching the stage again. The dancer flashes his teeth in a cocky smile as he leans against the pole and drops into a squat, drawing his hands up his thighs from his knees to grab his own butt and give it a firm smack. Lasko swallows hard and fidgets with his collar absentmindedly as he intently eyes every pop of the dancer’s ass to the heavy beat pounding through the speakers.

“Damn, look at this guy go!” Freelancer cheers, leaning into Lasko’s space to watch from his shoulder. “Man, his ass is iconic,” Freelancer mutters, resting an arm on Lasko’s shoulder to sip their drink. Lasko feels himself cringe at the vulgar words despite agreeing with them, instinctively looking around for reproachful stares and finding none. 

“That poor thong,” Damien jokes from behind them, “it’s getting eaten alive in there.” Freelancer laughs hard, shaking Lasko as they rest their weight heavily against his side.

Shake it real fast and get a little more,

“‘Poor thong’? That’s probably the best seat in the house for the show Dames,” Huxley adds while the dancer spins inverted on the pole with his legs open in a split. Freelancer makes a noise of agreement from Lasko’s side and snuggles closer. “I wonder what kind of training you gotta do to do all those flips. I bet their strength training is so insane bro.”

Lasko only distantly processes the conversation, occupied with ogling the way the light catches the dips and valleys of muscles in the dancer’s thighs as he rolls his body off the pole to the rhythm. “You say that like your strength training isn’t absolutely absurd, Hux. You can probably bench twice your weight or some ridiculous amount,” Damien retorts, words quick but his tone playful and flirtatious. No doubt behind him Damien is reaching out to squeeze Huxley’s arm just to make him flex, but Lasko can’t tear his eyes from the jiggling and rippling muscles on stage slowly chipping at his sanity.

I got bands in the coupe, 

“Ugh, there those two go,” Freelancer whisper-yells, the eye roll audible in their tone. “Let’s ditch these saps and get closer to the stage, huh?” Before Lasko can attempt to respond, Freelancer is dragging them through the crowd with a firm hand on his wrist, tugging him between densely packed bodies.The busy area around the bar gives way to the open space around the stage where the current dancer is running hands across his chest and throat with obscenely spread legs.

Despite the fact that Freelancer has probably only dragged Lasko closer to the stage to watch him fluster, he can’t help but be grateful for the better view of the vision of sin writhing on the stage. Like this, he doesn’t have to keep moving to try and see the stage around people crowding the bar, leaving him open to focus all his energy on keeping his mouth closed and basically eye-fucking the captivating dancer. The dancer uses the pole to gracefully stand before jumping onto the pole and quickly scaling it as if movement is effortless. He curves his back across the pole and frees one hand to grab one heel, stretching one long leg up and back to display toned, hairless thighs and the skimpy leather underwear that hardly covers anything. 

Lasko recognizes the song coming to a close and finds himself surprised at his own disappointment as the dancer climbs the pole. The final seconds of the song blast through the speakers and the dancer does a series of complicated movements that end in his legs hugging the pole as he bends backward with a deep arch in his spine. Perfectly timed with the last note, the dancer’s eyes sweep up from the people tossing money in front of him, up and across the room until he locks eyes with Lasko and gives a licentious wink. Freelancer looks over with wide eyes when Lasko sags into their side as if a puppet with cut strings, but Lasko is too busy feeling faint to apologize.

Touch me I'll shoot

There’s no mistaking that the dancer made eye contact with him, Lasko thinks, watching as the dancer gracefully slides down the pole and collects the heap of tips at the base of the stage. “Give it up for [insert Gavin’s stripper name idk it yet] once again! Next up to the pole, did someone call for delivery because he’s got an extra large sausage… pizza! Make some noise for your favorite pizza guy, [insert Guy’s stripper name gdi]!” The dancer struts off stage, stuffing bills into his strappy outfit as a new dancer saunters onto the stage from the other side in a costume that looks like a cross between a Hooter’s uniform and a slutty maid costume.

[lostquinn]

Can i request Connor with diabetics or depressed s/o . I just have both and life is pretty hard so i just want to be comforted be my lovely android boy . But if your not comfortable with it it's fine

Feeling low?

Connor (dbh) x diabetic!fem!reader

Fluff // hurt comfort

Summary - reader makes an attempt to fix her low blood sugar, making he way towards the break room swiftly ready to relieve the symptoms. It isn't long before Gavin inturrups and Connor comes to her rescue.

Ahhh, hi friend thank you so much for the ask!! The depression comfort piece will be coming later as I'm splitting it up^^ any of my lil followers can send me an ask or even message me to be on my tag list for upcoming pieces!! I hope I did a good job !!

Word count - 824

With heavy eyelids, you lifted yourself from the seat at your desk. Your mug firmly in hand as you began your mission to the break room in search of coffee. Any sugar you added to the beverage would rescue you from your low blood sugar.

A sigh escaped you lips as you noticed Gavin Reed looming around by the coffee pot. You decided to hesitantly continue, your decision was swayed by the way your hands began to shake as they clutched your mug.

Quietly, you stumbled up to the coffee pot and began to pile sugar into your mug, creating the bitter beverage the way you had done so many times before.

"Woah, coffee is for humans only," Gavin grumbled, swiping your mug from the counter.

You felt eyes lingering on you from somewhere in the police department as you met his gaze, your expression soft as you reached for the mug.

"Gavin- please,"

"Why should I let a perfectly good drink go to waste?" He responded, holding the mug up high.

You heard footsteps approaching swiftly, stopping in the doorway. Briefly, you glanced to check who it was and upon seeing Connor a slight smile graced your lips. He was always there for you.

"Give her the mug, Detective Reed," Connor moved to stand next to you, noticing your shakey demeanour as sweat gathered on your forehead.

Gavin furrowed his eyebrows, glaring at the two of you. "The plastic prick standing up for the other plastic prick, how funny. No human cares about you androids so you have to care about each other."

As he spoke, Gavin began to tip the contents of your mug into the sink. His words hit you like a train, followed by the sight of your saving grace disappearing caused your eyes to burn as tears began to well, daring to spill over.

Once the mug was empty, he dropped it into the sink. Gavin then brought two fingers to your arm, tapping where your glucose monitor sat.

"Fucking android."

Beside you, Connor balled his hand into a fist and squared out his shoulders, shifting on his feet slightly. You glanced up at him from the corner of your eye as tears began to spill down your cheeks.

Connor swung his arm, connecting his fist swiftly with Gavins stomach. Gavin brought one of his hands up to his stomach and fell to the floor with a thud. He began coughing as Connor lifted his foot and connected it with the detectives shoulder, kicking him over so that he lay on the floor.

"You should watch your mouth around her, and treat her with respect." Connor hissed at Gavin.

He quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you from the break room, dragging you down a hallway of the police department for a short while before he pushed you into an empty room.

Connor let go of your hand, his cold hand retracting briefly before he pushed you further in the room. His hands wrapped around your waist as he lifted you onto an empty desk. Your face flushed red at this act.

The android smiled at you as you sat on the desk, confused. Soon, he furrowed his eyebrows then began to dig in his pockets. It didn't take long for him to produce a bag of your favourite candy, thrusting it into your direction.

"It's for you," His expression was soft and warm as he looked at you.

You reached your shakey hand out, taking the candy and opening it. "Connor, these are my favourite,"

"I know, that's why I got them for you," he leant against another desk, which sat behind him.

A slight blue blush lit up his cheeks as he watched you enjoying the candy, glad he could help you. He loved being the one to help you, no matter what the issue he was there for you.

"You didn't have to do that to Gavin you know," you mumbled after a short while.

"I know, I wanted to," His smile widened.

Soon, you had had enough of the candy and held it on your lap. "Thank you for everything,"

"May I give you something else?" Something in his eyes seemed to light up as he looked at you.

"Sure," you shrugged.

Swiftly, he stood up and moved closer to you, using the space between your legs to get as close as he could. He seemed to embrace your warmth as he placed a delicate kiss on your cheek. His hand wiped away any stray tears, his touch gentle as he leant into you.

"You're perfect," He muttered into you ear.

Butterflies spiralled in your stomach as you clutched the packet of candy in your hand, your skin lighting up under his touch.

"I- Connor-"

He then leant down towards you glucose pump, your eyes on him as he inched closer. He left a soft kiss on top if it before mumbling once more.

"Perfect,"

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin Magary x reader!

co-written with the bestie CheshireCatSmile

Warnings: none for this chapter but there will be smut, and tons of it!

Summary: When you started working at the lumber mill, you couldn't help but instantly fall in lust with the strong, quiet younger brother. But you're determined to keep it professional, until one work trip suddenly changes it all.

Notes: I'm actually terrified to post this so if you can drop a like or have a kind word, it would mean the entire world! Thank you to @jdms-kus-babygirl for encouraging me to post! @shirley-girly @billybutcherxyou @burntsaltsblog

notes: we have more than 22k words of this already written but it's an editing mess so I will be posting as I can get each part edited, let me know if you want tagged! Always lusting for Karl...

Karl Urban Masterlist

part 1

The early morning sun is just beginning to shine into the little  dusty windows of the office of Magary Lumber Mill, when you hear Gavin’s big boots thudding up the wooden stairs outside. When he opens the door to the little office, he heads straight to your desk without thinking. 

"Good morning,” he smiles at you. His hazel eyes seem to linger for a moment, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “I um,” his gaze sweeps over you again, warming you from the inside, “I like that top...it brings out your eyes…”

You blink up at him for a moment, taken aback by his compliment, but he changes the subject before you can think of how to answer. “How're things looking this morning? My brother in yet?"

Gavin picks up a sheaf of papers and mail you had set aside for him, sorting through them casually. He has on his usual button-up shirt, but it’s already warm and he has the sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscled forearms, tanned from his work outside. A couple of the top buttons are undone, and you can see a glimpse of his broad chest underneath.

“Um yes,” you answer, trying not to sound flustered. “He called this morning and said something’s come up. He wants you to get ahold of him as soon as you got in.” 

Gavin replies with a non-committal hum as he continues to sort through the forms and contracts he has and you watch him for a moment, gathering your courage. “Do you really like this shirt or are you just trying to get me to finish your paperwork for you again?” you tease playfully.

Gavin looks up at you grinning again. "No, I really do like it darlin'. When do I ever try to get you to do my extra paperwork?” He winks at you and his grin widens, showing his dimple.

His smile and his compliment make your heart skip a beat but you’re at work so you clear your throat putting it out of you mind, even though you can’t deny how good he looks when he does smile. He hasn’t smiled very much since you started working here. “Well I would list all the times you have but you should probably go call Jack.”

"Okay, I'm on it. Are the kids okay? Or did he say?" Gavin shuffles through a few more papers and looks up at you with concern in his eyes. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He always shows how much he cares for his niece and adopted nephew, you can’t help but wonder why he’s still so alone himself but you push the thought away. “He didn’t say, but he didn’t sound too concerned, so I’m sure the kids are okay. Something about Grace needing to stay home until she has the baby, I think.”

"Oh yeah...he mentioned she might be lookin’ at bedrest. Somethin’ about one of the labs and another ultrasound I think." He sits on the edge of his desk and connects with his brother and you try not to eavesdrop but it sounds like they have to delay a project if they don't look at that old logging road in the forest out toward the north.

You bite your lip as you give up on being discreet and listen to his side of the conversation. If that trip gets pushed back, it’s going to push everything else back as well and the schedule will be a mess. There’ll be no way to keep all the upcoming jobs for summer. He thumbs off the phone with a heavy sigh. 

“Jack can’t go out to Morrow County with you?” you ask, turning in your chair.

He looks up, his dark hazel eyes studying you as though he’s debating something. "No. I...I was wondering...nah, it's too much to ask,"  he says but you can see the wheels turning in his head.

You sit up a little straighter, realizing what he’s about to say. You won’t miss this chance. “I can go with you.” He looks surprised, but it’s the perfect solution. It’s too much for him to go alone and you’d love to get away, out into nature again. 

“Are you sure?” He lifts a brow. “It’ll be almost a week. You don’t have anyone…?” 

You grin at him. “No, it’s just me. I’m all alone. No pregnant wife at home.”

He chuckles a little, but chews his lip before he smiles at you again. "Well if you're sure it wouldn't be too much of an imposition I would really appreciate your help. We just can't afford to put this off. Do you have a backpack you can throw a few things into at home? I already have my gear with me but I can run you home to pack?"

“Yes, absolutely. I used to love going hiking out in the middle of nowhere but I haven’t had time since I’ve been on my own. Just work, you know.” You clear you throat again, a little embarrassed about having shared that with him. Your jobs before had been awful but this one was amazing and paid well and you didn’t want him to think otherwise. “Are we camping, or…?”

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind. Then, quite a ways in there's an old loggers' cabin I want to check out. See what kind of repairs it might need so it can hold a few of the men on their shifts without having to go back and forth every day." He walks over to your desk and looks down at you a moment. "Y'know I probably shouldn't say this but...I’m glad your free without any ties at home…but I can't believe some guy hasn't snapped you up ages ago. Their loss." He clears his throat. "Anyway, um...we should probably head out."

Your stomach flutters wildly at his implication…there can’t be any way…does he like you? 

“Yeah. Yes,” I swallow. “I love camping. It’s been too long. And I’d love to see that cabin.” 

Suddenly you’re more than a little excited. You were down about the upcoming week, expecting it to be dull and awful, all alone in the office, but now… He is so handsome…in his well-fitting jeans (he literally has the best ass you’d ever laid eyes on) and his hard hat, when he gets all serious and hard working. You wonder if this might be your chance to really get to know him better. Yes, he could be a little arrogant at times, and impatient, but you couldn’t help but see the times he thought of his brother or family, or his men first, above all. You know there was some incident and there are people in town that hate him. He pretends not to care but you know it hurts him sometimes. 

“Let’s go,” you agree. He opens the door for you and locks it behind you.

part 2

[sunwarmed-ash]

Writing Patterns

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Bella was freezing to death. Love bites but so do I- twilight polyfic

2. Billy’s pissed tonight. Love me or hate me I just don't care-stranger things fic

3. It’s cold today. Here (in your arms)- Mungrove fic

4. Gavin’s not really a Christmas person. DPD Christmas Party- Hankvin1700

5. It was over. Separation Anxiety- eddie/peter/venom, parksborn, spideypool

6. We apperated onto the floor of our small, emphasis on small, one bedroom flat in Edinburgh after a whirling sensation stole the rest of my faculties. Silence Isn't Golden- Drarry heavy angst fic

7. “...I’m not gay,” Billy says for the third time, interrupting their kiss and irritating Eddie now. Figure You Out- Steddiegrove, Rydon, P!ATD

8. The first time Gavin Reed visits the home of Lt. Hank Anderson, his partner and superior, was the worst phcking night of his life… My love language is misery- Hankconvin hurt/comfort

9. “What's next for Jamie Tartt?” Triangles are the strongest shape- Roy/Jamie/Keeley

10. Ever since the tragic, bloody end of the Battle for Detroit, Connor began living with Hank undercover. The Eden Club- Hankconvin

AN: okay but the consistent pattern of 1-5 comprising of only a few words was cracking me the fuck up. I was happy to get a break in the pattern by 6.

Tagging: No pressure, of course! @lizzy0305 @sweeteatercat @treeffles @cuillere @disdaidal @geekinglikeaboss @moviemuncherao3 @negative-citadel @eevylynn @writerwhowritesao3 @advictoriams @destroya2005 @p3ski @heiko-goes-detroit

[dominimoonbeam]

Practice Makes Perfect - 8

The college au continues!!

tags: no magic au, college au, idiots in love all over the place, smut, flirting, rampant crushes

Full fic on ao3. <3

Asher/David, Milo/SH, Huxley/Gavin

Practice Makes Perfect - 8

Gavin did not talk Huxley into coming back to his place after breakfast with the team, or suggest he follow him into the bathroom while they were there. He didn’t even ask what he was doing tonight. He did talk about his art projects more than he ever had outside of a class before and offered to send Huxley some pictures of his work if he didn’t mind sharing his number.

Now, in his loft, he frowned at his phone and that new contact.

Huxley had smiled and given him his number.

Gavin wasn’t sure how to start a chat conversation without some heavy flirting or at least a sexy picture… But that didn’t seem to be what Huxley wanted. Talking to him about his work had been so nice and so different than anything Gavin had done before but now that he was home and looking at his phone, it felt weird to just send those pictures of his work or… or what? Ask how he’s doing?

No. Nope.

He put the phone down and walked away from it, shaking his head. He’d have to just leave it for a while. Forget about it until maybe he ran into Huxley again on campus.

His phone chimed and Gavin almost tripped rushing back to the table to look down at it.

He smiled.

‘hey don’t forget to send me the pictures’

Gavin grabbed his phone and practically ran to the back wall of his loft, the side that had become a studio, and started pulling canvases aside to get to the ones he’d been telling Huxley about.

-

They drove a couple people home before finally heading back to their building.

Asher leaned back in the front passenger seat. “So… Gavin and Huxley?”

David shrugged, stopping at the light.

Asher rolled his head to the side to look at him. “Did you know?”

“There’s nothing to know,” he countered, thumb tapping the steering wheel and a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

Asher laughed. “Fuck you. You have to tell me whatever you know.”

David cut a glance at him. “Or what?”

Asher grinned. “Or I’ll torture the truth out of you.”

David laughed, eyes on the road again as he pulled through the stop. “Yeah. No offense, but I don’t think you can even pin me.”

“I don’t have to pin you, big guy.”

David raised an eyebrow.

Asher sighed, breathy, looking forward. He’d been pent up all day. It had been the longest fucking breakfast of his life and for the first time he wasn’t hungry. He dropped one of his hands on his own thigh, on the soft fabric of his sweats. Another deep breath and he moved his hand higher, palming his erection through his pants. He gasped, rolling his head back and squeezing himself.

“What are you… Oh shit… Asher.” David had both hands on the wheel now, sitting up straighter.

“I’ve been thinking about you all morning…”

David clenched his teeth and Asher groaned at the sight of his jaw ticking under that strain.

-

David had felt a shudder roll down his spine at the first sigh Asher let loose, before realizing why.

“I’m so hard,” Asher said, palming himself through his pants in the seat beside him.

David tried not to look, but he could see him in his periphery—could see him squirming and rubbing himself.

“Davey…” he whined.

David groaned, his own cock already hard and straining the front of his pants. “Fuck…”

“Yes… Please…”

David shivered. “You are a menace.”

Asher moaned and nodded. “Your menace. Can I take it out?”

David hissed at his boyfriend through his teeth, having to mentally make the effort not to speed. “Knock it off.” At least until he was parked… Fuck, as soon as he had this truck parked…

Asher squirmed in his seat, whining and squeezing himself, his loose sweats wrapping around the shape of his erection. “At the diner… I kept thinking about getting under the table and between your thighs.”

David shook his head. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“Yeah? Are you going to spank me?” he asked breathily, smiling around the words before his breath caught. “Or are you going to pound me until I say sorry?”

David groaned. “What the fuck are you trying to do right now?”

“Right now?” he panted a little, seeming to be torturing himself. “Right now I just want you to say that I can take my cock out and stroke it… Please?”

David’s whole body shuddered.

Asher was still breathy, still low in his seat and watching him. “Or… you could tell me what you know about Huxley and Gavin? Maybe… Maybe that will distract me until we get to the apartment…”

David swore. “You’re a fucking monster.”

Asher groaned, shaking his head. “No, I’m just hungry for your monster—”

“Stop.”

Asher froze, hand still on himself, waiting.

David bit back a laugh, his whole body aching to pounce on Asher. “God, I’m going to make you pay…”

“Mmm… But?” His long fingers lifted his shirt up his stomach, slowly starting to push the elastic of his pants and underwear down…

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, okay. Stop before I crash.” He laughed darkly, shaking his head. “You’re going to be so sore tomorrow…”

Asher moaned. “Promises… Now spill, before I do.”

-

Darlin climbed the steps up to the third floor, looking at the address on their phone. This place wasn’t far from campus. Walking distance, and close to the park in between for jogging. The rent the guy was asking for the spare room wasn’t bad either.

Darlin had been between places for a few months now, not that they’d told anyone that.

It wasn’t like they had a lot of stuff, bags and things left in lockers and at friends’ apartments, spread out enough that no one thought much of it. And it wasn’t hard to find a place to crash. Really, did they even need their own room?

The answer was yes. Yes, of course they did. They wanted their own room. They wanted a place to go and just be alone sometimes.

They doublechecked the apartment number on their phone to the one on the door and then pocketed the device. Knocking twice they stepped back and stuffed their hands into their jacket pockets, waiting. Please, just be a normal person. A nerd even. That would be great.

The door swept open and a beautiful man smiled at them. “Well, hello.”

Darlin smiled back. “Quinn?”

He offered his hand. “And you must be Darlin. Doesn’t really suit you.”

Darlin shook and laughed a little. “You’re not the first to say so. My parents had a sense of humor.” They didn’t, but it sounded nice.

“Come on in. I’ll give you the grand tour.” He stepped back, holding the door and still watching them.

There was something in the way he watched them… Darlin wasn’t sure if they liked it or not.