#not even the barest hint of a please or thank you?? yikes

[we-dont-talk-about-potato-nonono]

Can you draw Enid From Netflix's Wednesday?

kitten.. i’ve already drew her with Wednesday before

[hyoyawns]

I'm not even a content creator but when people request from them with not even the barest hint of a please or thank you?? yikes. can't imagine just dropping a name and video/era and expecting it to just be pumped out.

[chelsfic]

Part 6 Trustfall - August Walker/Reader - Mission: Impossible Fallout fanfic

Part One; Part Two; Part Three; Part Four; Part Five

A/N: Here is the long awaited final part of Trustfall. I debated writing a more G-Rated ending, but I felt I kinda owed my readers some smut, lol. So this part is rated Explicit. Also, there is just a touch of Fem!Dom in here. It’s not really kinky, though, it’s more about the reader regaining control after August has been messing up her life for so long. I can’t give enough thanks to everyone who has liked, reblogged, commented and started following me. You guys are the best.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: A touch of Fem!Dom, Smut!

Your leg flares up worse than ever in the days following the disastrous meeting with the Russians. You’re not sure if the cause is psychosomatic--maybe the pressure and terror of that situation brought up feelings from the past--or if you re-injured the muscles running up the stairs. Either way you’re in pain. And August is acting more distant than ever which doesn’t do much to improve your mood. Every time you start to think you’ve made progress, moved forward into a new phase of being with him...he pulls away from you.

Not a word has passed between you regarding your kiss. Instead he shuts himself in his room and only emerges at meal times. But despite this distance he’s also been overly considerate for the last few days. One day you come home from work to find that he’s done all the grocery shopping for the week. You can’t remember how many times you’ve put off shopping and loudly proclaimed your disdain for the chore. And though he’s been staying up in his room, when he does emerge he finds you wherever you happen to be and brings you cups of tea without you asking. He finds you curled up with a book and drops an afghan blanket over your shoulders then walks away without a word. It’s just weird.

***

August stands over the stove stirring a pot of spaghetti. No one would call him a gourmet cook but he can manage pasta. Y/N is due home any minute and he’s already feeling the flare of shame and guilt that stabs at him whenever he sees her. It’s not just that he hurt her, shot her in the leg causing permanent damage. Although, yikes, that is a big part of it. But then he came back, forced himself into her life and started to fall for her despite his best efforts. Worse than that he watched as she developed feelings for him. Knowing all along how cruel it was to attach this girl any further to his life. Knowing that just being in proximity to him would put her in danger. And then he’d betrayed her again. Inviting that danger into her home and nearly suffering the ultimate penalty as a result. He should walk away. A good man would walk away.

All week he’s been struggling to keep himself from her. To insert distance between them to make it easier to...leave. But he hasn’t left, he’s lingered like a love sick coward. He’ll tell her tonight. Over dinner. It will be easier for both of them this way.

***

By the time you get home from work you have just enough energy to collapse onto the couch and reach for the remote control. Your eyelids are already drifting shut when August walks in balancing two bowls of pasta, a bottle of wine and two glasses in his arms. You scoot up a bit to allow him room on the couch and watch with an amused smirk as he sets everything carefully onto the coffee table.

Today was the class trip to the aquarium. With your leg hurting all week it had been close to torture having to spend four hours chasing around a bunch of seven-year-olds, but you made it. It feels absolutely luxurious to just stretch your legs out on the couch toward August and lean back into the cushions. You let out a long sigh and absently rub your calf, groaning in a mixture of pain and relief. You glance up at August to find him staring down at your leg, his mouth twisted in a frown.

“August?” you murmur, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Please talk to me, you’ve been so...quiet all week since…”

He looks up at you and you see that his eyes are glassed over with unshed tears. Your heart catches in your throat and you shift closer to him, wrapping your arms around his trembling shoulders. August collapses into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and clenching your blouse in his fists as if he’s afraid you’ll run away if he doesn’t hold onto you.

You can feel his tears, wet on your neck and he whispers your name into your skin, “Y/N...I’m...I’m sorry.”

You stay silent for a while, just holding him and rubbing soothing circles into his back. The man is over a foot taller than you and twice as wide, but he’s curled up in your embrace like a child. You press your lips into his curls and whisper, “I know, August... I forgive you.”

***

You take him to your bed and it’s not at all like you’d imagined. And you have imagined it. In your fantasies August is always in control. His fierce violence broiling beneath the surface as he slams into you, pinning you to the mattress and taking his pleasure with masculine ferocity.

Instead he’s soft, quiet, compliant. He lets you hold his hand and guide him up the stairs and into your bedroom. You nudge him toward the bed and he falls onto his back, boneless, looking up at you with eyes that shine with adoration. You understand without him saying a word that he is giving over everything to you tonight: control, power, himself. He won’t take one more thing from you that isn’t freely, joyfully given.

In this room--only feet away from the place where you’d lay bleeding on the floor, where you’d begged him not to hurt you--you will reclaim your power.

You stand at the edge of the bed, looking down at this man--his divine body, his achingly beautiful face. You catch his eyes and smile, reaching out to hold his hand. You’re not sure why, but you think he needs the reassurance of physical touch as much as you do.

“I want you, August,” you whisper, voice ragged with emotion. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. I don’t want you to feel sorry or ashamed anymore. Do you understand? I’m giving myself to you.”

August’s lips part in awe at your words and at your overwhelming goodness and bravery. He doesn’t deserve you. But it’s not up to him to decide if he gets to have you. You’re giving yourself to him and he must accept you.

“Yes,” he hisses, sitting up and placing his palm flat against your hip. “I want you too, Y/N.”

“Take off your clothes,” you whisper with the hint of playful authority in your tone. 

August unbuckles his belt, squirms out of his blue jeans and pulls his shirt over his head. His body is like a prayer. You want to worship it. With trembling hands you start working at the buttons of your shirt, but your movements are slow and clumsy. August kneels before you on the bed and shoos your hands away, making quick work of the shirt and your bra underneath. He brushes his calloused fingers under the waist of your skirt and you moan in desire. You’re not sure when you first started wanting this. But it feels like it’s been forever. 

He pushes the skirt down and grasps your hips in his large hands, guiding you on the bed until you’re both kneeling on the soft mattress facing each other. Your breasts brush against his chest hair and you feel your nipples harden in response. Even kneeling, August is still a head taller than you. He dips his face down to yours and presses a soft, firm kiss to your lips. You twine your arms around his shoulders, climbing onto him and deepening the kiss, stroking your tongue into his mouth as you wrap your legs around his waist. He cups your ass in his hands, holding you up and kneading you with strong fingers. You grunt against his lips, his fingers are electric, sending waves of pleasure straight to your wet core.

August lets his balance shift, falling onto his back with you straddling his waist on top of him. Your hair falls in a shower around his face and you toss it to once side, desperately laying kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his neck, chest. You can feel his rigid cock brushing against your ass through the fabric of your panties. You rock your hips, rubbing against him and eliciting a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

“You are beautiful,” you whisper into his mouth as you capture his lips in another fierce kiss. When you pull back his pupils are dilated in wanton pleasure and his mouth is hanging open as you continue to rock your ass backward against his rigid length. “You want me, August?”

He nearly cries with desperation, “Yes, yes, I want you.”

You move off of him for a moment, shimmying out of your panties and tossing them to the floor. He does the same with his boxer briefs letting his thick cock spring free, straining into the air and begging for relief. Your eye’s gleam with delight and you shift downward, hovering over his cock and letting your hot breath brush over the head. August keens in need but he doesn’t move an inch, merely balling his fists into your comforter. He wants you so badly, but he’s determined to let you make all the first moves tonight. 

You brush your lips along the length of him, just the barest contact, rubbing his penis over your mouth, your cheeks, worshiping him. You’re throbbing with painful desire and you can’t wait any longer. You crawl up his body, swing your leg over his hips and sit back, guiding his cock inside you in a swift sudden motion. The intrusion is a delicious shock to your senses. You cry out in pleasure at feeling so full. August brushes his palms over your hips, begging for motion. You oblige, rocking on top of him and building up to a rapid pace. There will be time later to go slowly. Right now you can hardly bear the sweet ache of your building pleasure. August grips your hip with one hand and delves the other one into the space between you, brushing his rough fingertips over your clitoris and eliciting a shuddering whimper from you. He presses harder, circling the bud as you ride his cock. He’s about to come, rigid and twitching inside you. He vigorously rakes his fingers over your flesh, urging you over the edge with him. You let go.

You fall forward into his arms, muscles shaking and sweat coating your skin. He hugs you against him, pressing your face into his chest and grazing his fingers along your spine. He lays a soft kiss on your forehead and sighs. He can’t remember a time he’s felt so content.

You stroke your fingers through his chest hair and smile slightly, craning your neck to look up at him, “You’re mine now, you know. There’s no getting away from me now.”

August smiles down at you. Only an hour ago he’d been planning out how to tell you he was leaving. Thinking it was the best thing for both of you. Now, holding you in his arms with the aftershocks of your love panging through his body he rethinks things. Maybe it’s time to stop making decisions for you instead of with you.

“I’m yours,” he whispers with a contented smile, tightening his arms around you. “I’m not letting go.”

That’s it, that’s end!

Tags:

@thorins-queen-of-erebor​ @viking-raider  @onceuponathreetwoone @angelic-kisses13 @afangirldaydreams @peeyewpeeyew @calwitch @scuzmunkie @its-laurie-mercier @together-all-alone  @blablatiti @multi-fandom-ficrecs @ohjules @suueeeeeee @strangerliaa

[archadianskies]

people keep teasing us about being a couple so we come up with a plan to fake date and have a fake breakup so they’ll feel awkward and leave us alone, OR, my ex is an asshole and I really don't want them to think I'm still in love (Simon/RK900, unless you've got someone else in mind!)

「 hold me, til i’m not lonely anymore  」 → on Ao3

The thing about those long days and nights in Jericho before Markus’ arrival is that hopelessness makes any relationship seem positive. Bonding out of desperation and survival seemed the right thing, the perfectly normal thing, to do at the time to soothe his abandonment issues and incessant craving for validation and affection. 

It had started off as a healthy relationship- a broken runaway PL600 and a discarded AX700, two domestics with no family to care for but each other. They had found solace together, and the cold dreary nights in the rotting freighter seemed just a little warmer. But Gideon was possessive, fiercely so, and detested Markus’ pacifist ways even though for the first time it seemed Jericho meant something, and had purpose and direction. Even as Simon quietly pined and yearned for Markus’ eloquence and easy affection and gentle demeanour, he stayed by Gideon’s side.

The possessiveness doesn’t stop after they win the revolution, and though they’re now recognised as living, sentient beings Simon still feels like he’s no more than an object owned by another. Gideon wants to make all the decisions, plans where they are to live and what’s to fill their apartment and how much time Simon is allotted to spend at Jericho. He is a broken runaway PL600, and so one quiet unassuming afternoon when Gideon is on a supply run with his team, Simon simply packs up his favourite jumper and a spare packet of thirium and runs away. 

He hops from place to place, from the sprawling, colourful Manfred Manor to Josh’s quiet little apartment crammed with books, to North’s haphazard, eclectic Eden commune. They are his friends, they remind him, and they welcome his company even if Simon feels like he’s intruding into their organised lives.

To combat the ache for companionship, Simon throws himself into work; there is much to do now they are legally Alive. Without Gideon planning every moment of his life, Simon helps out as much as he can. When Markus informs them of the DPD requesting an android liaison to ensure open communication between Jericho and the police, Simon volunteers. 

He knows Connor well now, knows the deviant hunter turned deviant is blossoming as an individual. He has likes and dislikes, a friendly, open personality and an eagerness to help. He also has a family now- a human father, a dog, and an android brother. 

“Simon this is my RK900 brother, Ronan.” Connor introduces them, and Simon takes in the looming figure who looks like Connor but not quite. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ronan.” They shake hands and his grip is as firm as Simon expects an upgraded RK800 to be. 

“It is an honour to meet you, Simon of the Jericho Four.” He replies with a nod, all crisp received pronunciation; a polished British accent is not on the list of things Simon expects though somehow it suits the tall, handsome not-RK800. 

Gideon confronts him one unassuming afternoon when he is supposed to be on a supply run but isn’t. 

“You left so suddenly.” There’s anger and betrayal in his eyes.

“I did.” Simon nods.

“It’s supposed to be us against the world!” He steps forward and Simon steps back. “All those days and nights in Jericho, hoping and waiting for a world where we’d be free and here we are! Why did you leave?”

“I too am alive, Gideon.” Simon replies slowly, unable to quell the sick anxiety rising in his core. “You don’t own me, or my time.”

“I’m the upgraded android,” he sighs heavily and he’s using the patient tone programmed into domestics when talking to children. “I can make the better decisions for us, Simon. You’re an obsolete android with an inferior processing core but I love you all the same. It’s alright, I understand it’s very overwhelming for you now we have many more freedoms than before. I can wait patiently for you to come to your senses. You’ll always have a place in my hearts, and in my life.”

Androids don’t need to shower but Gideon’s words make him feel grimy, as if there’s a layer of filth contaminating his dermal layer and he must wash it off. Gideon’s words play over and over in his mind and Josh worries over his red LED when Simon appears in his apartment to bunk down for the night. Josh wraps him in a blanket and loans him another sweater from his ever growing collection of gifted sweaters, and Simon’s LED slowly cycles yellow. 

*~*

“You are distracted.” Ronan comments as Simon stares blankly at the tablet in his hands.

“Hm?”

“I said,” there’s the barest hint of a smile on his lips, “you are distracted.”

“Oh um.” Simon ducks his head sheepishly. “Yes. Sorry. I um- just…an old acquaintance reared up recently and we parted on not-so-nice terms.”

“Are they a danger to you?” Ronan’s voice loses all its mirth, his expression turning serious and Simon thinks he loves him a little for it.

“I wouldn’t say that. He’s not dangerous, he’s just very…stubborn.” Possessive, Simon wants to say but he doesn’t really want to say it. “We exchanged some words and I’m going to keep my distance.”

“It’s getting late.” Ronan glances outside. “I will walk you home.”

“Oh I-” I don’t have a home. “I’m staying at Josh’s tonight. We’re working on a speech draft together.”

“Then I will walk you to Professor Joshua’s apartment.” He says it so matter-of-factly Simon can’t help but smile.

“Thank you Ronan.”

Gideon finds him two days later when he’s at the creche visiting David, the sole YK500 who made it to and survived Jericho. 

“Are you ready to come home?” Gideon asks, and his voice is soft and gentle the way Simon used to love. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m not going back to you.” Simon says curtly, stepping away from the children so they’re out of earshot. “I don’t want to go back to your home, I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Ah, still thinking it over.” Gideon sighs, his smile placating and Simon hates it, oh he hates it so much. “That’s alright. I’ll wait.”

“You’ll wait forever, then, because I won’t go back to you.” Simon feels the anger burn in his core and he wants to grab him by the shoulders and shout until he leaves but he doesn’t do that because the children are here and the children deserve not to hear raised angry voices. 

“Take your time, my love.” He reaches forward and brushes back a lock of hair from Simon’s face and Simon bites his lip so as not to flinch. 

“Here.” Ronan offers him a soft navy blue scarf that had been wrapped around his neck but a moment ago. “Your hands are shaking. It is common for PL600s to suffer malfunctions in their temperature regulators. Please wear this to help stabilise your internal heat.”

Simon accepts the scarf with a nod and wraps it around his neck and closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of clean knitted wool. He doesn’t want to correct Ronan, doesn’t want to tell him his hands are shaking because of his encounter with Gideon earlier that day and not because of the cold. 

“There’s an integrated cafe closeby, it’s where most of the precinct go to get their hot beverages.” Ronan gestures ahead. “The interior is kept at a pleasant temperature. Shall we have our meeting there?”

“Yes please.” Simon mumbles into the scarf, nodding to doubly confirm. He doesn’t want to think about Gideon, he doesn’t want to acknowledge that small black spot, that gnawing, growing fear for his safety that actually, Gideon might be dangerous after all. 

*~*

The Manfred manor is wonderfully distracting with its eccentric style as eccentric as its owner. Carl Manfred’s abode is crammed with art in many forms, and the bursts of colour against the warm tones make the place feel homely and welcoming and exciting. Simon loves staying over, even if he hasn’t quite mastered how to hide his pining for Markus. 

“Listen, as a big fan of your cooking I know for a fact that’s absolutely delicious,” Leo pipes up, “but I’m not sure you can actually drink that.”

Simon blinks, looking at the mug in his hands and belatedly realising it’s Leo’s hot chocolate and not his mug of thirium.

“Oh, sorry Leo!” He swaps the mugs and sighs tiredly.

“You’re super stressed. Your LED’s been red the whole time. What’s up, Simon?” Leo sets his laptop on the coffee table and scoots closer on the couch. “You alright?”

There’s no harm in telling Leo, Simon reasons with himself, since he’s not a part of Jericho and he’s not even an android.

“My…ex is…clingy.” Forcing the words out is harder than he thinks, and he buries his face in his hands, unable to even look at his human friend. 

“Clingy? Yikes, sorry Simon.” Leo offers a sympathetic grin. “They still don’t get the message?”

“I’ve told him flat out that I won’t go back to him but he’s insisting I just need to think things through.” Simon sips idly at his drink, taking comfort in the heat it provides. “I don’t need to think about it any further- we’re over. I’m not in love with him anymore and I hate that he thinks it’s somehow his decision to make!”

“Wait, Simon, is he-” Leo’s tone changes, and it reminds him of Ronan’s protective tone. “Is he bothering you? Like, stalking you? Threatening you?”

“Well, I mean he’s not-” a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know what to say to him to convince him to let me go! Not- not physically! Just- the idea of me, the idea of us still in a relationship. He needs to let that go!” 

“Say you’ve found someone else. You’ve moved on and so should he.” Leo suggests and Simon slumps down further.

“Leo, he’s a part of Jericho. He’d just find out I made it up.” Simon closes his eyes, feeling the fight drain out of him. “And I hate that some nights I miss him. Or, well, more that I miss being with someone and being loved.”

“You’re better off without him, he sounds gross.” 

“I know.” He thinks back to the early stages of Jericho, to those long cold nights wrapped in Gideon’s arms and how the future seemed a little less bleak. Then he thinks of Gideon’s anger, Gideon’s patronising words, and suddenly those memories seem less sweet and more sour. 

“I mean, I’d say pretend to date Markus but my brother is blissfully oblivious and completely ditzy when it comes to all that.” Leo grins as Simon shoots him a warning glare. “Anyway he’d be a downgrade. You’re absolutely wonderful- no I won’t accept your protests, you are, Simon, I mean it. You deserve someone super cool who will love you and keep you safe and my brother is not that.” A pause, his grin turning cheeky. “Pretend to date one of the Andersons. They’re plenty cool.”

He knows Leo’s teasing him, and it works because he lets out a helpless laugh and even a few days later just thinking about their exchange makes him smile to himself. 

“Hello darling.” Gideon’s voice interrupts his fond musing, and Simon’s smile vanishes instantly. “It’s been two weeks now, are you ready to come home?”

“What part of ‘no’ do you not understand, Gideon?” Simon demands, exasperated.

“Look, I know you’re still finding your feet, it’s okay! I told you I’m patient.” He tries to soothe, palms bared in a calming gesture.

“My feet are firmly planted, thank you very much!” Simon spits, and he is fuming. “I’ve already told you, more than once, that I’m not going back to you!”

“Simon, think about this critically.” Gideon sighs as if he’s been put upon. “You’re a PL600, we’re made for each other. Who will love you if I don’t?”

It feels like Gideon’s reached over and yanked his heart regulator out, and Simon’s struck by how awful, how absolutely awful he feels as those words seep into his core and spread through every cable, every fibre in his body. Plenty, he wants to scream, plenty of people love me, the love of friends is no less than the love of a partner! 

“I’m already seeing someone else.” Simon forces through gritted teeth. “I’ve moved on, and so should you.”

“Oh yeah?” Gideon scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And who’s the guy, Simon? Who’s willing to love a broken, obsolete PL600 if not me?”

“Ronan Anderson.” He clenches his hands into fists, willing himself to be brave, to not back down. “He’s an RK900, with processing capabilities far superior to yours. I’ve upgraded, Gideon. I’m not settling for a lesser model.” Without waiting for a reply, he pivots and strides away even though it feels like his knees will buckle at any moment. It feels like a victory but he knows it isn’t, it isn’t at all.

“Your stress levels, by the way, are astronomical.” North pokes his LED from where she’s lounging on his lap. “What’s up, Si?”

They’re sitting in a common room piled with cushions and beanbags and blankets, in a condominium rising from the ashes of the Eden Club. It’s populated by North’s brothers and sisters, those seeking refuge from their lifetime of abuse. Not many non WR400s and HR400s are permitted inside but Simon’s one of them. It must be a PL600 thing, Simon thinks, to appear so docile and hapless and helpless and the furthest thing from a threat. 

“Si?” North prompts, sitting up and cupping his cheek with her palm. “Hey, c’mon. Look at me.”

“Um-” he takes a shaky breath. “Just…bad breakup, that’s all. Clingy ex, but I think I got rid of him for good.” 

“I can kill him for you.” North shrugs, and though her tone is light Simon doesn’t doubt she’d keep her word. It’s why he loves her. 

“I don’t think it needs to come to that.” He manages a short laugh, shifting to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her soft strawberry blonde hair.

“If it does, I’ll kill him.” Her tone is deadly serious, just like Leo’s had been, just like Ronan’s had been and it makes his hearts ache in a good, good way.

“I know.” He huffs a not-laugh, squeezing her close. “Thank you.”

*~*

It’s been a week since he last saw Gideon and work has kept him busy enough not to dwell on it. With Christmas on the horizon and Detroit’s humans slowly settling back into their lives albeit alongside their newly appointed, newly legal fellow android citizens, the DPD are run off their feet. By extension that means Simon is too, but he welcomes the never ending list of tasks. 

He spends more and more time at the precinct speaking on behalf of Jericho and ensuring both sides are kept updated with current events whether it be the status of yet another bill Markus is fighting for, or the progress on any one of the numerous open cases worked on by Lieutenant Anderson and his sons. 

“Tearium, Simon.” Ronan announces softly as he sets the tall takeaway cup on their shared desk. “Ms Essie says it’s their new milk tea flavour.”

“Thank you Ronan.” Simon smiles tiredly as he takes the cup and carefully takes a sip. The coding spreads on his tongue, sweet and creamy and soothing. He closes his eyes to savour it and sighs in relief. 

“Connor’s just waiting for Captain Fowler to sign off on the report and then we’ll be done.” Ronan takes his seat opposite him. “Shall I walk you home?”

“You can walk me to my taxi at the curb.” Simon corrects. “I’ll be heading to the Manfreds after this.” 

“Good.” Ronan nods, seemingly pleased with the information. “Carl Manfred has a state of the art temperature stabiliser in his home, and it’s forecast to snow overnight.”

“You really don’t need to worry about me, Ronan.” He mumbles into his Tearium, feeling ever the burden. 

“Perhaps. But I do anyway.” There’s something soft in his voice, in the small upward tilt of his lips. “I think we’re permitted to worry over those we care for deeply.”

“Signed!” Connor declares, and the moment is gone as he brandishes the tablet. “Report approved and logged. Time to go home!” He skips down the scant steps from Captain Fowler’s office, placing the tablet on his table and snatching up his coat from the back of his chair. “Shall we drop you off somewhere, Simon?”

“I’ll be catching a cab to the Manfreds, thank you for the offer though, Connor.” Simon declines politely, pulling on his coat and retrieving his half finished drink. He waves goodbye to Miss Stephanie, the ST300 receptionist, on their way out. 

“Oh, it’s snowing already.” Connor holds up his palm, watching the snowflakes flutter down. “Is your cab far away?” 

“Shouldn’t be too far now.” Simon looks down the road. 

“Connor, you head home first. Sumo will need his evening walk before the snowfall becomes heavier.” Ronan opens an umbrella and steps beside Simon, holding it over the both of them. “I’ll keep Simon company and see him home safely.”

They exchange a look Simon can’t quite decipher, a probable conversation he’s not privy to, but it ends with Connor grinning one of his puppylike grins and Ronan ducking his head suddenly and averting his eyes. The older Anderson brother takes his leave and then it’s just Ronan standing very close at his side as the snow falls around them. 

Simon sips at his tea, sneaking the RK900 furtive glances and trying not to think about how very handsome he is and how he’s actually rather funny and far more gentle and kind than his false reputation dictates. He tries not to think of how much he wants his parting words to Gideon to be a reality and not just a lie spit out of spite. 

In a way Gideon is right- who would love Simon, not as a friend but as a partner when he is so broken and obsolete? Certainly not a one of a kind Kamski creation, the saviour of their kind and leader of their revolution. Certainly not the most cutting edge, state of the art android honed like a blade by CyberLife.

“Have a safe trip to the Manfreds, Simon, and goodnight.” Ronan’s voice cuts through his wallowing as the cab tucks itself neatly at the curb. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” For the Tearium, for the umbrella, for waiting, for being patient and humoring him, Simon wants to say. But he doesn’t, and Ronan closes the door and watches him drive off until the cab turns the corner and is out of sight.

Deciding to return the favour the next day doesn’t seem quite fair, and Simon can’t bring himself to buy just one Tearium and leave others empty handed so he ends up buying Teariums for both Anderson brothers, one for Miss Stephanie, and an actual coffee for Lieutenant Anderson. 

He’s partway up the steps of the precinct carefully holding the tray of drinks when he spots Gideon sitting in the reception area. Their eyes meet and Gideon’s standing up and that means it’s too late for Simon to turn tail and run.

“Here Simon, let me help you with that.” Ronan’s voice is a gentle murmur by his side and he nearly jumps out of his casing. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“N-no it’s not- you’re fine, I just-” He’s stammering and Ronan’s expression is one of concern as he takes the drinks from him, Simon belatedly realising his trembling violently. 

“Best to get you inside where it’s warmer.” He keeps stride with him as they enter the precinct, but all Simon wants to do is bolt away.

“So you weren’t lying.” Gideon greets him with a sneer, eyes roaming over Ronan briefly before returning to him. “Somehow convinced the RK900 to take pity on you, is that it? He’s not a domestic, Simon, he can’t take care of you!”

“Simon does not need my pity, or anyone else’s, he is perfectly capable of caring for himself.” Ronan places the tray on the reception desk, sizing up the AX700. “I do not appreciate you coming here to berate him publicly, and I do not care who you are but you will leave.”

“Or are you lying, Simon?” Gideon’s grin is malicious and the lie is unraveling in his hands. “Made up some relationship to make me jealous? Oh but that just means I’m right, doesn’t it? That no else could possibly love you, you broken, obs-”

Ronan’s hand closes around his throat, and the RK900 lifts him off the ground with no effort whatsoever, gaze positively murderous. “I love him plenty. And he didn’t bother telling me about you because you’re not worth his time, nor mine. Get out of here and don’t you ever, ever speak to Simon again.” 

He lets go and Gideon falls to the floor in a heap, scrambling back in fear as Ronan towers over him. “You don’t even deserve to look at him, you cruel little cretin. If I ever hear of you approaching him again I will pull you apart piece by piece, do you understand?”

Gideon nods hastily, whimpering when Ronan lunges down to grab him by the shirt and haul him up.

“I asked: do you understand?” He growls, voice low and threatening.

“Y-y-yes! Yes I understand!” 

“Excellent.” Ronan releases him. “See yourself out, then.”

Scrambling away, Gideon nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to escape and someone laughs a high-pitched almost hysterical laugh and after a moment Simon realises it’s him.

“Are you alright?”

“This isn’t happening.” Simon giggles and his vision is blurry and his LED is red enough it’s emitting heat. “I’m having an actual breakdown.”

“You are not.” Ronan’s expression is serious, his movements purposefully slow as he ever so gently guides Simon through the security gates and into a small room. “You are recovering from an emotionally abusive relationship and it has worn you thin. Your stress is understandable.”

“He- it wasn’t! That’s just how he is, he never hurt me I’m just overthinking things, I’m-” Simon can’t breathe which is an odd thing since androids can’t breathe but it feels like there isn’t enough air ventilating his biocomponents. “I used you, I told him we were together, I lied so he’d leave me alone and now you’re caught up in this, you had to lie to him too and I never meant-”

“What makes you think I was lying?” Ronan embraces him tightly and Simon cries because his system doesn’t know what else to do, how else to cope with his critical stress levels. “I love you plenty. Whether you accept that as the love of a friend or the love of a romantic partner, or not accept it at all- that is your choice to make. You need only tell me once, and I swear I will respect your wishes.”

“Then love me, because I want this to be real.” Simon pleads, and words aren’t enough so he lets the skin recede from his hand and Ronan presses his palm to his and the world falls away until there’s nothing left but the ache of yearning and pining and fondness and affection and love, and love and love.

He tips up just as Ronan leans down and their lips meet and their hearts sync and Simon knows finally this is real.