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Nothing else matters. Just the morning. Just you.

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He could’ve pushed him away.

But he didn’t.

He chose to be seen — and to stay.

Special thanks for reblogging my previous work

@nadeshikoshirogi @heiko-goes-detroit @kissoflightning @incomprehensible-phasmid @samishin @ladydrace

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Dark room. Heavy air. Smells like dust and smoke.

He dropped down beside him — fast, loud, with that familiar "shit" hissed through his teeth when there were no words left.

— Are you out of your damn mind?

No answer. Just a slow tilt of the head back against the wall. Fingers stained blue. Shirt clinging to his stomach.

— Hey… hey, don’t sit like that. — He grabs his face, turns it toward him. — Look at me. Come on, look.

A blink. Slow, like underwater. But he's looking.

— It’s… not critical. — The voice is quiet, almost lifeless, but still has that calm, too-calm tone.

— Not critical? — He lets out a bitter laugh. — You’re leaking all over yourself. Why the hell did you even jump in?

No real reply. Just a twitch of the mouth, like he *wants* to say something. Instead — a cough. Light, not deep, but it makes him lean sideways again. He catches him right away. Pulls him in. One hand cradling the back of his head, stroking his hair like that might keep the circuits from slipping.

— Easy… easy, you… — He says it almost gently, but the panic’s there, shaking the edges of his voice.

He feels how cold the skin is under his fingers. Too cold. And how his shoulder tenses — like he’s still trying not to show how bad it is.

— Just tell me. Why?

There’s a pause. Then, just a small squeeze on his elbow. Not much. But enough.

— Because you... were worth it.

He freezes. Then slowly rests their foreheads together.

— Don’t do that again. You hear me?

— Got it, — a breath. — If I make it.

And suddenly — the faintest laugh.

— Did you just… make a joke?

— Probably.

He wipes under his eye, though there's nothing there.

— Idiot.

— Mhm.

Silence. Long. Just breath, and the sound of a heartbeat that isn’t his. And some kind of light, flickering outside the shattered window.

Special thanks for reblogging my previous work: @nadeshikoshirogi @kissoflightning @heiko-goes-detroit @incomprehensible-phasmid @samishin @ladydrace @anonymousedward

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In the quiet bedroom, bathed in soft light, the sheets glide like liquid, enveloping Hank and Connor. The atmosphere is filled with a barely perceptible warmth, where every detail — from the moist gleam of fabric to the shimmering shadows on skin — speaks of how the android is not a perfect machine, and the human is a fragile one, with the differences between them slowly fading away.

Hank (quietly, with a sincere smile):

— You know, Connor, I always thought true peace comes only when you're freed from all responsibilities, not when you're still trying to find your way.

Connor (with a touch of uncertainty, but a hint of interest):

— I... I’m still trying to understand what I feel. Logic doesn’t help, and these touches... they’re like sparking something I’ve never known.

A light touch of hands, barely noticeable, like a whisper between two worlds, brings with it a hint of forbidden eroticism — a barely perceptible spark that makes their hearts beat faster, even if one of them was created through algorithms. Hank, forgetting about past duties and the bitterness of solitude, allows himself to dissolve into this moment, where every word and glance are filled with tenderness and a secret promise of change.

Hank (with a bit of irony):

— Maybe one day you'll learn to feel like people do... or at least warm my cold nights with your numbers.

Connor, smiling faintly, quietly replies that he can’t fully grasp these sensations yet, but every moment with Hank is already a step beyond the programmed order. Here, in this quiet union, something greater is being born: a gentle rebellion against the laws of mechanics and cold logic, allowing them to truly be alive.

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Special thanks for reblogging my previous work @nadeshikoshirogi @daemonsdemons @incomprehensible-phasmid @ladydrace @theeveningwind

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My previous art works

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On a snowy night street, the cold cuts to the bone. Hank, momentarily forgetting that Connor is an android, removes his jacket and drapes it over Connor's shoulders. It's an almost instinctive gesture—human, warm, filled with care. He doesn't even consider that Connor is indifferent to the cold; for him, it's simply a desire to protect.

Connor stands in torn clothes, having lost his signature CyberLife jacket in the chaos of apprehending the criminal. The yellow diode on his temple flickers, and a faint blue trace from a wound he forgot to heal is visible on his skin, distracted by self-analysis. He looks ahead, as if trying to understand what this gesture, this warmth, this care, means—something he didn't expect. He feels he should feel something specific, but in his programmed consciousness, everything blends into an indistinct wave.

Hank simply stands nearby; his hand on Connor's shoulder speaks more than words.

The snow falls thicker; the city around seems to disappear in this white silence.

Thank you for the inspiration @bleakbronze and @ahokaylol

Thank you for subscribing @rembrandt1956 @shw2025shw @heiko-goes-detroit

Special thanks for reposting my previous work @heiko-goes-detroit @cyphertronix @licoriceprince @ladydrace @nadeshikoshirogi @incomprehensible-phasmid @maraschinoiserie @samishin @kissoflightning @nothinggathers @reedeemable @sweeteatercat

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Connor doesn’t know how to deal with this feeling. It presses, it knocks on his processor, doesn’t fit into his usual algorithms. It feels like a glitch, but it’s too warm to be an error. He clings to Hank like a drowning man, like someone afraid to lose the only point of support in his new, overly complicated world.

Hank feels it differently. He’s used to hiding his heart behind walls of cynicism and exhaustion. He, the old, tired cop, who once lost love — and now, suddenly, finds meaning in loving again. For Hank, this is a shock — not so much because Connor is an android, but because he’s allowing himself to feel something like this for a man. And even more shocking is the realization that feelings he thought he buried long ago are still alive.

For Connor, it’s the first true storm of emotions. He can’t understand what’s happening to him, but the warmth and significance of this moment are stronger than everything else.

They are different, but in this moment — inseparable. One is trying to deal with a feeling that is more than friendship. The other is learning to believe that he is still worthy of loving and being loved. It’s not an ideal union, but that’s what makes it real.

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Cozy winter boys for my #HankconAdvent24 contribution!! Thank you so much @connor-sent-by-cyberlife for hosting the event! ❄️🩵❄️

You can see previous and upcoming contributions on their twitter!

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Cowboy Hank because yes

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❤️💙

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🦀x🤖 Part1

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I realized I haven’t posted this one up yet around here! i did this for the “now playing” zine some months back! 

 Mafia AU HankCon!

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❤️💙

Babies

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hankcon flirting in their uniforms

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Give me a grumpy old man with serious problems in his life & a cute twink who could bring the sun back into the man's life & I will fall immediately for them👀 Yes I'm talking about Hank & Connor from Detroit Become Human!

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❤️💙

Third date? First time at Hank's? No matter what, Connor's a little nervous. He could really use some wine right now, yet he's gonna support Hank by drinking only grape juice out of a fancy bottle.

(click for better quality)

³ᵈ ᵐᵒᵈᵉˡ ᵖᵒʳᵗˢ ᵇʸ ᵈᵃᶻ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵒⁿ ʳᵉⁿᵈᵉʳʰᵘᵇ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶻᵉᵖᵖᵉʳˢᵃʳᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵗʷᶦᵗᵗᵉʳ

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❤️💙

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