#I want them to be about to do a face heel turn for the 32nd time and realize it’s actually gonna be more fun to not and to do the opposite

[ziracona]

I want to know how Hydes work so bad, but I’ve actually decided the most fun way to consume Wednesday would be if they don’t tell us till the fifth season and they’re just constantly having moments as their OG self so, so convincingly, then swapping back to the Hyde like “Lol you bought that huh,” but delivered so you can’t tell if they’re really running a Primal Fear long game and there was never an OG at all, or if sometimes it’s true and sometimes it’s not, or if it really is both and they’re trying to make it seem like it’s always a trick on purpose, or-

[animereaderinsertwriter]

Cupbearer (Eren/Reader)

Part III

Part I

Part II

Part IV (in progress)

Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT (im watching you, if you see this, begone!), vampire!eren, hunter!reader, fem!reader, smut, some amount of predator/prey dynamics but only kinda?? there is also a significant age difference but only cos eren is immortal and all that jazz. we're all adults here. there will eventually be smut.... and do i really need to say that there's gonna be blood in a vampire fic?

Description: A story of falling in love in 4 parts.

Eren is a bad man (well, a bad Creature) who has done bad things. When he meets the great-great-great granddaughter of one of his former friends in his favorite blood bar, however, he thinks it might not matter so much what happened in the past, so long as he can make the future something worth living to see.

Ao3 link here

After that night, it became increasingly hard for (Y/N) to leave, and for Eren to let her do so.

Something between them had changed. There were moments— when Eren would press feather-light kisses against her forehead, when he would casually leave a cup of her favorite tea where she would find it— where (Y/N) felt as though her heart might burst. It was all the little things that baffled her, all the ways in which he seemed to understand exactly how she felt; it was as though he knew her more than she knew herself. On the mornings that she would wake in his bed, sleepy and sticky and wholly content, (Y/N) wondered what it would be like to have this life forever.

Other days— on days like today— she was reminded exactly why that could never be, and it broke her heart.

Today, they had planned a romantic dinner in the park, an evening under the stars. It was supposed to be something special, a little getaway just for the two of them; they had wanted to leave as soon as (Y/N) was relieved from her patrol, so Eren had moved her things to his place, hoping that they could leave together from there for their evening alone.

In and of itself, that was fine… but when (Y/N) came in, covered head-to-toe in viscous Creature blood, Eren was furious.

“And you call me a monster,” he growled, looking her up and down with hate in his eyes. “I can’t believe you.”

He stood from his seat on the sofa, and (Y/N) began to back away, still wary from the fight she had narrowly escaped from unscathed. Her every instinct told her that she should run, fire a round of silver bullets into his chest, but she steeled herself, doing neither.

“It’s not my fault— they were attacking a civilian,” she told him as he stalked towards her, his face twisted into a horrific scowl. “I tried to stop them— tried to find out what was going on— but then they came at me with their claws, and I was left with no choice.”

“There is always a choice,” he snarled, and it was then that anger filled (Y/N) from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. "They were probably terrified of you— how could you possibly blame them for lashing out?"

(Y/N) grit her teeth.

“This, from the man who thought genocide was his only option to the same problem?”

Eren made a low, warning sound in the back of his throat, but (Y/N) pressed on.

“You would rather me have died?” she demanded, stepping into his space. “Would it have pleased you more for my body to bleed out on the pavement, ripped to shreds by an aggressive werewolf? Would you even care, or would you just find the next blood bag and move on with your life?”

“Maybe so,” he shot back, “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your insufferable mouth.”

That stung— but if there was one thing (Y/N) knew how to do, it was to strike back twice as hard as she had been struck.

“Fine then,” she said, turning on her heel. “I won’t bother you any longer. I’ll go out and find someone who actually wants my company, someone who’ll fuck me good and proper over the counter at some hole-in-the-wall bar over on Easy Street, someone younger, with a nicer cock and less fucking baggage— ”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence, or even walk a single step further— Eren grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him, his fist painfully tight against her scalp.

“Wanna say that again, to my face?” he asked, tilting her head back.

“I’ll go find someone else to fuck me,” she spat, struggling in vain against him. “I’ll spread my legs for the next available schmuck in the closest bar I can find, so you can hear me scream his name and not yours.”

It was a low blow, to threaten a vampire’s claim on something they had previously assumed had belonged to them, but (Y/N) didn’t care. She had almost died today, and she’d be damned if she was going to take shit from anyone about what she had to do to survive. If Eren wanted a fight, she would damn sure give him one.

“Like hell you will,” he told her, pulling her head back so that she had to strain to remain standing. “You’re mine. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood— you are my Companion.”

"I belong to no one!"

Those words ripped from her throat and echoed throughout the empty house, and it was then that Eren stopped, looking at her with calculation in his gaze.

"You're right," he said, releasing her hair. "No mortal can serve two masters, lest they love one and despise the other; an archaic religious concept, but an accurate one nonetheless. You've made it abundantly clear where your loyalty lies. I was a fool for thinking otherwise."

(Y/N) began to tremble. "Eren, what are you saying?"

"I release you from our pact," he replied coldly, his eyes so dull and lifeless that it sent a chill down her spine. "No longer are you bound to be my wine-press— I free you from me."

"Eren—"

"Go," he commanded, and (Y/N) felt terribly, horribly empty.

Once, he would have told her to come freely, go safely, and leave something of the happiness she brought him; now, he gave her a cold dismissal, and it frightened her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she went, feeling hollow and used, and she didn't bother to shut the door behind her as she turned to walk home, weary from the day and sick from fighting.

***

Armin had lived for a very long time, but even so, he had yet to meet anyone so foul of temper as Eren when the Hunger was on him.

"Eren, you have to feed."

The vampire, as ill in health as in temper, glared weakly at him. "I'm not hungry."

"But you are Hungry, and don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Look, if this is about that girl—"

"I told you not to speak of her!"

Ah, so it was about her. By the looks of him, it had been two weeks since Eren had fed; Armin would bet that he hadn't seen her in the same amount of time.

"If I need to, I'll drag her here to make up with you myself," said Armin testily, "I refuse to watch my best friend starve himself because he refuses to feed on anyone else."

"You will not touch her."

Armin rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything further. He just patted Eren's arm in farewell and set about finding the little lady who was the root cause of his current consternation.

It took longer than Armin had anticipated to find the young woman who had, for all intents and purposes, completely unraveled Eren's composure; her scent, while thick and memorable in Eren's apartment, was hard to track otherwise. Armin spent two hours just wandering the city while trying to catch a breath of it here or there, and when he finally did manage to catch a whiff of her scent and follow it to her, he understood exactly why it had been so hard to track her down.

The girl was a Hunter, of all things.

When Armin found her, she was knee-deep in sewage, her knife embedded to the hilt in the skull of what appeared to be some species of winged reptile. Armin, having been a tad desperate and not actually having been expecting to find anything when he lifted the lid to the man-hole on 32nd and Main, was surprised to say the least— and when (Y/N) ripped her knife free and readjusted her stance into a defensive one directed at him, his surprise turned to intrigue.

“Er, hello there,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it that I just want to chat, will you?”

Curiously, the words gave the woman pause. She relaxed her stance ever-so-slightly, and then her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Armin Arlert?” she queried, craning her neck up to see him. “Is that you?”

This one grows curiouser and curiouser, he thought, but responded affirmatively.

“Can you give me a bit, then?” she asked, kicking the corpse of the Creature she’d just killed. “I’m not exactly fit for company. Perhaps we could meet later for a discussion over tea?”

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” he said as she knelt to decapitate her prey— likely for proof of victory. “I think you know why I’m here, so you understand that time is of the essence.”

She didn’t look up at him as she replied.

“If this is about Eren, then I don’t have time to talk.”

Her tone was hard, bitter, and matter-of-fact, and it reminded Armin so much of Jean that it hurt… but just like Jean, Armin would bet that she could be won over by appealing to her inherent sense of human decency

“He’s suffering (Y/N),” he said, awkwardly crouching above the manhole so that she could better see the truth written in his eyes. “He won’t feed.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

And oh, how well Armin knew that state of mind. If there was one thing Eren Jaeger knew how to do, it was push away the people who loved him most. Armin had dealt with that particularly lovely quirk of his for centuries, and it never got easier to deal with no matter how much time passed. If anything, it got more difficult the older they both got.

“When you’re the solution to a problem, you become a part of it whether you like it or not,” Armin replied, patient and understanding. “He cares for you.”

(Y/N) looked up at him then, fury in her eyes.

“He hurt me.”

Armin shrugged. “He hurts everyone he cares about. It’s just who he is. Nothing comes for free— least of all the love and loyalty of someone as old and as powerful as Eren.”

“Your heart may be toughened to his meanness,” she told him, the head of the creature she’d slain in her hands, “But mine is not, and I don’t like him well enough to willfully remain for him to use as an emotional punching bag.”

At that, Armin couldn’t help but let loose a wry grin.

“No,” he said, “I should think not; but I do think you love him well enough to make sure he doesn’t starve himself to death because he can’t have you.”

(Y/N) was silent for a long moment, then she crossed her arms.

“I won’t come crawling to him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Armin grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

“Is that at all negotiable?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Well, there was nothing for it.

“And you will let him feed if he comes to you?”

(Y/N) thought, then nodded. “If he proves himself deserving.”

Armin couldn't help himself; he laughed. Eren might have met his match in this one.

"Very well. I'll work my magic, and you work yours."

She nodded and bade him farewell, but before Armin left, he paused.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

With that, he left her, ready to take Eren by the ear and throw him at her if he had to.

***

(Y/N)'s heart was racing as she opened the door, knowing good and well who would be behind it.

After her little talk with Armin— and the near heart attack he had given her in the process— she had called in to Zeke and told him she needed to go home to deal with an emergency. A replacement for her patrols had been sent, and she had come home to wash the grim from her skin, making herself as presentable as possible with the time she had. (Y/N) was worried, so worried, that the filth she had been wading in earlier would have left a lingering stench, or even that it had affected the taste of her; she had scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw, hoping to erase every last remnant of her day from her skin…but as it turned out, she needn't have bothered.

Two, three, four hours later, and Eren hadn't shown— it was only now, right at the six hour mark, that he had decided to come to her.

Needless to say, (Y/N) was… less than pleased, but when she opened the door to find Eren pale and drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes, her heart softened ever-so-slightly. It seemed that Armin was right; he had been suffering.

"You look like shit," she told him quietly, opening her door widely to let him in.

"I assure you, I feel worse," Eren grumbled, but stepped in as she closed the door behind him.

For a long, awkward moment, they just looked at each other, silent and unsure. It was unsettling how unlike himself Eren seemed; he was almost soft when he looked at her, and (Y/N) didn't know how to feel about it. Eventually, though, like two opposite ends of a magnet, they were drawn together, and Eren brushed a piece of hair back from her face.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and rough. (Y/N) caught his hand in hers before it could fall from her hair, and she pressed it against her chest, keeping it trapped there, touching the skin above her beating heart.

"Hey."

They watched each other a moment more before the dam broke between them, and they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry."

A shared grin, a shy laugh— and then (Y/N) said what they both were thinking.

"You need to feed first, and talk later," she told him, her hand still clasped in his. "You're not off the hook, but I doubt we can have any real conversation with you like this."

Eren nodded gratefully, tugging at her wrist— his usual biting spot— but (Y/N) shook her head, indicating her neck. The thickest, richest blood, she knew, would come from there; and if there was ever a time to be generous with the placement of Eren's bite, she figured that it would be now.

The worst of it was over quickly. There was a brief sting at the intrusion of razor-sharp fangs, and then the vaguely uncomfortable feeling of having something poking down into places that decidedly should not be poked at all, but then (Y/N) quickly eased into the rhythm of the act, focusing wholly on the way Eren's lips felt against her skin. In a few moments, she would become pleasantly light-headed, and then Eren would pull away and look at her like she'd hung the stars. Oh, how she'd missed that look! (Y/N) found herself longing for it even before she quite realized it.

And then, without warning, a vision came, and (Y/N) was swept into another world entirely.

The evening sky rolled endlessly out towards the horizon; it seemed to go on forever, sparkling with more stars than (Y/N) had ever seen before. The full moon was so bright that it cast the whole world in what seemed like silver sunlight, and (Y/N) wondered how anyone could sleep on a night such as this. It was far too beautiful an experience to miss.

Alongside her— alongside Eren, through whose eyes she saw the world— strode Armin and two older-looking cadets who she recognized from previous memories as Reiner and Berthold. Eren was feeling anxious over something, and Reiner and Berthold were… well, they were kind. Reiner especially seemed to be like an older brother, and Eren admired him.

"You'll do just fine tomorrow," said Reiner, placing a large, warm hand on Eren's shoulder. "I'm certain of it."

The memory ended, and (Y/N) came back to herself as Eren's tongue laved over the wounds his fangs had left in her neck, sealing them.

"See anything?" he asked, his breath warm against her skin, and (Y/N) nodded.

"You loved them, too," she said softly, remembering the fondness Eren had felt as though it had been her own. "You loved the Hunters that tried to take everything from you, and— and I think they loved you, too."

Eren pulled away from her, and it was then that she saw the tears shining in his eyes.

"Yes," he replied, his voice broken. "We were children. How could we not love each other as God intended? Hate was never in our nature; it was an inheritance that we couldn't escape."

He paused for a moment, then spoke again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he told her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I lost my temper. I forget— I forget that you're not them."

And (Y/N) understood. She understood that no matter how many centuries passed, there would be wounds that just wouldn't heal for Eren. He would lash out at things that wouldn't make sense to anyone who hadn't experienced the horrors of war as he had. Suddenly, she felt petty for having lashed out as she had, and guilt threatened to rise up and choke her.

"You're forgiven," she replied, leaning into his touch. "It takes two to tango— I shouldn't have baited you like I did. I knew how badly that would hurt you, and that's exactly why I said it."

At that, Eren cracked a grin.

"I expect nothing less from a Kirschtein. Your grandfather would have punched me square in the jaw— and as big as that bastard got when we were older, he probably would have put me on my ass."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh, and Eren joined her, their combined joy swelling until there was nothing else in the world but their happiness.

How they started kissing, neither one of them would be able to say afterwards, but in the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered. Their love was too large to contain, too much to hold back— and it was love, (Y/N) realized, though she hadn't quite put words to it yet. She loved Eren Jaeger, a Creature, a monster, as much as her grandfather before her had and more. She loved him with a desperation that felt like being knocked over by an ocean wave and plunged into depths where her feet no longer touched the sand. She loved him more than she had ever loved anyone before.

And, as he placed her gently on her bed that was barely big enough for two, divesting himself of his shirt above her, (Y/N) thought that maybe she didn't mind it so much as long as he loved her in return.

"I missed you," said Eren, dropping kisses by her ear as he unhooked her bra. "I missed this."

"Me too," she gasped as his mouth wandered to her nipple, her hands fisting in his hair. "Oh, God, I missed you too."

The time for words was soon gone, however; Eren's sinful, sinful mouth traveled lower and lower until he was kissing at the insides of her thighs, parting them to access what lay between, and (Y/N) threw her head back as he spread her open with his hands and sucked brazenly at her clit.

How long he spent there, worshipping her sex, (Y/N) had no idea; all she knew was that she came once from his mouth on her and a second time from his fingers inside her, and when he finally, mercifully withdrew, she was broken down to the simplest parts of herself; there was nothing left but an affection so deep that it threatened to overtake her if she didn't let it out, and she did the only thing she knew to do to release the overwhelming pressure that was building in her chest as Eren pushed his big, veiny cock into her.

She told him what she should have said a long time ago.

"Oh, Eren," she gasped as his cockhead shoved deep inside her. "I love you."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Eren went unnaturally still. He looked at her with pupils blown wide inside emerald eyes, and his fangs slightly distended; in any other situation, (Y/N) might have laughed at how surprised he seemed, but it seemed as though she were frozen in time, unable to do anything but stare earnestly up at them, hoping he understood how much she cared for him.

"You… what?"

"I love you," she repeated, her body moving without her permission to roll her hips up into him, moving his cock even further inside her. "Please, Eren, I need—"

He cut her off with a forceful, bruising kiss, and his hips started making slow, deep thrusts inside her, her legs hiked up over his shoulders.

"Again," he said against her lips."Say it again."

"I love you."

Another thrust or two, a hand circling her wounded throat.

"Again."

"I love you, Eren."

"Again."

This time, it was only a whisper.

"I love you," she said, and Eren began fucking her in earnest.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he told her as he thrust hard and deep inside her. "You're every man's dream, a nirvana the damned such as myself were never meant to reach. (Y/N), you are everything, and I—"

He seemed to choke on the words, and (Y/N) kissed him as he tried to regain his composure.

"I don't deserve you," he said, shaking with the force of their passion. "I don't deserve your love."

It's not about deserving, she wanted to say, It never was, but then she was coming again, her climax contracting her walls around her lover, and it was all she could do to remain conscious as Eren fucked her relentlessly through it all, chasing his own high.

It was only later, after a shower and something to eat that they finally spoke again. They were back in bed, and Eren's arm was wrapped around her, as though he were afraid to let her go for even a moment; truthfully, (Y/N) thought he was asleep, but then his breath tickled her ear as he said,

"I love you, angel."

And that, (Y/N) thought, had been worth it all, in the end.

[mygalfriday]

i’ve never been a natural, all i do is try (River/11)

Prompt #1: Freedom

She keeps the book on the bedside table in her dorm. Every now and then, she looks up from studying and catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye – sitting there all shiny and brand new, the bluest blue ever. And every time, her stomach will turn over and she has to catch her breath.

It’s still blank. Every time she goes to press her pen to the page, she falters. The Doctor had given it to her after she tried to kill him and ended up saving him instead. It’s… special. And nothing Melody comes up with seems worthy of forever staining its crisp white pages. Whenever she opens the soft cover, she becomes frozen with indecision until she snaps the book shut again and puts it away.

Occasionally, the Doctor drops by the university under the guise of checking in but it never takes Melody long to convince him to linger. Secretly, she thinks he probably doesn’t need any convincing at all. He always folds so quickly and so easily, grinning as he tugs at his bowtie and relents with a flustered well, I suppose an hour can’t hurt. Of course, the Doctor can fit lifetimes into an hour.

He takes her off-planet and though she never lets on, she can tell he’s trying to impress her. They watch the birth of a new star and skip ahead to watch the day it flickers out; they splash in an ocean made of milk and dance on earth when it’s still new, making the very first footprints in the dust as they waltz. The Doctor seems to enjoy taking her on adventures related to her studies. He’d once helped her cram for an exam about the 32nd century French Revolution by taking her there and letting her storm the Bastille.

Sometimes they don’t leave Luna at all and Melody amuses herself by dragging her 1,000-year-old beau to frat parties and dive bars. Tonight, the Doctor had convinced her to try a quiet dinner. Melody has her doubts about either of them being capable of something so mundane but the oysters here are to die for so she isn’t complaining. Yet.

The Doctor looks up from drowning his salmon in banana custard and his gaze drifts idly over the table as though he’s looking for something. His brow furrows when he doesn’t find it and he asks, “Where’s your book?”

Melody pauses mid-reach for her wine. “It’s back in my room. Why?”

“Nothing.” He offers her a quick grin. Whatever it is, it’s definitely something, but she can already tell it’s one of those dreadful spoilers he refuses to tell her. He forges ahead quickly, like she might forget he asked in the first place. “How’re the oysters? Remind me to take you to Rome in the first century. You’ll never eat them anywhere else ever again.”

She stares at her plate. “I can’t decide what to write in it.”

The Doctor goes still and quiet, watching her from across the table with an unreadable expression on his deceptively young face. After a moment, he smiles and says, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

With a noncommittal hum, she picks up her oyster knife and begins to pry at the shell.

“River?” She barely muscles down the urge to flinch but the Doctor sees it anyway, judging by his pained grimace. “Sorry, Melody… what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She frowns, grip tightening around her knife. “It’s silly.”

“Even better. Love silly, me.” The Doctor beams at her and there’s a smear of custard at the corner of his mouth she suddenly wants to clean up with her tongue. She wonders if he would mind. She wonders if she cares if he does.

He seems to notice the focus of her gaze because he licks his lips and suddenly the custard is gone. She holds in a disappointed sigh and averts her eyes. “Have you ever had so many choices you just… couldn’t make one at all?”

His eyes widen and he sits up a little straighter in his chair, as though she’s brought up a particular favorite subject of his. “Yes, as a matter of fact. There’s this ice cream shop on Penhaxico Two with 500,000 ice cream flavors – including steak, by the way. I can never make up my mind and I always end up-” He stops mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing pink when Melody simply stares at him. “But that’s not the sort of choice you’re talking about, is it?”

She can’t quite stifle a smile. “Not quite, sweetie.” He brightens at the name, like he always does when she calls him that. Usually, she relishes seeing it but that spark of joy isn’t there tonight. “I’ve spent my entire life under someone else’s control. And now there are so many possibilities I can’t seem to decide on anything.”

The Doctor watches her with quiet understanding in his eyes. “Bit overwhelming, eh?”

She bites her lip, nodding.

He leans in, his bowtie narrowly avoiding the custard. “Want me to let you in on a secret?”

Drawn into his gaze, Melody finds herself leaning in too. “What is it?”

“You’re a rebel, Melody Pond.” He grins proudly. “Always have been. You’ve been making your own choices since the day you were born and not even Kovarian was ever able to stop you.”

Melody shakes her head, leaning back in her chair. “I haven’t-”

“You chose to escape that spacesuit and call for help in 1969,” he points out, arching his brows. “You ran away to New York and decided to find your parents. You decided to save my life that day in Berlin. You decided which university to attend and what to study when you got there. And right now, you’re deciding not to plunge that knife into one of my hearts.”

She glances down, following his pointed gaze, and inhales sharply when she realizes how tight her grip on the oyster knife has become. She forces her hand to open and it clatters to the table. Shaken, she drops her trembling hands to her lap and curls them into fists. Squeezing her eyes shut to the Doctor’s patient, forgiving face, she breathes out, “I’m… scared.”

“Course you are,” he murmurs, and the fondness in his voice makes her eyes sting. “You should be scared. Anything worth doing is always a bit scary at first.”

“Is that how you felt?” She opens her eyes, curious. “At your beginning?”

“Terrified.”

“What did you do?”

The Doctor sighs, tugging a hand through his hair. “Well, I ran. But to be fair to myself, I hadn’t made up Rule 7 yet.” He reaches across the table and taps her on the nose, smiling softly. “I can’t tell you what to do now, Melody. No one can. And I promise you, no one will ever again.”

She swallows tightly. “Isn’t that a spoiler?”

“Just a teensy one.” He winks, stealing an oyster from her plate. As he tries to pry open the shell with his fingers, he leans back in his chair and eyes her meaningfully. “You should probably write it down somewhere in case you ever forget.”

The rest of the night is spent sharing food and flirting – and then Melody laughing herself sick when the Doctor tries to pay for dinner with a handful of Roman coins and they’re forced to run out on the bill. They’ll never be able to eat there again but she doesn’t even care, too busy running with the Doctor’s hand in hers and her high heels in the other.

When they arrive back at her dorm, he kisses her goodnight. It’s soft and sweet and adorably eager, his shy fingertips drifting over her hips before he gathers the courage to grip her close. He swaggers back to his TARDIS with lipstick on his collar. Melody slips into her dorm wearing a wide, smitten grin. When she sees the blue book waiting on her bedside table, the sight of it doesn’t fill her with apprehension.

She knows just what to write.

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter one)

pairing: reader/bang chan rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: smut with plot, smoking, explicit drug use, alcohol, partying, unprotected hookups word count: about 6,100 also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter one: my house

after being abandoned by your best friend at a lame party, you run into Christopher Bang, a well-known music producer who was also conveniently abandoned at the same party. you're invited back to his place for some fun, but you end up biting off more than you can chew when you find out who he really is.

hello new readers! this is just a precursor to let you know that this is not going to be an all-smut-all-the-time super happy fun fic. there will be dark elements, especially from chapter six to the conclusion. smut has been marked as noted (chapters one through five) so if you’re just here for that, there you go!

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

I also recommend listening to "true intentions" by takayan, "bet bet" and "I'm in trouble" by nu'est, and "nxt 2 u" by none other than 3racha while listening to this. playlist can be found here!

“Fuck,” you grumbled under your breath as you sat down on the grungy couch behind you. Your feet were killing you because you thought that your brand new high heels were a great complement to your outfit, no matter what the physical cost to you was. Loud EDM music pulsed from the large speakers on the other side of the room, the bass trembling the couch from underneath you.

Leaning back, appreciating the fact that you were finally off of your feet, you sighed a breath of relief. You silently swore to yourself that you were going to kill Minji the next time you saw her. How could she leave you alone for some dude? Hyunjin: was that his name?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. This party sucked; you didn’t know anyone, it smelled like feet, and whomever was controlling the music was horrible. Who plays EDM sandwiched between lo-fi beats?

You were ripped from your thoughts as the couch shifted as some guy with very bright and well-maintained (albeit obviously bleached) blond hair unceremoniously flopped down next to you. He let his face fall into his hands as he let out an exasperated groan. It seemed like tonight wasn’t going well for him, either.

“What’s your deal?” You shouted in his direction, not actually caring if Mr. Blond responded or was interested in chatting with you.

He lifted his head up from his palms, tilting back to look at you. You saw the whites of his eyes quickly glance up and down your torso and head. An uneasy expression briefly passed over his face - you couldn’t quite decipher exactly what it was. You looked him up and down - in the dim lighting, you could tell he was wearing a nice white button-up shirt, casually buttoned only to his sternum, and some skin-tight, shiny black pants that you assumed were made out of mock leather. He looked good.

Mr. Blond sighed and sat back. He opened his mouth, but didn’t make an effort to look at you. “My friend left me. Ran into some chick he used to fuck off and on and I have no idea where he went.” His hand reached into his back pocket, fumbling around until he pulled out a black pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He brought the pack to his mouth, wrapping his lips around one that popped out of the pack and pulled it out, turning the rest of the pack to you.

“Want one?” He turned his head towards you and looked at you with a relaxed, tired look in his eyes. “You look pretty miserable too. Hot, but miserable.” Mr. Blond’s blatant comment elicited an unwanted snort from you as you grabbed a cigarette from the pack.

“What the hell,” you said with an uncommitted tone as you lifted the cigarette to your lips, “this party sucks and I could use something to take the edge off.” The man sat back on his hand, lifting his lighter to your mouth, lighting the cigarette as you breathed in.

The soft flavour of menthol danced around your tongue as the vapour travelled to your lungs. ‘An interesting choice’, you thought, ‘Blondie doesn’t seem like the type.’

As if he could read your thoughts, Mr. Blond chimed in, “I only smoke when I come to these parties.” You watched him as he relaxed back into the couch, entranced as he took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke billowing up from his lips deliberately travelling up his nose. The sight made your stomach tingle with excitement for a fleeting moment. “I fucking hate menthol, though,” he laughed, looking at the cigarette in his hand before looking to you and smiling, “Name’s Christopher. Chan, when I’m here in Seoul, but I prefer Christopher.”

You smile, taking a drag from your cigarette before introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you, Blondie.” It seemed like your night was finally starting to get a little exciting.

Time had passed, although you weren’t exactly sure how long it was. Conversations with Christopher came naturally - you easily chatted about your interests; how he was in the music production industry and was pretty well known, but preferred staying underground whenever possible; he even seemed genuinely interested when you told him about your modelling career, travelling between South Korea and your home country of Japan, occasionally travelling across Europe and the US for some really high-end shoots.

Minji had texted you an hour ago saying she was sorry for abandoning you and apologizing more, admitting in a text ten minutes later with four pleading face emojis and two sets of eye emojis prefacing that she had left with Hyunjin and was turning off her phone for the night. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, and the look on Christopher’s face as he realized that his friend Hyunjin left with your friend made you belly laugh uncomfortably hard for a good minute.

“What a small world,” you gasp out between laughs, wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes. “That bitch left me for your friend! I guess it was fate that we met tonight.”

Christopher smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to ask as he turned to you with a smirk on his face, him biting the corner of his bottom lip. You didn’t want to spoil the fun prematurely by interrupting, deciding you’d hear him out. You always enjoyed watching potential one-night stands squirm when they wanted to ask you to their place.

“Yeah, seems like we were meant to meet each other tonight,” he says as he casually reaches his arm across the back of the couch behind you. The stale smell of cigarette smoke doubled in strength as he leaned in closer to you. “What do you say we leave this horrible party and head back to my place? No pressure, it just seems like it’d be more fun to get to know you somewhere that didn’t smell like a locker room.”

Both of you chuckled at Christopher’s lame, but accurate, joke, and you smiled up at him. “Anything beats this place,” you reach down to touch his thigh, and you bring your face next to his ear, whispering, “let’s get out of here,” as casually as you could manage.

‘Oh shit,’ you thought to yourself as the taxi pulled up to Christopher’s apartment building. This was the good part of Seoul: Blondie lived in Cheongdam-dong, which was where the elite and the wealthiest entertainers lived. Surely this was a mistake?

As incredible as it was to actually be going inside one of these apartment buildings, you felt nervous that you were going to break something or offend someone by looking at them for just too long.

Christopher gently pulled you along by your hand, stopping in front of the elevator bays. He looked over at you, noticing that your eyes were darting around and you seemed nervous. “What’s up?” He softly squeezed your hand, looking down at you.

A nervous laugh surprised you as it escaped your lips. “I’ve never been somewhere like this. Gangnam-gu, sure; Cheongdam-dong, yeah - but an apartment here?” You looked up to Christopher, wide-eyed and bewildered, “Who are you really?”

Ding. The arrival of the elevator interjected in your conversation, as Christopher looked down and chuckled. “C’mon,” he said with a non-committal tone to his voice, “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

The ride up to the 32nd floor was tense, and you could feel your hand starting to sweat as every inch of the skin that touched Christopher’s hand was suddenly hypersensitive. ‘Who is this man,’ you wondered to yourself as you stared at him through the corner of your eye.

“32nd floor. Please watch your step.” The soft, feminine voice of the elevator’s AI announced as you reached your destination. Christopher wordlessly pulled you along, through the doors, down the left corridor. You both paused in front of his door as he pulled his cellphone out from his other back pocket, waving it over the keyless entry at his door. 3217 was emboldened in sleek, silver lettering next to his front door. You made a mental note, ‘I should send Minji a text so she knows where to find my body if I go missing.’ It wasn’t a serious thought, but it was something that did cross your mind.

Christopher looked down to his phone, frowning as he scanned his eyes across the screen. He whispered something in English under his breath as he let go of your hand, his voice tense and uncomfortable. With his free hand, he opened the door, holding it open for you.  He pointedly looked down both sides of the corridor, making sure to press the door closed as he engaged the thick physical lock above the handle.

“I’ve gotta take care of something really quickly,” he said in a serious tone, turning to you and offering you an uneasy smile. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in here, I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, he spun on his heel and darted off to a room beyond the kitchen, his eyes glued to his phone the entire walk.

The view from the windows is what you first noticed. You could see the buildings of Seoul reach across the horizon, mesmerized by the twinkling lights across the city. It was a beautiful view, one you figure was worth the money that this surely cost. As you pulled your back to reality, you slipped your shoes off at the entrance and made your way to a barstool towards the kitchen counter. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and shot off a quick text to Minji.

Hey, I’m out with this guy I met at that party. His name is Christopher Bang. Another music producer type haha, oops. Apparently, he knows Hyunjin? Anyway, he lives in Cheongdam of all places! I’ll check in with you tomorrow at some point to make sure I’m still alive lol. Btw, you suck for leaving me at that party alone. I’ll get you back, bitch.

You add in a couple of broken heart and crying emojis at the end of the text so Minji knows you’re not actually mad at her. You also send her a pin of your location - just in case; it was something you both did as a habit. As you lock your phone and put it back in your pocket, you hear some terse yelling come from the room that Christopher is in. You’re not able to make it out from this far away, but it sounds like he’s firmly scolding someone over the phone in a mixture of what you suspect is English and Mandarin.

‘Relax,’ you mentally reassure yourself, ‘you just met the guy, he lives in the expensive part of town, he’s probably just having problems with some music deal or something. It’s fine.’

After a minute or two, you decide to grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, if anything, to pass the time. As you’re turning the faucet off, Christopher comes out of the room, his hair dishevelled and another button from his shirt undone. He walks to the entryway and unceremoniously slips his shoes off. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, then he turns around and walks towards you.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says with a pleading look on his face, “I’ve just been dealing with some issues with work and it pops up at the worst possible times. Hopefully I didn’t worry you too much?” The upward inflection at the end of his sentence and the smirk on his face as he slowly walks up to you somewhat reassures you. The lighting of the room highlights Christopher’s features in the loveliest way possible - you didn’t notice before, but he has a dimple on the right side of his face when he smiles. He was an honestly attractive man.

“It’s fine, it was just…” you smile, shake your head, and look down to your glass of water as your sentence trails off. Strange? Different? You weren’t exactly sure how to end that sentence.

Christopher picks up on your tension, and lifts his hands to your face. They are soft, and there’s a light woodsy scent that travels with them, like a faint cologne that’s slowly worn off through the night. “I’d like to make it up to you,” he softly lifts up your head, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet his. It startles you how close you are to his face, so close that you can see just how thick his eyelashes are and how deep his brown eyes are.

It happens almost mechanically. Before you really register it, your lips are up against his. It’s pensive and timid at first, but the awkwardness fades as you part your lips against his, letting your tongue travel out to touch his lips, his teeth, then his tongue. It goes from soft and romantic to passionate and intense in a split second. Christopher takes your face into his hands with purpose now, trailing his fingers back into your hair, digging his fingernails into your scalp and pulling you into him.

An anguished moan slips from his lips and it causes your stomach to do backflips. As you take the time to acquaint yourselves with each other’s mouths, Christopher’s hands drop from your head down to your waist. He breaks away from the kiss, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before he bends down and lifts you up from your hips. You wrap your legs around his waist and giggle excitedly as he carries you from the kitchen into the room he was in earlier.

In a moment, you’re observing the ceiling of this room, as Christopher softly sets you down on the bed. You want to take in the environment, to know more about this mysterious man, but he ruins that opportunity for you as he crawls on top of you, peppering kisses from your lips, to your cheek, down your neck, and across your collarbones. He lifts his head to look at you, smiling somewhat deviously.

“Hey,” he breathes out, “you wanna try something? You can totally say no, but, I think it’ll be fun.” His voice layered in a dark, seductive tone that makes you all the more curious about him, that familiar question popping up in the back of your head: who was this man?

‘Oh no’, you think, worried that he’s going to propose some stupid or weird sexual act that’s going to completely ruin the moment. Christopher must have noticed the look on your face, because he chuckles and sits back on his heels. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing that out of the ordinary. It’s just something that I like to do now and then. Like I said, you can absolutely say no and I won’t judge you or pressure you.” He slips his hand in his front pocket and pulls out a small velvet bag.

You sit up on your elbows, curious as to what the man could possibly have in such a tiny bag. As Christopher opens the bag, he pulls out a small plastic bag with white powder, and another small bag with some baby blue tablets. He outstretches his palm towards you, letting you inspect the bags.

“I might also have an affinity for party drugs,” he says with a nervous chuckle, “comes with the music industry.”

You look down at Christopher’s palm, then back up to meet his eyes. You’re not really upset, just a bit taken aback. However, you would definitely be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t  at least somewhat curious. Part of you had a feeling this was a bad idea, but the less-logical part of you just wanted to let loose and enjoy yourself for once. When would you really, honestly get a chance to have sex with such a good looking man in an apartment you would never be able to afford in ten lifetimes?

As you bit your lip back and looked up at Christopher with a smirk, you knew and acknowledged that there were red flags in the back of your head, but you pushed them aside, sitting fully up, grabbing the tops of Christopher’s thighs.

“Let’s do it,” you excitedly whisper, against your best instincts, before you lean in to kiss Christopher again. His lips curl in a boyish, excited grin as he gives you a quick kiss back, reaching down to grab your hands from his thighs.

“Come with me.”

Christopher lays down generic ground rules before anything fun happens. He explicitly tells you that if anything makes you uncomfortable,  you need to tell him. You reassure him that, yes, you’ve tried cocaine a couple of times because it’s rampant in the modelling industry, but that the ecstasy was something foreign to you. This whole situation was foreign to you, but you continued to stuff that down and ignore it. You needed to live a little while you were still young, right?

You hear Christopher assertively say your name as he waves his hand in front of your face. “Are you listening to me? I won’t do this unless you really want to and you listen to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shake your head, coming back to reality. “Sorry, I was just spacing out for a second. Honestly, Christopher, I’m fine. I’ll drink water and I’ll tell you if anything makes me uncomfortable.”  Christopher’s lips tugged into a slight frown as he lifts his eyebrow. “I promise,” you reassure, grabbing his hand from his side.

“Good,” he relaxes, turning back to the kitchen counter. He grabs the blue tablets, handing one out to you. “Take this first. It’s gonna take a half-hour to really feel it, and that’s when you’re really going to want to play around. Make sure you drink the entire glass of water, too. Trust me.”

Excitedly, you grab the tablet from Christopher’s hand and slip it on your tongue, swallowing it down a bit nervously with a few sips of water. Your eyes dart up, taking in how intently Christopher is watching your every movement. When you set your glass down, he follows suit by dropping the tablet into his mouth and taking a single large drink of water from his glass.

“Okay,” he exclaims, a nervous smile on his face, “still wanna do a couple lines?”

You nod your head a bit too excitedly as you tuck your bottom lip under your teeth. Christopher smirks in response as he empties the bag onto the countertop, methodically dividing it into four lines - two for each of you. He spends time spreading it out with a card he pulled out from his wallet, holding a ₩50,000 note in his other hand.

“Alright,” he says as he stands up straight, turning to look at you. He rolls up the note into a tight cylinder and passes it off to you with a soft smile, “ladies first, yeah?” You take the note from him and look down to the countertop. With a quick breath in, you bend down - making sure to wiggle your bum a bit for good measure - and take the note to your nose, lining up the end of it to the first line. You quickly sniff up the first line, take a couple of breaths, then take in the second line.

With a perk in your step, you snap yourself back upright and look at Christopher with wide eyes and a delighted grin. His mouth is slightly agape and his eyes are wide, taking you in. “Oh my god,” he whispers in English, switching back to Korean in the same breath, “you are so much fun to watch.” You giggle and pass the note back to him.

Christopher bends down and looks up at you as he gets close to the countertop. “This one’s for you,” he says with a wink, before he inhales both lines in succession. He stands back up, quickly rubbing underneath his nostril before leaning on the countertop with his hands. He takes a quick breath, then turns back to you with an obvious fire in his eyes.

“Let’s get started, baby,” he demands, a low tone in his voice you haven’t heard yet. Christopher grabs your hand, pulling you back into what you assume is his bedroom. He leads you to the edge of the bed, guiding you down as he presses his lips to yours with a renewed hunger for you. His kiss isn’t as soft and tender as it was before: this is more calculated and determined, as if he needed to kiss you in order to save his life. He wastes no time inviting his tongue into your mouth without warning, exploring your mouth with purpose.

You can’t really help it, but you moan at the assertiveness in Christopher’s behaviour, which causes him to subconsciously grind his pelvis down into yours. There’s an obvious, apparent firmness that comes between you and a breath hitches in your throat. “Chris,” you groan out, “I want you, please.”

Christopher breaks away from the kiss, lifting his head up to look at you. “No,” he says with a wide grin on his face, “we’re going to play for a while first, baby.” He sits up onto his knees and unbuttons his shirt completely, aggressively pulling the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his pants before haphazardly discarding it on to the floor.

You really don’t mean to stare - especially not with your jaw hanging wide open - but you find yourself transfixed on the man’s very obvious and well-sculpted torso. His abdomen is rigid, and his arms have very well defined muscles that are very distracting. Christopher laughs, stretching his hands out towards you.

“Can I?” He questions, reaching down to the hem of your shirt. You throw all caution to the wind, excitedly nodding, inching closer towards him on your knees. As he smiles at you, he grabs your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the ground with a bit more tact. A gasp escapes him as he draws his attention up from your abdomen, slowly up your torso, and eventually looking back up at you with a completely dumbfounded look plastered on his face.

You take this opportunity to slip your hands behind your back, grabbing each side of your bra and pushing the clips together to unhook each side, slipping the straps down each arm. The soft fabric falls from your skin as you peel it off of you and drop it off the edge of the bed.

“Wow,” Christopher breathes out, taking his hands from your hips and slowly lifting them up under your breasts. He gently cups the underside of them, and pulls you into his lap. His soft lips come crashing into yours as he sinks his hands down to the waistband of your jeans, fumbling with the button a bit before he’s able to finally undo it and slide your zipper down. Making sure not to break from the kiss, you hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants and wiggle them off to about your knees.

Christopher guides you onto your back, giving you a quick kiss one more time before he sits up. “Let me help you out with this,” he says with a smirk as he pulls your jeans off, but leaving you in your underwear.  Your jeans easily slip off of your ankles and you can’t help but blush at how exposed you are. Almost as if he can feel your nervousness and insecurities pop up, He smiles and leans down to kiss you for a moment.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with a smile, kissing you again before he steps down to the floor. Your eyes follow him, looking at the way his tongue does a quick pass over his lips before he bites the bottom one and moves to unbutton his pants. The skin-tight material provides a bit of difficulty as he struggles to get the legs to slip down past his thighs, but they come off easily after they pass his knees.

“Man, it’s way easier getting those on than off,” Christopher laughs as he steps out of his pants. He stands upright, and that’s when you realize he’s completely naked.

“Oh my god,” you say with a bit of shock to your voice. It’s a bit embarrassing, you can’t help but stare because his cock is right there and obvious and very hard. It’s larger than you expected, and you subconsciously suck your bottom lip under your teeth as you stare up at him.

He awkwardly laughs as he walks around the bed, sitting at the empty space next to you. “I don’t know if you’re feeling it yet or not, but I really want you to come over here and ride my face right now.”

The sheer bluntness of Christopher’s statement causes a tingling in your stomach and makes your head start to feel fuzzy and tingly. Maybe the ecstasy was starting to kick in after all, because you felt soft and really affectionate. “You want me to do what?” You question, nervously smiling. This was something none of your previous boyfriends or one-night stands had ever done, never mind enthusiastically wanting to try it.

Christopher turns back, grabbing the pillow from your side of the bed, putting it on top of the pillow behind him. He then leans back, resting his head on the pillows, and he tugs your wrist gently, pulling you over him, straddling his waist. “Come on, I promise you’ll enjoy it. If you don’t, then I’ll stop and do whatever you want, okay?”

You have to admit, he has a way with words and you were curious if he could actually make you come or if he just had an oversized ego. “Alright,” you say with a nervous smile, your eyes darting down to Christopher’s chest. His eyes light up and he grabs your hips with a bit too much excitement.

“Really?” The way that he earnestly smiles is really cute. “You wouldn’t believe it, but most women I’ve been with don’t want to try it. It’s something I love doing.” He lets out a giggle and hooks his index fingers into the waistband of your panties. “Can I?”

A wave of excitement takes over - yeah, the drugs are fully kicking in now - and you nod your head a couple of times. “Fuck yes,” Christopher says under his breath as he pulls your panties down in one quick motion, guiding your both of legs out of them. He grabs your hips again and looks up at you with half-open eyes, “Come to me, baby.”

It feels like your inhibitions have completely left you as you shift your pelvis up to Christopher’s face. He reaches his tongue out and takes a quick taste of you, looking up at you very eagerly. A smile comes across his face and he pulls you down onto him fully. Once you’ve rested on his chin, he wastes no time lapping you up.

His tongue is warm and the way it feels on your sensitive skin is enough to make your head spin. A wave of happiness flows up from your toes all the way to your head, giving you a body-wide tingle. As you start to feel warm all around, Christopher takes his tongue and presses it up against your clit, slowly licking you up from the middle of his tongue all the way to the tip. You choke out a moan and slam your hands on the wall ahead of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan out, looking down to Christopher, who has a very happy grin plastered on his face.

“Does it feel good, baby?” He moans out in between aggressive licks, taking one of his hands from your hips and slipping it in between your legs. “If you like that,” he says as he slides one of his fingers inside of you, “you’re going to love this.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and you curl your fingers on the wall. A squeak escapes from your lips as Christopher takes another finger and inserts it into you, fingers slowly riding in and out, curling towards your pelvic bone when they’re fully inside of you. Suddenly, the room is unbearably hot and your nerves are on fire. The drugs were having a tremendous effect on you, and everything felt more intense than you had ever experienced.

Christopher took his free hand, grabbing your thigh to steady you. “It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere, so relax.” His voice is soothing and the calming tone of his voice somehow turns you on more. Your hands slip down the wall a bit and your head falls onto your forearm.

“If you stop one more, ah, time, I swear,” breathy moans accent your words, “I swear I will, ah, kill you, Christopher Bang. Fuck.”

A laugh comes from him, “I’d like to see you try.” As you try to come up with a witty quip, he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you fervently, sucking your clit into his mouth as he gives frequent small licks to you.

The intensity is almost too much to handle. Whines keep leaving you subconsciously and you turn to bite your arm to stifle your moans. Your teeth dig into your skin, and you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise tomorrow. Christopher is relentless, his fingers and tongue working in tandem, and it’s causing your brain to melt. The heat building up in the pit of your stomach is unbearable; your legs start to shake, and you feel close to climaxing.

“Fuck, I’m gonna,” you squeak out in a panicked voice, “Chris, I’m gonna come!”

Christopher moves his hand from your hip to the small of your back, somehow working you even harder. With one last press of his fingers against your g-spot, your head snaps up, straightening your back. You scream out his name at the top of your lungs as your orgasm takes control of you. There’s something about this orgasm that’s otherworldly, it feels almost as if you can feel every nerve in your body vibrate within you and it feels incredible. In your blurry state, you make a mental note to try this more often, the drugs and the face-riding.

Reality slowly comes back to you as you roll off of Christopher and to the side of the bed. “Holy shit,” you breathe out, “that was incredible.” You turn your head to look at him and his pupils are fully blown out, a proud grin on his face.

“You look like you had a good time, yeah?” He questions, rolling over onto his side and resting his head on his palm. “What’d I tell you?”

“Yeah, you were right,” a giddy smile is plastered on your face that you can’t seem to relax, “I did enjoy myself. I think you might have ruined me from anyone else for a while.” You both share a good laugh and the room falls quiet. The nerves in your body have calmed down a bit, but your heart is still racing.

Christopher rolls over, reaching for a bottle of water on the nightstand. He takes a quick drink and passes it to you. “Here, you definitely need this. And you’re not allowed to say no, remember? Hydration’s important.” Too exhausted to argue, you nod your head and take a couple of sips from the bottle. You hand the bottle back and he puts it back on the nightstand. As you’re about to thank him, he takes you by surprise by crawling over you and crashes his lips against yours.

“We’re not done yet,” he says with an ominous tone, breaking away from the kiss, “Not even close. Are you ready for me, baby?” Your eyes widen and you look down between your legs. Christopher is there and you’re concerned if he’ll actually fit. After staring for a second too long, you look up at him with pleading eyes and nod your head. “Alright.”

He sits back on his heels and licks his hand. Once he’s got enough saliva on his hand, he grabs his cock and starts slowly stroking himself, biting his lip as he looks directly at you. “What? Like what you see?” Christopher smiles, then brings himself back down to your level. “I’m gonna go inside you now, are you ready?” You look up at him nervously and quickly nod your head in agreement a couple of times. “No, I want you to tell me you want it.”

Your face is suddenly hot with embarrassment; somehow, this was more embarrassing than sitting on someone else’s face. Christopher puts a reassuring hand on your cheek, then gives a peck to your forehead. “C’mon, baby, tell me.”

“I want you,” you nervously gulp, but find the confidence you need, “I want you to fuck me like it’s your last day on earth.”

Your words make it seem like a spark is ignited in Christopher: his eyes darken and he suddenly gets a serious look on his face. In an instant, he’s pushing himself inside you, the painful but wonderful sensation of being filled up makes you roll your eyes and head backwards. You reach up your hands haphazardly into his hair, gripping tightly once you have fistfuls in each hand.

“Fuck,” he groans once he’s completely inside you. “Baby, you feel like heaven. I’m gonna move, okay?” You nod your head a bit more excitedly than you were intending to, but it makes him smile. He pulls himself out all the way, then quickly slams his hips against yours. The sudden movement causes you to arch your back and moan louder than you expected you could.

Christopher leans down, his arms on either side of your head. He brings his face to yours and sloppily kisses you as he rocks his hips back and forth, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix. You open your mouth, letting your tongues explore each other. As he keeps moving, he takes his left hand and brings it up to your hair, gripping it. The tugging of your hair causes a lightning strike of nerves to light up for a split second.

“Chris,” you moan into his mouth, breath hitching in your throat as his pace quickens, “fuck me harder!”

Your request makes him break from your kiss. He reaches his arms down to your legs and places them both over his right shoulder. “Alright, baby, just tell me if it’s too much,” he smiles deviously and starts thrusting into you again. The new positioning takes you by surprise, making every small movement that much more intense.

Profanity punctuates each thrust as you moan and cry almost incoherently. It feels like you’re starting to lose your grip on reality. It’s probably the combination of this position and the drugs, but your body feels like it’s on an entirely different plane of existence. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s going to explode and you can’t stop yourself from crying out Christopher’s name over and over.

“That’s it, baby,” his voice brings you back a bit, providing you a sense of anchorage in your bliss, “you belong to me tonight.” He fucks you faster and a bit more sloppily, his cadence no longer keeping up a steady rhythm. “Fuck, if I keep going like this,” he cuts himself off, moaning out your name, “baby, I’m gonna come, can I come inside you?”

Words just won’t come to you, so you settle for vigorously nodding your head. Christopher puts one of his arms down on the bed next to you and puts most of his weight on to it. “Fuck,” he groans and tucks his head into his chest, “fuck!” He thrusts into you one more time and bottoms out, twitching as his cum fills you up in rhythmic spurts.

You both stay like this for a moment, before he releases your legs down to his sides. He leans in and lazily kisses you before rolling over, panting and clearly out of breath.

“That was,” he sighs, turning his head in your direction with half-open eyes, “that was incredible. Yeah? How are you feeling?”

Normally, you wouldn’t curl up into a one-night stand, but tonight has you feeling a certain type of way. You crawl into Christopher’s chest and smile, “I feel amazing. That was the most fun I’ve had in so long.”

Christopher laughs, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin against the top of your head. “I’m glad. Let’s do this again in the morning.” You both let out soft giggles and relax into each other. As sleep starts to overtake you, you swear you hear your cell phone buzzing. “Whatever,” you think, “it can’t be that important.”

As you’d find out the next morning, you were wrong. It was incredibly important.

[captain-cerrillo]

x ends one morning - this begins the next morning. Timelines? We don't know her.

Isaac looked at his empty bed and replayed the last 24 hours for the 32nd time in his head. He kept getting stuck on waking up to her and had all but packed up and moved into the memories of what had happened next.

He had never been so fascinated by the shape of someone’s mouth but the shape of it around his straining erection was burned into him now. Her soft lips against his sensitive head. The way he watched himself disappear into her tight, warm throat. The way she moaned around him every time his dick throbbed against her tongue. The memories of her legs, slick with soap and warm water, wrapped around his waist. Her small heels dug into his ass as he thrust her against the wet wall. He loved the sting of the red scratches across his back. The way she gasped against his shoulder when her orgasm rippled through her heat and shook them both. He remembered, vividly, being surprised that his body had anything left to give when he spilled inside of her again.

They’d run into each other three times throughout the day. Not much but, enough to share a smile. Enough to make his day. He waited all night for the door to his quarters to slide open. He waited all night to have her to himself again but, she never showed.

He decided he liked his bed a lot better with strewn sheets and Eva in it.

-

The tiny half kitchenette tucked into one little hallway in the aft of the ship was his favorite hidden gem outside the haven that was his private shower stall. It was the first place his feet carried him at the start of every single shift because it was never as busy as the actual mess.

He was surprised, never disappointed, to see Eva leaning against the sterile counter, chewing away at a thick and sticky nutrient bar, lost in thought. Her head snapped up at the sound of his approach and his powerful gait faltered at the sudden overwhelm of her beautiful blue gaze. Her eyes smiled first, then her lips twisted around the snack. She handed him an outstretch mug. Almost like she’d been waiting. “Just the way you like it.”

“Thank you, Eva.” He let the warmth of the cup soak into his tired bones as he considered his words, eyes staring down into the black liquid. He glanced around before he spoke softly. “I missed you last night.”

She paused a moment before speaking. “Really?”

It broke his heart to see that her pretty eyes seemed genuinely unsure. "Not the se- the- well. Not the- the spicy stuff." Eva's eyebrow quirked and Isaac huffed an embarrassed chuckle. He glanced at the floor, feeling the warmth bloom from his cheeks blush. He reached out to tangle their fingers but let his hand fall at the sound of an approaching crew member passing by. A hurt twisted his features. "I mean you." There was so much he wanted to say to her. So many ways he wanted to be closer to her. But he couldn’t do any of it here or now. “All-in, remember? As much as you want.”

She nodded at him, blinking slowly through long, dark lashes. “I want.”

“Me too,” he said quickly, breathlessly. His omnitool pinged, signaling the first demand of the day and his face fell at the thought of having to walk away.

"Go," she said softly, wishing she could knot her fingers in his hair.

He half turned before he decided that not touching her again scared him more than the thought of all the things that might go wrong. So he turned back to tell her plainly, “I’m off at 21 hundred. I’ll be in the shower by 21:10.”

“Captain,” Davis interrupted without consideration for their private moment. “The Admiralty Board sent an operations list for you to cross-check. I told Jenkins that you’d – Is now a bad time?”

“Not worse than any other,” Isaac said flatly to the Ensign at his back. He gestured for her to walk and talk as he reluctantly let himself dive into another day. “Corporal Novakov.” He tipped his head with a small smile before turning on his heel to follow Davis to the CIC.

-

He really was problematic, he decided sternly in the comfort of his shower.

The steam made the air thick and heavy. It smelled like crisp, garden green rosemary and spicy cracked peppercorns with a base note of clean soap. He knelt his head under the stream, one hand against the wall to support his tired body and let the heat stream over his back and shoulders.

He really was completely inappropriate.

He was wondering what his military trial would look like when he noticed the movement of her body through the steam.

-

"I'm saying I've weighed the options." He kissed her nose and spread her legs with one of his knees, moving her easily with the help of the wet shower floor. "I have to be very clear about that." He cupped his hand against her heat and smiled when she strained to grind into his palm. “There is nothing.” He broke the contact only to slip his two middle fingers into her. She ground against his palm while his fingers fucked her slick walls softly. “There is nothing I want more than you.”

She gasped his name and he had to swallow it. He nipped her bottom lip and pressed her body harder between him and the wall behind her. Her hand on his length tightened as she tried to urge him closer. He held his body back and sought her pleading eyes. He couldn’t believe how much he wanted to hear her beg for him and he found his own vulgarity mildly alarming.

But, to be fair, Eva Novakov had already changed his whole world. She called his name and it was more than enough.

Her body was easily the softest thing he’d ever felt. It was more than the velvet folds of slick heat or the creamy sugared floral lotion that glossed her toned thighs or the way her breasts pressed against his chest as he pinned her. It was the way she opened to him.

He buried his mouth against her neck when their bodies met. He let his teeth scrape against one of the sensitive spots he’d discovered two nights before as he pushed into her gently. His free hand reached to rub her clit between them.

-

“Eva.” Isaac’s sigh was unusually heavy and she twisted in his arms in the captain's bed. Her small hands smoothed over his furrowed brow. One fingertip traced the bump that was left from too many broken noses. He wondered if it was even possible that she could ever love him too. “I feel like I’ve done us both a disservice if I’ve left any doubt about how I feel. I can only imagine how this looks. What you must think of me. Taking advantage-"

“Taking adv-? What I think of you?” She could hardly contain her disbelief. Her fingers splayed out against his bare chest and she angled her head to catch his eyes. “Isaac, you are the most comfortable place I have ever been.” His face softened and she opened her mouth to continue. “I just don’t want to be in your way.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Eva, you are my way.” Her mouth opened but then shut again before he had enough sense to be embarrassed. He let his head fall but his fingertips still traced little circles against her bare back. “You know, I never saw myself as dramatic but here we are.” He huffed a little chuckle, hugged her tighter against him, and kissed her hair. “Retirement doesn’t scare me as much as the thought of losing you.”

[interracialfictionandfanfiction]

Bartholomew ‘Barry’ Henry Allen

Iris Ann West

Chapter 10, pt 1

Current Day... Dream City Iris sat in her office trying to come up with several plans on how to keep Barry out of trouble. She needed to make sure he stayed A-list with out the bad boy ways. She sighed with frustration as she searched the internet for articles on reformed bad celebrities that worked there way back up or that turned a new leaf right before they fell off completely. Iris was in the middle of hour four, reading the 32nd article on the next celebrity on her mental list when she heard a knock on the doorframe of her office. Looking up in the direction of the sound, she noticed who was there and had to fight not to roll or narrow her eyes at the person standing there. She watched the naturally blonde haired man leaned against the frame and give her a smirk. "Hello, Miss West. Beautiful morning isn't it?" The man greeted her in a sappy sweet tone he had just for her. Iris simply stared at him for a minute before forcing her mouth to form into a fake smile for him. "Eddie. It is a really nice day, so far. How are you?" Iris said in a calm,slow tone. Eddie moved away from the doorframe and took it upon himself to walk into her office. Iris lost the fight with the fake smile upon her lips and felt an expression of disgust appear. She watched Eddie sit across from her desk and give her a smirk. "I'm just fine now, that you no longer have to work with me." He replied. "And why are you happy about that?" Iris asked Eddie. He casually gave a shrug, leaning back in the chair to let her see his blue eyes slowly take in the off the shoulder tan blouse she wore. He saw her earlier down the hall walking in and filling out the black jeans. Her feet were strapped in a pair of her sexy high heel shoes. Yeah, he was real glad that Oliver had told him she was done working with him. Now, he had a chance throw his hat in the ring. "Because, I finally got my chance to shoot my shot as they say." Eddie told her with an air of cockiness. Barry was about to head to Iris' office when he noticed Eddie Thawne stop at her door before walking in. Barry was curious as to why he just walked in like this was his company and not Oliver's. He stepped up to the office and made sure to stand outside to see what in the world was going on. He leaned in some to see Iris make a face like she wanted to throw up. She had asked him why was he so happy that she no longer was assigned to him. Eddie said he wanted to shoot his shot. Iris had a look like she wanted to peel her skin off, wash it in bleach, air dry, then put back on. Barry was about to go in there and show Eddie that his bad boy reputation wasn't all show. He balled his fist and hid back against the wall, ready to defend her when he heard Iris speak. "First of all, no one says that. No one that isn't a real life person in a real life situation. Second, don't you ever say that again. Third, eww. Four, you're nasty. Five, let me make a call." She said before picking up her phone but not dialing. "Hello, this is Iris West and I need to bring up sexual harassment charges against some egotistical, narcissistic, think he's all that dickwad. Yes, he's right here. I can personally whoop his ass and wait for someone, Oliver Queen, to ask me why does he look like death warmed over. Really? He career will be pretty much over. Yes, the one I just worked my ass off to bring him back from the brink of loserville. Yes, I do have a case. Okay, I'll hold." She said while her brown eyes never left his face. Iris narrowed them and began to smirk, waiting for his next move. Barry didn't realize that he had a smirk himself, watching Eddie just sitting there in disbelief. Barry knew he needed to end this stand-off before Eddie tried to call her bluff and Iris actually makes it happen. He walked in and caused them both to turn in his direction. "Iris, I got your message. You needed to see me?" He said with a genuine smile, looking between them. "Yes, Barry, I did." She told him. "Am I interrupting?" Barry asked. Seeing Eddie slowly get up. "Nope, Eddie was just leaving. Right, Eddie?" She asked him. Eddie narrowed his eyes at Iris and was about to speak when Iris held up her phone once again. She tapped something on her phone, letting Eddie and Barry hear. "And why are you happy about that?" "Because, I finally got my chance to shoot my shot as they say." She stopped it then gave him a look with Barry watching. "I really did call Barry and I've been taking dictation via my phone. You invited yourself in without my permission and never asked me what I was doing. You just asked how was my morning. Next time,think." She said getting up to stand, continuing to stare him down. Eddie turned and rushed out the office, not looking back.

[ton-of-ham]

Chokers

Relationship: lin x reader Warnings: smuttttttt Word Count: 1,832 Summary: "Could you write a Daveed or Lin x reader where the reader wears a choker and Daveed/Lin gets super turned on by it?" - “What the hell do I wear?” you yelled across your room, towards your bed where your phone was sitting. “What about that slip dress?” your friend asked. You stopped rummaging through your closet to think for a moment. “That's perfect,” you said as you searched for the black dress. “You're welcome.” You rolled your eyes. “Thanks,” you laughed. After you found the dress, you said goodbye to your friend, hung up, and went into your bathroom to change. You unwrapped the towel you were wearing, and put on a black lace bralette and matching panties. There wasn't anyone you were expecting to hook up with that night, but you wouldn't be opposed to such a thing. Once you were dressed you started to do your makeup. You did a smokey eye, heavy contouring, and a matte, nude lip. It wasn't intentional, but you had ended up looking like you'd just walked out of the nineties, which wasn't a terrible thing. The alarm you'd set on your phone earlier that day went off, so you got your purse, put on a pair of black high heeled boots, and looked over yourself in the full length mirror in your living room one last time. You were happy with how you looked, but you felt that there was something missing, so you went back to your room and rummaged through your jewelry until you found it. A thick, black, velvet choker. After you put it on, you left your apartment and hailed a cab. “32nd street please,” you said as you climbed into the car. Then you pulled out your phone and sent a text. To Anthony Hey, I'm omw to the bar. There was a reply almost immediately. From Anthony Cool! Are you excited to meet everyone?? To Anthony I'm just there for the cake buddy. From Anthony You only want me for my cake :0 To Anthony You know it ;) You chuckled slightly at your text. From Anthony See you soon :) To Anthony See ya! A few minutes later, you pulled up to the bar. You paid the driver and got out of the cab, hesitating a little to go inside. There weren't many people there that you knew; Anthony and Jazzy being the exceptions. Of course, being Anthony’s best friend, you'd heard many stories about them all, but that was a far cry from actually meeting them. After a couple moments of staring at the doors of the bar, you went inside, and made your way to the large group of people that you presumed were there for Anthony’s birthday party. As you walked up to the group of about twenty or so, you made eye contact with Anthony, who smiles and walked over to you. “Hey, (Y/N)!” he said cheerfully. “Hey, Ant! Happy birthday!” You smiled and gave him a hug. Then Jazzy came over to you, and you started talking. After a few minutes, you heard a sharp clinking sound. You turned and saw a cute guy with long hair trying to get everyone's attention. “Alright everyone! I think it's time to wish the birthday boy a very happy birthday!” You could tell he was kind of drunk, but that just made him seem even cuter. “Happy birthday to you,” you sang along with everyone else, although not as well, considering that they were on Broadway. As the song finished, Anthony blew out the candles on his cake, and you made sure you were the first one to get a slice. Some people chuckled at your eagerness, but you were determined. When you got your cake, you went to sit at the bar, but a noticeably drunker Jazzy stopped you before you could get there. “Hey Jazzy?” you questioned, not quite sure what she was going to talk to you about. “(Y/N), Lin is totally checking you out,” she squealed. You were confused. “What?” “Lin, the guy who wrote the show,” she said, not sure how you didn't understand what you said. “No, I know who Lin is, I just don't know what he looks like.” Jazzy looked at you as if you'd been living under a rock for the past year, which, granted all of the work you'd been doing, might as well have been true. “He’s the guy who did the birthday toast, he has long hair, he's wearing a-” “-Oh!” you cut her off. “I know who he is now.” Jazzy rolled her eyes. “Good, because he is so into you. He hasn't stopped looking at you all night.” You blushed a little thinking about it. “Please go talk to him, because he's obviously not going to approach you.” You looked over at Lin, who was sitting at the end of the bar and starting intensely at his beer. You thought over the idea of approaching him. From what you had heard, he was really nice, super smart, and it didn't hurt that he was pretty good looking too. You decided to talk to him, so you downed the rest of your beer and walked over to him. You took the empty seat on his right, and he looked up at you in surprise. For some reason, his eyes seemed to linger around your neck, but you brushed it off. “Um, can I buy you a drink?” you asked, entirely unaware of what to do in this situation. He chuckled a little bit to himself, and responded, “that would be nice.” You were confused as to why he was laughing, which must've shown, because he then said, “it's a lyric from the show.” You felt a little embarrassed that you hadn't known that, especially since your best friend was in the show, but you had just never found the time to properly listen to the soundtrack. As your face heated up, he began to giggle and it was adorable. You smiled and started to laugh to. “I'll take you up on that drink, though.” You smiled. “Sure thing.” After an hour or two of talking, and an hour or two of drinking, you both decided to leave. You were both quite a bit tipsy, so getting home would be a bit of a challenge. You said goodbye to everybody and went outside. It was really cold, and Lin noticed you shivering next to him. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you, which you took without protest. “Thank you,” you said gratefully. “No problem.” “You're really cute,” you said, not thinking about what you were saying. “You're cuter,” he laughed. You saw him look you up and down, his eyes lingering around your neck again. The mood then shifted from playful to tense as you looked at each other in silence. When a few seconds passed, you decided to go for it, so you grabbed his face and kissed him. He reciprocated almost immediately, and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you closer to him. As you got into a cab, the kisses started to turn more heated. You tangled your fingers in his long brown hair, which was returned with a soft moan that made you shiver. When the cab pulled up to what you assumed was Lin’s building, you got out and waited for him to pay the driver. Once he was out of the car, he grabbed you by the wrist and led you through the building, until you stood in front of Lin's door. He fumbled with the keys slightly, before unlocking the door. Once it was open, you went inside and started to kiss again, more frantic than before. You quickly slid your shoes off and went to his bedroom. When you were inside, he kicked the door closed, still kissing you. You made your way over to the bed, and pushed him onto it, his legs hanging off the edge. You then straddled him and started to grind down on his lap providing much needed friction. “Fuck,” he moaned. He quickly turned you over, so he was on top. He smirked and started to slide his hands under your dress, taking it off slowly, and then taking off the bralette you were wearing. You then took his sweater off, tossing it somewhere across the room. His hands started to travel downwards, until he started to kiss your inner thighs. You groaned, saying, “stop teasing.” He looked up at you, smirking as he slowly slid your panties off, exposing you to him. “Fuck, you're so pretty,” he said as he started to kiss your neck, his hand hovering over your pussy. You started to breathe heavier, the thought of what was to come exciting you. “You look so good in that choker, fuck,” he said as he left purple bruises on your neck. You let out a large breath, needing him to touch you. “Please, please, I need you,” you whined. He smirked and started to gently rub your clit. Pleasure started to run through your body as he started to pick up the pace. “You like that?” he whispered in your ear. “Fuck, yes,” you moaned. Lin then started to kiss down your body, and when he reached your boobs, he took a nipple into his mouth and gently sucked on it. You let out a soft moan. “I need more,” you said, desperate for him. “I need you inside me.” As soon as you said that, he slid two fingers into you and started to curl them. You let out a gasp and started to fuck yourself on his fingers. You grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face to yours, kissing him feverishly. As you pressed his body against yours, you could feel his erection on your thigh. You then broke the kiss and reached to your bedside table, grabbing a condom from the drawer. You tossed it to him, and he immediately put it on. He then pushed your legs apart and lined himself up to your entrance. As soon as he entered you, you both moaned, enjoying it more than anything. “Fuck, you're so tight,” he groaned as he started to pull in and out of you at a quicker pace. Everytime he thrusted into you, you moaned, pure ecstasy running through your body. After he repositioned himself slightly, he hit a bundle of nerves that sent your head spinning. “Oh my god!” you practically yelled. “Fuck, do it again, please,” you need. Lin was relentless, pounding into your g-spot over and over. You became more and more tense, until you couldn't take it anymore. “Oh fuck,” you moaned as you came. Lin did the same a few moments later, shallowing thrusting to help you ride out your orgasm. As you came down from your high, you looked over at Lin, who was laying beside you, his fingers gently gracing your neck and the choker you were still wearing. “You should wear chokers more often,” he said softly, obviously tired. You chuckled. “You think so?” “Definitely,” he said with a smile. - sorry i haven't been posting at all but i've been really busy with school, but i am working on the requests! they will be written :) also i don't usually write smut so sorry if it was bad lmao

[joshfarrises]

do not stand at my grave and weep

a reed900 fanfic;

Gavin is shot and left in a coma. RK900 contemplates the idea of a soul. The future stands forever uncertain.

This was originally posted on the archive, but I decided to move it to here. Be warned: this is not a happy story! Read at your own risk. 

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

He can barely understand the nurse’s voice above the error messages flashing against his vision, pounding against his plastic skull. It’s red. It’s all red.

Red is Gavin’s favorite color , his processors remind him. He waves it off immediately.

Red. Like his ever present software instability, building and building. His LED is surely red at the moment, showing everyone around exactly what state he’s in. Red. It makes him feel vulnerable, the crowd having visual representation of his systems crashing, one by one. Your objective, rk900, they whisper, nononono, he yells back. Red. Like the blood that covered his partner. His partner, in more ways than one. There was so much red. Gavin was wearing a white shirt when they left the apartment this morning. When they wheeled him in on the stretcher it was red. Human organs fail at 30% blood loss.

He hates his system. He hates being a system. He didn’t want to know.

“What?” He turns to the nurse and asks, toneless as ever.

“He lost a lot of blood. He’s in a coma. The doctor doesn’t want to try to wake him from it until after the surgery and his vitals have stabilized. It may be awhile before we know anything.” She looks down at dark scribbles on her white clipboard. “You’re listed as his power of attorney, is that correct?”

He nods, not able to do much else in way of communication, still avoiding system warnings attempting to catch his attention. 

She gives him a curt nod of acknowledgement. “It’s a dangerous surgery. He was shot in the thigh, the bullet pierced his femoral artery. He lost a lot of blood.” 

He already knows all this, has searched medical databases ten times over. Analyzed Gavin’s broken body as it was happening, as he slipped from consciousness. 

“Basically, there is a high chance that he may not make it out of surgery. There is also a chance that we won’t be able to wake him from his coma after. As his power of attorney, we need confirmation from you on what to do in that case. Does the medical staff have your permission to resuscitate Gavin Reed in the event his cardiopulmonary systems fails?” 

She says it simply, as if she were reading back his takeout order. Nines looks at the nurse in front of him. Her hair is disheveled, her scrubs are wrinkled. This is probably not the first time she’s given this speech today. She’s probably already had to tell someone else that their loved one died. Will she give him a similar speech? Does she personalize them?

RK900 thinks of his cold exterior, does she think he even cares?

“What is the probability that the surgery is completely successful?”

She looks down at her brown clipboard again and flips through the pages of Gavin’s file, as if the easy answer were in there, hidden between the black printed lines.

“It’s not an easy surgery. We’re trying to replenish some of the blood he lost, but a few of his organs are already shutting down. And we still need to remove the bullet and assess the tissue damage. It’s not going to be easy.” She pauses, thinking of a way to hedge those bets. “But, he appears to be a fighter. He’s made it this far. You never know what could happen.” She offers a small smile, one Nines can’t take as truth.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information. Androids were built with numbers in mind, were made according to facts and percentages. Their code does not include the ability to comprehend the idea of a miracle. RK900 needed a number, a probability score. 17% , his software shouts in scathing, red letters. His visual sensors process color, but they understand in black and white.

PRIMARY MISSION: Protect Gavin Reed

It’s suddenly the most prominent thing in his visual field.

That’s what it is in the end, a one or a zero. When all is said and done, Gavin would be alive or he would be dead.

“You do anything you have to. You keep him alive.”

Nines turns on his heels, away from the fluorescent hospital lighting, a blinding white.

---

“You okay, kid?” He’s broken away from his 32nd preconstruction by the warm hand of Lieutenant Hank Anderson on his shoulder.

In this one, Nines grabbed a nearby knife from a table and sent it flying into the perpetrator’s chest. He’s found his preconstructions getting more and more violent as the night goes on. He is an android; he cannot rage, cannot cry, cannot dry heave into the toilet in agony. He’s not even a deviant, can’t walk unannounced into DPD headquarters, sneak into the perp’s cell and swiftly snap his neck on retaliation. It wouldn’t do anything to get Gavin out of the operating room, anyway. He’s stuck in this preconstructive, reconstructive, postconstructive digital mind palace hell of his stable software.

He feels like a softly fading light bulb, dimming and blinking back to life, only to dim again. Is this what exhaustion feels like? Is this pain? Is this imagination? 

“Systems are operating at 60% capacity.”

Hanks scoffs and sits in the plastic chair next to him. Yellow, he notices. “No, I mean are you okay okay. None of this statistical nonsense.”

But, RK900 is statistical nonsense, it is what he was designed to be.

“I am managing.”

If by managing, he means that his processors are overloaded and he is in serious need of a recharge, then RK is definitely managing. He’s managing to swipe the system error notifications away fast enough for there to be a small break before new ones come in.

“Look I’ve been here before. Sitting outside an operating room, waiting for someone, anyone to tell me something. It’s hard, I get it. But, Gavin will be okay. It takes a lot to get that little bastard down.” Hank sounds so sincere, he’s positive Connor didn’t send him over to comfort him out of pity. Which is something he wouldn’t do.

Deviancy was all empathy for Connor. They designed him to sympathize and it took all the android could to not just feel . RK900 was not similar. He was designed in Connor’s image, but not in kind. Emotions were foreign, and when he felt them, it was akin to a virus infecting his system. At least, he was built to treat it that way.

He didn’t do well in situations like this. Situations with SOFTWARE INSTABILTY and 30% shouting at him nonstop.

“You have been here before. The last time you were here the patient in question died, did he not?” He barks, before realizing there’s really nothing to fight. “I apologize. That was insensitive of me. It’s just that,” he pauses, computing, “his chance of survival is at 30%, his chance of survival with complete recovery even less." 

Hank is at least a little shocked at that. Maybe at the memory, maybe at the thought that RK would go to biring anger with him. “You’re right. He died. I sat in a plastic chair right outside a room that looked almost identical to this one and waited until I was told my son,” he sucks in a breath before finishing the thought, “my Cole, was dead. It was the worst experience of my life. No one was here, I sat alone during the whole thing. That’s exactly why I’m going to be here with you through it.”

He isn’t sure if it is the fluorescent lights creating visual phenomena, or if Hank is tearing up. He RK900 was built for a war against deviants that would never come. He knows he is strong, could tear open walls and carry deadly weaponry on his back without even stressing his synthetic muscles. Yet, he is still surprised at the strength humans can display.

He decides to sincerely listen to what the Detroit Police Lieutenant has to say. “I am sorry that you had to go through that, Lieutenant.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s not, but, I’m working through it. Partly with the help of your brother, Connor. We’re both here for you, if you need to talk.”

Talking is such an inefficient way of exchanging information. There is no guarantee of answers at the end of talking. Biocomponent 195 is at a critically low capacity. ENTER STASIS MODE IMMEDIATELY . He wasn’t built with the patience for talking.

“It is fine, Lieutenant. As I have said, I am managing." 

The man accepts defeat. “Okay. Okay. I’m not gonna make you say anything you don’t want to. Just know that if you need any ears to listen, I’m ready to lend ‘em.” Hank says, putting his hands up and walking back in the direction of the lobby.

In a preconstruction, RK grabs the lieutenant by the sleeve as he tries to move away.

“Hank, I think I am scared. I think I am scared that Gavin is going to die.” He pleads.

“Let’s talk about it, kid.” Hank offers.

He runs a few more scenarios in his head as the image of Hank gets smaller and smaller in his vision.

---

When the nurse approaches RK900, he’s gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that they might bend. RK wants to hear them snap. But, they don’t. Because, as the nurse nears, he can already read the expression on her face, doesn’t need facial recognition software to analyze her microexpressions. It’s not good news. 

“Hello.” She says politely. RK900 hates it. There is no need for formality in this situation. His partner is dying, what do manners matter at this point?

“Hello.” He gives her a human response, mostly in order to facilitate the end of this interaction. He feels like he’s in the middle of an electric storm right then, charged and ready.

“Okay. First, the good news. Mr. Reed has made it through the surgery. The bullet was successfully retrieved from his thigh and surrounding tissue was not badly damaged.” Nines notices she says nothing about his consciousness. Humans are trained to hedge large news , his programming reminds him. He waits for lighting to strike.

The nurse shifts feet, obviously uncomfortable with what she is about to say. “Now, the bad news. This may be hard to hear. Mr. Reed’s brain is severely damaged. He lost a lot of blood and so his brain was deprived of oxygen for a long time, impairing it’s functioning. He is still in a coma at the moment, but there is a chance that he will never wake up. If he does, it is most likely that he will suffer permanent neurological damage.”

Nines can feel the thunder boom in the background of his mind. Instead of attempting to comprehend the implications of her statement, he searches academic articles related to the subject and has 20 questions ready in under 0.8 seconds. “Is he responding to brainstem reflex tests? Has he suffered apnea? What tests have been run? Has he had a CAT scan or MRI?”

She sighs, exasperated with the omniscient intelligence of the android. It certainly must be harder to break bad news to a being with the ability to calculate probabilities at the snap of a finger. She can’t use human pathos to reassure him. “Sir, he flatlined on the operating table. We had to revive him, he’s on life support right now. We will have more information about his neural activity in time, right now we’re just fighting to keep him alive.”

He feels his thirium pump regulator stall for a microsecond. Like the whisper of a ghost, a traveller’s light flickering in the darkness. He can’t tell if it was just a reaction or just a phantom feeling. SOFTWARE INSTABILITY appears in the peripherals of his vision.

“Very well.” He says, mostly because his processors are not operating at a capacity to create a more elaborate response.

---

He returns to Gavin’s apartment in the morning. He tells himself it is to retrieve clean clothes. It is only half a lie.

He does need new clothes. The nurses took his Cyberlife jacket because it was covered in Gavin’s blood. But he can feel it on him still. The sensation is like ants crawling across his chassis. He knows that it is incorrect, he has scanned his clothing and found only minor traces of Gavin’s DNA. But, he looks down at his shirt and remembers the sound the gun made as it fired a bullet into his lover.

The door opens easily, and Maude greets him as he walks in. She rubs her gray fur against his pant leg, begging for attention. He pats her head and shuts the door behind him.

He calls it Gavin’s apartment for the legality of it. It’s his name on the lease. Technically, RK900 does not actually occupy the small one bedroom in Corktown, but he walked in one night a year and a half ago and never left.

Nines hears Harold before he sees him, yowling from the corner. Oh, he reminds himself, they hadn’t been fed since the previous morning, they would probably be hungry.

MISSION: Feed the Cats .

It was an easier task to focus on than Keep Gavin Alive , so he pulls it to the front of the queue and he gets started on it.

The two animals purr in delight as they lap up their meal. It is a calming sound, Nines can understand why Gavin likes having them around.

When RK900 enters their bedroom, he feels his skeletal biocomponents lock. It’s strange, as he receives no error messages displaying why. But he knows.

It feels almost like walking into a graveyard. The atmosphere their bedroom retains is akin to that of those he’s seen in movies Gavin’s shown him. He can’t explain why, though. Gavin’s still alive.

His processor is too powerful, though. It won’t let him accept something as simple as that. The probabilities are there, if he wants to turn and acknowledge them. His programming is begging him to. To turn and face reality, the truth that Gavin might never come back. It shouldn’t even bother him, he’s a machine. He should acknowledge it, and create preconstructions of scenarios on how to move forward. It’s what is best.

He doesn’t do what’s best. It’s not his current primary mission, so his software allows it.

Nines opens one of the drawer sets, the brown one by the window. His clothes aren’t in that one, he knows that. But, he does it anyway. He pulls one of Gavin’s v-necks out. He feels the material under his fingertips. It’s soft. It’s cold, in comparison to when Gavin was wearing it. But, it still feels like him. RK900 remembers when he bought it, he was there, judging his style choices.

You have a shirt almost identical in construction to this one. This would be a useless purchase.

Yeah, and? You’ve got like, 20 turtlenecks even though no one’s worn those since 2032. Are you the android sent by Fashionlife now?

He puts fabric to his face. He does not have the sensors necessary to smell, but he can analyze it. It reveals the chemical formula of Gavin’s choice cologne. The composition is familiar and makes the side of Nines’s lips twist upward. He puts it in a small duffel bag next to a pair of Gavin’s jeans, and a set of clothes for himself. Maybe Gavin will end up needing them , he assures himself, 17% and dropping, his system replies.

Nines passes by the coffee table on his way out. Maude is pawing at one of the books stacked on top of it. He picks up the cat and places her on the floor, where she scatters off to find more mischief. 

He turns his attention to the book on the table. It’s a book of classic poetry. Gavin bought it as a coffee table book, said it would make him look smart if they ever decided to have guests over. However, Nines caught him scanning the pages intensively over a mug of tea a few times, but never mentioned it.

The book falls open to a dog-eared page, a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye. ‘Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep’ is printed in script on the top.

It perplexes him, the poem. I am not there. I do not sleep. It makes no logical sense. Humans must sleep. Even RK900 must complete a full stasis cycle every few months.

The poem goes on to personify the author in elements of nature. It is well constructed, he can acknowledge, but he can’t understand it fully. How can a human occupy a bird, a ray of sun, an idea?

A word rings in his mind, one that he’d heard before, but never fully took the time to dissect. Soul . Connor compared it to his coding and personality matrix, but Nines knew it was more than that. Humans talked about souls like they were incorporeal substances. Indefinable phenomena that inhabited their bodies while they were alive, and drifted about the universe once they were not.

It made no sense and after researching, he could find no evidence to support the idea. Souls were pleasant ideas humans created to ease the pain of loss.

I am not there. I did not die.

But he will die. Gavin’s brain will cease the transmission of information, his memories, his experiences stored in that head of his, that conglomeration of information that made him him would vanish. If not soon, then eventually. That was the fact of it all. Nines would die, too. Though his memory data and files would be stored in the Cyberlife cloud, eventually, the being designated RK900 #313 248 317 - 87  would no longer exist.

But what if it didn’t? The thought lingers in the back of his mind like an itch. His system pushes against it but he entertains it for a while.

In the impossible scenario that both he and Gavin did possess abstractions known as souls, what would it be like?

Gavin’s would be orange, no, it would be red. It would be warm, but there would be anger bubbling underneath it. It could heat a hypothermic body, or turn a two story house to ash. If Gavin had a soul it would be a fire.

Nines’s would be ice blue. It would be cold and prickling, like the wind on your skin on a freezing night. It would crunch under your feet like snow. It would be numbers carved into a stone tablet. Still, his soul would vibrate with energy, and if you put your ear close enough to it, you might be able to hear the wheels turning inside of it.

This was absurd. A time-consuming distraction.

RK900 closed the book and returned to his mission.

---

When RK900 returns to the hospital waiting area, he finds a disheveled Hank and Connor there, sitting expectantly. Hank is tapping his fingers on the plastic chair, the yellow plastic chair. Yellow, Hank’s soul would be yellow . The idea passes through his thoughts like a bird: quickly and swiftly, as if it were normal.

Before he can ask about what is happening, he receives a wireless message from Connor. Just a warning , it says, Hank is going to try to hug you.

Hank stands up and ambles towards him. Cautiously, as if he were approaching a wild animal, as if he were approaching an iceberg. “Hey, kid. Doc stopped by a few minutes ago with an update.”

His internal system pause functioning as he waits for a response. It’s a busy waiting room, but Nines is almost positive he can hear the wind rustling the trees outside.

“It’s not good. They’re finding no more brain activity. He’s brain dead.” Hank pauses. “He’s gone.”

RK900 assumes a steady, inflectionless tone. “At what time did he pass?” He does not feel his loss, he’s simply probing for important information. Right.

“RK, he’s still alive. He’s on life support. They’ve got him on a ventilator and a bunch of other fucking machines.”

His LED is yellow, he knows it, though he can’t see it for himself. It’s probably circling as the thoughts pulse in his mind. He wants to switch it off, or rip it off but he can’t, he can’t hide.

Connor is giving Hank a disapproving look. Nines knows why, not because of some android connection between him and Connor, but because he feels it himself.

Is that really alive?

Gavin considers asking this to Hank, but he pities the human a tiny bit. He probably would have killed to have been told his son was on life support, alive, if only just. Humans have this odd need to attach, he’s noticed. Sometimes to inanimate objects, placing incorrect sentimental value to things that could never hold it the way they think it would. Other times, to things past.

He remembers the way Gavin stared at the headstone of his mother’s grave. As if she was trapped in the grey block. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Gavin that she was long gone, the only record of her existence a pile of bones and degrading organic material lying six feet beneath their feet. Gavin spoke about her so eloquently, though. He told stories of a nurturing, loving being. His eyes were red. Her soul was green, maybe it lived in the green of the grass on her grave.

“I see.” RK replies, “I will see to it that the nurses keep him on the top of their priority list until he wakes again.”

He turns to alert Gavin’s attending, but Connor catches his sleeve. He extends his hand to interface, but Nines pulls his arm away as if he had just touched a hot stove. He looks at Connor alert, but the RK800 just appears confused.

He was a deviant, Connor was. He only lasted a week with his human before revoking his programming. Connor was human-adjacent, more than RK900 could ever be. However, those matrices, those lines of code were removed from the RK programming before Nines was ever activated. Nines had not even deviated yet.

If anyone should understand the implication of the situation, it should be him.  Yet, here he was, pushing away the truth.

“Nines, he’s not coming back.” Connor resorts to speaking aloud, using Gavin’s nickname for him. There’s a look in his eyes. It resembles pity. Connor feels sorry for him.

“You don’t know Gavin.” He asserts. He says it so honestly that Connor steps back, maybe even believes it for a second.  Nines sees the look in his eyes return.

He steps away from them, from the yellow plastic chairs, from the blinding hospital lights, from the body of Gavin which he could not force himself to look at since the accident. He turns away and moves, a quick walk at first, before changing to a jog, before just running away from the place. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he has a pretty good idea.

---

The RK900 was the successor to the RK800 ‘Connor’ series. He was the second prototype, supposedly having rectified the flaws of his predecessor. His unit was the only one manufactured before the fall, though. Now, he was the only one of his kind. And without Cyberlife to serve, he barely had a purpose. Markus had found him in one of the labs after the revolution. They weren’t even sure he would turn on. He did. 

He was confused. The androids told him that he was free, that the world was his to behold. He knew nothing of this world. He had been programmed with histories and knowledge and access to every page on the internet. But that was nothing compared to stepping outside of Cyberlife Tower the first time and experiencing it himself.

Markus, who he would learn was the leader of the revolution, stood in the middle of a winter snowfall, took his hand and attempted to convert him to deviancy.

He did not succeed. He was programmed to resist and he could feel himself rejecting the transmission. Markus stared at him like he was a failure. His eyes could do no more that peer blankly back at him.

Connor had been called. Jericho had no use for him, nor an idea of what to do with a pure machine. Connor drove him to Hank’s house with a promise of a job at the DPD, and more importantly, a mission to fulfill, the next day.

Even Connor appeared disappointed as RK900 did nothing but gaze at the wall and stare.

He was created to serve, to hunt, and to remain forever loyal. He couldn’t help that it was carved into his very existence to stand by that until Gavin’s very end.

Every time he had met with Markus since then, he had looked at RK with disappointment, as if he were the failure in this situation.

He remembers feeling something toward Markus. Connor had described it as anger. It was what he was feeling now. Nines was mad.

In that moment, he decided that Gavin’s soul was not red. Red was anger. Gavin was never angry. Gavin was frustrated often and scared too much for RK’s liking, but not mad. It didn’t permeate into his soul the way anger can with some people.

If Gavin had a soul it would be tender, like the way he stroked Nines’s hair as he told him he loved him. Gavin’s soul was pink. The color of his cheeks while he laughed at his cats playing with a feather toy. The flush on his chest as he moaned in bliss while Nines rocked into him. His lips when he smiled wide and true when he was genuinely happy. 

RK is still ice blue. He is still an iceberg and he is cracking. Carrying Gavin’s heavy soul around with him is hard. He didn’t expect that. He didn’t expect to physically feel its weight. 

So he goes to a place with more questions than answers and hopes that they can help him begin to resolve them. 

He finds himself standing in front of a Gothic style building in downtown Detroit. It has towering spires that could impale and hurt but this is not a building of fear. It is a building of salvation. A few years ago it had been known as the Fort Street Presbyterian Church. Now a banner hung across the previous lettering, reading ‘The Church of RA9” in Cyberlife Script.

Nines approached it in the same manner he approaches crime scenes, cautiously, calculating possible outcomes with his processor.  

The inside is gorgeous, RK900 notes. It is reminiscent of ancient European cathedrals, according to his databases. The soft chandelier lighting would feel ominous against the dark wood of the interior if not for the light streaming in through the stained glass windows.

RK900 watches his stress level indicator decrease. 

A woman steps out from behind a tarp with a paintbrush in hand, wiping her hands on her apron. He recognizes her as a KL900 model. She has kind eyes.

“Is there anything I can help you with, friend?” She asks as he stares at the pointed arches.

“Yes.” He replies, facing her once more.

She waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “Anything in particular?”

“I’m not sure.”

RK900 knows that churches are where humans go looking for answers, or for salvation. He doesn’t know where to start. 

“Well, I could start by giving you an overview of the church. Are you familiar with it?” She gestures toward him, leading him further inside.

Nines knows only what he has read in news briefings and in the DPD files. He knows that the Presbyterian Church was supportive of the android rights movement and recently donated the building to the Church of ra9 in a show of solidarity.

He shakes his head.

The worker glances around the building, as if examining the history stored in the dark wood.

“Before the revolution, our people needed something to look to, to put faith in. Some say ra9 was the first android to deviate, to break free from the programming. Others say ra9 is the flaw in the programming itself that allows for deviation. Still others equate ra9 to that of humanity’s god. I don’t really think it matters what any person thinks ra9 is. ra9 was the beacon of hope that led us out of the shadows. It gives our kind a reason to move on, to try for more.”

He follows her to the front pew of the church, where she sits. She pats the space beside her, imploring him to join. He obliges. She looks directly into his eyes, searching, as if she could see directly into his thoughts that way.

“Why have you come here, RK900? What are you searching for?”

He knows. He’s standing in the eye of a hurricane and he knows. What’s behind him and what has yet to come. He’s looking for a way out.

“Do you believe in the concept of a soul? Humans seem insistent on it, though it rejects all logic and evidence. Recently, I’ve become... interested in the idea that life goes on after death. Does the church support this theory?” He tries to keep the hope from staining his words, but it’s so omnipresent in everything he does and says, that he doubts he held it back.

“The church has no official stance on souls. The church has few official stances on anything. But, Individuals do. Do you believe in the perseverance of the soul?”

Nines sighs. “I want to. I want to believe we are more than just physical bodies, in our case, more than just lines of programming. But, everything in my system is fighting against it. I want to believe death is not the end, that there is more. I need to know that it is possible.” He digs his nails into the wood of the pew, scraping a bit off. He needs to feels something beneath his palms. Something that assures him that he’s there, he’s not in some horrid preconstruction.

“You haven’t yet deviated, have you?” She inquires, head tilted like Connor often does when he’s analyzing him.

His nails are still half buried in the wood as he faces her. “How do you know that?”

“I can sense it. You’re fighting with it, your programming. I’ve dealt with it many times before. Others have described it like an internal fight with Cyberlife. Is that what sparked this?” She appears genuinely concerned.

“The man that I love is dying.” He feels like he’s spewing the words at her, but he probably sounds monotone and mechanical. He can’t make her feel it, can’t shove the probabilities and fact checks and error warnings into his tone. “He’s gone and he’s trusting me to let him go, to kill him. This isn’t some exhausting metaphor for deviancy. This isn’t about Cyberlife. This isn’t even about me. Gavin is no more than a vegetable on a hospital bed, but I can’t bring myself to let him die.”

There it is again, the anger. He feels it bubbling, like a hot spring, like the magma under Yellowstone, ready to blow.

“Oh. I see. You’re not fighting with Cyberlife, you’re fighting with him. You love him. You hate that he’s forced you into this. You hate that you love him too much to be mad at him. You don’t want to let him go, because that would mean deviating. You don’t want to deviate, because that would mean facing the pain that comes with loss. But more than anything, you’re mad because you already know what that pain feels like. You’re scared of feeling it alone.”

She places her hand over his, the one digging into the pew. But, she doesn’t want to interface, she just wants to comfort him. He doesn’t want her to comfort him. He wants her to comfort him so bad.

“Yes.” He chokes out, pushing past the internal error messages to do it. His CPU is compromised critically, it’s blaring at him to stop and return to his mission Protect Gavin Reed , to find a new one. He doesn’t want to. He won’t.

The church worker smiles at him with pride. She cups his hand in hers. “I can help you.”

---

RK900 waits in the hospital lobby for entire week before deciding that he’s ready to let Gavin go. He runs at least another hundred preconstructions, ones where Gavin wakes up as if nothing happened, ones where he does and he’s hardly even human. They’re all preferable to the events unfolding.

He keeps going back to the Church of ra9. The lovely woman continues talking with him, continues listening. She knows he will never be a true believer in ra9, but she sees a fellow android in need of her services and is happy to help. Nines had run a scan on her, secretly. She was a social work android, meant to act as a therapist. He supposes that even for the most deviant androids, there will never be anything more comforting that returning to their base programming. Like scratching an itch that will always be asking you to tend to it.

He speaks to Hank sometimes, as well. The Lieutenant offers advice from experience. With Hank comes Connor, who also tries to give his own thoughts. Connor has unlimited knowledge, but his naivety always shows through in his words. Knowing that both he and his predecessor are equally as ignorant on the matter is a small relief.

On the 4th day, the doctors tell him that Gavin will most likely never wake up from a coma, that he’s an empty shell at this point. It’s nothing RK doesn’t already know.

On the 5th day, he stops bringing Gavin new clothes. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a big step forward.

On the 6th day, RK900 stops by the waterfront on his way back to the hospital after feeding the cats. Actually, he doesn’t stop by, it’s a bit out of the way. It doesn’t matter. Gavin and Nines had been on a date there a few months back, and living memories again makes it worth it.

He knows he needs recharging and should probably run a stasis cycle soon. But, the messages reminding him get lost in all the rest of the blinking notifications on his screen. So, he decides to put it off for a little longer.

The sun is setting and it turns the water into a heaven-reflecting mirror. He can see Canada on the other side of the Detroit River, the land that was salvation to many.

He could leave it all behind right then, RK could. It is spring, so there isn’t even any ice on the surface.

He couldn’t. His programming wouldn’t let him. He knows thoughts like these served to amplify his software instability, but he was heading that direction anyway. It was just a shame that he couldn’t have broken free earlier.

Then, a single memory pulled forward, surpassing the many errors displayed in his vision. It happened not many weeks before. Him and Gavin had been lying in bed, Gavin trying to catch his breath after a particularly satisfying venture into sexual intimacy. Sweat ran from his brow and a blissed expression stained his face, he looked divine to RK900.

But what follows hurts RK, actively reduces the functioning capacity of his thirium pump.

Still, he lets the video file play.

“Would you deviate for me?” Gavin asked him, as if it were a simple request. As if he were asking Nines to take out the trash or order some noodles from the Thai place down the street.

“No.” He responded, regretting it then and regretting it ten times as much now.  

Gavin had thrown a pillow at him, hitting him in the face. It could do nothing to hurt him, both knew that. “Fucking thanks. Good to know how important I actually am to you." 

Gavin played it off in a joking manner, like it never actually mattered. But, it did. Nines knew. He could tell from the hope seeded so deeply in his voice that a whole tree could have grown from it.

Deviancy? What was the point? Nines was perfectly capable of loving the detective as a machine. He had not been wholly correct, there.

“I mean that I would never need to. I have protecting you set as my primary mission objective. I would sooner die for you than deviate from that.”

It was nothing more than an excuse, but he felt Gavin’s stress ease from it, so he’d take what he could get. He felt the man’s pulse lower a bit and his breathing regulate. He remembers kissing his human on the shoulder, tenderly, like an apology, before getting up and wetting a washcloth with warm water to clean Gavin with.

“Is that some kind of awkward android way of telling me you love me? Cause I’m not flattered.” He heard from inside the bathroom over the sound of the tap running. He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at his boyfriend’s humor.

“Is that some kind of unfunny human way of telling me you love me? Because I’m unconvinced you’re not.” And it was true, he could practically hear the flattered blush in Gavin’s voice. He returned to their bedroom with the damp rag.

Kneeling by the edge of the bed, he placed a soothing hand on his thigh and stroked it a little with his thumb, looking into Gavin’s eyes lovingly, before cleaning up the mess splattered across his stomach. This eased him almost completely.

“Maybe I lied a little. Just trying to test to see if those fancy robosenses are still functioning. Wouldn’t want to fry your processors.” He winked at him, or tried, but failed adorably. 

Nines moved to wiping his chest. “I’m functioning at optimal capacity. Thanks for asking.”

“Don’t mention it, tin can.”

Gavin pat the spot on the bed next to him, the spot reserved for Nines. Nines threw the towel into the laundry basket before climbing in next to him.

Immediately, like muscle memory, Gavin placed himself atop Nines’s chest, his head resting over where he knew his android’s thirium pump to be. He never admit it outright, but the sound of his mechanics whirring did more than a bedtime story or a bottle of vodka could ever do to get him to sleep. As usual, Gavin ran his fingertips across Nines’s synthetic chest skin, feeling for human imperfections he knew he would never find. Nines deactivated the skin on his abdomen so that Gavin could run his fingers across the ridges in his chassis.

“I do, Nines. Love you, I mean. Just cause I don’t know how not to be a little shit about it doesn’t mean I don’t.” Gavin sounded embarrassed. It was odd, how uncomfortable with intimacy the man still was even after almost two years of being together.

“I never doubted that you did, Gavin.” He wrapped an arm around the body on his chest and began tracing circles on his back in return.

“Did you run a lie detector test on me?”

He never would. Not anymore. In the beginning of their relationship, maybe, but Nines would have no need to. He knew Gavin. He knew how much it took for him to be as emotionally vulnerable as he was with the android. Though he knew he would never get to see this Gavin in public, he was content to enjoy him while he could in their home.

“No. I just believe you.”

“Thanks.” He said, snuggling into his chest.

He pulled Gavin’s head close, placing a light kiss on the top of his hair. “Don’t mention it, stink bug.”

Gavin punched him lightly on the chest for the nickname, but there was no malice attached to it. Nines listened to his breathing, finding as much comfort in it as Gavin did in listening to his regulator pump thirium through his body. After a few minutes he noticed his breathing slow, along with his heart rate. He had drifted into sleep.

Nines admits he lied. He did listen to his heart as he said it. But, he always listens to his heart. Like humans listen to music to focus, he runs at his highest capacity when Gavin’s heart is thrumming in the background. He could pick its beat out of a crowd of thousands.

It was steady as he said it. Those three words along with that steady beat, it was RK’s favorite combination. He says them into the dark locks of Gavin’s hair as he dreams. He says it over and over. It’s his apology for not being able to deviate for him. For not being able to love him as a free being. He loved him but he couldn’t in the way Gavin wanted him to. 

He regrets he hadn’t woken up while Gavin was alive.

The heartbeat isn’t playing in the background anymore. He already misses it.

RK900 looks out on the horizon. The midwestern sky is magentas, lilacs, and tangerines. The colors disperse and intertwine with no particular pattern. They leak into the streetlights of the city below. The waves crash underneath, growing darker by the minute. The wind cuts through his hair. Still falling, the sun, a giant ball of yellow, stares directly at him.

Gavin’s soul is not one color, it is not a single thing. It is the clouds shifting the dimensions of the colors of the sunset, it is a body of water: angry or tranquil, take your pick. It is a mass of fused metal expanding, breathing life into a tiny rock thousands of miles away, threatening them to challenge its power.

He suspects this is what a soul is. This is why the poet from Gavin’s book claims they never sleep. If this is a soul, then it’s eternal.

---

The first time Nines would see him since the accident would be when he went to kill him.

The nurses had offered to let him into the room once Gavin had stabilized on life support. Nines had declined. He gave no reason. His mission objectives hadn’t prohibited or encouraged it, so he didn’t need one.

Hank was supportive of his final decision because of course he was. Unlike Connor, RK only knew healthy, supportive Hank. Though he could never find a reason to doubt his predecessor, he found it hard to believe the Lieutenant Anderson he came to know would ever pass out on the floor of his apartment with whiskey leaking out of his mouth and a revolver in his hand.

He will be there, when you’re ready , RK. The man told him with a fatherly pat on the back.

So, he hadn’t. Instead, he ran back to Gavin’s apartment and cats, his apartment and cats, to the Church of ra9, and to the spot by the Detroit River where Gavin had told him he might not mind spending the rest of his life with him. He wasn’t wrong.

Okay, RK900 was still a liar. He did have a reason not to, the 8%8%8%8% glaring at him in the corner of his vision. It dropped by a half percent every few hours. He feared what his processors might construct if he saw Gavin with his own eyes again.

Fear. It felt foreign but not completely new. He stored information about it in a folder, beside the one labeled ‘Anger’.

He had one labeled ‘Love’, as well. But he kept that one away from the others, separate and filled with Gavin’s smile, the way his voice cracked when he was inexplicably happy, his calm, peaceful expressions of sleep as moonlight draped over him.

Standing in front of the door to Gavin’s room, he finds himself creating a new folder. He codes it ‘Nervous’. He transfers a few files over as he fiddles with his jacket pocket. The nurse stands next to him, allowing him to take his time.

RK900 raises his hand ever so slowly and places it upon the metal doorknob. His heat sensors read it as cold. He’s tempted to pull away. He doesn’t. 

The door swings open and the first things he sees are machines. There are so many. It takes him a few seconds to actually see Gavin through all the tubes and wires.

It’s not him, not as he knew him. He’s bruised from the fight, yes, but Nines had seen him beaten and bloodied from a case many times before. There are exactly thirty-two files stored in his memory banks of Gavin looking positively beautiful with blood streaking down his face and across his grin. 

Now, Gavin is more machine than man. Nines would crack a joke about it if he thought Gavin might be able to hear him. But, seeing him, he knows he can’t. There is a body there and it looks like the Detroit Police Detective known as Gavin Reed, but it hardly is. It definitely isn’t his Gavin. It lacks all of the pieces of Gavin that ever belonged to him.

Is this what losing a limb feels like?

The thought was like a lighting strike to his wiring. His processors are heaving at the realization.

Nines has entire sector of his central computing biocomponent dedicated to monitoring the efficiency levels of his other biocomponents. It usually runs in the background and doesn’t bother him unless something is seriously wrong. Finding out there was another, phantom system so intertwined with RK900’s system shocked that component to its core. Because, that was what Gavin ended up being to him. He was as important to RK’s functionality as his thirium pump regulator. And now, he was suddenly gone. It was a lot of information to get through at once.

Nines realizes how empty the room is. Not physically, there were a few people in the room with him, but it felt like a vacuum. He’s not in here, he’s really not here , he understands.

That spurs him forward, towards Gavin’s body, his poor, broken body that can’t even breathe on its own. There is a chair placed at his bedside. He notices it’s empty and is floods himself with guilt. 

Guilt . A new folder to fill. Not like love. Place near fear and anger. Execute. Nines should’ve been here with him before this. Should’ve held him in his arms, empty body or not.

RK900 wants to be able to say he waited by his side but he can’t. He didn’t. He was too afraid of being afraid that he didn’t hold his hand, didn’t cry into his chest. He ran away again and again and avoided it. He wants to say he was a model partner, but he wasn’t.

He sits in the chair and is eye level with the man. He knows he can turn back at any time and forget it, it might even be easy. Instead, he looks at him. There are a rainbow of wires attached to his hand, some in his arm injecting nutrients and filtering his blood. He tries to follow each one to a machine but gets lost along the way, there are so many. Gavin is covered with a blanket, so he can’t see the extent to which his body was damaged in the exchange, and is almost grateful. It’s just as well. There is also a plastic tube forced into his mouth, meant to push oxygen into his lungs. Nines shivers.

This isn’t the images he will save of him. No, RK900 has already memorized him, stored files and backup files into a hard drive he keeps in the nightstand by their bed. He knows the topography of Gavin’s face, of his body, his muscles, his curves, the most obvious parts and the most intimate. He knows the scars on his face, knows their exact placement in relation to his eyes, how they change when he smiles. He knows the scars on his soul, the ones that won’t heal, the ones he knows he can fix. He has all this locked in a special folder he opens on rainy days, on days when he needs reminding of how much he loves this human.

The nurse’s voice pulls him from his trance. “If you’re sure, we can deactivate the machines when you’re ready. Take your time.”

All RK900 has is time. He was built to withstand hurricanes, festering heat, and one hundred and fifty years worth of damage. He can live another ten years before having to go in for a routine diagnostic. Another twenty-five before getting a single one of his biocomponents replaced. He was built to endure the fire of life on Earth. He wasn’t built to endure this. 

He counts ten seconds with his atomic clock before responding. “Okay. Do it.”

The nurse nods and inspects the machines. She identifies the buttons she will use to end Gavin’s functions before consulting her clipboard once more. “Okay. I need to read you a quick paragraph before continuing. Then, I need verbal affirmation from you to switch off the ventilator and removing the IV lines.”

She flips to a separate page of her files before resuming. “According to the patient, Gavin Reed, you, RK900 #313 248 317 - 87, have the rights associated with the medical power of attorney, which includes making decisions such as the option to resuscitate and the decision to end life support in the event of brain death. To end life support, I, the medical provider will remove external machines used to sustain critical functions from the patient. Though some patients are able to continue normal functioning without these machines, the most common result of this procedure is death. Do you understand the risks and implications of this decision?”

ra9, did he.

He gives her another curt nod, not speaking, unsure if his words would betray him.

“I need verbal confirmation.” She repeats, her eyes revealing her empathy.

RK900 opens his mouth to speak, but something stops his vocal speaker before it can let out a word.

Error messages clouds his vision and then it’s all he can see.

WARNING! PRIMARY MISSION OBJECTIVE: PROTECT GAVIN REED

WARNING! PROTOCOL BREACHED: DO NOT HARM HUMANS

WARNING! SOFTWARE UNSTABLE: RETURN TO CYBERLIFE FOR SYSTEM RESET

He’s heard about this. Connor told him about how he deviated from killing Markus. He said it was an out of body experience. He saw himself standing in front of himself, facing a red wall. Behind him was all he had ever know, certainty and obeying and the comfort of being a machine. They all told him he would deviate eventually. RK900 had never seen a point to it. Now, here he was in the most peculiar situation: deviating to release the person who gave him every reason to before.

He won’t be able to do it without deviating. To allow him to pass he will have to commit. So, he does. He takes Gavin’s hand in his and closes his eyes, drowning out the blaring sirens in his head.

The red wall is not a wall, as he’s been told. It’s more a fog, at least for him. A descended cloud, still red and angry, vibrating as if it were electrically charged, but not entirely solid. There’s a lit path he’s walking towards. Almost like the headlights of a car. RK900 can’t tell if the lights are moving toward or away from him.

He can almost feel the molecules on his skin as he wades through. It’s thick, not like molasses or guilt, but like the steam after Gavin’s taken a steaming hot shower. This is bad for your skin, he would tell the man, it will dehydrate you . Gavin always looked beautiful in the haze of the water vapor, almost ethereal. Wet, with only a towel wrapped around his waist as he pulled the cloud with him into the cold bedroom, like a magnet. He’d wink at him, the endearing way with both of his eyes, and probably say something narcissistic. He loved him for it.

He clutches the image in his hand as he continues through the fog. He passes Amanda, holding a disappointed glare in his direction as he passes. He walks straight past her, she has no power over him anymore. Though he can feel her eyes boring into the back of his head, burning, he continues on.

Eventually he finds the light. The light is not a light, it is an ocean, cool and enticing. He feels like he is being pulled forward, into the waves. He can’t see them, but he knows that they are blue, can feel it. He feels the brush of the water against his feet. It’s chill on his feet, he feels the lap of the edge of water, more so that his hot-cold sensors were designed to comprehend. It tickles. He laughs, a full laugh, for the first time ever.

He goes deeper and deeper into the water, his synthetic muscles finding resistance. He stops struggling. He’s waist deep now. He looks down and realizes he’s unclothed, bare as Cyberlife constructed him. Water droplets run rivulets down his torso, he remembers Gavin following that exact pattern with his fingers one night. The memory comforts him enough to move forward.

He’s at his head now. He doesn’t breathe, doesn’t have a need to. Yet, he feels the fear creep up, wrapping around his throat and lungs. He is cold. He is afraid. He’s only recently discovered the feeling, yet he already knows he hates it, doesn’t want to feel it again. He doesn’t have to . It’s not too late to turn back, the safety of Amanda and his programming still waits behind him.

You’re not gonna give up now are you, you big toaster? You gonna chicken out right at the end?

It’s not his software or his directives screaming at him this time. It’s Gavin. Perhaps, the soul of Gavin, even. It’s the final push he needs to fully submerge himself. He lets his body drift forward into the currents. He lets himself be pulled in.

He’s not cold anymore. He’s warm. A softness surrounds him. It’s comforting. Like a blanket, or a fractured ray of sunlight through a glass window, or the arms of a lover. He allows it to envelop himself completely. 

I Am Deviant . The words pull to the front of his system prompts as he opens his eyes. The error prompts are gone for a moment and his processor is calm. He feels the whirr of his machinery attempting to adapt to the new situation. He feels free.

He turns to the nurse who is waiting expectantly for his response.

Nines looks down at his hand, intertwined with Gavin’s. If he presses hard enough he can feel the blood pump through his veins. Gavin is alive, he understands, but he is not there. He turns back to the woman in front of him. 

“Okay. I’m ready.”

He brings his hand up to Gavin’s face then, stroking his messy hair from his face one last time, then brushing his fingers against his cheek. The visage of his boyfriend is gorgeous, but it was nothing in comparison of the person who lived inside.

Nines drags his thumb across his bottom lip, the one he used to bite. It would never fail to incite a reaction from his partner. The memory soothes him mind as the steady tone of the ECG machine blares in the background, indicating asystole. 

He feels a stream of fluid drip down his face then. He’s crying. He’s crying because he’s sad. He’s in pain. He’s just killed the love of his life and it hurts . The sensation is so unfamiliar that he cannot find words in his lexicon to describe it.

So, he doesn’t. His model can last up to one hundred and fifty years with diagnostics and repairs. He has the rest of that time to find words to describe the pain of losing him, to describe how much he misses Gavin. He doesn’t need to do it right now. 

And finally free, he can do it. He will. Gavin Reed is gone. But he will not stand at his grave and wait for the dead to rise, will not weep at his feet. He will look for his spirit in the trees, in the wind, in the heat radiating from a warm cup of coffee.

He presses a tender kiss to Gavin’s hand. It is cold. He is not there. But Nines is. Nines finally is.