#feat. Nines as the Fear of Techs Going Wrong And Swallowing Us Whole

[localteaaddict]

ModernGods!Nines & Connor/OldGod!Reader AU (RK900 X Reader X Connor)

Pairing: RK900 (Nines) x Female!Reader X Ruthless!Connor

Warnings: None, other than a pre-agreed ménage à trois and one F word.

A/N: Based on one of my most favorite books, American Gods by Neil Gaiman. This was originally going to be Nines/Reader but I got somewhat sidetracked. And I don’t really like love triangles ‘cause honestly, why choose one when you can get both? So yeah, there we go.

I’ve never spoken with her but I’d like to dedicate this ficlet to the wonderful @the-darklings, whose Vampire AU with the RK brothers inspired me in turn.

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“What should we call you?”

It’s the one with the silver eyes that speaks first. You seriously consider tossing your glass of whiskey in their faces, because really, you make me come here and keep silent for the ten minutes just to ask me that, but make do with throwing the question right back at them instead.

Leaning comfortably against the cushioned sofa, you knock back half of the drink in one go. “I believe the more important question is,” you point at them idly with the glass, “What should I call you?”

You don’t miss the glance they share between each other before they focus on you again. They are near-identical, right down to a tuft of dark hair on their foreheads, and you have no doubt they are as deadly as they are beautiful. You can appreciate that; it’s hard to get them in just the right mix, but somehow humanity has outdone themselves again with these new gods. Kids these days, you muse to yourself before putting the glass down on the ebony table between you and them. They don’t make ‘em like they used to, but this is a nice throwback to the old days.

The private room shields you from the hideously psychedelic lights in the dance floors of the club, and also from the noise. It’s one of the many prestigious establishments owned by the brothers and as much as you are loathe to admit, you haven’t been to a place this fancy in a long, long time.

You turn your gaze back to the brothers sitting across from you and take in their mirroring symmetry again. Shaped like the latest technology they embody and represent, they could be mistaken as androids at a first glance, from the shining LED on their temples to simple, utilitarian attires. But their jackets are missing the model numbers standard-issued android clothes usually sport, nor do they wear neon armbands.

Personally, you never saw the appeal in the androids, just thought great, humans are at it again, they’re too lazy to do their own recycling and actually put in efforts to make friends so they’ve created sentient vacuum cleaners with limbs when the first android models came out.

Although now, you think you can appreciate them a little more.

“You can call me Nines,” it’s the one who’d spoken first; eyes the color of full moon, dressed in a white jacket and a black turtleneck. There’s something about his haughty, cold smile that makes you want to either punch him or kiss him. Probably both―why choose one when you can do both? “As for my brother......”

“Call me Connor,” says the other, and you notice just then his frame is slightly smaller, leaner. His eyes are brown but no warmer than his twin’s; his jacket and shirt are more preppy, and the black tie held down precisely with a tiepin makes you want to laugh. Is this guy for real?

You let out a snort instead, crossing your legs and lacing your fingers together. Connor and Nines, huh. You suppose those aren’t too shabby of a name the two of the most powerful new gods, the rising threat in this upcoming war, would give themselves. There are always worse monikers to give oneself, after all. You’re not too particularly fond of your own either, and you didn’t even get to choose it yourself.

"As you may know, I have many names,” you say slowly, “but from what most of my believers are calling me nowadays, you can call me......Reader.”

Connor smiles, surprisingly softly; Nines gives a shit-eating grin that is no doubt his own version of the same. You think about growling for good measure, but decide against it, just letting out a tired sigh. You’d gotten enough shit about your new christening from ‘Hank’ and ‘Gavin’ as well, but at least you’d been able to retaliate. Not with these ones, though.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, will you,” you say irritably, “why’d you call me up for this tête-à-fucking-tête anyways? In case you didn’t notice, I thought we were at war right now. Doesn’t that mean we should be―I don’t know―trying to kill each other? Or at least pretend to?”

“Would you like to?” Nines asks, suspiciously gentle. You shrug. He relaxes again, and this time it’s Connor who opens his mouth.

“It’s their war, as far as we’re concerned,” he sounds disinterested, contemptuous even; you blink. “We want no part of it.”

“I bet The Boss Lady isn’t too happy about it.”

“She’s not,” Nines agrees, “but not even Amanda would be able to force us, once our plan succeeds.”

You mull over the remaining whiskey in your glass; you can almost feel them staring at you expectantly. Sighing quietly, you drain the remaining alcohol before popping the question. “And I’m guessing I am part of that ‘plan.’”

“Correct.”

“We know that you’re none too enthusiastic about this war as well,” Connor  smoothly takes over the rein of conversation from Nines, “despite being one of the more powerful Old Gods. Many of them have lost their strength over time, but......not you. Your power has only renewed over each age, even with the shifts in cultures and civilization. It―you―might fluctuate and change, but never fade. You are unique.”

“This war is a waste,” Nines doesn’t mix words; practical and straight to the point, just like the invention he looks like and symbolizes. “If stepping away from it makes us traitors, so be it. No one will dare try to stop us, if we have you by our side.”

“Why me, though? There are other Old Gods who are still as strong as their heydays if you looked hard enough. Why’d you choose me?”

You freeze when they stand from their seat in sync. Slowly, as if to reassure you they mean no harm, the brothers settle down on the sofa with you between them, not too far but not too close either. You can smell their colognes, rich and subtle; you suddenly have difficulty breathing.

Their cautiousness annoys you for an indeterminable reason; I won’t BREAK, you want to snap at them, but choose to give them a chance. 

“You are the Dreamer,” murmurs Nines, his eyes raking over your face, neck, shoulder; whether in scrutiny or something else, you don’t know. “The Self-Created, and the Representation of Many and One. As my brother had said, you and your power are unique. There is none like you.”

Connor is the bolder one; he cautiously takes your hand, first glancing at your eyes for permission, then carefully covering your right hand between both of his. His palm and fingers are smooth in artificial perfection. It sends an unexpected shiver up your spine. “Your power is especially compatible with ours. After all......”

He throws a pointed look at Nines. “You have no reason to Fear the advancement, nor Worry the evolution of technology might supplant you.”

“In fact, they will only benefit you,” you gasp when you feel silken lips whispering against your ear, large hands covering your shoulders like velvet shadows. “With the Efficiency and constant Enhancement, they......we will only continue to create more diverse desires, countless objects of lust and passion humanity will delve into further and further. It is a bottomless, insatiable hunger and you know it.”

Yes; yes you do, you of all people know it the best, because ultimately, that was what created you, wasn’t it? Desire for never-ending improvement, to be harder, better, faster, stronger, so you can have whatever you want, whatever that may be?

With that realization, you don’t resist when Nines wraps his arms around your waist. Connor covers your cheeks with his hands and you don’t push him away. Somehow, it all feels right. It’s as if the missing pieces have been found and everything is in its place. You are where you were meant to be, with these different resemblances and repetitions of yourself, you and these young Gods complementing each other. At last, at last.

“So do we have a deal?” You can’t tell if it’s Connor or Nines speaking anymore. In the end, though―does it matter? You are where you want to be, where you were meant to be. 

In the end...why choose one when you can have both?

You laugh softly; you lock your left fingers with Nines’s, and take Connor’s chin with the other hand to pull him closer for a kiss. “Yes.”