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steamy-linguine · 5 years ago

Note

How about something sweet and domestic for Markus? Like him just being happy with his s/o.

A/N: Of course! I apologize for the delay but I really hope you enjoy this!

Before I post the one shot if anybody would like to submit a request please feel free to do so and if you would like it to be anonymous please let me know in your request. Enjoy!

Home Cooked (Markus RK200 x Reader)

“Alarm deactivated. Welcome home, Markus.”

Confused yet confident were the words Markus would’ve used to describe the state you were in.

Confused as to what you were doing but confident you could still finish making dinner without burning the house down.

It had been a week since you had been at your Uncle Carl’s house to help around while his sickness seemed to get worse.

“Okay so now gotta start chopping...” You mumbled to yourself as you grabbed the knife and brought it over to the cutting board with the vegetables.

Markus leaned against the door frame, his green eyes never leaving your sight as you chopped.

Markus never thought he’d ever be so intrigued by someone. Your personality was just so addicting, being around you made him feel different.

“Ah shit!” You cursed loudly as you pulled your hand away.

Without any hesitation, Markus was already in front of you looking at your new wound.

“It’s just a small cut. No stitches are needed and I can bandage it for you.” He said.

“Thanks. Were you watching me cook?” You asked feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, something that happened around him more often than you had enjoyed.

Markus nodded, “I was. It’s interesting watching you. Are you making a stew?”

“Yes I am. Well attempting to. Can’t really cook for shit...” You muttered.

“I can cook dinner for you if you’d like (Y/N).”

“No, Markus really you don’t have to-“

“Then allow me to help you.” Markus offered quickly.

You contemplated for a second.

He was always already doing everything around the house. Sure this was what he was designed to do but you still felt bad, but looking back over your shoulder at the failure in process that was dinner you subconscious told you extra hands that were experienced wouldn’t be too much trouble.

“Alright fine.” You nodded as you turned back to the food.

Markus grinned a little, the idea of cooking with you seemed so personal to him.

“So have you always tried cooking?” Markus asked trying to make conversation as he began to chop the vegetables.

“Did you just say try?” You asked him, your eyes not meeting his.

Markus could feel his insides heat up.

“I’m sorry if I offended you! I meant-“

Your laughter cut him off quickly, the sound making his thirium pump slow in his chest.

“It’s okay Markus. I’m only kidding but yes I do try to cook. Sometimes I even try to bake.”

Markus nodded as you walked around him and opened the can of seasonings to dump into the pot.

“Do you enjoy taking care of my Uncle?” You asked looking in his direction.

There was something in his face that caught your attention. He frowned a little as if actually thinking for an answer to your question. His eyes met yours.

“It’s what I’m programmed to do..” The words seemed to linger out of his mouth as his eyes went down to his busy hands.

It was something Markus had been struggling with for awhile now. Trying to figure out who he was and seeing as to why he felt something was missing inside of him. He didn’t know what he really enjoyed or wanted.

“Hey,” You rested your hand on his shoulder making him look over to you. “I just really appreciate what you’ve done for him. He’s been more alive than I’ve seen him in the past few years..”

There was a silence that filled the air but a comfortable one between the two of you.

You broke the gaze and moved to stand in your previous spot beside him and grabbed a knife to finish cutting the onions to place them into the pot.

You cut at a slow pace and some pieces came out smaller or larger than others.

“Allow me.” Markus offered as he took his spot behind you.

“Markus really I’ve got it.”

Markus ignored you as he placed his hands over yours and you could feel his chest press against your back and his shallow breaths hitting against your neck.

This was cruel, sickening even yet so intimate.

To be so close to him like this was all you wanted over the past couple of days but yet so cruel and odd for you to want attention from an android.

A plastic human that had a brain faster than a computer yet you craved for some form of intimacy from him and you were getting it from cutting onions.

Fucking onions.

“You want to place your fingers here so you don’t cut them accidentally..” Markus told you.

You could only manage a nod as your breathing was so slow and shallow.

You had wondered if Markus felt the same way. If he found you as attractive as you did him and if he was enjoying your short time you guys were having together.

“Alright. In they go.” Markus moved himself from you and grabbed the last of the food and dropped it into the pot.

The disappointment on your face had to be very obvious since Markus turned to look at you.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah I’m fine just the onions made my eyes a bit watery...Is it ready?”

Markus continued to add more seasonings and stir until he took a spoonful and motioned for you to get close.

He brought the spoon to your mouth and you opened to taste.

“How does it taste?” Markus asked.

You hummed in delight, “It’s really good.”

“Then I’ll prepare the table.” Markus nodded as he grabbed the bowls.

“I’ll go get Carl.” You said.

Markus continued making the food for the two of you while you went to get your Uncle.

Markus took the bowls to the dining room and set the table, getting your drinks ready as well.

Soon enough the two of you walked down the stairs and sat at the table began to eat.

“Oh wow. (Y/N) you made this?” Carl asked.

You shook your head, “I had some help from Markus.”

Carl nodded, “I was wondering how you could’ve made dinner by yourself without burning the house down.”

You scoffed, “That was one time! I didn’t know how long the cookies were supposed to be in for.”

“Right.” Carl said back to you sarcastically.

“Besides maybe Markus can help me make some cookies later. If that’s okay?”

Markus nodded, “I would enjoy that.”

A word he never thought he’d say and let alone meant but getting more alone time with you was something he looked forward to.

#detroit become human #markus dbh #markus x reader #dbh markus imagine #dbh north #dbh jericho #jericho #dbh josh #dbh simon #dbh carl #dbh leo #dbh reader insert #markus imagine #dbh markus reader insert #rk200 #markus rk200 #dbh rk200 #rk200 reader insert #rk200 x reader

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staticl0ve · 2 years ago

Text

Master Fic List

Oh boy, finally getting around to making this list. Let’s start with hello: I’m not much of a writer, just self indulgent DBH trash. 💙✨ But here we go!

As always, spice makes the world go around and my spicy chapters will be marked a * so most of my fics, unless stated otherwise, are 18+.

Links are to AO3 (although some are now tumblr links now that I’ve started posting to both). ✨🤖✨

—

FAQ:

Some of your works aren’t visible to me: Check out Tumblr’s post on opting in to view mature content. If you are of age, you’ll have to opt in in order to view any works which include mature content. All of my smut works will be labeled appropriately unless it is a post that’s directly linking to AO3 (a site that has its own mature content warning for mature content).

Do you take requests?

Sometimes. Feel free to hit me up in the asks and if the prompt is interesting enough, yeah sure why not. 💙✨

—

Connor Fics

Connor x Fem!Reader

💙 Ex Animo (From the Heart) (18+) Chapters 18/18

❄️ Dollhouse (18+) 5/5 - Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3* - Ch. 4* - Ch. 5

🎄Baby It’s Cold Outside (18+) 2/2 - Part 1 - Part 2*

🌹 Forget Me Not (18+)

Connor x AFAB!Reader - gender neutral

✈️ Home (+18)

🐽The Pig and the Fox (18+) - Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 * - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 * / 6

Nines (RK900) Fics

Nines / Female Reader

🤘Dancing with the Devil (Spy AU) 18+

🔪 The Darkest of Hearts (Spy AU) Warnings: graphic violence, 18+

Sixty (RK800 60) Fics

Sixty X Female Reader

🌻 Sunflower (18+)

🔥 Things I Hate About You (18+)

Sixty x AFAB!Reader (gender neutral)

🩹 Kiss it Better (18+)

Multi fics (poly fics)

Markus x Female Reader x Machine Connor

🌿 The Garden of Eden (18+) Chap 10/11

Shorts

🏡 The Boy Next Door (fem!reader)

Watermelon Sugar - Connor Pt. 1

Watermelon Sugar - Connor Pt. 2 * (18+)

The Heartbreak Prince - Sixty Pt.1

The Heartbreak Prince - Sixty Pt.2 * (18+)

You Drive Me Crazy - Nines Pt.1

You Drive Me Crazy - Nines Pt. 2 * (18+)

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #my Fics #female reader insert #dbh connor #rk800 #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #dbh sixty #sixty x reader #dbh nines #nines x reader #dbh markus #markus rk200 x reader #markus x reader #dbh x reader

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luvdetroit · 5 years ago

Text

ASMR | D: BH

pairing_markus x reader |

word count_640 |

genre_fluff |

summary_markus makes an asmr video for the first time. |

warning_none |

a/n_lowercase intended. |

you were just talking to markus one day at your place when the big sentence that started all of this was said by you.

you: “i’d probably fall asleep to your voice if you ever were to do asmr.”

markus gives you an amused look, both of his brows slightly raised, “you think my voice is nice?”

you nod without hesitation.

this leads to you really wondering if markus would be good at asmr..so you both jokingly decide to make a video.

the first thing that had to be sorted was his youtube channel.

his channel name ended up being, ‘markus’ because he is surprisingly uncreative when it comes to making up names. (this is coming from a guy who paints).

his profile picture is his LED because he was having trouble on what pose to do. (he also got irritated when you kept criticizing his poses).

you: “you look mad.”

markus: “i’m not mad.”

you: “but you look mad.”

[markus changes his pose]

you: “why do you keep furrowing your brows? try to look..more alive.”

markus: “did you just—“

the next step was buying the equipment needed for the video. (a camera, a good microphone, etc). you wanted to go all out because you can’t have poor quality. markus is going to make asmr, willingly so everything just needs to be high in standards.

now the hard part was what kind of asmr video you both were going to make. you do have a few ideas in mind though..

you: “let’s do roleplay asmr.”

markus: “what kind?”

you: “maybe you play the role of a friend and do casual talk?”

you had other ideas but..you didn’t want to freak him out.

[cough] boyfriend markus asmr [cough]

markus agreed with the idea and you both made up a script together.

after markus practices a few times, you both start filming.

the filming went smoothly sense markus could remember all his lines and took in your advice on, ‘not looking so gloomy’ throughout the whole video.

once the recording was done, you both edited it and posted it with the title, ‘casual talk’ because markus is basic. (he didn’t want his titles to be as..’creepy’ as the other asmr videos).

not even an hour passed and the video already has nine thousand views somehow.

you: “you are getting a lot of clout— as expected.”

markus: “i’m surprised this many people watched it.”

you: “i’m not— i mean..who wouldn’t want robojesus talking to you casually?”

markus: “don’t call me that—“

after about four hours later markus’ channel had two million subscribers, six million views and ten thousand comments on his video.

it was also number one on trending.

while scrolling through the comments out of curiosity, you came across some weird ones.

[comments]

“you sound so hot!! are you taking requests? if so plz do a boyfriend one next!”

“can you do a nsfw one next??”

“show urself without your skin pleaaaaseeeee!!”

“plz make a hand tapping vid”

“can we see u naked ?”

you: “you’ve got some fans.”

markus: “i’m starting to regret doing this..”

some news reporters shined light on markus’ video with some questionable titles.

[headlines]

“leader of jericho now a youtuber??”

“markus possibly dropping his leadership of jericho to become a youtuber!?”

“android youtuber manages to become number one on trending?”

you: [dramatically gasps] “are you really going to drop everything to become a youtuber? i really thought better of you, markus..”

markus: “shut up.”

you tried to convince markus to make more asmr videos so you could listen to them later but he keeps denying you.

markus: “if you have trouble sleeping you can always call me.”

most nights you end up cuddling with markus with him going on about mundane things, his soothing voice helping you drift off to a peaceful sleep.

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pendragonfics · 5 years ago

Text

(the man) across the hall

Paring: Markus/Reader

Tags: gender-neutral reader, gender-neutral pronouns, alternate universe - modern setting, Markus’s last name is Manfred, Leo Manfred is a racist, domestic fluff, slow build, angst and hurt/comfort, threats of violence, gun violence, angst with a happy ending

Summary: The apartment opposite was always a home to someone. The fact that nobody ever stayed long made for a tradition of regular baking, practicing the welcome speech, looking forward to who was coming afterward even before the newcomers had settled in.

Word Count: 3,265

Current Date: 2019-10-14

Tagged: @angelwrote

The apartment opposite was always a home to someone. The fact that nobody ever stayed long made for a tradition of regular baking, practicing the welcome speech, looking forward to who was coming afterward even before the newcomers had settled in. Not that you’d been in your apartment long; two years in your little nook just outside of the city centre of Detroit was one area of stability that kept your routine in check. Waking at dawn, drinking coffee darker than pitch, and working eleven-hour days down at a convenience store on the main street. And in the other thirteen hours of the day, that was for night school, and sleep.

You’re coming home after the long day of chasing shoplifters and deflecting strangers’ advances and stranger conversations, to find a newcomer in the apartment opposite. The door is wedged open with two textbooks on psychology, both thicker than your head, and there’s muffled music playing from the squeaky sound system of what you assume is an old phone. You’ve been awake too long, and your head is as heavy as a fire truck, but still, as you fumble for your keys, you spare a glance inside.

There’s the same furniture as the last tenant, but instead of a ratty throw over the couch, a cliché phrase cross-stitch framed on the wall, there are nice pillows and a calendar with art of American monuments. The month of October is somewhere in New England with autumn leaves and Halloween-esq art.

A man walks from the other room, and spies you as you manage to slot the right key in. He looks to be the same age as you and wears his locs with a patterned bandana, his hair cascading just above his shoulders. His eyes are two colours, but both light up as they meet your own.

“Hi, sorry, I’ll turn down the - I’m Markus Manfred,” he introduces. By the time he gets to his doorway, hand outstretched to shake, you’ve opened your door. But it’s then he realises you truly don’t have any hands free “Can I lend you a hand? Your hands look a little bit full.”

Your mind is empty, no words cued for the newcomer. You felt a rush of heat pool upon your face, neck and lower stomach, astonished at the politeness of your neighbour.

“I -,” you offer a bag of shopping to Markus, a small smile gracing your face, “yes, thank you so much.”

He helps you in and flicking the lights on, both of you move to kitchenette. It wasn’t a studio per se; the bathroom was small adjoining your room, and apart from that, there was room for your couch, and a bookshelf full of knickknacks.

“You know, you tell Markus. “I’m usually the one who welcomes people to their homes, not the other way around,”

“You know what they say, see a need…” he re-joined. “I’d hate to come off as an asshole.”

You take Markus in, head to toe. The only thing that screams “asshole!” about this man is the fact that he’s wearing a plain white tee tucked into his blue jeans, but other than that he looks every part as nice as the words that are coming from his mouth.

“Something tells you that you can’t be one of those,” you reply, and with your hands now free you place your hand in his. Not only is his demeanour warm, but slender fingers, too. “I’m _________. Welcome to the building.”

Markus beams, releasing your hand from his. His handshake had a good grip, and you swear as your mind lingers on his surname that it is vaguely familiar. You can’t place a finger on it. Perhaps you read it in one of the newspapers at the store or heard it in the news. At the moment you hesitate, Markus moves to help unload your bags, and you watch him, somewhat flabbergasted, somewhat ashamed of being aided.

“I can do that, please,” you shoo him from the bench, but the majority of the first bag is emptied. Markus watches you, his green and blue eyes following your own. “You’ve got your apartment to unpack, and besides, I’m making potato bake for you.”

“I can’t possibly -,” he begins.

“I always make food for neighbours on their first day…consider it repayment for helping me in.”

He goes to protest again but thinks twice. A hand in his pocket, he gives you a little smile, and it widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, _________. Really.” He places his spare hand on your bench, and as he turns to return to his apartment.

“Are you allergic to anything?” you ask.

Over his shoulder, Markus calls out, “Just soy!” and closes the door behind him.

Though you’re tired as hell and quite frankly are behind on an assessment, you start at the potato bake, glad that you’ve met the newcomer. As you turn the oven on to preheat, you bite your lip, studying your reflection in the window. You have a good feeling about Markus Manfred; something tells you that that won’t be the last you hear from him.

---

It’s two weeks later, and your boss has finally hired another person at the shop. Her name is North (and she hates that Kimye made her name a thing) and though her uni schedule clashes with the store hours, it means you’re working shorter hours, more frequently. It feels weird to sleep in until nine, get ready, and then take over at twelve, to finish at six. While it’s costing your boss more to keep the convenience store open another hour, the sales more than compensate for the loss, and you’re coming home with more pep in your step.

It also means you have more time around the apartment for the first time since moving to Detroit; and more time for incidental meetings with Markus in the hallway.

You find out that he’s a social worker who got reassigned from New York City, that he painted most of the art that hangs in his apartment, and that his dad is Carl Manfred, i.e. the American painter of the century. You learn all this over various coffees shared on his, or your couch, spread over the weeks that passed since you first met. It’s amazing how much you’ve hit it off with him; last time you were somewhat this friendly with a neighbour was a year ago, with old Mr Kamski who had too many Persian cats - all named Chloe after his daughter who lived in Scandinavia - to count.

“So, you’re a social worker, saving kids’ lives, making a difference one day at a time,” you overstate, waving a hand in a general manner, the other cradling a cup of tea, “and make time for your passion, family, and mental health? Sounds fake, but okay.”

Markus laughs into his mug. “I suppose I’m the lucky few,” he says. “But what about you? You’re at the -,”

“Mini Mart, down on the main street.” You supply.

“- and when you’re not working, you’re here?” He motions around your apartment. Since the first night when you met Markus, you’ve had more time to tidy around the place and keep it that way. “I mean, it’s nice, but I refuse to believe that’s all there is to you.”

“I’m studying, actually,” you tell him. You place your mug on the coffee table, and add, leaning back into the couch, “Night school. I’m going to make something of myself.”

“Nurse?” he guesses.

“Doctor,” you correct, feeling a little bit proud. “I’ve always wanted to work in triage. It’s hard, but…”

“You know, _________, I can see you in that,” Markus remarks.

There’s a warmth in his eyes, and since you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve come to see it more often in his face. He goes to say something else, but you’re interrupted by the sound of someone pounding at the door. More specifically, not at your door.

He and you share a glance, confused, and as you unlock the door, you find a young man standing at Markus’ door. He’s shorter than you, with dusty brown hair, a hoodie and jeans with holes, and from what you can see, his skin is kind of pale that makes you wonder if he’s anaemic rather than descended from the Irish. He continues at bashing at the door, the side of his fist connecting with the door rather than knuckles.

“Leo?” Markus approached your side, incredulous.

The man turned around. He looked tired in the blue eyes beneath the black one, which was an ugly shade of puce. His lip was cracked, with recently dried blood smeared across his chin. He bared his teeth in imitation of a smile, locking eyes with Markus.

“It’s been a long time, brother,” He barked. It wasn’t his tone; his voice sounded dry, just as chapped as the skin around his lips. “What, no welcome? Who’s your friend?”

“They’re none of your concern,” Markus replies.

His eyes narrowed, and you watch as he stalks across the hallway to Leo, the man who called Markus his brother. You keep yourself in your arms, staying half-hidden in your own doorway, observing them both. Back when you first met Markus, you had skimmed a Wikipedia page for Carl Manfred as a sort of homework. Right now, watching the two men interact, you vaguely remembered reading about another son of his.

“Are you okay?” you ask, feeling a little hollow.

Even though you face people like Leo every day at work, it feels different, alien, to have an encounter - for Markus to have an encounter - at your home, your safe space.

He nods, but it doesn’t put you at ease. He lets Leo into his apartment, and as he closes his door, you do the same, and slide down it, sitting with your knees tucked in tight to your chest, heartbeat hammering in your ears. While the thoughts ran through your head, you felt your stomach drop, a fear that you hadn’t felt for a while taking root.

You hadn’t felt this way for anyone in a long time.

Later that night, you’re on the cusp of sleep after the evening worrying when your phone buzzes. Fast, you grasp at it, reading a preview of a text from Markus’ number on screen, and in a ballet of texting, you type back, until you stare at the last message he sends, your fingers lingering over the screen, and as you reply, feeling something you’re not used to.

---

It’s about a week later, and you haven’t really heard from Markus. To be fair, you’ve been bogged down in the coursework of your classes and being bumped up to supervisor by your boss. It’s one way that he’s fair but cruel; the pay isn’t that much different, and it means you’re around to either lock up or open when he’s not around.

You saw Markus for five minutes in the hallway, as he was returning from work, you off to it, and apart from the fact that he looked quite handsome in his grey hoodie, you barely shared words. From what you overheard through the walls was that Leo was still around.

It didn’t make you feel any better. You sure didn’t sleep well at night.

But that could just be because of your shitty mattress, you thought, massaging your back idly. It’s a slow night, with customers few and far between. It might be because of the weather, or the night; it’s bucketing down on an idle Tuesday evening, the sunset to leave the post-daylight hour left to the imagination, or consultation of a clock. Usually, customers come in to escape the rain, but seeing it’s well after rush hour, you’re just as tired as the last patron - fifteen minutes ago, in such a rush they didn’t say please and thank you or look you in the eye - and want to close up.

Alas, there’s half an hour to go.

There’s only so many times you can clean a cleaned bench, face up the snacks when they haven’t been touched, tidy up the change in the register until it looks immaculate. You give one of the security cameras in the corner of the room a half-hearted smile, knowing that the boring night wouldn’t be glanced at on tape.

That was when it happened.

You heard a bang, and turning to the noise, you saw, almost too late, the window shatter, and a car plough through the front doors of the store. You dove below the register, but it was a reaction, and you felt the sting of flying glass. But the car kept going, and defiant of structures, the roaring engine forced its way further into the store, ramming into the bench you hid behind.

You’d seen enough movies to know what was going to happen next, but still, it shocked you when a single hand pulled you upwards by the back of your shirt. Manhandled, you stared at a poorly made balaclava and handgun.

Your hands were slow, the side of your arm staring to bleed from where it caught glass, but you didn’t feel it. You trembled, feeling the gun pressed against your head, heart racing so fast that you felt like a piñata that would break all by itself. You passed the bills to the robber holding you, fearful, afraid. The gun was still pressed, albeit not as hard, but no matter what, there was a gun, and it was at you. You’d never liked them and weren’t about to start liking them now.

“A-are you going t-to kill me?” you stammered.

The man behind the balaclava smirked, that much you could see. He let go of the back of your shirt, stuffing the money into a bag a cartoon villain or the Monopoly Man and looked you in the eye. They were blue and wild, and you caught your breath as soon as you recognised the voice of the guy holding you, and the store at gunpoint.

“I could,” Leo taunted.

Even if he did, there was a button under the counter. Your boss had installed it in hopes of it not being used because he was the kind of man who’d do the bare minimum to save his ass. You managed to snag it; fingers pressed in as soon as you started talking. It was against the training, stalling a theft, because it meant you were at stake as opposed to the items being thieved, but in your fear, in your anguish of realising it was Markus’ brother behind the mask, all of that made you do it.

The whines of police arriving made Leo freeze, and he hesitated, caught between fight or flight. The car he had bludgeoned the storefront with was totalled, and his finger hovered over the trigger, one spasm away from your certain doom. But that didn’t come. The last you saw was the butt of the gun come down on your head.

You came to on the back of an ambulance.

The paramedic had wrapped you in a shock blanket, fussing over your superficial wounds. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol wipe that brought you to, or that you heard your name. But when you look, there’s nobody you know. It’s a haze but you see your boss has been dragged out at the late hour, and there are so many flashing lights and people talking around you, at you, to you that you’re not sure if it is your head wound or an oncoming migraine.

They let you go after you stop shaking.

---

When you get home, you can’t hear any ambient noise. It’s eerie, almost, but then again, before Markus moved in, it was the norm. Even as you follow the usual rituals for the evening, turning the TV on in the background, you can’t help but feel like you’ve walked in a cold spot, and can’t shake off the shiver.

That night, you fall into a restless sleep. In fact, in all the next fortnight, it’s the same. You ache every day, some from the ghost of pain that followed, but most for Markus. It’s hard, because you had started to fall for him, slowly and surely, and now, following the incident, you heard not a word. The fear creeps in, and you feel like he’s left you. Sided with the brother who left you with a concussion, and therapy sessions you can’t afford.

Left you to your lonely heart. That longed…for him.

It’s almost a month since the incident when you open your door to music at eight one morning. Markus’ door is wedged open with an unopened sack of rice, and your heart flutters. You pause at the threshold, caught - but at that moment you are seen. You catch Markus’ eye, and you turn to leave.

“Wait,” he called out.

Despite yourself, you did. Markus looked good, but then, he always did. His shirt is a patterned button-down, and his jeans are cuffed, feet bare upon his floorboards. There’s no hairband around his hair, and it hangs loose, the locs long, long enough to brush against his collar.

“You -,” the words die on your lips.

“I know you’ll never forgive me,” Markus stalls at his doorway, biting his lip, upset. “but I let him in, and he - fuck,” he wipes a hand over his face. “If you don’t want to speak -,”

“I missed - I miss you,” the words tumble out.

The emotions you wear on your sleeve are wiped across your face so plain to see. Oh, if you were a hero in a novel, doomed to be plagued by feelings and things that darkened the skies, it would be worth it only if Markus was there, and here he was, he was here, and you felt almost sickeningly happy, afraid of the joy inside you.

“I’ve been in New York, helping Dad with the case against - I would’ve never left but it was the last straw. I -,” you blink, unsure of what you’re witnessing. Markus is stammering over his words too, almost nervous. He’s never been, in front of you; he was a saviour to the lost in the foster system, a pillar of strength and example of handsomeness, but never unconfident. And yet, here he was. “I’ll cook dinner for you tonight, if you -,”

“I’d love that,” you reply, too quick.

But too quick is not quick enough, and Markus smiles. “Are you allergic to anything?” he asks.

“No,” you reply. “But I think I’m into you.”

He crosses the hallway, and you meet him halfway. It’s almost clumsy, the way you fall into each other’s arms; it’s not like a Hallmark movie or something where Margot Robbie and some piece of eye candy look so dashing upon a movie poster. They don’t hold a torch against Markus.

“That’s strange,” he says, his mouth close to your face, breath hot in your hair, “I feel the same way.”

Life isn’t a movie, it’s real life, and Markus and you are just people. Ordinary people who managed to find each other in the chaos of life. If anything, Markus is a corner piece, and you are the spot beside which slots right in. The puzzle is complete now. The picture is clear, with answers, dinner, and sweeter things than each other’s touch on the horizon, between you, and the man who moved into the apartment across the hall.

#markus x reader #markus #markus rk200 #markus dbh x reader #markus dbh/reader #dbh markus #dbh reader insert #Detroit: BH #Detroit: Become Human/Reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

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roguelov · 6 years ago

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Request: Can I request a MarkusxReader imagine where reader lets Markus paint on their back and shoulders, and after he’s finished they reveal that they intend to get the art permanently tattooed on them.

Markus’s paintings always managed to take your breath away. His skills were simply amazing. The compositions, the colors, the details, the emotions. Everything left you in awe. For so long, you sat silently in his art room watching him paint. Not that he minded. He enjoyed your company. You would sit there and watch as his planned out ideas, make small sketches, decide on color schemes, change minor details, then put all the concepts together for his final piece. In your mind, every painting, every piece including his rough sketches, deserved all the awards and recognitions imaginable.

There was one thing that always came to mind when you watched his process: you wanted a personal painting from him. You wanted something special. A painting that was meant for you and only you. Was it selfish? You could argue yes, but the two of you been together so long that you could also argue no. But, you never had the courage to outright ask for one. Besides, you wanted him to do it out of love. Not out of obligation. All you wanted was a painting, whether it was small or large, just something that was yours. Something you could cherish forever.

After some time, Markus asked if you wanted to learn to paint. You jumped at the opportunity. You were nowhere near his skill, but you were ready to learn. Ready to start at square one and build your skills. Your enthusiasm captured Markus. He loved seeing the twinkle in your eyes. He loved the excited smile that tugged on your lips. He loved your antsy dance of anticipation. He loved it all. He realized that he may have the skills, but you definitely had the determination and passion. Passion that always inspired him. You were his muse. Whether the two of you painted together or if you simply sat there. You always inspired him.

Until, he hit a block. Days passed and he wanted to paint, wanted to create, but no ideas came to him. He didn’t know what to do. He tried small sketches, but each one was tossed away. He looked to you, looked at his muse, but only found distraction. Not inspiration. You saw the frustration, the desperation clawing away at him. You decided to help by bouncing off ideas with him, but again nothing seemed to stick. Until you tossed out an idiotic and random idea.

You sighed and joked, “Why not just paint something on me?”

Markus snapped his head towards you. “What?”

“What?” You froze realizing what you said out loud.

Markus looked away trying to decide what to do or say. He never painted on anyone before. The idea never crossed his mind. Now, that he heard it. He was getting ideas, getting inspired. “Do you want me to paint something on you,” he asked. He wanted you to be sure you were okay with this.

“Uh, you can if you want,” you shrugged trying to be nonchalant.

“Well, do you want to? I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

You stared at him. His two toned eyes pierced into you. You didn’t want to admit, but you have thought about this before. Multiple times. “Yes, I want you to paint something on me,” you answered.

“Okay.” He cocked his head and asked, “Where do you want it?”

You paused. “On my back. I think that would be big enough of a canvas so you don’t feel restrained.”

Markus mumbled something as he glanced away. Ideas clear in his head. “Okay, I’ll get things together. You can, uh, prepare yourself.” Markus turned around gathering his tools.

You were embarrassed at first. Now? Now, you were strangely more comfortable. You were giddy with excitement. What was he going to paint? What ideas did he have? All you knew was that whatever he created it would be stunning. More importantly it would be a painting all for you. Smiling, you stripped off your top layers of clothing and sat on your stool. Your back faced Markus as he situated himself. Rustling of paint brushes, splashes of water, paint cans being popped opened, all caught your ears.

“Are you comfortable,” Markus asked.

“Yup.”

“Alright, if your back starts to ache just tell me and we can take a break.”

Markus stared at your bare back. His idea already formed. All he had to do was create. He grabbed a brush and wet it down before dipping it into paint. Carefully, he did his first stroke. You yelped.

“What! What is it?” Markus panicked.

“No, no, it’s nothing! Sorry, I just didn’t expect the paint to be so cold.” You blushed a bit from your outburst. “Sorry, you can keep going.” Markus shook his head, but a smile graced his lips. Now, the real work began.

You always watched Markus paint, but never experienced it. The strokes, both small and large. The light touch. The swift movements. It had you in a daze. The paint was initially cold which soon faded away as each layer was built upon. Markus was silent the whole time. The only noises came from cleaning brushes or mixing paints. He was so focused. So inspired. He was painting his muse. And you, you were so relaxed. Completely taken as Markus painted. It was just the two of you. Nothing else. Him, the painter and creator, and you, his canvas and inspiration.

An hour passed as if was seconds. A paint brush clanked against a can. Markus stepped back. Assessing if anything needed touch ups or if new details needed to be added. No. It was perfect. A perfect painting for his muse. “Okay, I’m done,” he smiled. “Wait here I’ll go get mirrors.”

Markus rushed off only to return in seconds with a full length mirror and a small handheld one. You slowly stood from the stool and positioned yourself. Your back to the full length mirror with the small mirror clutched in your hand. Markus stood in front of you with a massive smile. The two of you feeding of each other’s excitement.

You asked, “Can I look?”

He moved you over an inch then lifted your hand holding the mirror. “Okay, now you can look.”

Looking into the small mirror, you saw it. A masterpiece. The colors. The composition. All of it was beautiful. It was simple, but the details and theme didn’t go unnoticed. An easy description was hands holding over a budding flower. Yet, it didn’t give it justice at all. One of the hands was colored in light blues. Detailed with lines showing sections of metal along with minor embellishments of wires and screws. All so smooth yet artificial. The other hands colored in only pinks. Details of blemishes, small strands of hair on the arm, and creases at the knuckles. All so imperfect yet lively. The hands glowed in their distinct colors against a grey backdrop. Where the hands touched was a soft lavender and so was budding flower below. Droplets of purple dripped from in-between the hands onto the flower. Helping it grow. And to encase the entire painting, it was embroidered in other tiny flowers, both blooming and budding, along with leaves. Your eyes danced around to the hands down to the flower only to be lead into the circle by the plants surrounding it.

“Oh my god, Markus, this is beautiful!” You gushed. You dropped the mirror to look at Markus who glanced away in embarrassment. “I love it! Uh, I wish there –“

You stopped. An idea popped into your head.

“(Y/N),” Markus called out.

“I’m going to get this tattooed,” you muttered.

“What?”

“I’m going to get this tattooed,” you smiled at him.

Markus’s eye grow wide. “No, you don’t have to –“

“I want to. I always wanted a tattoo anyway. And why not let it be this masterpiece. It’s just too beautiful to be washed away.” You lifted the mirror back up seeing all the small details such as your favorite flower in the border. “I can’t let this painting waste away.” Your mind was set and nothing could change it.

Months later and after a few sessions, your tattoo was finally complete. You practical rushed home to show Markus. You busted open your door calling out to him. He answered from his art room. You sprinted over with a massive smile. You shouted, “It done!” Over and over until you stood in his art room.

You quickly turned around and took off your shirt revealing his painting permanently tattooed on your back. He walked over silently. Shocked. He still couldn’t believe you did this, but here you were months later with his painting tattooed on you. He raised his finger and touched your back. You jerked away. Both from pain and from his cold fingers.

“Sorry, it’s still a little sore,” you explained.

Markus didn’t say anything. Only carefully skimmed his fingers against your back. When he pulled away, he checked to see paint smudged on his fingers but found nothing. It truly was tattooed onto you. His pump regulator skipped beats. Why? Why did this make him feel so giddy, so loved?

“Are you done looking? I’m going to put my shirt back on,” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m done,” he mumbled.

After putting your shirt back on, you faced Markus and saw this strange look on his face. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I just can’t fathom why you did this.”

“Because it’s a beautiful piece of art. A painting you created for me; so why not? Why let it wash away in the shower? Why let it become a memory?”

“I could have recreated it. Put in on a real canvas to hang up.”

“Yes, you could have, but you took your time and energy into it. You decided on where to place the hands, on where and what flowers to add, on what colors to use, on how to create this border, all while keeping my body composition in mind. The curves on my back added to the challenge and you stepped up. It’s a piece that was for me and only me. So why change anything? Why put it on a stiff canvas when it can live on me? For my eyes and your eyes only.”

God, the love in your eyes made Markus blush. “I don’t know if I should thank you.”

“Thank me? No, thank you for this now wonderful tattoo. It’s something I will always treasure.”

Markus smiled. “Now, I think you have to paint something on me.”

You laughed. “I hope you’re okay with third grade level sun and flowers.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “As long as it’s from you. Besides I hear you have a great teacher.”

#detroit become human #detroit become human imagine #DBH #dbh imagine #dbh fanfic #dbh markus #dbh rk200 #markus x reader #markus imagine #markus oneshot #markus rk200 #rk200 #dbh markus x reader #reader insert

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the-mxs-of-many · 6 years ago

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Apollo

Paring: Markus x genderneutral!reader

Warnings: n/a (should typos be a warning?)

Word count: 494

A/N: Yoot your girls back after almost 3 years of unfinished WIPs! I literally wrote this at 2am today, so bare with me and my rusty writing. Like always feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

***

A chill breeze swept through the garden, swaying the flowers and rippling the aspen, oak and willow leaves, making the garden look like a sea of green. With each wave peeped out an assortment of all the colors of the rainbow, almost like sunlight hitting crystal, creating a halo of color. And with the breeze came the sweet scent of jasmine, honeysuckles and gardenia.

Yes, this was a heavenly day, Markus concluded in his mind; all seemed to be in peaceful harmony, and beside him was the fairest flower of them all, you.

The artist may be proud of his lively and blooming haven, but he could not be more proud of this ever-blooming bud next to him, and he’d be damned if he ever let it wither.

There you sat basking in the sunlight like a sunflower.

“My love?”

You slowly turned to the beckon and even slower fluttered opened your eyes to sleepily gaze upon the speaker of the honey voice. A hum is your only response.

Markus chuckled at your drowsy state; the noise brought bright smile to your face.

“My sweet love,” he gently cupped your face with both hands, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. He could never tire of your warm and soft skin, like the golden roses climbing the arch you two sat underneath.

“My most precious flower, I know you will not be mine forever and our time together as one will end when you leave this world, but I hope you know and always will know how much I love you, and how I will love you even when you have silvery hair.” He connected his forehead to yours. “You will always be my most beloved.”

“Markus.” A hushed whisper drew Markus away to gaze at your glassy eyes.

“Hush, don’t cry, my flower.” Once again Markus stroked your cheeks with his thumbs to wipe the wet trails of tears.

“Oh, Markus, you’re too good to me, you make me so happy and content, more than anyone I’ve known.”

One hand trailed down your neck and around your back to draw you closer to him by your hip.

“I love you, Markus.”

You united your lips with his and there he took you into his arms; the sun felt dull and cold now compared to his comforting embrace, and if had you had wings, they would have melted away from his radiants.

The heavens and all life rich in that garden of Eden would agree you were his flower and he your sun.

#this is shit but oh well #reader insert #my writing #markus x reader #dbh markus #markus rk200 #dbh x reader

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detroitbecomesmemes · 6 years ago

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No but guys listen... Connor... Nines, You and the Jericho squad all at IKEA...

I’ll so make headcanons of these, when I have the time

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stinkypinkdinosaur · 6 years ago

Link

New chapter up! Reader is introduced and meets his creator for the first time!

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frombeginingtoend · 6 years ago

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Markus - Made For You

Summary: Markus and (y/n) meet after the traumatic incident in the Manfred home.

---

Markus watched as snow drifted lazily to the ground. The sun hid behind the swatches of grey clouds hung high in a gloomy sky. He tried desperately to look human, fidgeting, his leg bouncing aimlessly without him thinking about it, but he had to remember to blink, to breathe, and to make it seem like he was waiting for transport, not people watching.

For the first time in his life he felt the sensation of anxiety. It was like we was being watched, like someone was out to get him. Hell, his father was dead, his people were in danger, and the person he loved? He didn’t know what happened to them. He didn't know if they knew about their father or that he himself was shot, taken to the dump, and left for dead.

His head swirled with countless thoughts that he had never had to deal with before until his saw a figure out the corner of his eye.

Their coat was familiar, as was their hair, but it couldn’t possibly be them, Markus thought.

---

The weather today fit (y/n)'s mood quite well: cold, gloomy, but not overwhelmingly dark.

They carried on with their life despite learning not even a week ago that their father passed of a heart attack and that her closest friend was framed and disposed of like garbage by their idiot of a brother.

Now, there they stood, hoping to whatever they could hope toward that things would turn around. That maybe, just maybe, Leo could kick his drug habit, they could keep their father’s name progressing in the art community, and their heart would mend itself.

Grief pried at (y/n)’s sternum, burning their heart in its claws. Would they ever find love again? This time with someone who could love them back? Maybe they never would… and that would be just fine. They were content with their first love, no matter that it may have been unrequited or one-sided. They still doubted they would find anyone else as caring as Markus. No one else could possibly make them feel the same way: like they were home.

Mind focusing back to the task at hand, (y/n) waited to board the bus to Bellini’s Paints. Then, right in front of their eyes, they saw someone familiar. The same skin tone, the same hair, a ripped undershirt. The name came spilling from their lips without thought, without warning.

“Markus?”

---

His eyes locked with their’s. Tears fell from both pairs, rivers from souls that were so bonded they didn’t know what they would have done had they not been able to see each other at least once more.

“I’m sorry,” Markus whispered. His hands clasped at the lapels of (y/n)’s coat. “I should have come to see you. Forgive me.”

He was crushed into a hug.

“I forgive you, Markus. You don’t need to apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

The two clung together like super-glued Velcro. But, alas, they needed to pull away.

“Your eyes,” (y/n) whispered. Their thumbs traced the skin of his cheeks, gazing worriedly into his mismatched optical units.

“I’m fine,” he assured, staring deep into their eyes and covering their hands with his own.

“The blue suits you.” They smiled. “But nothing will compare to your natural green. It’s the most beautiful colour I’ve ever seen. One of a kind.” Their fingers trailed to Markus’ cheekbone. (E/c) eyes flicked down to view his plump lips.

Markus leaned in. He didn’t know what he was doing, but something in him said he was doing it right.

(Y/n) leaned in. They’ve wanted this for so long now.

Their lips touched.

Heat swelled in their chests, heart and thirium pump beating in unison. Every movement was fluid and powerful. They fit together better than any puzzle pieces.

Markus always thought he was made for Carl, but in this moment, he realized he was made for (y/n). The passionate lip lock faded to a few more desperate kisses until they finally pulled away.

“I need to go,” Markus whispered. He didn’t want to leave (y/n), but he had to find Jericho.

“Take me with you.”

Markus was silent, thinking through the negatives and positives. He couldn’t bare to leave now and risk never seeing them again.

“Okay.”

#dbh #dbh markus #markus rk200 #xreader #reader insert #detroit become human #dbh imagine #detroit become human imagine

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could-it-be-a-dream · 3 years ago

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request guidelines

hello, and welcome! before you send in a request, i'd like to lay down some ground rules.

note: 🍓 indicates characters that i am particularly inclined to write at the moment!

first and foremost, the fandoms i will write for:

marvel (including x-men and daredevil)

stranger things

ghost (the band)

lord of the rings/the hobbit (excluding rings of power because i haven’t seen it)

horizon: zero dawn/forbidden west

it: chapter two

supernatural

detroit: become human

criminal minds

star wars

harry potter/fantastic beasts

(i would also like to mention that i am only on season 2 of daredevil and season 5 of supernatural, so please avoid sending requests with major spoilers!)

and the characters i will write for:

[marvel]

natasha romanoff

kate bishop

scott lang

matt murdock

frank castle

foggy nelson

charles xavier

hank mccoy

druig

makkari

thena

steven grant 🍓

marc spector

layla el-faouly

[ghost]

papa emeritus i (primo)

papa emeritus ii (secondo) 🍓

papa emeritus iii (terzo)

cardinal copia/papa emeritus iv 🍓

aether 🍓

rain🍓

dewdrop

mountain

cirrus

cumulus

swiss

[supernatural]

dean winchester

castiel 🍓

gabriel

[stranger things]

mike wheeler

eleven/jane hopper

max mayfield

dustin henderson

steve harrington 🍓

billy hargrove

eddie munson

chrissy cunningham 🍓

robin buckley 🍓

jonathan byers

peter ballard/henry creel

joyce byers

jim hopper 🍓

alexei “smirnoff”

[lord of the rings]

samwise gamgee 🍓

pippin took

merry brandybuck

legolas

aragorn 🍓

gimli 🍓

galadriel

elrond

[the hobbit]

bilbo baggins 🍓

thorin oakenshield

fili

kili

dwalin

bofur 🍓

thranduil

[horizon: zero dawn/forbidden west]

aloy

erend 🍓

avad

kotallo 🍓

[it: chapter two]

bill denbrough

eddie kaspbrak

beverly marsh

richie tozier

[detroit: become human]

connor (rk800)

markus (rk200)

hank anderson

gavin reed

��[criminal minds]

aaron hotchner

spencer reid

emily prentiss

luke alvez 🍓

penelope garcia 🍓

matt simmons

tara lewis

[star wars]

luke skywalker

leia organa

obi wan kenobi

poe dameron 🍓

cassian andor

jyn erso 🍓

bodhi rook 🍓

din djarin 🍓

boba fett

fennec shand

[harry potter/fantastic beasts]

fred weasley

george weasley

hermione granger

neville longbottom 🍓

bill weasley 🍓

newt scamander

*please note that i do not write for ships, but i will gladly write reader-insert poly relationships.

**also, all characters under the age of 18 will be written in strictly platonic or familial relationships unless it is specified that they are aged up.

my hard “NO”s:

suicide/self harm

domestic violence/physical abuse

eating disorders

sa/non-con

omegaverse

hardcore bdsm/bondage

pedophilia/underage sex (see above note)

drug use

ddlg/age play

(the things listed above are off-limits either because they make me uncomfortable or because i don’t feel that i know enough about them to write them accurately.)

if there’s a specific topic/kink/character you have in mind and you’re not sure if i’ll write it, please feel free to ask! this is a judgement-free zone :))

thanks for your cooperation!

- spencer <3<3

#request guidelines #request rules #fandom list #character list #guidelines

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years ago

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Miniseries

Human Deviancy [Connor x Reader] [Interactive]

Connor RK800

Imagines

Being A Coroner And Befriending Connor

Teaching Connor About Halloween 🎃

You & Connor Wearing Matching Costumes 🎃

Connor Teaching You The Coin Trick

Ficlets

Meeting His Creator 💛

New Emotion

First Date 🎵💛

Can Do Both 💙

Breakdown 💙💚

Fascinating 💛

In Love 💛

Surprise! 💛

Drabbles

Mission Successful 💙

Waking Up 💛

Headcanons

Dating Connor

Meeting Connor

Cooking With Connor

Connor’s Proposal Attempt

Multilingual Connor

Domestic Connor

Connor’s Puppy

Connor And K-9 Unit

Connor With An Anxious S/O

Goodbye

Slow Dancing Lessons

Connor’s Emotional S/O

Connor’s Bubbly S/O

Plus Size Self-Conscious S/O

Random Deviant!Connor Headcanons

Connor Reacts To Reader’s Glitched Records

Connor In Halloween

Connor’s Deviant Android S/O

Connor Comforting Reader During Panic Attack ❗

Connor Supporting His Artist S/O

Prompts

“Can I try something? Do you trust me?” 💛

“You’re scared the shit out of me, stupid!” 💙

“‘Con’ is a shortening of your name, silly” 💛

“I shouldn’t be in love with you” 💚

Oneshots

My Favorite Person 💙💛 // Part 2: Babysitting 💙💛

Grief 💚

Zlatko’s 🌟

Aesthetics

Connor

Version 2

Markus RK200

Ficlets

Thunderstorm 💙

Headcanons

Dating Markus

Markus’ S/O Performing

Oneshots

I’ll Follow You Into The Dark 🎵

Simon PL600

Headcanons

Dating Simon

Jerry EM400

Headcanons

Dating Jerry

Pirate’s Cove

Aesthetics

Jerry

Daniel PL600

Headcanons

Dating Daniel

Prompts

“I hope this is enough for you, because I really care about you”

Chloe R600

Headcanons

Dating Chloe

Falling In Love With Chloe

Gavin Reed

Headcanons

Gavin & Pro-Android S/O

Elijah Kamski

Prompts

“I should write that down”

Misc

Preferences

Musical S/O

They Comfort You 💙

Headcanons

Dating Connor & Being Hank’s Daughter

Dating Gavin Reed & Connor’s Friend

Falling In Love

Reacting To Badass S/O

Reacting To Their S/O’s Period

Kittens

Connor And Makus’ S/O Allergic To Gluten

Connor & Markus’ Kind S/O

#fandoms masterlist #detroit become human #detroit become human masterlist #dbh #dbh masterlist

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loyally-unfaithful · 5 years ago

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fandom/s

here’s a list of the fandoms i’m in and the characters i will/will not write for.

last updated: 21/07/21

notice: i’m currently pretty deep in the kimetsu rabbit hole, so i’ll probably respond to kny reqs faster Σ(;Φ ω Φ)

devil may cry 5

dante

nero

detroit: become human

connor | rk800

rk800-60

rk900

gavin reed

kara | ax400

markus | rk200

north | wr400

fire emblem: three houses

byleth

dimitri

dedue

ashe

felix

sylvain

ingrid

annette

mercedes

basically anyone in the blue lions house

(i’m such a slow player that i still need to finish the other 3 routes,,,)

world trigger — i’m not up to date with the manga yet

hyuse

yuichi jin

kohei izumi

none of the villains, i’m genuinely sorry for being boring sdajfhadjksfhk

no hq staff member (except maybe,,, masafumi shinoda,,, or kyoko sawamura,,,)

look we know so little about most of these characters, any work i create will be heavily based on fanon

there’s so many people in this damn manga that you might as well name a character and i’ll see if i can or cannot write for them ;;;

kimetsu no yaiba | demon slayer

tanjiro kamado

zenitsu agatsuma

inosuke hashibira

nezuko kamado

the pillars — though be prepared to wait a bit longer on them as i don’t know them as well the main 3

yushiro

tamayo

i will not write for most of the demons because a) i don’t know them very well b) their archetypes (especially muzan and douma types) make me uncomfortable

genshin impact

traveler (lumine/aether)

kaeya alberich

diluc ragnvindr

tartaglia “childe” | ajax

zhongli

razor

will add more to the list as i get to know other characters better...

what’s for sure is that i will not write for any other fatui or unreleased characters (rosaria, etc...) because i don’t know them well enough

jujutsu kaisen

disclaimer! i’m currently not looking to write any reader-insert jjk fics [i might (big might) write jjk x reader stuff, but only when the inspiration strikes me lol] because i’m more interested in writing character &/x character interaction atm (shameless all/yuji shipper here).

that being said, feel free to join me in (mostly) fushiita/sukuita hell and/or drop thirsts. and who knows maybe i might write a quick something from your delusions ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

itadori yuji

fushiguro megumi

kugisaki nobara

sukuna

satoru gojo

will get comfortable writing for other characters eventually...

#my rules #writing requests rules #kny x reader #dbh x reader #fe3h x reader #wortri x reader #dmc5 x reader #genshin impact x reader #falselywrites

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staticl0ve · 2 years ago

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The Garden of Eden

Rating: Explicit | NSFW 18+

Markus / Female Reader / Machine Connor

[ Ch. 1 ] [ Ch. 2 ] [ Chapter 3 * ]

It’s spice time 🌶

Chapter Summary: It’s the night of the heist and Markus wants to make his feelings known.

A/N: I’ve since updated this post to also include the text in tumblr! 🎉

With the night of the heist weighing on everyone’s shoulders, you sought reprieve in your blossoming friendship with the deviant leader. Markus said his door was always open for you and you took him on his offer. After all, he was undeniably charming and conversational, a polar opposite of the company you spent your daylight hours with.

His followers revered him, he was their savior, the man with all the answers. Their questions brought forth his more serious side, his brow constantly pinched together with worry. It was difficult for you to piece together whether or not your feelings for him were similar to the admiration his followers shared or something more. Sure, he was gorgeous, but all androids were beautiful and if the wandering eyes from your coworkers meant anything, you were designed to the same standard.

The other day, you discovered that besides painting, he was also well versed in piano. The night club sometimes hosted live entertainment and a piano was kept in the back for such occasions. It was off hours, the upper floors of the club was just you, him, and his adoptive father’s favorite tunes. You watched his expert fingers dance over the keys for a few songs before he offered to teach you how to play. Funny enough, you weren’t built with a talent for the instrument and while a quick internet search could make you an expert…you could learn the hard way.

“Like this?” You asked, summoning a jumbled set of notes.

“No,” Markus chuckled, moving your hands beneath his, “this chord uses three of your fingers.”

He dragged your hand across the keys, his fingers delicately pulling yours to where he wanted them.

“Here,” he whispered into your hair.

Your neck strained to see where his hands guided yours on the far end of the piano. Distracted by his chest pressed against your back, your fingers fumbled initially. Green eyes locked onto your neck, he wondered for a moment if it was as soft as your hands were. With his lips a mere centimeters away from you, it took all of his strength to resist the temptation to find out.

You tried again, delivering a pleasant sound from the ivory keys, followed by a short melody he taught you with your other hand. He nodded, the tip of his nose pressing faintly against the nape of your neck.

“Yes. Very good,” he said proudly.

Memories in androids were vivid, any recall and you were brought back to the moment, the recollection drawing a needy pulse between your thighs. You bit your lip to tamp down on the gasp that almost escaped your lungs. What was that feeling?

Lost in your thoughts, you’d almost forgotten that you were standing in his office, staring at a set of paintings for the past ten minutes. At least it looked like you were contemplating the art and not fantasizing about the deviant leader. Leaning against his desk, Markus was also studying the canvases from behind you, being enough of a gentleman to not have his eyes wander over your curves.

The paintings were the only belongings he brought from the Manfred home after he fled and he found Jericho. The club owner, Rose, was a sweet woman and sympathized with him. She offered him shelter in the lower storage of the building, not realizing she would eventually shelter an entire revolution. Focused on rescuing deviants from their oppressors, Markus had become all work and no play until you came along.

He wasn’t a fool when it came to deciphering his feelings. Carl talked a lot about the love he had for his late wife. One day, he was cleaning the attic in the Manfred home and discovered a box of old papers. Upon asking Carl what they were, the painter nearly teared up at the sight of them. The great Carl Manfred, ornery old grump, was once a huge romantic. The papers as it turned out, were love poems he wrote to his wife in their younger days.

“Love is a beautiful thing. It skirts the line between selfish wants and the urge to give your all to another soul,” Carl explained.

Not yet deviated, the story only brought forth more questions that Carl insisted Markus would answer on his own one day. Perhaps, that day was coming sooner than the deviant leader thought.

“Did you paint this one?” You asked.

Your eyes followed a series of rough, experienced paint strokes, shades of blues clashing with peachy orange. The paint forming the shape of a machine hand reaching out towards mankind, falling short of touching. It hung between two small paintings, presumably Carl’s. Markus stepped in behind you, his hands wrapping around your shoulders, leaning down until his mouth was level to your ears.

“What do you think of it?” He asked in a light tone, the words rolling off his tongue casually like he wasn’t tickling your ear with his breath.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, your hair bunching up against his shirt.

“I see…an android who wants to connect with humanity even if it seems impossible. I think it’s a powerful piece, and it stands apart from Carl’s paintings.”

He brought his chin down to rest upon your forehead, summoning a playful ‘hey’ on your part.

“You have a good eye, it is one of my paintings,” he lauded.

“Markus.”

“Yes?” He replied flirtatiously.

“Your chin is very sharp.”

He laughed. The sound, playful and airy, could lift the most sunken of spirits out of their gloom. He lingered for a second before moving to place a small peck on your head. Instantly, your eyes widened and heat flooded your cheeks.

“For good luck. After all, we’ll probably need it,” he said before gesturing to the door. “Are you ready to go?”

Right, the heist. Your eyes never left the painting, but you nodded.

“Yep!”

The plan was simple: get to the truck, unlock it with Connor’s key, take some packages, and get out of there. You were lucky the RK unit didn’t suspect anything amiss from his lost key. The tussle he had with the deviant tore at his attire badly enough that he concluded the loss occurred then.

The truck was equipped with facial recognition software, so in classic heist format, you all donned masquerade styled masks. It was necessary to avoid giving away North’s WR400 features, which would pin the robbery on deviants. On her face was a fox mask, a panther for Markus, and yours? Well, what better to suit a femme fatale cliche than a black cat mask.

Late into the night, the highway was mostly empty save for the truck and you three. Markus was beside you, riding along on a hover motorbike with North following behind him. Perched on the bumper that jutted out from the truck, you pressed the key card against the back door, the lock clicking open.

You slipped past the opened door to begin rummaging around the back. The alarm was disabled but you didn’t have much time before it would restart. Scanning the boxes, your eyes landed on the container you were after. You emptied it into your bag, filling it with a handful of VR glasses. In a different container marked for android parts, you filled the rest of the duffle bag with bio-components and blue blood. Your cat eared mask popped out comically from the open doors, the ears swaying from the harsh breeze.

“Got it!” you announced to the two.

Alarms blared in the truck, the interior lighting turning on, flooding you in bright white light. You flinched at the sound as it rang in your ears.

“You have to jump!” North yelled over the sirens.

With a sigh, you threw the bag at North, the android catching it with ease.

“Hop on!” Markus shouted at you, his bike pulling up next to the door.

Disengaging any functions that made you clumsy, you aimed a precise jump to hop onto the seat behind him, your arms wrapping firmly around his waist.

He glanced back at you, “Hold on tight.”

Together, you all managed to speed off before DPD arrived to investigate the disturbed Cyberlife truck. Deep in the bowels of Jericho, celebrations were being had. The goods were delivered and kept in a safe room where volunteers set up a space for infiltrating Eden.

It was late, too late in the night for an average human with a day job, so Markus offered you a ride home. Once at your apartment, you held out your door as an as an invitation, the deviant leader joining you in your home.

“Thanks for going through all this trouble. Are you sure you weren’t needed for anything else tonight?” you asked.

He always was. There was rarely a moment of peace in Jericho but your safety was important to him. He wrapped a hand around your shoulder, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your shirt sleeve.

“It’s the least I could do. Our kind owes you a debt for what you’ve risked for us today.”

You wanted to correct him, tell him you were one of them. There was a chance you only stood out to him because of your human appearance and the passion you had for helping the deviants. His hand slipped down your arm, holding your hand in his. Tentatively, your fingers intertwined with his, feeling the shift in his skin go from textured and pliant to smooth and firm.

“I wanted to make sure you got home safe,” Markus insisted.

Humans couldn’t interface, he knew that. He also knew you understood that palm to palm interfacing was reserved for closer friendships, even lovers depending on the data transfer. A blue glow was trapped between your palms, the interaction tingly and warm from the buzzing of his components.

You’ve dared to steal from the deviant hunter and successfully stolen from Cyberlife, you could find the courage to tell him the truth.

“Markus I…I need to tell you something.”

His eyes were filled with warmth and fondness, wanting nothing more than for you to feel comfortable around him.

“You can tell me anything,” he replied.

Your palm opened flat against his, bringing it level to his chest. A warm golden light flooded around the invisible seams in your skin, outlining the contours of your largest muscles. A gasp left your lips when the loop completed, his life flashing before your eyes. You could see and feel everything: the joyful days with Carl, the accident, and the night he ran away from Cyberlife’s collection team.

“You’re one of us,” he said when the connection faded.

You almost snatched your hand away in a flare of anxiety, but you’ve failed to remember that he too, had seen all of your memories and your fears. He tugged your hand, pulling you forward until his chassis pressed against your chest, your name leaving his lips in a reassuring tone.

“I like you regardless of what you are,” he declared. “Your mind…”

Markus’ fingers followed the curve down your neck, the blue glow of his hands activating the seams in your skin in a symphony of blue and gold light. It shocked your sensors, that needy feeling returning with a pulsing hunger.

“…and your body.”

His eyes darkened, bright jade dimming to evergreen. You didn’t get to appreciate the desire in them before his face descended upon yours. The kiss was soft and slow in contrast to your pounding heart, graduating into an eager meeting of two hungry mouths. You moaned into the kiss, tasting citrus and summer on his lips. Wandering hands slipped underneath your shirt, lighting up every golden seam on your back like he was desperate to interface with every inch of your skin. His mouth was smothering yours, making your hands grip onto his shirt like a lifeline before pulling away to breathe. Machines still needed cooling vents and your artificial lungs worked similarly. His cheeks dimpled at the sound of your heavy pants.

“You’ve…never done this before right?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

You shook your head, there was always the internet, but like your piano lesson, it was probably more fun to learn this sort of thing on the go. On the opposite end, having been inspired by Carl’s epic tales of romance, Markus had collected data long ago on courting. He didn’t think he’d get a chance to put his knowledge to use until tonight.

“I could research-“ you started.

He laughed, silencing you both with another kiss.

“Let me teach you,” he said.

Before you could process what his words meant, he pulled away from you, hooking you under his arms to carry you. He found your bedroom, nestling you between soft sheets and his body caging you beneath him. With nervous anticipation, you watched his hands trail down your hips, stopping at the hem of your shirt.

“Do you want me to undress you?”

At your nod, he slowly lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes following the exposed skin with an adoring gaze. Your arms raised to help slip the material over your head.

“You’re breathtaking, you know?” He said.

“You could try sending a thank you card to Elijah for that,” you joked.

He huffed out a small laugh before moving up to your torso, laying a kiss on your sternum. The firm skin of his hand dragged across your rib cage to wrap behind your back, unhooking your bra and tossing it over the bed. Green eyes roved over your naked chest with a newfound hunger, sliding his retracted palm to meet where the center of your chassis would be. A hot spike of energy shocked your core, your artificial nerves firing around the glow of his hand. You gasped out his name, arching forward into his palm.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asked with his lips peppering light touches around his palm.

It was too good and the pulsing between your thighs worsened.

“Y-yes,” you practically whimpered.

Markus smiled, his palm continuing to buzz with energy against your warm chest. With every connection, he could feel the echo of your own pleasure rippling through his wiring. He also knew where you’d feel even better. He slid down your body to remove your jeans and underwear, the denim getting caught around the curves of your butt. You squealed lightly when he couldn’t resist squeezing the plush flesh.

“Lift your hips for me,” he asked gently.

You did as you were asked, watching him remove the last of your clothing and placing them precariously with the rest of the pile. He didn’t return to the bed immediately, slowly pulling off his own shirt instead. Your eyes followed the cotton slide up to reveal inch by inch, a set of toned abs followed by rounded pecs. Was there any reason to make a caretaker android so shredded? His pants and underwear joined the rest of your clothes, your eyes widening when they landed on the center of his legs. Again, what was-

Markus crowded you again, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. His hand caressed the side of your face, stroking your cheek tenderly.

“We’ll take this slow, alright?”

You relaxed into his touch, focusing on the complexity in his eyes. They weren’t just plain green, little flecks of gold spanned around his irises, giving them an extra spark. They shut when he pressed his lips against yours. You mirrored him, meeting his mouth with the same passion. His tongue prodded against your lips, yours parted, tentatively letting him in. Energy pulsed around your tongues, pulling soft moans from the both of you, the organs capable of processing enough data to use as an interface point.

With his tongue in your mouth, you almost missed his hand slipping between your thighs, gently parting your folds with his index finger. His thumb caught the bundle of nerves resting above, gingerly rubbing into it. You moaned into his lips, your hands gripping onto his back to steady yourself. Wanting to see your face, Markus broke the kiss, drawing bolder and firmer circles across your clit and pressing one finger into you. He groaned at the sight of your brow pinched in bliss, lips parted in an inaudible gasp.

Curious about how far interfacing went, the finger in you retracted to plastic. The feedback loop was overwhelming, his desire for you blending with how good you felt with his hands building you up, readying you for him. Another finger slipped into you, making you buck into his hand with a soft moan.

“Do you need more?” He asked, his voice drawing you back to him.

“I…”

What use were words when his fingers wouldn’t stop making you short circuit? He waited, ignoring the need from his throbbing cock pressed between your thighs and distracted himself with the intoxicating sounds leaving your lips. Your whine was replaced with a whimper when he left your side, rejoining you with his head lowered between your legs.

“Talk to me,” he muttered against the skin of your inner thigh.

“P-please Markus.”

Not keen on torturing you, his face delved deeper until his nose pressed against your pelvis. His hands gently held your thighs open, the bed of his tongue slowly licking at your clit until he felt you relax beneath him. Sighing into the sheets, you melted against his tongue, every flick tightening the pressure in your abdomen. His finger pushed into you, stretching you open while he wrapped his lips around the soft nub. A second finger joined, curling into you with a blue glow. You were drowning, or something akin to drowning if drowning meant being consumed by all the bytes that made up how good his tongue felt.

“M-Markus…”

He hummed in acknowledgement with his mouth still on you, eyes flickering up to look at you. You were panting, writhing above him, an arm covering your face with your hand digging into the pillow in a vice grip. He couldn’t think of a sight more sweet, savoring all the small ways your body sung for him. The way your breath hitched every time his tongue ran along the same bundle of nerves, your wet heat pulsing against his fingers, coaxing him to slip an opportunistic third one in. The pressure finally snapped, the energy ricocheting into your spine arching off the bed as you came hard on his face and hand.

��That’s it, baby,” he said with a few more pumps of his fingers, working you back down from your high. “I’m right here.”

Your hand pathetically reached out for him, but he got the message and slowly climbed over you, pressing his lips to your neck.

“Do you want to keep going?” Markus asked.

Even with the dizzying fog in your head, there was still some spark in you, so you flashed him a coy grin. “I believe my teacher hasn’t gotten to the main part of the lesson yet.”

He groaned, cock twitching at the implication. His hands gripped onto your hips, lining you up to him, drawing a soft whimper from your lips.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he said.

Your legs found the sides of his waist, your calves securing him above you. His hands slipped around your face, holding you gently in place to take in the look of trust in your eyes. There was a brief moment of silence with him gazing at you like he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but here, in this room with you and in between your thighs. It was short lived when the head of his cock pushed into you, stretching you more than his fingers did. A small moan, either yours or his, or a sweet blend of both, cut through the tranquil silence.

Your hands wrapped around his taut back, nails digging into his muscles, grateful your imitation of the human body only went so far. There was no discomfort, just the overwhelming feeling of him filling you inch by inch. His hips rolled slowly with deep, intimate thrusts, your name leaving his lips in a groan. At some point your eyes pinched shut, the familiar feeling of being worked up to something greater tingled your nerves. Your hips rocked into his in experimental thrusts, drawing out static filled moans from him.

“Yes…like that,” Markus said.

His hands left your face, one arm holding him up and the dipping down to where you were both joined, his fingers drawing circles on your clit. When your hips met his in a faster rhythm, all words left him. This time, you sought an interface connection, your palm resting above his chassis, lighting up and retracting his skin. He almost collapsed onto you from the shock of the transfer, the only thing keeping him present was your clenching walls wrapping tighter around him.

“Markus, I’m so close-“

He did collapse onto you then, his arm wrapping around your back to hold you against him, shifting his thrusts from passionate love making to rough and carnal. Interfacing only went so far, he wanted to feel you tremble beneath him, become rendered as speechless as you were making him. It wasn’t long before you were only capable of babbling out moans while he pumped into you. With his fingers and cock working you up, you came with his name leaving your lips in a desperate cry, the sound clear in his ears. He was grateful your voice box didn’t have the same static interference as his, the sound of your ecstasy being enough to trigger his end.

You didn’t know how long you both laid there with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still throbbing deep inside you. It was long enough for all of his systems to recover and the deviant leader was no longer speechless. His lips curled upwards, tickling the skin on your neck.

“How was your first lesson?”

You glanced down to meet his green eyes, with a look that was too innocent when he could still feel you pulsing around him.

“First? There’s more?”

His eyes crinkled, and that same airy laugh was back, a sound you’d commit to memory. There would always be time to learn more, especially when android stamina was involved.

#detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #markus x reader #Markus rk200 x reader #the garden of eden #lmao the spicy gif #one day I’ll be consistent with formatting these posts ✨

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