#like the sheer level of hate to tag this like that had me fuming

[archadianskies]

Whumptober Day 17

Dirty Secret  → part of the A/9 SWATverse

Whumptober Masterlist | 17/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Anti-Android Sentiments × Anti-Android Language × Verbal Abuse × Established Relationship  × Gavin Reed Being an Asshole 

“Well look who it is- baby tincan.” There’s something mocking in the tone, and when he looks to his left he matches the voice to the man he’s seen often in Connor’s memories: newly promoted Lieutenant Gavin Reed. A man known for his very vocal disdain and disapproval of androids, though in recent times he’s at least toned down such sentiments. 

“Lieutenant Reed, good evening.” Caleb greets him politely, fiddling with his cufflinks and pressing non-existent creases from his jacket. He’s never been to a gala before. He’s never done a lot of things before, actually, seeing as he is so new to it all, so new to living.

“Come all by your lonesome have you?” Gavin smirks, looking around him. “Too embarrassing to be seen on Allen’s arm?” Caleb frowns, disliking the trajectory of this conversation already.

“The Captain and I arrived separately because-”

“-you’re his dirty little secret.” Gavin finishes with a grin, gulping down his glass of champagne as he saunters closer. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know he’s sleeping with an android.”

“Our relationship is not a ‘dirty little secret’.” He feels his stress levels start to climb, and he can see why Connor avoids interacting with this man unless absolutely necessary. “It is known to the team.”

“Oh, yeah, the team but not the force. No one outside of Central Station knows of his indiscretions.” He snorts back a laugh and Caleb feels anger prickle up his spine. Anger and...doubt. Like heavy lead, curling in the bottom of his torso, weighing him down with shame. 

“I mean, why would he advertise that?” A casual shrug. “Not that banging an android’s anything new- humans have used sex toys since the beginning of time.” 

“He does not use me, I am not-”

“That’s exactly what you are.” Gavin cuts him off sharply. “The lot of you. You’re all just supplementary machines; we’re the ones doing the work, and you’re all just tools at our disposal. You’re useful- don’t get me wrong. Your brother’s mouth is certainly a well used tool at crime scenes. I just wonder if the old man’s ever-” Before he even realises it, his hand’s shot out and wrapped around Gavin’s throat.

“Speak another word and I will show you what an efficient killing machine can do.” Caleb growls, releasing him but not before fixing him with a warning glare. “That is what Captain Allen expects of me on the field. What we do in our downtime is frankly none of your business, Lieutenant.” 

The man massages his throat but the cocky grin is still there.

“All done in secret, with none the wiser.” Gavin clicks his tongue. “He didn’t even want to be seen arriving with you tonight. No fancy picture for social media. Wouldn’t want anyone to know strait-laced Captain David Allen is fucking a fancy walking talking sex toy.” 

“And that’s a wrap!” Someone claps their hand over Gavin’s mouth, and it takes him a moment to scan the woman muffling his protests. Detective Tina Chen, another of Connor’s colleagues, also newly promoted. “Sorry um- Caleb, right? Sorry. He’s an absolute dickhead and whatever he said, I’m 100% sure it warranted you almost choking him out.”

“Thank you, Detective Chen.” He says with a slight smile in response to the apologetic one she’s wearing. 

“He’ll behave. You should take this opportunity to escape.” She tips her head, making a shooing motion with her other hand. When he follows the direction of her gestures, he spots David talking to similarly aged men just a little ways ahead. Suddenly all of Gavin’s words come back, crowding his thoughts, seeping in like poison. David arrived earlier because he already had a suit ready at home, and Caleb had to pick his up from the tailors. That was the only reason. Right? David had assured him he could wait, but Caleb insisted he go on ahead because he had plenty of colleagues to catch up with, from other precincts. Did David accept because secretly this was the outcome he’d hoped for? Arriving without him? No, surely not?

His stress levels spike just as David turns and catches his gaze. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come at all, he should’ve just rejected the invitation and stayed home with Rosie instead of coming here to humiliate them both. 

“Hey, you made it.” David greets with an easy smile, squeezing his upper arm and leaning up to press their lips together briefly in greeting. “You clean up nice.”

He stares at him dumbly, unable to quell the soft fluttering of his pump regulator. David’s smile turns into a concerned frown.

“You okay?” 

“I-” he nods, feeling the warmth spreading in his chest. “Yes. Crowded. Hate crowds.” He gestures awkwardly and David laughs, reaching to pluck a champagne flute from a passing waiter. He presses the glass of chilled, carbonated Tearium, the kind coded to taste like champagne and cause slight inebriation, in his hand. “Maybe this will help.” He winks and Caleb feels his hearts stutter, feels his mouth tugged up into a grin to match David’s as the man turns back to the others. “So this is Caleb.”

“Allen’s golden boy.” One of the men grin, sticking out his hand. “Good to finally meet you in person.” 

“We thought he’d made you up.” Another one says, pretending to ‘whisper’ it as David scowls in protest. 

“Yeah we were like, there’s no way a real person convinced this stick in the mud to actually have a life outside of Unit 32.” They laugh loudly, clapping him on the shoulder. “And here you are, in the flesh. So to speak.”

“Solid enough to be real, that’s for sure.” They grin, thumping his back lightly. A real person, they called him real. He finds himself laughing, looking over at David fondly.

“It didn’t take any convincing,” he leans in to kiss his temple just for the sheer hell of it, “he had my heart a long time ago.” David groans in embarrassment as they all laugh and tease him, and Caleb spares a glance over his shoulder to where Lieutenant Gavin Reed is fuming. He turns back to his companions. “Quite literally, actually. Did he tell you he held my heart in his hands and saved my life?” 

#rk900 #gavin reed #captain allen #allen900 #Detroit: Become Human #whumptober #tina chen #annie writes: dbh

[pendergays]

Fool (1/???) (Kamilah x MC x Priya)

A/N: Hi. I’m back with a new fic. I wrote it in about 2 hours without proofreading so apologies for any typos.

Rating: PG-13 for now.

Contains: major angst, heartbreak, love triangles, strong language and implications of sexual situations.

MC’s name is Amelia as always.

Btw, if you want to be tagged in anything just send me a DM. It might be more convenient since my masterlist is acting up.

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AMELIA

You’re back in Priya’s club, and you hate it. The pounding music is much too loud, deafening, dizzying. In your chest, your rib cage seems too small for your heart, squeezing it hard like a vice. The patrons around you are laughing, sharp smiles playing on their shadowed faces, and you can’t help but imagine that they’re mocking you. Stupid girl. Falling for someone like that. Didn’t you know what was going to happen? Priya’s infamous for not staying loyal to any of her partners. Only an idiot would think that she was the exception.

The most painful thing is, you used to love this studio. The bass used to elicit a pleasant thrumming in your veins as adrenaline pumped through you, and you basked in the darkness between the neon lights as her touch brought you to cloud nine. You would anxiously count the seconds until you could bolt from Raines HQ and get to her, sacrificing your time and your work-life for just a sliver of that alluring smile. You were an addict. And you still are.

That’s why even though you’re trying to avoid her as much as possible, a stubborn part of you wants to run into her arms and succumb to achingly familiar habit. Apparently, the shards of your broken heart haven’t gotten the memo that she’s bad for you. That she’s the reason why you’ve been crying into your pillow and listening to depressing songs for the past week. And despite the fact that you’ve scrubbed yourself raw, you can still feel the ghostly whispers of red lips pressed to your skin. The bitter truth is, her kisses have left scars. But you will never mark her in the same way. She will never care the way you do, never hurt the way you do. And in time, she will forget about you, like it never happened.

Your nails cut into your skin as your knuckles turn white. You’re shaking, and it hurts, but you need it to hurt. She’s been puppeteering your emotions since the night you met, and even though she’s nowhere near you, you still bleed inside at the mere thought of her. If nothing else, you need control over who hurts you.

“Can I have a drink, please,” you ask the bartender, voice hoarse. “The strongest stuff you have.” He glances at you, at your smudged eyeliner and disheveled dress, and seems concerned. The last couple times you’ve been here, you were dazzling, draped in gold and silk and furs. Now, you’re much less dressed up, wearing the fanciest clothes you have that aren’t… hers. Your eyes unfocus briefly as unwanted nostalgia assaults you, but you wipe any hint of tears away roughly before you have a chance to fall into the gaping chasm of memories that is Before. Shooting the bartender an expectant look, he eventually relents and goes about mixing up a cocktail. When he slides it in front of you, there’s pity in his gaze.

Fuck. Is it that obvious I’m broken? That something– someone–’s missing?

You bring the glass up to your lips, the liquid burning a trail of fire down your throat. Turning around on your stool, you look around for Kamilah or Adrian. Hopefully they’re done with the negotiations…

That was your mistake. The shot glass slips from your fingers, shattering at your feet in a spray of glass. Just a few feet away, there she is. Just as gorgeous as ever, a mischievous grin dancing on her ruby-painted lips. A perfectly coiffed, barbie-doll girl hangs from her arm adoringly. The carefree, untroubled look in her eyes is what breaks you, in the end. The absolute certainty that you didn’t mean anything to her.

You can’t breathe. Your chest constricts painfully, not allowing any air, and your heart feels like it’s going to burst. You rush in the opposite direction from her, stumbling through the faceless crowd to get to the bathroom. Everything about it is so her: the crimson tiles, the dark, elaborate accents, the golden faucet.

Don’t you fucking cry. Don’t you fucking dare. You chant the words like a mantra, fueled entirely by desperation.

You make it twenty seconds.

KAMILAH

The negotiations were absolutely, utterly, completely useless. You can’t say you’re surprised. Lester and the Baron are not ones for compromise. It was a miracle they agreed to the meeting at Priya’s club - an ostensibly neutral place - at all.

You walk out of the Red Room fuming. None of it shows on your face, of course, but you’d really like to punch something. There’s nothing more satisfying than layers of brick giving way underneath your fist, though you stopped indulging in mass destruction as a form of stress relief centuries ago. Humans don’t handle collateral damage, which is unfortunate but something you’ve long since accepted.

To distract yourself, you shift gears. Where’s the girl? How is she holding up? Not well, you assume. You have no idea how Adrian thought bringing her to her ex’s club was a good decision. Sometimes he can be so dense. In the corner of your eye, you spot someone jerkily storming through the crowd; under closer inspection, you realize it’s Amelia. After a moment of contemplation, you decide to follow her. Just to make sure she won’t have a nervous breakdown.

When you get to the bathroom, she’s having a nervous breakdown. Curled up on the ground, head cradled in her arms, obviously trying not to show that she’s crying but doing an awful job of it. Your first reaction is Fuck. I don’t get paid enough for this. But then you remember you’re a billionaire whose paycheck benefits quite extensively from capitalism.

Your second reaction is that you should get Adrian to deal with the mess that is his assistant. But then again, you don’t know how the girl will deal with being left alone. With dawning dread, you realize that you’re going to have to… comfort her yourself.

You drop into a crouch until you’re eye-level. Or you would be, if she was actually looking at you. “Hey. Amelia. What’s wrong?” It takes a couple more questions and two pokes until she lifts her head. You’re taken aback at the sheer misery on her face. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try not to, you forget how fragile humans can be– not just physically, but emotionally. But oddly enough, accompanied with the surprise, there’s a spark of anger. Lacroix, you foolish, hedonistic wretch. What have you done?

“What’s wrong?” you ask again, ignoring your own emotions in favor of hers. That’s when the floodgates open.

For the next half hour, she babbles away into the crook of your neck, soaking your $1600 Gucci jacket with tears. Most prominent in her sobbing are the words “I’m an idiot”. While a few weeks ago you’d be tempted to agree– what wisdom could a naive little mortal carry anyway?– for some reason, a deep chord of sympathy is struck within you. Thousands of years of memories come bubbling to the surface: friends you didn’t save but could’ve, had you not been so stupid. Lovers you should’ve protected but didn’t, because you were just so short-sighted and cocky and–

You sigh. “You’re not an idiot,” you say softly at last, wistfully. “Love makes fools of us all.”

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Don’t worry, Priya’s point of view will pop up next chapter. It’s very... complicated. If no one at PB will write her redemption arc I’ll do it myself

#playchoices #kamilah sayeed #priya lacroix #kamilah x mc #priya x mc #my writing #angst #i'm venting okay