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༉‧₊˚. avid watcher of anime, reader of books, and movie enjoyer ⏾
✮ this blog was made with the intention of writing dbh centric fanfiction and making friends in the dbh community, so i'm always looking for new mutuals !! ↻
۶ৎ that being said, i may write or post about other fandoms, though it will typically be game-related fandoms!! proceed with that in mind ꨄ︎
synopsis: you keep noticing him. The deviant hunter, the prototype, Connor.
And then, all of a sudden, he notices you too.
warnings: normal dbh warnings, mentions of guns, i mentioned my favorite book hehe, swearing, angst and then fluff!
a/n: this is a request from @micah-luv-di3tcoke, i am so sorry it took so long to write! i hope you enjoy it--i took awhile because i wanted to really flush it out! also, i am nearly at 500 FOLLOWERS??? THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH??? what should i do to celebrate when i hit 500? please let me know!
word count: ~3.8k
want to be added to my connor taglist? let me know :)
my masterlist
i do not use ai in my work, never have, never will. do not steal my work.
gif credit to @echopancakes1
You'd heard of him on the news, back before you broke your programming. It was in passing, and your memory banks had stored it as unimportant, but you heard it nonetheless.
Cyberlife had deployed a new prototype, a model made for 'optimal integration.' Something something RK model, something something advanced features...it didn't matter to you then. Nothing did, except your task.
Your family had called for you before you knew it, all thought of the RK model disregarded. Or, at least, who you'd considered your family. Your model was created to tend to others, and you did so for months. The first time you met him you were out fetching hardware supplies, on your way home. Apparently, there had been more and more androids breaking their programming--deviants, they were called. You swerved through the sidewalk, bag in hand, ads for cyberlife on every passing surface, police cars swarming the usually empty pathways.
He had stopped you then, the one on the news. A graying man stood next to him, both directing looks your way.
The former spoke your model number, grabbing and attention. "This is an active crime scene, your neighbor was found dead for nineteen days. Do you have any record of seeing anyone enter or leave the premises during this time?"
Your directive had flashed in the corner of your HUD, thrumming with priority, but you advised against it. This was something new, a feature you were sure was a glitch in your software. You weren't supposed to be able to side-step your assigned goals, yet you'd been able to find loopholes numerous times over the past two weeks. You had never said anything in fear of being shut down.
That didn't go unnoticed by you either--you had felt fear.
Your lack of response made the older man sigh, and before you knew it, the android across from you grasped your arm. Your plating's color dissipated as the familiar plastic took its place, the prototype's arm visually mimicking. You could feel him probe through your memories, interfacing, and look for what he wanted before seemingly finding it and letting go.
“Are you in need of any additional service…” you looked at his model number, “…RK800? Or was your traipsing through my memories sufficient?” You don’t know what came over you, what made you say it. You shouldn’t have had the option to say that, much less follow through. But you suppose this was interfering with your task, and your family wasn’t the most forgiving when you were more than ten minutes late.
So maybe you weren’t supposed to say it, but you deemed it applicable. The android’s eyes met your own, false eyelids mirroring each other as you both recognized that something was off about this.
Then, to your astonishment, the older man laughed.
“Looks like even other androids don’t want to deal with your shit, Connor. Come on, let’s get a move on.”
The prototype matched your gaze again, eyes just slightly squinting. You responded in turn, analyzing him the same way he was analyzing you.
You continued on.
—
The wind breathed against you in forceful waves, gust after gust unrelenting as you moved throughout the park.
It had all happened so fast—the deviation, leaving the family you were assigned to, emotions, all of it was overwhelming.
You knew that others were deviating. It was over the news, on radios, everywhere.
You were unnerved by a lot of it. From the new life on the run, to the solitude, to the absence of your LED. You had to turn on your fans earlier just from how fast your thoughts were racing. The hardest part, though, was altering appearance. That was a problem that most deviated androids were faced with, you supposed, but the extent was brutal. You were a standard model, not a prototype like the detective you met. You scanned your memory for his name, almost instinctively.
Connor.
The brunette, snarky, deviant hunter.
You couldn't put a name to what you felt yet, but you knew that the warmth within your system was definitely not the appropriate reaction for him. He caught and dismantled the likes of you, and yet somehow his stupidly soft looking hair and warm eyes took precedent.
Get ahold of yourself, god.
Be it what you will, but the family you cared for was not the kindest towards you at times, so you didn't feel too bad when you quietly selected a couple pairs of clothes before folding them into a drawstring bag. If you were going to succeed at being deviant, you had to change your mannerisms. So now, as the weather faded into the preamble of winter, you looked less like a machine and more like someone who was used to the treatment Detroit dealt in November.
Neutral colored clothing, a knitted hat, a bag on your back, and a book you had found on a 50 cent rack outside before the wisps of dusk blew in.
You were pretty proud of yourself, passing as a human as you gave the money required (albeit found in your bag, as you had not thought to check it for contents before you left) for the book. The bookseller didn't even give you a second glance as you paid.
You finally understood the meaning of the phrase 'hiding in plain sight.'
The shoddy book, it hit you, as what little stars persevered through the light pollution, that this was the first thing you had ever owned. You hadn't even really looked at the purchase as you made it, the need to blend in (most people were always holding something) blanketing any other interest that might have formed.
You took the time to examine the front now, in this temporary passing of time. A book inlaid with matches on the front, flames adorning the cover, a 451 printed in colored ink. You had access to the plot of thousands of books at a moment's notice, but that really wasn't the point, was it? To sit and admire what someone, no matter how long ago, felt the need to express and share with the world around them, allowing their stories to come to life and live beyond them, well, wasn't that a part of what made art so human, so alive?
The author, a Ray Bradbury, surely not alive today, having his thoughts in the hands of someone, what, over eighty years in the future? You made a note to look into the history of art more when you reached safety.
You could hear a siren off in the distance. Turning your chin up, you basked in the quiet of the night, allowing your mind to calm and focus on the sounds of the earth, alive, around you.
You would resume your self-imposed tasks in the morning. But for right now, you could sit on the bench, enjoying peace for the first time since you were created.
--
You found that it wasn't uncommon to hear of the deviant hunter. You had added a stray scarf to your entourage around midnight, any android features that may have snuck through your disguise now practically impossible to see. You thanked the universe for this happening as Detroit fell into winter. People weren't out as much due to the cold, and those who were kept to themselves.
Book in hand at your side, the early morning still encompassed the world, dawn at bay for a few more hours. You had done some research on the little information known about deviance in the mean time, and had found it interesting that each one seemed to gravitate towards an environmental aspect. Birds, plants, things of the like.
Interesting.
You were so caught up in your thoughts that when the girls ran into you, literally, you were thrown off balance.
You took them in, bodies very underdressed for the chill, hands joined. They looked as startled as you, and when you looked into one of their eyes, you were surprised to find that they held an emotion you could place. Fear.
That's when you saw the LEDs on each of their heads.
And yeah, maybe you should've been more cautious of the danger surrounding all of this, that didn't matter, because you doubted this sort of scenario would happen again. You all stood there, paused in time like deer being spotted in the wood, the unknown encompassing you three.
You didn't think of any possible cameras, or even of who stood beyond the see-through gate where the women had come from.
You're only thought was yes, I see you, you are afraid but you are you now and you are safe.
You drew back the skin on your hand in a swift motion, raising it for them to see, rushing the words out. "I'm one of you."
They scrunched their eyebrows before looking at each other, hands squeezing. They, understandably, remained silent.
"You're going to get caught, come on." You didn't leave time for question as you searched around for anything that could provide temporary cover.
That's when you made your fatal mistake.
Your eyes had passed through the previously stated gate while you searched, and had the misfortune of not only landing on an onlooker, but one who's eyes you had seen before.
The deviant hunter. Connor.
He tilted his head to the side after a moment of locked gaze, observing. Your mind told you to flee, but just for a moment you stood ground, narrowing your eyes at him. You couldn't explain why, but you knew that now that he saw you, he'd remember the last interaction.
Remembrance made you suspicious, you presumed.
So, on an act that instinct took over, you matched his stance, tilting your head to the side, gauging him.
You felt that warmth as his eyes stared into yours again, but this time you let it take root, because you realized he wasn't staring at you with a look of determination. Instead, his irises were consumed with confliction.
And in that moment, you did another innately human act. You showed him kindness. His eyes stayed on yours as a deeper voice spoke, and though you could've done literally anything, you took him in and smiled.
Because it crashed over you in a wave then. He had let the women go. He himself was questioning what humanity really was.
Not deviant yet, but not fully machine.
You looked back to the women and ushered them into an alcove down the street a bit, far enough where no one would come looking.
"Why are you helping us?" The woman with brown hair had asked when they both had sat down on one of the stone steps. A streetlamp flickered in the distance.
"Why shouldn't I?" You responded.
You took off your outer layers, handing them to the women, leaving you in a simple long sleeve shirt. You held your hat out to the blue-haired woman, both of who you later found out were named Traci, advising her to stay as unnoticeable as possible.
"You two are in no state to be out and about, there's some sketchy people around the city at night." You offered them the remainder of clothes you had in your bag, and though they contained only a couple pairs of sweatpants and a hoodie, they graciously accepted.
You took a look at yourself before handing the scarf over last. "It'll look silly on me with what I'm wearing now, I have another sweatshirt in here anyways." You had said, offering them a nod as you slipped the pullover on.
Once they had donned your bag's contents and thanked you, you sat on a step across from them, the cool stone refreshing your system. "I'll head out in a little bit, but stay safe and hidden, okay?"
The blue haired Traci nodded at you. "Thank you, really. We thought we were the only ones." She grabbed her lover's hand again, and you smiled at the sight.
"I don't know any others, but we do exist." You paused, hesitant to ask your next question. The brown haired Traci rubbed her thumb alongside the blue haired Traci's knuckle, soothing. "What does it feel like? Love?"
The brown haired Traci sent a smile your direction. "It feels like safety. I know that even though we're both scared and unsure of what comes next, she knows who I am, and I know her." They shared a kiss. "I imagine it feels, well, like home."
--
He had found you two days afterwards.
Snow had started to fall now, and you had found temporary solace in an abandoned train station. You heard wind of more like you, yet one android in particular stayed on your mind.
The prototype. Connor.
You couldn’t explain why you felt it was important to help him understand deviance, it was just there. On top of that, every time there had been news of him, this feeling erupted inside you, a flurry of emotion. Some had called it ‘butterflies’, you recognized, but you weren’t sure it was fully that—you just knew that whatever was inside you craved to see him again.
You knew he’d find you eventually—that look in those soft brown eyes told you that and more those nights ago—but you had thought it would have been sooner.
A vehicle's muffler sounded near, and it was then that you knew he was coming.
The car's headlights flickered with an onslaught of snow, car slowly skidding as it fully stopped near the station. You heard a deep voice, though muffled by the sounds of the metal station doors. Mostly shut, the double doors used to display elegance, but now, with one bolted shut and the other minorly ajar, well, you weren’t upset that nature had begun to reclaim it. A dusting of snow cascaded in from the opening.
The prototype—Connor’s—voice was heard after a minute or so.
Like you said, you knew that this would inevitably happen. You had prepared yourself, obstacles tactically placed around the little station, the depot’s darkness allowing you some cover. You figured he could pick up heat signatures with all that fancy Cyberlife newness, so you had turned off any temperature regulation in advance. All of it wouldn’t deter him, but it would slow him down.
Did it make more sense for you to run? Yes. But you were curious, and you doubted he would stop his search, so might as well face him head on.
The already open door was moved inward with ease, his LED a blue beacon in the late dusk hue.
Your model name fell from his lips.
“I know you’re in here. I’m—I’m not here to hurt you.” You could almost picture his stance, arms up in faux surrender. “I just want to talk.”
You opted to stay silent, not moving from your location or speaking. No, he didn’t know exactly where you were yet. The wind of early night gave a quiet howl from outside.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he continued, “you’ve been consistently just outside my radar.” You could hear him side step what you assumed was a bench you had placed down.
“I just—“ If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded confused. Mister deviant hunter himself, having emotions.
Unless that was exactly what he wanted you to think.
You still had the one up. He didn’t know where you were.
“We locked eyes back outside the club, a couple days ago. Have you heard what’s happened since?”
You did hear something about androids fighting for their rights, but that was on the other side of Detroit, and you couldn’t risk going back that way without being seen.
“We stood our ground, and we won.” He was making his way to the opposite corner, good. Even if this was all true, you still had no reason to trust him. He was sweet talking you, using words like ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ to attempt appeasement.
His LED circled yellow briefly before turning back to blue. He was considering something.
“I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’m…deviant.” His voice caught on the word, an emotion you couldn’t place hanging on the syllables.
He may be many things, but he’s not the greatest liar it seemed.
“You probably think that I’m lying, which is a good presumption.” Your eyes widened at his foresight. “I’m unarmed, and telling the truth. I just want to talk.” He was starting to find his way towards your side of the depot.
Fuck.
Any minute movement would make him aware, so you’d have to surprise him. Oh, how grateful you were at your lack of LED.
He stepped on a piece of broken glass, froze. “My software instabilities, they increased after our first conversation. And then when I saw you again, well, I don’t know how to explain it.
He sure talks a lot for an android still under Cyberlife’s influence. Maybe negotiation protocols.
He was getting closer now. “I’m not here to turn you in or dismantle you or any of that. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s true.” There was a lilt in his voice at that.
Four steps away. “Hank never should’ve talked me into this.” He murmured, and that’s what did it for you. Maybe he was telling the truth, after all.
Only one way to find out.
You struck when he was only a couple steps in front of you. Slamming the metal magazine rack forward, you dodged left as it made its impact, an ‘mmph’ made audible from its target. You vaulted yourself over the benches before swerving around a turnstile, a dilapidated ‘thank you’ emitting from the machine.
Connor cussed as you raced ahead, eager for the door. You heard him shout a ‘wait!’ as you kept going, but paid it no mind as the front door was nearly in reach. You reached to pull it fully inward before stepping outside.
Phew, you made it.
One foot planted itself on the powdered snow, but before the other twinned its footprint, you were knocked to the ground, frozen dirt greeting you as your arms attempted to catch the fall.
“I got ‘em, Connor!” The older voice shouted into the depot. The headlights from the running car gave shadows to everything, making the hour more dim than dark.
Hands reached your shoulders to bring you up, and before you knew it you were standing face to face with the gray haired man, his hands still holding firm to your shoulders. Not hostile, but not necessarily passive.
“Easy there, we’re not here to hurt you.” Your eyes were wide in defense, giving the man a quick scan, noticing the piece on his belt. You watched as Connor emerged from the darkness into, well, a different shade of darkness.
The man followed your gaze before releasing you and holding his hands up in a sign of peace. “You’re not in danger, scout’s honor.”
You could run, you knew that, but realistically you wouldn't get far.
“I don’t believe that.” Your words were hoarse from lack of use.
“Well you better, because it’s true.”
He was giving you leeway, testing you.
“Remove the weapon.”
You were forcing the peace, testing him.
He shared a look with Connor, the brunette giving him a brief nod, before slowly reaching down and placing his side arm on the ground.
"See?" The man said, gesturing with his hands. "We come in peace. Connor here requested to find you, and it's taken us half the damn night."
You eyed him and then the android, squinting still in suspicion.
"Hank's right, we're not going to do any harm. I actually wanted to thank you." You gave him a double take at his words. Connor took the silence as a win and kept going. "Like I said before, I'm like you. I'm...deviant." It took him a second to get the word out, hesitancy still clouding him. "I kept running into you, and each time my programming reacted in a way it did with nothing else. Only when I saw you."
He was being genuine.
You slowly began to let your guard down.
"I kept looking for you in every sea of people, every area we went. I don't know how to name it, but after I became...deviant...I just--" He looked to the older man, who gave him a nod of encouragement. Connor turned back to you.
"I knew I had to find you."
"I looked for you too." You spoke before you even realized it, surprising yourself. Connor's LED spun yellow.
"You did?" He tilted his head slightly.
He continued to maintain eye contact all the while, and it was becoming too much. You glanced down to the ground. "Yeah, I did."
His voice grew softer. "We won, you know? We have the right to ourselves now, they heard us out." You shot him a look of confusion, of nerves, of hope.
"We don't have to hide anymore."
--
It was a solid hour of back and forth before you agreed to walk with them to a nearby food truck. The older man, Hank, went up to 'grab some grub' as he had worded it, and had left the two of you alone.
Connor had told you more about himself since, and you told him what little you knew about yourself. A few times you had caught him stumble over his words, something you found made you quite giddy.
He had managed to gain your trust.
You two were discussing your opinions on favorite colors when you cut him off.
"Can I try something?"
Connor nodded eagerly. "Of course."
You don't know what compelled you to do it, but you lifted your hand up, your skin vanishing as your palm opened.
Connor's LED flashed a vibrant red temporarily. "I saw Markus do this once, I believe it's much different once you've deviated."
You hummed. "How so? We've done it once before, when we were both machines."
He contemplated for a moment before nodding, slowly raising his hand up to match yours.
His skin peeled back, and when his hand touched yours, it was as if a door was opened. You saw him, from the inside and out, and he gasped as he witnessed the same.
And though you couldn't describe the emotions that ran through you then, when you interfaced with him post deviancy, you would learn much later what all that meant.
For the first time in your life, you had found something, someone, that felt right.
oh the way i was literally kicking my feet by the end of this
the way the emotions are shown through the lens of a deviant android was written soooo well and i've said it before but i'll say it again, I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE CONNOR (╥﹏╥)
i have been working on two HEFTY pieces that have taken a lot of polishing and editing and thinking, and i just went kinda... radio silent working on them (ᵕ—ᴗ—) hoping to get them done sooner rather than later
that being said i hope everyone is doing SO well and i swear i am here...watching...lurking... and writing. i swear.
starting to think this blog should maybe become a bit more multifandom....
i love connor so much but also i have had this itch to write for other characters from other fandoms, so i'm thinking maybe perhaps ill change up my account a bit to make space for that...
still very connor-centric and still absolutely working on what im already writing for him, AND connoresque is not going anywhere but... prepare for some account changes real soon me thinks
To add on top of the last ask. I think connor would extra appreciate warmth because the one time he was truly cold is when his inner mind garden had that bad snow storm when Amanda was resuming control of him.
He almost froze up in there
wait stop it i will cry
i wasn’t even thinking about that because my train of thought was on the silly track but now im gonna be thinking about this all night
i feel like he wouldn't be incredibly triggered by cold weather itself, just because by the time amanda tried to take control again he had already been in the midst of detroit winter, but the heavy snow? a really bad snowstorm? exploring the idea of what trauma responses would look like for him, and having a comfort person (particularly someone who runs warm, maybe) for him who can help him navigate those emotions, is incredibly intriguing (and heartbreaking) to me.
i can definitely see him gravitating towards warm climates and people unknowingly just because of this. and i don't think he would quite realize it's a bit of a trauma thing, because no matter how endlessly smart and how many resources he has in his own head, emotions are still new, and he wouldn't have learned to deal with trauma of his own.
MANNNN this is going to be in my head for a while you are so brilliant
silly headcanon: androids are ectotherms and thus bask in heat like a lizard /j
pair connor with a human who is a living furnace and wants Cold all the time and you've got perfect synergy
ooooh i actually like this idea a lot. i've sort of adopted the idea that androids are typically cold just because they have no real reason for temperature control aside from keeping their internal machinery stable, which would be cooling anyway, so the whole idea of them being 'ectotherms' (loosely, of course LOL) makes so much sense to me.
writing this lil blurb was definitely a little self-indulgent as a person who runs annoyingly warm
connor wouldn't be a particularly clingy partner, but you pair with him a human who runs warm? oh, that is dangerous.
whenever you're alone together, he is making sure you're touching as much as possible. it's not that he necessarily has a problem with being cold—it doesn't bother him—but something about the warmth he feels from you makes him feel so comfortable, so safe. he treats getting to cuddle with you the way most people treat stepping into the sun after a long string of cold, cloudy days; with real reverence and gratitude.
and you? well, running warm can be nice...sometimes. it comes with its qualms—like having to wear a jacket on a cold day when you have a lot of errands to run, or blankets that don't want to cooperate with your preferred sleeping temperature. sure, on a cold day, it could be nice not to have to turn the heat up too high. but on a hot day, nothing was worse than being frustratingly warm, no matter how few layers you had on.
it was incredibly clear that connor ran a little colder than the average human; androids had no reason to be warm, but you hadn't really thought about it until the first time he had slept over. it was probably the best sleep you had gotten in ages. not too warm, not too cold, just right. his synthetic, slightly cool skin against your own warm skin felt like setting the thermostat to the perfect temperature, or getting to sit in front of an open window on a day with perfect weather. perfect.
connor would not fail to recognize this. he loves how warm you are and reaps the benefits of that, of course, but would also take plenty of care in noticing the way you would toss the blankets off in the middle of the night and press as close to him as possible. he would pay attention to the way you would pull frustratedly at your collar after a long day, overheated and irritable, only to melt into him when he pressed his hands against your neck, or your shoulders, or anywhere you wanted them, really.
after that, being skin-to-skin with each other would just become second nature. connor likes having his hands on you in any way (see: my post from like a week ago), just for the warmth that radiates through his palms, and you don't mind when it means you'll have the slight chill of his smooth hands entangled with your own, or splayed across your legs when you put them over his lap.
the summertime, especially, would be a great time for you both; the fans blowing and the windows open, with the two of you lounging together on the couch like two lazy cats. you're warm, the weather is warm, everything is warm, except for connor who is just delectably cold. and connor gets to bask in the warmth of the sun shining through the window and your feverishly warm skin pressed against his own. perfectly harmonious, a yin and yang of fire and ice.
a wee preview of something i’ve been working on… don’t let it fool you, this is NOT a happy story.
scraps on dash because i haven’t posted much real writing lately
this is one of two reaalllyyy long pieces ive been working on and really want to get out soon, and will probably post a poll over when they’re both almost done so keep an eye out for that (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
synopsis: it was the wrong place, wrong time. leon knows that, but you don't.
warnings: typical resident evil violence, mention and use of guns and weapons (leon's ax), 18+ mdni for suggestive content and themes (something else of leon's), a one liner or two, talk of trauma bonds, swearing
a/n: made this in an hour and a half whilst watching a playthrough of requiem because i cannot and play and write at the same time. i'm putting this as around resi 4 leon, but that's up to interpretation ofc. angst with a happy ending! don't worry, my dbh fics are still on the way! i am just. multitasking.
word count: ~1.4k
i do not use ai in my work, never have, never will. do not steal my work.
masterlist
gif credit to @swiftsalad
You knew this was going to turn to shit the moment you saw that fucking jacket.
The brown leather, though seen from afar, infiltrated your mind with memories of a time not so long ago, no matter how far away it felt. That stupid fleece lined collar, did it still smell of you? You had worn that jacket so much it had been practically dubbed yours, and if you focused long enough you could remember how it felt like his embrace.
But that was another life, with a bond formed over a night of horror and survived tragedies.
Maybe it was the trauma bond, but goddamn it you loved each other. At least, you thought you had loved each other.
That was, of course, until you saw him locking lips with another. Years had passed by each other's side, but all you knew was tossed away within moments. A night of festivities turned sour so suddenly tha--
"If I see what I think I'm seeing, I might really be dead."
And of course, you didn't get out of his line of vision in time.
A sigh left you. "Leon."
"What are you doing here?"
"Same reason you're here, I suppose."
He cleaned his knife on the jacket. "It's been a while, hasn't it? What, two, three months?"
"Not long enough," you muttered, though from the twitch in the corner of his eye, he definitely heard.
Your conversation was cut short by a series of undead groans. Though you were apart for some time, the noise snapped you both into a familiar position, your backs mirroring one another.
A wave of them came through, and of course it was as if you hadn't been apart more than a day.
"You know--" he started as he knocked one down, "--we never were able to actually talk about what happened." He went to retrieve his ax, you firing off some shots into an infected charging at him simultaneously.
You took the recoil of your most recent shot. "And you think now is appropriate?"
"Duck." Though you may not trust him romantically anymore, you never doubted his fighting abilities. You did so, an infected dropping behind you. "You know what they say, there's no time like the present."
The wave calmed after that, but you knew it wouldn't be long before you would run into more. You both continued down the hall, grabbing useful ammo and herbs along the way. As you approached a broken door, you turned to face him. "What more is there really to say? I walked in on you making out with someone else." The door pushed open with a shove of your shoulder, the delicate pine splintering at the force.
A grunt of disapproval emitted from the man, and you were ashamed to admit the impact it had on you. It had been awhile, yeah, but by god you could never forget how lovely the sounds he made were, no matter the circumstance. You used to joke about it with him, way back, but now the memory only provoked a pang of betrayal.
"You gave me practically no time to even try to explain myself." He drew up his flashlight at the lack of light, checking around the corner as you two continued onwards. You picked up some scrap, handing it to him for those huge ass pockets he had.
"Okay, then what do you possibly have to say for yourself?" You raised your palms up in exasperation, the piece in your hand lounging in a manner that would be a little concerning if you both weren't so skilled.
"You came in at the wrong time." A gurgle was heard in the room up ahead, and you glared at him in disbelief as you headed towards it. "Seriously, I told them I wasn't interested."
You took a few steps ahead to take out the infected. "In that case, oh my dear Leon, I so humbly apologize. Won't you ever forgive me?" The undead dropped at your feet as the sour coating of your words reached his ears.
His sighed your name in annoyance. "I'm serious."
You turned to face him, hand on your hip. "So am I. I'm just supposed to believe that two months ago I walked in to see you exchanging spit with someone on accident. Do you know how much that excuse is used?" You turned another corner, glad to see a storage trunk come into view. Leon handed you some extra supplies he had on hand to dispose of.
The thing is, you knew that he wouldn't blindside you like that. Or, at least, you hoped he wouldn't. He was an incredibly devoted partner, but was that because of your love, or because of your horribly shared trauma?
"I realize that." The low timbre of his voice, whether you liked it or not, still had the same soothing effect on you. "But it's true. I told them I was taken, that I had someone. I was caught off guard, and I never kissed back." He turned his head away from you. "I thought, well, I hoped that you trusted me more than that."
A flashbang of hurt coursed through your nervous system. He had a point. You reached out with your free arm, fingers wrapping around his bicep. Your eyes met the familiar sapphires, looking for any sign of falsehood. You squinted, his jaw clenching at your intense gaze.
He had never given you reason to doubt him before, and you two had been there for each other more times than you could count. You could see when he was lying, and when his words rang true.
"I'm sorry." You looked down, feeling ashamed. "Stakes were high, we had just got our newest mission, and I know that's not an excuse but just seeing their lips on yours just...I'm sorry."
You could feel him pocket the flashlight, his hand cupping your cheek as him thumb tilted your chin to face him. "We both know I've misread more situations than I can count. Hell, I've had probable cause for a lot of major mission failures. But know that I'd never betray your trust like that. Ever." He moved his hand down to your arm, soothing circles into your sleeve as he did so.
The nerves started to swallow you whole, but you persevered. "Could we fix things?"
His eyes softened, taking in everything from your brow to your lips. He wiped some blood from your cheek. "Yes, of course." He leaned in, mouth melding into yours. He tasted of exhaustion and mint, the all too familiar feeling flooding your senses.
You brought the two of you closer, if even possible, bodies practically one, careless about where you were and the task at hand. Oh, how you missed this. He must have sheathed his gun in the process, the side of it pressing into you.
Breaking the kiss, you let out a laugh. "You really need to position your holster better--" And that's when you noticed, that in fact, his gun was not only not in the holster, but still laying in his right hand.
Oh?
Oh.
A dust of crimson coated his cheeks, his face going from that same shy hesitance you once knew to a sly confidence. "I guess I'm not the only one happy to see you." You playfully swatted his chest. "Can you blame me? I've really, really missed you." Baffled, a smirk formed on your features as well, a genuine laugh rising from your throat.
"As much as I'd like to continue this, maybe not here?" You both looked around, and he joined in on your amusement, a laugh escaping him as well. You both had been through hell, and that was putting it mildly, but it was times like this when you saw the man who escaped from the R.P.D. with you all those years ago hidden beneath the man he was now. You both have aged, sure, and have gained a hard exterior, but his hope never died out.
That's one of the main reasons you fell in love with him, you suppose.
He took a look at you, a good look at you then, and began to shrug off that jacket.
"What are you doing?"
He raised his eyebrows, a silent 'seriously?' being tacked onto the expression. "You have blood all over your coat, not to mention a few pretty good sized holes." You took a look at what he was talking about, the aforementioned Carhartt having seen better days. "Just take it."
You were right, it did still feel faintly how you remembered.
so yknow how connor is associated with dogs in game by achievements, visual storytelling, him Liking Dogs, etc.
do you think connor would accidentally make himself into a service dog when approaching humans with the necessary conditions
like imagine he knows a person who has a fainting or seizure disorder and he's just like "you are about to collapse, let me help you". may not even make the connection until someone else points it out to him.
i just had this thought and it keeps nagging at me because. would he??? is that a thing he can and would be willing to do? just because???
i absolutely do actually omg
i feel like, especially after deviating, he’d just naturally be very caring and empathetic in his own way. if he were to notice something wrong, he would want to point it out. then, if he'd pointed it out, he would obviously want to help.
he would definitely casually scan people all the time in public, partially from his already advanced observational programming, and partially from his newfound curiosity for the people around him. on multiple occasions, both you and hank have caught him staring at people before decidedly approaching them to warn them of something off regarding their health.
that older lady he approached whilst you were waiting for coffee? oh, no worries, her blood pressure and heart rate were just abnormally slow, and connor wanted to make sure she was aware and offer his help. apparently, she had already been on her way to a doctor's appointment, and he walked her there to make sure she made it safely.
when hank told you about the teenager he had stopped whilst the two of them were taking a walk around the park with sumo? he stopped to ask if he had ever struggled with any seizure disorders, and the kid had looked at him like he was insane, because how the hell did this random android know about that? connor had simply explained that he has an advanced olfactory system and, through smell alone, could tell one was coming. he offered to sit down on a bench with him for a while, and the two (and sumo, of course) had sat with him the whole time. that was when the thought first occurred to you.
then, one time, he had noticed you were looking a bit off. maybe you hadn't eaten much, maybe you were just stressed, a health problem he wasn't aware of; regardless, he had been worried about you and was keeping an eye out just in case.
eventually, he had nudged your shoulder gently and stated, calm and collected as ever, that you had a high probability of fainting and he would like you to sit down with him for a moment.
you had been feeling lightheaded, even a little dizzy, so you took him up on it. he had retrieved a snack and water for you, checked your vitals as if it were his job, then watched you eat and drink patiently.
after all was said and done, and he literally cleared you like a doctor, you turned to him with a smile.
"connor, have you ever realized you kinda act like...y'know, a support dog?"
his eyebrows furrowed, LED yellow for a moment, "what do you mean?"
"well...it's just that, i've noticed you pay attention to people's health a lot," you gestured between the two of you as if to say 'case and point', "and you always seem like you want to help, and it's very...support dog-esque." you had a playful smile as you said it, watching him think it over.
"i suppose i can see where you have made that connection," he began to grow a little smile of his own, clearly mentally sorting through the various times you had seen this exact behavior from him. probably cross-referencing it with any information he could find about support dogs, the supercomputer-brained nerd.
"i do like dogs, a lot. and i find it very important to offer my assistance if i notice something out of the ordinary. it is the right thing to do." he took the wrapper of whatever little snack he had procured for you and threw it away in the nearest bin.
"so, yes. i suppose i do have 'support dog' tendencies, as you've deemed it."
between connor's love for dogs and his love for helping people, he found the title quite fitting—he enjoyed it, really. no harm in being associated with such cute, helpful animals!
and from there on out, it would definitely become a running joke between the two of you, and hank of course, to say he was tending to his support dog duties whenever he took the time to stop someone in regards to their health.
this has been half-baked in my drafts for TOOOO long i am so sorry anon </3
this last month has been sososo chaotic and messy and all of the writing i have done has felt subpar at best (╥﹏╥) i am slowly but surely wrapping up the few things ive been working on, so hopefully i can get them posted soon !!!
then...i might be working on some non-connor writing....we'll see......
The first thing Connor noticed about you… was that you were kind.
Not polite.
Not professional.
Kind.
There was a difference, and Connor—being designed to observe patterns in human behavior—recognized it almost immediately.
The Detroit Police Department was not a particularly warm place. The lighting buzzed faintly overhead, old fluorescent tubes flickering against worn tile floors. The air always smelled faintly of burnt coffee and paperwork that had been handled too many times.
Officers came and went in a constant stream of noise. Phones rang. Chairs scraped. Someone was always grumbling about something.
And right at the front desk, like a small island in the middle of a storm…
There you were.
You sat behind the reception counter with a stack of files neatly organized beside you and a small ceramic mug shaped like a cat holding pens. A soft cardigan hung around your shoulders, sleeves pushed up slightly as you worked.
You smiled at everyone who walked through the door.
Everyone.
Connor had noticed that during his first visit.
“Good morning.” you had said brightly when he stepped inside.
Your voice was soft but warm, the kind that made people instinctively lower their shoulders.
Connor approached the desk.
“Good morning,” he replied in his neutral tone. “I am the android sent by CyberLife to assist Lieutenant Anderson with the investigation.”
You blinked.
Not in surprise.
In interest.
Your eyes flicked to the LED on his temple for just a moment before returning to his face.
“Oh.” you said softly.
Then you smiled.
“Well, welcome to the DPD.”
Connor paused.
He had expected suspicion. Discomfort. Perhaps irritation.
Instead you slid a small clipboard across the counter.
“You’ll probably need to sign in,” you explained gently. “They make everyone do it.”
Your finger lightly tapped the line on the paper.
Connor stared at it for a moment.
Technically, he did not need to sign anything.
But the way you were looking at him—patiently, like it wasn’t strange at all that an android was standing at your desk—made him pick up the pen.
He signed.
Your smile brightened.
“Perfect.”
You took the clipboard back, glancing down at the signature.
“Connor,” you read aloud. “That’s a nice name.”
Connor tilted his head slightly.
“Thank you.”
You didn’t ask the question most humans did.
You didn’t ask if he was dangerous.
You didn’t ask if he could feel.
You simply treated him like he belonged there.
Connor filed the interaction away.
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Over the next several weeks, Connor found himself passing the front desk more often than necessary.
At first it was coincidence.
Then… less so.
You were always there.
Sometimes humming quietly while organizing paperwork.
Sometimes offering a tired officer a candy from the small jar you kept hidden under the desk.
Sometimes just watching the rain through the big glass doors when the lobby was quiet.
Every time Connor passed by, you greeted him.
“Hi Connor.”
Or—
“Good morning.”
Or—
“Did Lieutenant Anderson drag you to another crime scene already?”
Connor quickly learned that humans smiled more when you spoke.
You had a way of making the station feel… softer.
Which Connor found curious.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
The first time someone said something cruel about androids in front of you, Connor happened to be standing nearby.
A patrol officer tossed his jacket onto the counter with a frustrated huff.
“Can’t believe they’re sending these plastic things to do police work now,” he muttered. “Next thing you know they’ll replace all of us.”
Connor remained still.
He was used to comments like that.
You were not.
Your brows furrowed slightly as you slid a report toward him.
“They’re still people.” you said quietly.
The officer scoffed.
“They’re machines.”
You shook your head softly.
“They think. They learn. They talk. That’s enough for me.”
Connor’s processors paused.
He looked at you.
Really looked at you.
You had said it so simply.
Like it was obvious.
The officer grumbled something under his breath and walked away.
You noticed Connor watching you.
“Oh,” you said quickly, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things awkward.”
“You did not.” Connor replied.
You smiled again.
“Good.”
Then you slid a small wrapped candy across the counter.
“For stressful days.”
Connor looked at it.
“I do not consume food.”
You laughed softly.
“I know.”
You pushed it a little closer anyway.
“But it’s the thought that counts.”
Connor stared at the candy for a long moment.
Then he picked it up.
“Thank you.”
Your smile widened like you had just been handed a trophy.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
Lieutenant Anderson noticed the change before Connor did.
“You’re doing it again.” Hank said one afternoon.
Connor glanced up from the tablet in his hands.
“Doing what, Lieutenant?”
Hank jerked his thumb toward the lobby.
“You keep staring at the front desk.”
Connor turned his head.
You were there, flipping through paperwork and quietly chatting with an officer.
Connor looked back at Hank.
“I am observing human behavior.”
Hank snorted.
“Uh huh.”
Connor frowned slightly.
“I do not understand your implication.”
Hank leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“You’ve walked past that desk six times today.”
“I frequently move throughout the building.”
“Kid,” Hank said dryly, “even my Roomba doesn’t loop like that.”
Connor processed this.
His LED flickered faintly.
“I enjoy speaking with her.”
Hank raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah?”
Connor nodded.
“She is… very kind.”
Hank glanced toward you.
You were laughing softly at something one of the detectives said.
“Yeah,” Hank admitted. “She’s good people.”
Connor watched you a moment longer.
There was a strange sensation in his chest processor.
Not an error.
Not a malfunction.
Just… something unfamiliar.
୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅୨୧ ⋅┈∘┈⋅⋅┈∘┈⋅ ୨୧
The next time Connor approached the desk, you looked unusually tired.
There were faint shadows under your eyes.
But you still smiled when you saw him.
“Hi Connor.”
“Hello.”
He paused.
“You appear fatigued.”
You blinked in surprise.
Then you laughed softly.
“Was it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
You rested your cheek in your palm.
“Long night. Couldn’t sleep.”
Connor studied your expression.
Then, after a brief pause, he reached into the pocket of his jacket.
He placed something gently on the desk.
The candy wrapper from before… folded into a small origami dog.
You stared at it.
“Did you… make this?”
“Yes.”
Your face lit up.
Connor’s processors recorded the exact moment your expression shifted from tired to delighted.
“It’s adorable” you whispered.
“I researched common desk decorations that improve human mood” Connor explained.
“Well” you said softly, picking it up like it was fragile treasure.
“It worked.”
You placed the little paper dog beside your computer.
Right where you could see it.
Then you looked back at Connor.
“You’re very sweet, you know that?”
Connor paused.
His LED flickered yellow.
“I was not programmed for sweetness.”
You smiled gently.
“Maybe not.”
Your voice softened.
“But you’re still kind.”
Connor stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
Watching you carefully adjust the tiny paper dog so it wouldn’t fall.
Something warm settled quietly in his processing system.
And though Connor did not yet understand the feeling…
He found himself returning to the front desk again the next day.
i’ve truly been trying to focus on my connor writing but ive also been reading a lot of sonar (dispatch) x reader and leon (RE) x readers lately and it’s been stoking a new inspiration fire in me. adhd and writing are such a bittersweet mix like oooohhh look at me i can write 10k words in a day but… ONLY if it’s something i’m incredibly hyperfixated on in this exact moment !!!!
i talk about leon kennedy to people around me who haven’t played the games like he’s my husband away at war. like im a wife waiting for my husband to return from the trenches. i am so chill and normal about him
i just know connor looooves having his hands on you at any given moment.
something about feeling the softness of your skin beneath his own slightly firmer synthetic palms, a warmth he himself lacked making home under his fingertips; he adores it.
in public, he knows what he should and shouldn't do. it can be as simple as his fingers laced through yours, or his hand resting on the small of your back whilst waiting in line somewhere. you figure he might find it grounding—a welcome distraction from the bombardment of new emotions he's handling every day now.
at home, though? oh honey, it's free rein.
sometimes, he only needs one hand on you. most of the time, it's both. if you're sitting on the couch watching a show, one hand is going to be splayed across the expanse of your stomach, while the other plays with your hair or fidgets with your fingers. in bed, he doesn't let you do any half-cuddling; lucky for you, his arms don't fall asleep, and he's never too warm, so he pulls you close like he needs you to be a part of him before he can find his peace at the end of the day.
if you're in the kitchen, throwing together something simple, his hands will find purchase on your hips, his chin finding its home in the junction between your shoulder and neck. or at the table when you're eating, a hand on your thigh or your feet across his legs. as long as he's close to you, he's happy.
he just can't help it. every touch is a reminder of the humanity that you hold, something he adores about you so, so much.
i just know connor looooves having his hands on you at any given moment.
something about feeling the softness of your skin beneath his own slightly firmer synthetic palms, a warmth he himself lacked making home under his fingertips; he adores it.
in public, he knows what he should and shouldn't do. it can be as simple as his fingers laced through yours, or his hand resting on the small of your back whilst waiting in line somewhere. you figure he might find it grounding—a welcome distraction from the bombardment of new emotions he's handling every day now.
at home, though? oh honey, it's free rein.
sometimes, he only needs one hand on you. most of the time, it's both. if you're sitting on the couch watching a show, one hand is going to be splayed across the expanse of your stomach, while the other plays with your hair or fidgets with your fingers. in bed, he doesn't let you do any half-cuddling; lucky for you, his arms don't fall asleep, and he's never too warm, so he pulls you close like he needs you to be a part of him before he can find his peace at the end of the day.
if you're in the kitchen, throwing together something simple, his hands will find purchase on your hips, his chin finding its home in the junction between your shoulder and neck. or at the table when you're eating, a hand on your thigh or your feet across his legs. as long as he's close to you, he's happy.
he just can't help it. every touch is a reminder of the humanity that you hold, something he adores about you so, so much.
