#connor x reader

[aceofheartsssss]

When the character you simp for is too niche and/or his or her hype era died years ago so all you have is old fics or fics with 10 likes:

My examples:

And that’s only some off the top of my head. I feel so lonely reading the fics.

(HEAVY ON DIMITRI, HARRY, and FRANCIS)

[80ssatori]

Can i request hudson williams x gf!reader, where it shows her relationship with connor…maybe it ca be all playful or whatever thank youuu

My first request, omg<3

Matching His Freak

Hudson Williams x gf! Reader ft Connor Storrie.

n/a: i found this so fun to write T*T.

Summary: You’re on the living room floor, absolutely "shocked" by the intense chemistry between your boyfriend, Hudson, and his co-star, Connor, in their new hockey drama.

Warnings: a lot of swear.

just Hudson being freak and a cuddle lover, a lot of swear.

Word count: 636

When you watched some episodes of the show, you were completely in shock at the duality of your boyfriend and his co-star. The chemistry between them was as if they were dating for real, and there you were, sitting on the floor of your apartment living room, hugging a pillow, while Hudson sat on the couch as if he were just watching a show he had seen multiple times.

“Are you kidding me?! You’re not just kissing him! You’re giving him better kisses than you give me! That’s not fair!”

You gasped at the thought of Hudson’s character, Shane, kissing Connor’s character, Ilya, like that—too desperate, like Shane was craving it. You were just trying to figure out if your boyfriend had kissed you like that at any point during all these months of your relationship.

“What can I say? I was craving it. Look, in another scene he’s giving me a blowjob,” he said with a big grin the moment he looked down at your surprised face.

You looked up at him, squeezing the pillow for a brief moment, before gasping loudly and throwing it right at his face.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! HO—?!”

Your boyfriend let out a small laugh as he threw the pillow back at you.

“Damn. It’s weird watching you fuck someone else. With a man, in this case.”

Hudson chuckled softly; you were funny. A freaky nerd like you matching his freak energy was something he never regretted. He loved you so much.

“Did you at least read the book?”

“Nope.”

“You read about two men fucking in manhwas and you didn’t read this book? What type of fujoshi are you? Think about Yuri on Ice, but about hockey players instead.”

You looked at him with a small frown, wrinkling your nose slightly at the comparison. Seeing you make that face always reminded him that you looked like a rabbit.

“Are you gonna eat me out like him?”

“I can eat you now, pretty girl… Or you can live the whole Ilya and Shane experience.” Your boyfriend lifted an eyebrow at you with a big grin on his face.

“Don’t be a pervert now, weirdo.”

Hudson rolled his eyes. Instead, he sat next to you on the floor, wrapping both arms around your waist, and started leaving soft kisses from your jaw to your lips in small pecks.

“Just asking, though…” he murmured between the kisses before he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and just stayed there. “You’re not jealous, hm?”

“You want me to be jealous of Connor?”

You snickered, reaching for your phone and typing a quick message.

“Actually, Connor and I have a bet,” you said, showing him the screen where you called Connor. You had Connor on speaker before Hudson could even protest.

“Yo, did he fall for it?” Connor’s voice boomed through the phone, sounding way too proud of himself.

“Hook, line, and sinker,” you replied, high-fiving the air. “He actually thought I was mad about the kissing scene. He even tried to flex his 'craving' by mentioning the blowjob scene.”

“Pffft! Please!” Connor laughed hysterically. “I had to eat a mint before that scene because Hudson’s breath smelled like the tuna sandwich he had for lunch. Worst kiss of my career. You’re the real hero for dating him.”

Hudson sat there, frozen, looking between you and the phone with a look of pure betrayal.

“Wait... you two talk about me?”

“Daily,” you and Connor said in perfect unison.

Hudson groaned, dramatically falling back onto the couch cushions and covering his face with the pillow you had thrown earlier. “I’m calling my agent. I can’t work in these conditions. My co-star and my girlfriend are a synchronized bullying unit.”

“Don’t be a diva, Hudson!” Connor yelled before hanging up.

reposts and likes are appreciated <3 @80ssatori

[vnderliinde]

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ♡⸝⸝

DC

𐔌 what vigilante sends you after a stressful night with the 11th street kids 

𐔌 adrian chase being a pussy lovin’ bitch 

𐔌 pussydrunk!clark kent 

Marvel

𐔌 steve rogers lovesssss thigh fucking

𐔌 tired and pent up after returning from the office, matt murdock relieves himself by playing with your pussy

 𐔌 doms like bucky need to be taken care of too

Games

𐔌 overly sensitive rk800 connor coming himself after begging to get the synthetic cum update

𐔌 pegging feminized!leon kennedy

𐔌 lazy fingering with joel miller in bed

𐔌 cheating!joel noticing his cute neighbor on a run and inviting her in after his wife left 

𐔌 husband!john price missed you alllll day at work, he can’t help but fuck you in the living room 

Movies

𐔌 father jud fucking you in his clergymen clothes after swearing upon every angel he wouldn’t 

𐔌 patrick zweig being his cocky self and sizing himself on your tummy 

𐔌 patrick zweig’s got a sweet tooth 

𐔌 art donaldson fucks hard and fast when he’s mad over another lost game 

𐔌 art donaldson has morning wood and just couldn’t resist you

A/N: happy valentines you freaks!! i genuinely doom scrolled porn on twt to find these

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Losing All My Innocence In The Backseat ❞

Connor x ftm!detective!reader | porn with some plot | reader has had top surgery and significant bottom growth | sub. bttm. reader (AFAB) | wc: 4.8K

Warnings: implied post-canon storyline, risky sex, car sex/semi-public sex, fingering, grumpy/bratty reader versus brat tamer Connor, navigating sexual dynamics, Ken Doll Connor,  AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock. terms like boypussy/pussy, boycunt/cunt, sex, hole, etc are used.)

authors note: Exams are over, and I went right to writing! Thank you for being so patient with me, and I hope you guys had a less hectic November/December compared to me (T. T)   summary: Connor knows you’re stressed. He just wants to help you.  listening to ▸Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae / Diet Pepsi - Live from 2025 by Ben Platt Patreon | Discord

Silence was a welcome blanket for both of you. With the line of work you both lead, these moments of reprieve and low stimulation were the closest thing to peace you’d know. Despite — or because of — the advancements in technology, crime evolved with the times. Regardless of the constant surveillance and androids that were able to access police databases with a blink, humans remained their ever so primitive selves in moments of distress. 

It would have been endearing if it didn’t involve so much paperwork and blood. 

You pressed your head to the window, watching lazily as the raindrops raced each other to the imaginary finish line. They dashed downwards, melding into a heavier raindrop while the one you cheered on meekly rolled itself down. Your disappointment was dulled by the radio playing a song from decades ago; something Hank surely would’ve rambled on about if he were present. You hoped he was enjoying his time away from the precinct and Detroit in general. He had earned it. 

“Are you feeling better now, detective?” he asked softly, his voice gentle as he leaned forward in the passenger seat. Akin to an inquisitive puppy with the way he was gauging your expression.

It left you with the task of “babysitting” his partner—the ever-famous and reliable Connor. 

You didn’t mind him. Truly, you had no qualms about working with an android. You’d much rather him than Detective Reed. He was a real piece of work. But, there were times when Connor could be a teensy bit unnerving, which was no fault of his. As far as you know, he’d only been made a few years ago.  

Hank had even invited you and a few other detectives and uniformed officers to watch a basketball game. Connor had told you he nudged him to be social, and you distinctly remembered snickering quietly as you stood next to him, bringing the plastic cup of alcohol to your lips as you told Connor he was performing miracles. 

So it wasn’t like you were unfamiliar with Connor. Neither of you had worked a case together. There was a difference between casually watching a game of basketball and working on an attempted homicide case.

“Yeah,” you slipped your eyes closed and peeled away from the window. “I’m just thinking. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”  Connor tilts his head. Looking all the more puppy-like. 

You hesitated to answer him as you turned to face him. Would an android be able to understand the inner turmoil in your head at the moment? You doubted that they even had brain fog, or that their ability to be happy sometimes partially relied on the weather. The thought of even confessing this to him caused heat to rise to your cheeks and you shrugged it off.  

“Taking my sweet ass time to think,” your muttering earns another head-tilt from the detective. “It is a tough case,” he responds neutrally, “the circumstances have me…bewildered.”

You scoff as your expression turns incredulous. Connor offers a gentle smile, his brown eyes as warm as ever as his knees shift to point your way in his seat. It escapes your mind that this man was capable of inhuman feats— vaulting between the gaps of buildings, tanking bullets to his torso with minimal issues, being a walking forensics lab to name a few— and you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. 

“The evidence left was nearly nonexistent thanks to the rain. The victim’s in a coma, and the perp was careful. It was a methodically planned out crime. I’m frustrated.” 

“You don’t show it,” your tone is lighthearted and Connor breathes out a laugh. “Sorry, is that offensive?” you grimace, shoulders lifting. 

”Because I’m an android?” Connor laughs again. He leans into the seat, posture still impeccable somehow, and shakes his head. “I’m not offended. It is something I have to work on. Hank says my dry humour isn’t always appreciated. He suggests I have a sunnier disposition.”

”What? Like his?” 

Connor coughs into his fist— you belatedly realise he had snickered and feel the brain fog slowly begin to fade away as you turn your car's ignition. The smooth rumbling and the radio announcer's voice blend seamlessly with Connor and your laughter. 

“You don’t have to apologise for being thorough, detective. It’s an admirable trait to have.” His reassurance should not have your heart picking up speed, but it does and you focus on the road before you instead. Your brain reminds you of every little road law that you had not thought about for years as the other vehicles on the road— including yours— fall into a monotonous routine. 

“So you admire me? I’m honoured,” you jest. Connor knows you’re joking. But his gaze lingers on you, the darkening bags under your eyes, the grip on your steering wheel, and the way your heart rates slightly elevated despite simply driving. Connor is perceptive, he was made to be. He noticed just how— for lack of a better word— funny your body acted when you were alone with him. At first, he assumed the rush of blood to your face and your slightly clammy palms indicated anxiety. All signs pointed that way. 

But you carried on conversations with him as smoothly as ever. He wondered if you had a knack for acting, most people do in their own ways, but you weren’t someone that was distrustful. He could hardly imagine you being deceitful. You were like he had said; admirable. Maybe a little clumsy at times, hard-headed too when you find a lead but Hank says that’s normal for younger detectives. 

‘The need to prove themselves, make a name in the precinct.’

Hank had told him. The human desire to leave a mark on the world, to be remembered. Connor could flood his entire brain with historical figures with a blink. Some more infamous than famous, some with their names used as a stand-in for another word even. So he knows that’s a fact.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts as you stop at a red-light. The pitter-patter of rain makes you squint at the warbling sight past the windshield. You pinch your brows tight, and Connor says something funny. 

“I’m starving.” 

“…What?”

He points to a diner. The red and yellow colour scheme stands out brightly in the gloomy hues of the weather and Detroit smog. The place was less than desirable, and as Connor read through the reviews and health department ratings he found himself tightening his smile. Still, he urged you to park in the parking lot next to it because he was ‘starving.’

You didn’t want to offend him by asking what exactly he meant. Maybe he’d gotten a stomach upgrade or something to be able to fit in a bit better. Eating together was an important aspect in socializing after all. So you kept your questions to yourself, simply parking all the way in the back and unbuckling your seat belt. Only to stop when Connor places a hand on your shoulder. You stiffen, turning to face him with your eyes widened and your brows raised in question.

”How long have you been awake, detective?” 

You sputter, your words barely tangible as your mouth gapes. Connor’s head-tilt this time seemed more like a honed police dog than a puppy, and you pressed your lips together. 

“I don’t know. I don’t exactly count that down, ya’ know?” You motion your eyes between him and his hand. Connor reluctantly slips it away and folds them politely on his lap. You try to ignore the lingering feeling of his body warmth on you. Your brain was playing tricks on you, mocking you again for not having a supercomputer instead of a mass of flesh and short-circuiting neurons. 

“I estimate 16-hours.” 

‘Way to rub it in,’ you thought bitterly. More so to yourself than Connor. But he catches the twinge of displeasure in your eyes. 

“Maybe we should end our day early. Both of us are tired.”

”Jesus, Connor. First, you’re starving and now you’re tired? Are you trying to take pity on me, or something?”

The anger in your voice is beginning to make itself known. Your lips curl as you hastily unbuckle yourself and practically swing your door open. Cold air rushes in, and so does rain, but you stubbornly soldier through. 

“I’m a grown-ass man. I can take care of myself.”

The car shakes when you close your door and Connor’s reminded of Hank. Logically, there was no way every single detective he’d known could be such…hardasses, but yet here he was with his own sample size. The thought of you sharing similarities to Hank causes him to scrunch his nose, as if tasting something sour, and he sighs softly. Connor rushes towards your grumpy figure, entering into the restaurant just a few steps behind you. 

The servers glance Connor’s way, wary but trying their best not to show it. As long as they didn’t commit any crimes in front of him, Connor would stay out of their way. Besides that, he had more pressing things to attend to. You, in particular. You find a quiet corner to sit at and Connor sits across from you, watching as you rub your hands together. 

He wanted to ask if you were cold. But he shouldn’t push his luck. Maybe he should’ve been more tactful leading you here, but he wasn’t unhappy that you weren’t behind the wheel anymore. For a while, the ambience of the restaurant muffles the awkward silence. You reach for some of the tissues and wipe off as much water as you can from your jacket, and face. 

Then, you push the box to Connor. He nods, then methodically wipes off as much water as he can. The peace offering was taken, so the silence was less thick this time. 

“What can we get for you, man?” You give a tight smile to the waiter, telling him you’d like a warm cup of coffee. He tells you the coffee here is shit. Connor knows he isn’t lying— the reviews didn’t exactly hold back on them regarding that. 

“Shitty coffee is exactly what I need,” sarcasm drips from your words. You add on a sandwich with a side of fries and the waiter goes off to fulfill your order. Another bout of silence. 

“Is the case keeping you awake?” Connor takes in the micro-expressions on your face. The twitch in your cheek, the tension between your brows, and when you brush your tongue over your lips his eyelids flutter. 

“It’s frustrating. I know. But you’re one of the youngest detectives in our precinct for a reason, your record’s impeccable.” You know he’s telling the truth, and using it as a way to comfort you. It was sweet, and you resist the urge to grin his way and say ‘thanks’ like some bright-eyed idiot. 

“It’s not just that, Connor,” you knead at the nape of your neck. Barely straightening up when your shitty coffee arrives in a white mug. The smell and warmth loosens your shoulders, and even when you grimace as you take a gulp the comforting heat that travels through you further eases the tension from you. 

You dismiss his reassurance. He takes note of it, but doesn’t push. Connor slides the sugar your way and you squint your eyes up at him as your cheeks barely lift to give him a pursed-lip smile. You were exhausted. It’s like the walk from the car to the diner sapped everything out of you. 

“The victim’s mom…God, she was…”

Connor knows. He saw her rush to you with tears streaming down her face as she begged for answers that you didn’t have. Her daughter was in a coma from an attack, her stitches fresh and bruises discolouring her skin— it would cause any parent distress. 

“It’s been days of nothing. No trails, no motive, we have a shitty CCTV clip of him running out the door but then what? We owe it to her to find answers for her daughter.”

”I know, and we will bring him to justice. But, detective,” Connor’s voice turns severe as he searches for your gaze. “It does no one no good if you’re sleep deprived. I need my partner to solve this case, so I need you to be 100%”

You scoff, ignoring the clink of the plate of food being put down your table as your sandwich arrives. It’s suspiciously room temperature while the plate is warm, and the fries are a little limp but you just stare down at your coffee. 

“You don’t exactly need me. I can barely think.”

”Yes, that tends to happen when someone experiences sleep deprivation.” 

You curl your nose at him, and he just gestures to your plate of food. You take a few bites and with each of them your face twists into further confusion. Eventually, you settle on eating your fries, something Connor thought was the safest option. He tries not to stare at you too much, occasionally looking out the window and noticing the Raindrop Race as most people do during a storm. 

There that puppy is again. Your eyes soften, and you grumble with your mouth still full of food. ”Sorry for being a dick.” 

Connor just chuckles. 

“Sorry, but Detective Anderson’s got you beat there. I didn’t even notice you were being a dick.”

Connor can’t drive. Something they were still pending on regarding androids driving personal vehicles. It was dumb, if androids were allowed to commandeer buses and aeroplanes then why couldn’t they drive their own cars? 

He’s not happy with you buckling into the driver’s seat. But the shitty coffee wasn’t worth a refill and you were in no mood to order anything else. 

“You should rest before you get behind the wheel, detective.”

You look over your shoulder and sigh. “There’s a motel, but I’m not shelling out 40 bucks for a 3-hour nap. I’ll be—“ you yawn, and you try to speak through the yawn “—fineee. I just had a coffee anyway. It’ll kick in.”

When you reach for the gear, he places a hand over yours. You’re always a bit surprised at how skin-like his touch was. You’d seen him exchange information with other androids before, how the flesh just smooths away to reveal that pure-white shell. You didn’t hate it though. He felt nicer than the cup of coffee. The weight of him, the feeling of the lines on his palms. Artificial or not— it was still Connor.

He narrows his eyes. His head tilts. Connor leans in, and you don’t lean away. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, detective. Do I make you nervous?”

”E-excuse me?” Your grip loosens, but Connor keeps your hand pinned beneath his. It was effortless; naturally, what with him being made of some sort of metal. 

“Your heart rate rises, you get clammy palms, but your pupils they,” he trails off as he catches your gaze with his own. Curiosity was so clearly written across Connor’s face, you felt like he was attempting to read you— as though you were some case file that he wanted to pour hours of attentiveness into. A steel-trap resolve to understand you more, to know your motives and intentions and grasp you in his arms. 

If you were a criminal, maybe you’d feel much more frightened. 

You tried to mask your expression, twisting your mouth into a frown.

”My pupils…what?”

”They…expand.” Connor tilts his head, then his mouth parts like he came to a stunningly miraculous conclusion. 

“Detective, do you perhaps have an infatuation towards me?” 

The radio plays a jaunty tune from decades ago, and the rain doesn’t lighten up the slightest. You don’t say anything. Stunned at your own stupidity for thinking Connor out of all people wouldn’t have noticed— the guy read your heart rate for fucks sake!

You try to slip your hand away from him, but he carefully cinches his fingers around your wrist. 

“Connor,” you warn. Your voice coloured with embarrassment. 

“Please, I’d like to know,” he sounded sincere. You wondered if he was morbidly curious about it. It wasn’t that humans falling in love with androids were anything new, there were plenty of cases. 

“I…shit, maybe I do have an infatuation with you, okay? It’s not like there’s a lot of options at our precinct,” you grumble as you finally slip your hand away from him. You place your hands on the steering wheel, but make no move to actually drive. 

Connor’s lower lip almost juts out as he processes what you said. Then the corners of his mouth curl up, and he faces his knees your way again. 

“You had a process of elimination to determine who’d be your precinct eye candy, detective?”

Your ears nearly turned red at the teasing tone he takes. You narrow your eyes at him, cursing for him to shut up as you reach for the gear again. But again, Connor’s hand grasps yours. 

“Are you trying to fuck with me or something, Connor?” 

“…I could if it’d help you rest.”

”What?”

Connor offers that gentle smile again, then glances down at your hand in his. He smooths the pad of his thumb over your jutting knuckles, and he feels the rush of blood on the protruding vein. 

“Orgasms are known to help with sleep.”

Your jaw drops. 

“My model doesn’t have functioning genitalia, but I can still provide—“  He flutters his lashes when you slap a hand over his mouth. Your brows are furrowed as you try to find the words. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is the offer offensive to you, detective?” Connor’s voice is muffled from behind your hand but he continues.”I just assumed that it would…my apologies.”

”I didn’t even know you could talk about those sorts of things…” You said in a breathless voice, stuck between feeling appalled and amused at the absurdity of it all. He tilts his head and you unmask his mouth, retreating into your seat again as you try to process his words. 

“I am…” he searches for the word, and you watch as he thinks. “Fond of you, detective.” Fond wasn’t a common word in these modern scenarios, and you’re unsure what he means exactly by it but you allow him to continue. 

“And I would rather you be well-rested than not. I can help…if you’d like me to.” You try to find any trace of bullshit on his face. You find none.

”Christ, you do this for every partner you have?”  Connor’s face twists into genuine disgust at your lacklustre joke. “Please don’t even imply that with my relationship with Detective Anderson.” 

You grimace, and apologize as you knead at the back of your neck once again. 

“Do you even know how to—“ Connor smirks at you when you ask. You shut your mouth and scoff. Of course, even if he didn’t know now…he could learn how with a few blinks.

”Show off.”

”We all have our flaws.”

”Shit, am I really going to spend 40 bucks for a nap and a lay?” You reach again for the gear and Connor’s had it. He reaches for your chin, pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger and he forces you to look at him. 

“Visibility’s low with the rain, detective. This diner isn’t well-liked. Your window tint provides enough cover as is. You can rest in the backseat.”

“Holy shit,” you utter. A lazy roll of heat crawls down your spine at his assertiveness. You’d never seen it aimed your way before— maybe a few times towards Hank, and a few interrogations as well. But never at you. You gulped thickly, then nodded. 

“Okay.”

You’re both sitting side-by-side in the backseat. The rush of cold that flooded in from opening the car doors causes you to shiver, so Connor slides his hands into yours. He raise his body temperature and you sigh in relief. You turn when he gets closer and when your nose brushes against his own he pauses. 

You’re wide-eyed. So unlike the detective he’s known. It’s adorable. Connor reaches and cups your cheek in his warm palm. Your breath stutters when he ghosts his fingers over the curve of your cold ears. 

“May I kiss you, detective? Studies show that foreplay can lead to a more pleasurable—“ You press your lips together. His eyes widen a bit, but he then adjusts to accommodate. 

It’s unfair how good he is at kissing if this was his first kiss. You frown, and pull away as the thought crosses your mind. 

“Is this your first kiss?”

”Yes.” 

Connor pulls you in again and you gasp. He doesn’t slip his eyes closed. He didn’t want to— though he knows it's what was expected. Connor was curious, and he wanted to make sure you were enjoying yourself. His attentive, thorough, partner deserved the same dedication in the bedroom. Connor could keep watch while he read through the case files, it wouldn’t be any less productive. 

You made a sweet noise when he experimentally bit down on your lower lip. He slips his hands into your jacket and slips it off your shoulders. His warm touch causes goose flesh to ripple under your clothes. Your flesh is so soft— he’s always marvelling at how soft humans are. So plush, and so fragile. 

You flutter your eyes open when he trails his kisses down your chin, to your jaw, and after a sweet kiss under your jaw he descends to your neck. You crinkle his coat when he traces his tongue on your pulse. 

“Your neck is sensitive,” he notes in a whisper. You slip his coat off next, your fingers crawling up to his nape and feeling the scratchy texture of his ‘shaved’ hairs. He grasps at your waist and you groan his name.

It stokes something within Connor. 

“Am I doing good, detective?” You nod wordlessly against the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your body is louder than you are— rising heart rate, the flushed ears, the perspiration on your skin— and he finds himself a bit upset at it.

He calls out your name, and you turn your head to look at him questioningly. 

“I…” Connor pauses for a second. This word always felt foreign for Connor, but he should say what he means if he wanted this interaction to go well. Studies had shown open communication during intimate acts proved more positive results, and he didn’t want the foundation of trust and infatuation between you to become shaky. 

So he continues. 

“I need to know if I’m making you feel good.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips as you nod again. 

“You’re making me feel really nice, Connor. Your hands are so warm, and as annoying as it is you’re a real good kisser.”

Connor preens inwardly, and his grip on your waist turns more confident. 

“I’m sorry for being a good kisser,” he teases. You chuckle, brushing your teeth over his neck as you undo his tie. There was something fun about unwrapping Connor from his usually perfect shell. You can’t deny the rush it gave you, and he returns the eager sentiment as he unbuttons your top. 

You shoulder it off and he presses his kisses there too. His warm hands touch your bare torso and when it reaches your pebbling nipple, you bite down gently on his neck. Connor chuckles, tilting his head down at you as he nips at your collarbones. 

“You might break your teeth if you try any harder.” 

“Worth it.”

”Absolutely not.”

You feel his hands reach to unzip your jeans and when he does, he pats your outer thigh. You look at him, panting while he motions for you to lay down. The second you do, he descends onto you like a heated and weighted blanket. A very handsome one. 

Your eyelids go a bit heavy and Connor relishes at the signs of success. You shimmy out of your jeans, Connor helps. 

You’re now in your underwear and Connor zeroes in at the darkening spot on it. You curse, telling him not to stare but he remains fixated on it. 

“You’re aroused. Very aroused.” 

”I’m very aware, Connor,” you reply dryly. 

He braces himself on his elbows, kissing you again and you’re struggling to keep up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his loosened tie dragging across your torso as his tongue battles for dominance. He reaches to place a palm against the window when he feels the seat under him giving away under his hand. It leaves a print, thanks to the panting you’re doing and him raising his body temperature. 

You inhaled sharply when that same hand sneaks down your sides. Connor watches you as your brows furrow, your jaw loose as every little noise excites him more and more. 

“Does this feel good?”

He slips his hands in your underwear and you flutter your eyes open. 

Connor’s eyes are hungry for your praise. 

“Touch me more, Connor. Please.”

He finds your slicked hole. You moan as he presses his fingers on your cock, and begins to rub you off. You stretch your back, tossing your head back as your hips ground on the seats. He’s entranced by it— by you. 

“Fuuuck, that feels good.”

”Forgive me, I didn’t think to ask what terms you’d like to use for your—“ Connor is cut off by your wanton groan. “Dick, cock, cunt,” you mutter against his lips before sneaking your tongue into his mouth again. He finally slips his eyes closed this time, focusing on your cock as he swallows your moans. 

“You’re too tense,” Connor tells you as he grasps the back of your neck. The car’s swaying slightly with the movement, and you mewl when he slides two fingers down to your cunt. 

“I was going to cum,” you pant out. Connor narrows his eyes at you. 

“Liar.”

He slides his fingers into you and you cover your mouth, thighs trying to snap shut around his hand if it weren’t for him quickly slipping out again. 

“Hm,” Connor peels away from you and you’re left a bit confused until he’s maneuvering your body around like a puppet master. You find yourself on his lap and he’s gazing up at you as your underwear is looped around your left thigh. You looked like a desperate slut— your button up still sleeved on your arms, your badge swaying between your bodies as your underwear’s rolled down, while your boots are still on. 

But Connor? 

With his loose tie and tousled brown hair. Pants still intact, and despite the crumpled shirt; he looked much more composed.

He holds your police badge, and then pulls you down for a kiss. Your bare cunts on his lap and he spreads your ass apart causing you to lift up. 

“You need to relax,” he whispers to your skin. “I can assure you that there’s no one here, just us. No one can see us.”

”This…This is still illegal I think,” you laugh at it. Connor gives you a pointed look, groaning a bit as you giggle about it. 

“Must you remind me?” Connor nearly grumbles. You press another kiss to his cheek, then to the tail of his eyebrows. 

“My bad, Mr Goody Two Shoes— Ah! Fuh—Fuck!”

He’s slipped two fingers in again, and you barely give any resistance to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, glancing out the window to ensure no one else can this— see you. So exposed on his lap, dishevelled and shivering in pleasure.

He presses a hand to the small of your back and it forces you to arch it further. He pumps his digits in and out of you. A slow pace that has you bunching his shirt in your fists as you mewl on top of him. He curls his fingers and you moan out his name.

That lick of fire within him grows bigger. You’re sweating now, and he strokes up your spine to impede the race your droplets of sweat were in. Connor takes your nipple in his mouth and you brace a hand on the roof of your car. 

You tighten around him, hips jerking and brushing your dripping dick onto the front of his pants. Marking him with your slick. 

“You’re— You’re making me— I’m going to—“

Connor looks up at you through his lashes, his expression puppy-like and you cum around his fingers. 

He releases your nipple with a lewd ‘pwah’ and reluctantly snaps the string of saliva that connects him to you with a sweep of his tongue. You try to catch your breath, swaying slightly as the aftershocks of your orgasm lazily wash over you. 

You fall forward into him and Connor wraps his arms around you, smiling a bit as he feels your breathing slowing down until you’re limp across him. 

He darts his eyes to his fingers, spreading two of them apart and admiring the traces of you still there. Connor brings them to his lips and into his mouth. 

Then he decided at that moment, he wanted to taste more of you. 

[adora-but-ginger]

You know just how to get to me

pairing: connor dbh x gender neutral reader

synopsis: if hank was hard boiled, then you were cooked fully through. Hard edges, mean, intimidating.

and connor is infatuated with you.

warnings: swearing (so much), typical dbh crime scene talk, no smut but some mature ish themes, mentions of hanks suicidal tendencies/a suicide note (no one dies!), reader slacks at self care and connor aims to help so talk of lack of sleep, poor eating habits/disordered eating, food mentions, angst, anemia mention???, reader is mean and hates cops (real), fluff at the end!

a/n: i think this is the longest fic i've ever written. it's also my first dbh fic. i'm not too sure how alive this fandom is, so i did make it a wee bit self indulgent (i mentioned boston my love). if this is your first impression of my writing, hello! if not, get ready because i have two requests and a bunch of connor fics up and on the ready. i also can't seem to stop writing this fic, so maybe i'll write a part two of when they're together. uhhh i think that's all okay bye.

we're not going to talk about how i listened to pushing it down and praying over fifty times whilst writing this.

also i will make edits in the morning no beta we die like daniel.

word count: 11k (yeah, you read that right).

crossposted to @baconlover001 on ao3

my masterlist

i do not use ai in my work, never have, never will. do not steal my work.

gif credit to @autistook

Connor was intimidated by you.

At least, when he described what he was feeling to Hank, that’s the conclusion he drew. You worked only a few desks away, your crime analysis plaques differing you from the police officers.

You had made it abundantly clear on a multitude of fronts that you weren’t a cop, that you had better things to do with your time. Hank had warned him not to mess with the crime analysts when the teams weren’t actively working together, but that couldn’t stop Connor even if he tried.

He was fascinated by you.

You took kinder to Hank than the rest. Connor deduced that that was because of Hank’s…unpredictability with himself off the clock. You were by no means nice to him, but Connor could tell that you cared for his well being, not that you’d tell anyone.

He really wanted to talk with you, not relating to a case or the weather, but actually hold a conversation. That posed a few problems though, as not only did you avoid talking with the officer’s department in general unless needed, but also because the last time Connor witnessed someone who you weren’t familiar with saunter up to your desk, they left on the brink of tears.

All of these inputs had lead Connor to your desk one morning, long before you were set to arrive. Hank called his actions snooping, but Connor thought of it as deductive reasoning. If he could retrieve information on your preferences, then, when the time came, maybe you wouldn’t be so intimidating.

Here’s what he had gathered so far:

1. You used to lived in Boston.

2. You held a doctorate in Criminology with a focus on crime analysis alongside a second series of degrees in the Biological Sciences at the age of 28.

3. It seemed you had a knack for nature.

Connor noted to look into the natural scenery near Boston within the day to strike up conversation with you. He was so lost in his analysis himself that he didn’t hear the approach of one Hank Anderson behind him until a throat cleared.

“You better finish up with all your sniffing around soon, they just parked.” He had a tone of amusement strung through his words, the events of the night weighing in his sleep deprived eyes. The Eden Club, letting the Traci’s go, all of it in the course of a couple hours.

Connor nodded. “I was just—“

Hank cut him off. “Kid, I really don’t care, and as much as I’d love to watch them make an android cry, we got work to do. Let’s go.”

He and Hank began to debrief at their neighboring desks when a commotion of voices echoed from beyond the glass doors of the precinct. The pair looked questioningly to one another before the door was swung open. The culprit of the scuffle turned around to face the glass mid stride, flicked the two officers that stood guard (presumably watching them now) off, and then resumed their path, all without breaking pace.

You marched right up to one Gavin Reed’s desk before slamming your hands down on the table, Reed’s computer shaking slightly. He attempted to seem unfazed by your presence, but Connor noted the bead of sweat running down his temple.

“I don’t do third chances, Reed. The next time you take my parking spot and make me late, you’ll be walking home.”

Gavin greeted you, your name slipping out of his mouth in a faux good morning. “Well aren't you a piece of cake today. Is this a threat that I hear?” He crossed his arms. “Because threatening a police officer is illegal.”

Hank snorted at the interaction, turning to Connor. “You see, one thing about them, Connor, is that they hate cops. Especially ones like Reed. And him saying that, well, he just poked the bear.”

Connor looked to Hank, tilting his head ever just so to analyze the man before returning his gaze to you. He made another note to look into what 'poking the bear' meant. You were utterly calm with your words, no raised tone or wild movements, side from the one earlier.

“Would you like it to be a threat, Reed? Because I counted four violations on your shitty Ford Focus that could get that thing tossed into a junkyard just now.” Reed’s eyes widened at your words. You whispered your next, and if it were anyone other than Connor listening in, they wouldn’t be able to tell what you said. “I would also have no qualms with explaining to Fowler my sudden missing evidence from your last case. What would he say to that, hmm?” You had an almost sultry tone then, and he could sense Reed’s heartbeat increase. Good, you scared him. Someone needed to.

“God, Reed, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Hank shouted from his seat. Connor studied the interactions, noting that you could develop a very hostile relationship with himself very quickly.

A new mission appeared to his corner. Your name had appeared, followed by a bright ease tensions note in blue.

Hank regretted speaking up though, because almost immediately, your fury was turned to him. Connor could only watch with slightly scrunched eyebrows as you made your way over to the duo.

“You.” Your eyes slitted when you reached him. You shot an accusatory finger towards Hank's chest--you emanated fury. Connor understood then that there was an emotion underlaying your anger, it was hurt. You and Hank were friends, and he did something to betray that trust.

“How dare you text me what you did last night? You don’t talk to me for days outside of work, just to send a suicide note to me at the ass crack of dawn? Are you serious? I was worried sick, you asshole.” Your chest was rising relatively rapidly, “You never texted me back. I thought you were fucking dead. I showed up to your house, and you were nowhere to be fucking seen.”

Connor had concluded that the scariest thing about you so far was your ability to remain calm. You would truly succeed at interrogating had that been a path you took, as you never rose your voice once, instead opting to lowering it as severity increased.

You took a deep breath in, holding your forehead with your hand. Once the dust had settled, the two of you stood there, neither dropping eye contact.

Eventually, the graying man conceded, looking around before giving a deep sigh.

“You cut your hair.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You forgot to shave that stupid beard.”

He snorted. “Yeah well, what’s it you say? ‘You can only control who you are.’ Decided to try something new.” Connor scanned your movements again, changing his previous hypothesis. It seemed that you took Hank for a... father figure.

It was then that you noted Connor was even there, eyes wide and staring directly at you. You shot him a sneer.

“The fuck are you looking at?” You crossed your arms as he realized he was caught. He stood up to match your position before fixing his tie.

“My name is Connor. I am an android sent by Cyberlife. I’m here to assist Lieutenant Anderson on a more—“

You cut him off, motioning your arm in his direction as you looked at Hank. “Did you buy a fucking android?”

“He was sent to me by the higher ups, thank you very much.”

You eyed him suspiciously, eyes raking over every inch of him. Connor had an unusual fault in his system it seemed—he could feel his thirium pump rate increasing. He widened his eyes at your stare, shifting from his left foot to his right. What the hell was this? He ran a system diagnostic, but everything appeared regular.

His new mission appeared by your figure now. He decided to extend an olive branch. “I assure you, I will keep a good watch over Lieutenant Anderson based on your previous words. Last night when I found him, I ensured all protocols necessary to prevent an untimely demise.”

Hank grew angry at the open talk of him while he was right there, scoffing. You on the other hand eyed Connor, who was sure he had spoken the right words. You clenched your jaw repeatedly, seemingly stewing over what you were going to say back, but after a few beats of silence, you looked back to Hank. “How long has he been here?”

Connor tilted his head at you, noting that you were the first individual here besides Hank to call him ‘he’. It threw him a little off guard.

“A few days now, he’s here to help with the deviant sightings.”

You rolled your eyes. You rolled your eyes.

Though his mission still laid above your head, something in him, a program he chalked it up to, risked that mission--he couldn’t help himself. “Is the idea of androids becoming deviant from their programming just an irritant to you?”

It was a moment, that unbeknownst to Connor, would happen all the more frequent the more you were around. He didn’t think before he spoke, and he always thought before he spoke.

When he saw the deliberately slow turn your head made towards him, well, he could hear Hank’s voice in his head. ‘Good luck with this one, kid.’

Hank’s eyes went wide at Connor’s quick bite back. Oh, you were gonna destroy the poor guy.

“Connor, was it?”

“We’ve already established that, yes.”

The way you turned towards him, eyes following your head, reminded him of a snake. Stunning, yet sometimes lethal creatures. You slow blinked at him, once, twice, before rolling your sleeves up.

“Let me set the scene for you, okay, sweetheart?” Your tone started off too light, too nice. Connor felt a software notification appear as your voice lured him in. Sweetheart.

“Yesterday I was called to the scene of a serial arsonist to gather evidence—the second family home—no survivors—to be set on fire in a week.” You stepped closer to his desk, lightly placing your hands down as you leaned towards him. He realized then that if you were a snake, he was most definitely the mouse.

And you had called him sweetheart.

“After that, I had to deliver reports on whose remains might be who.” He shot Hank a panicked look, to which the man shrugged in a ‘you got yourself into this mess’ manner. Connor gulped, actually gulped, and couldn’t get his mind off of that nickname you had given him. He’d never had a nickname before. He’d have to ask Hank about what it meant later.

“Later, I held onto a mother as she took her last breath. And then I came home to a text from this asshole saying it was his end too.” Your eyes had narrowed, never breaking eye contact, even as you had gestured to Hank moments before. It was intense.

And the worst part? Some deep part of Connor liked the lack of distance between the two of you. He was getting notifications all down the side of his HUD for possible outcomes and hostility changes from you. He could feel his cooling fans kick on.

“So, yeah, I don’t give a damn if androids are gaining consciousness and developing their own thoughts. Let them, for all I care.” Connor’s blinking rate increased, your face now merely 13 inches from his own.

“That is not my problem, and unless you deviate and aid in my case work, it will never be. Kapeash?”

Connor was about to reply with how he would never deviate, as he was created to catch deviants and accomplish his missions not become one, but he was frozen. You were a mystery to him—his data displaying levels of irritancy, boredom, and pride blooming from you, all towards him. His eyes were widened a bit, and he could tell his own emotional processors were running on overdrive.

Hank murmured a ‘just nod, Connor, for your own sake,’ that the android caught and followed obediently.

You stayed in that position a tad more than you had too, Connor derived, for intimidation purposes. Intimidation purposes, mind you, that were working.

After a pause you glared at Hank one more time before walking over to your desk, settling in for the day.

Hank didn’t even give it a minute before you were gone, giving a low whistle. “I thought they were gonna fillet you, so objectively that went relatively well.”

Yeah, he was going to have to self regulate later.

—

The next day, you were there much earlier than usual. Your eyes had gained a couple bags, something that Connor presumed was from the early morning. He had discussed with Hank about getting (and staying) on your good side, as though it was hard to do, you were the best there was and would be an incredible help for evidence analysis should the time come. Over the night, Connor had run through his database after going through an extensive self-regulation process with Amanda (even though he had refrained from explaining the newest addition of a mission that he was sure he created, not his programming).

He had gone through many of an approach over the hours on how best to smooth things over with you, from bringing you coffee to destroying Gavin Reed’s car, the latter an action that was sure to have many consequences, no matter how much he wanted to.

He landed on a blunt apology. That had a 76% success rate—the highest one possible.

He let you settle in for a couple minutes before leaving his desk to walk to yours. Your head was down in some files, hand propping up your forehead. He cleared his throat when he arrived in front of you.

You brought your head up to match his gaze, the familiar fury of yesterday still lingering.

He stumbled at first. Like he said, he was intimidated by you. “I-I would like to apologize for ensuing a tiff between us yesterday. I in no way meant to undermine the work that you complete.”

You glanced over to your clock before looking at him. You rolled your neck, a few cracks emanating from the actions, and though Connor was tempted to mention a statistic about the danger of cracking your neck, Hank's voice in his head halted that.

Tread lightly with them, Connor. They're trained to find faults in evidence, whether the evidence is verbal or physical. Trust me, for the both of us, you want to be in their good graces.

You narrowed your eyes at his posture, and it was then that he realized--you were analyzing him. Usually, it was the other way around.

"Did Anderson put you up to this? If so, you can tell him to fuck off." With that, you resumed your focus at the computer screen slightly to your left. Connor made no effort to move. His self-made mission pulsed next to your frame.

"No, I came here on my own accord." He couldn't outwardly ask to engage in civil conversation with you, so how would he accomplish this? He ran his social relations program for best results.

It did not help.

You shot him an annoyed look. "Listen buddy, I got shit to do. I get you mean no harm, but you need to leave me alone. If Hank wants to give me a half-assed apology about the other night, it's gotta be better than this."

It was going to be a long day.

--

Things were different now that he'd deviated. It had been a month since the revolution, androids now being able to live with equality. Connor could think freely for himself, could allow himself to recognize and feel the emotions that overtook him. It seemed as if some of the workplace pressure was alleviated from him too with the arrival of Nines, who in turn took up all of Gavin's time.

Connor began to take note of the little details, ones that would be determined insufficient not too long ago. That, and he took a focus to you.

The chill of January still kissed Detroit, snow cascading down as the wind pounded upon the house. Connor mistook the knocks at the door for those gales at first. He was in a worn out DPD tee with sweats on, playing on the floor with Sumo. When he distinguished that there actually was a knock at the door, he went to open it, Sumo in tow.

He was not expecting the sight at the front door.

There you were, snowflakes coating the winter coat hugging you, that permanent glare splayed on your face. Connor thought he saw a slight look of surprise on you at his appearance, but quickly rationed that it could have been a trick from the weather. You stood there with a paper bag in your hand, a blue ribbon with light sparkles tying the handles together. Connor deduced that you did it yourself, though that was a thought he decided not to voice.

"Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stand there and let me freeze while also letting the cold air in?"

Your caramel coated voice snapped him from his daze. He did a little shake of his head before stepping back, letting you inside. Hank had told him that you tended to pop in every now and then, and though you would make excuse after excuse as for why, Hank knew it was to check up on him. So why were you holding a gift?

"Can I take your coat for you?" Connor offered, a soft look on his face. You shot him a look before taking it off yourself, hanging it on the rack.

At the sight of your familiarity, Sumo had run off to find Hank, leaving the two of you standing unsure of the other. Connor could feel your hesitation, and it dawned on him that he'd never seen you outside of work attire. You stood there in a worn sweater, the color complementing your hair.

Emotions were new to him still. He had been able to identify quite a few of them, like happiness and frustration. But when his eyes landed on your frame? Something overcame him, a tightness in his chest, like a foot was stepping right on his chassis. He could feel a rush of thirium to his cheeks, one that you seemed to clock.

"What?"

Connor had asked after you around a week post his deviancy.

It had been out of the blue, as he sat with Hank at the dinner table, Sumo laying down next to Hank's chair.

"Is there a reason for their...guarded actions?"

The old man had a mouthful of food as Connor questioned. Hank chewed a couple of times before responding.

"Son, they're here all by themselves. Besides me, they don't have anyone. They've had a rough go at life, and when that happens, you become hesitant." He popped another spoonful of corn into his mouth. "...That's why we get along, probably."

"Hello? Earth to Connor. What the hell dude?" You were looking at him as if he was telling a story and left it at a cliffhanger, palm raised up, and head titled ever so slightly.

Connor blinked rapidly, blue tint on his cheeks spreading. Hank's words repeated back in his head, along with your previous conversations. He had another chance to get on your good side, and he was not going to ruin it.

Or so he thought.

"You look absolutely stunning."

Shit.

So much for not blowing it.

You looked as caught off guard as Connor felt. Why did he just say that?

Maybe it was because of that feeling, buried deep within him, that pressure continuously pressing on his chassis that wouldn't let up. Or maybe it was because of the way the nearby table lamp reflected onto your clothes, the warm yellow highlighting and shadowing different parts of your frame.

Or maybe, it was because, ever since that talk with Hank, it was as though Connor could see right through you. You two had something in common, after all.

You were both pretty lonely.

Your mouth was slightly agape at the confession, head tilted in question and eyes wide. You opened your mouth to run him a new one he presumed, but before you could say anything, Hank came walking in.

"Hey, if it isn't my favorite ray of sunshine."

You took a moment before facing Hank, studying Connor. He could see your chest take a breath before responding.

"Shut the hell up. What's he doing here?" You nodded your head towards Connor.

"He's living with me now." Hank crossed his arms. "Is that a problem?"

He could tell you were familiar in this home. If not before, when you first stepped through the door, then especially now, as after Hank finished his sentence, Connor followed your eyes to a photo of Hank's late son. You studied the photo for a second before looking back at Hank, then meeting your eyes with his own, then back to Hank.

Hank did this thing with other humans that Connor was unsure of. The older man seemed capable of having unspoken conversations with others, something that quite confused Connor still. He knew people weren't capable of the telepathic pathways that androids had, but then how was the man in front of him now seemingly talking to you without a word being passed?

"No, no problem at all."

"Good."

Another beat of silence. Connor felt a little out of place. Hank didn't typically have company, so he wasn't sure what to do. You obviously did not want to converse with him--would it be appropriate to leave and find Sumo?

As if almost on cue, the one and only came running in. You took Connor off guard as you sank down to your knees and the pup came waltzing to you, hands outstretched to welcome him. You placed the bag down as you pet Sumo, a smile growing on your face. He had never seen that before on you, a smile. You seemed elated at the presence of the dog, and Connor found himself entranced by this view.

Your smile made that pressure return to his chest, and his thirium pump starting thrumming overtime. An unfamiliar sensation ran down his arms, almost as if a flush of cold air was sent through them. The feeling continued down his center, to his legs. He felt frozen at the sight, wishing to never look away. Hank cleared his throat, and Connor snapped his gaze to him, caught in the act of studying you.

Hank had what appeared to be a mix of amusement and surprise present on his face, giving Connor a look he's never seen before. The man's eyebrows were raised, arms still crossed, with a little smile developing. The abnormality of it all was in his eyes though, and Connor placed another new emotion within himself--embarrassment.

He could feel the overdrive of his cheek sensors again, fairly certain that the blue dusting was covering his face. His own eyes wide, he chose to ignore Hank and deal with whatever he had to say later, instead focusing his gaze back onto you.

You erupted into a laugh at the Saint Bernard, something that Connor immediately stored into his memory at the risk of such a noise never being heard again, before giving one final pat to Sumo. You placed your hands on your knees as you stood, picking up the gift bag before walking over to Hank, pushing it into his arms.

"Happy birthday you old oaf."

An expression of shock registered on Hank before he undid your homemade bow, opening the little bag. Inside was a clunky black tape, the words Gears vs. Nuggets, 1983 inscribed on it. Your initials were scrawled next to the date. Hank's eyes widened as he read the words on the VHS before smiling at you, bringing you in for a hug. You fought against it at first, words of protest leaving your mouth, before finally coming to terms and hugging back briefly. It was a little awkward for the both of you, hugging. Connor could sense the apprehension coming off of you in waves.

When the two of you broke from the hug, Hank laughed, still smiling. "You're a big ol' softie, you know that? How long did it take you to find this thing?"

Connor could see you poking the side of your mouth with your tongue in what seemed like irritation, but something told him that you were doing it for show. "Find that thing? Are you kidding me? I had to go to fucking war to even get my hands on a VHS tape you ancient sack of shit." You started to unstring your boots, sliding them off one by one. "And then I had to find the game, record it, and protect it from the elements. It was a bother and took a ton of my time up, so how about you go fuck yourself." Your expression remained stoic as you walked past him and into the kitchen, throwing hot water on.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Hank called out with a smile behind him, now looking at Connor.

"No, I'm planning to burn your fucking house down with this kettle." A pause, and then a begrudging mumble. "Yes, I'm staying for dinner."

He could see an air to Hank now, elated and sober. It made Connor smile, knowing that his dad friend was happy. He was still underinformed as to why the two of you were so friendly (or as friendly as you could be) but threw curses at the other every alternate word--he was sure that wasn't how most humans displayed positive emotions to those they held close.

"What's on there?" Connor opted to ask, gesturing to the VHS. Hank came over to him before pressing it into his hands.

"That there is the greatest basketball game ever known to man. Detroit Gears up against the Denver Nuggets in 1983, with the most points ever being scored to date. Ended with a score of 186-184, Gears winning of course." Hank rose his eyebrows as a smirk crossed him. He rose his voice so you could hear him from the other room. "Something that would take hours to record, mind you!"

A distance 'fuck off' echoed through the first floor. The android couldn't help but chuckle at this exchange between you and Hank. Connor turned his head to the vague direction of your voice.

His guard was down when Hank struck. "So, wanna talk about that blush you had going on earlier casanova?"

Connor snapped his head back towards the man. "What do you mean?"

The Liutenant snorted. "Don't play coy with me son, you practically had heart eyes as they played with Sumo." Connor's eyes widened. "That's a dangerous game you're playing, if what I'm suggesting is true." He took a breath. "Is it?"

Connor's sensors were fraying a little at the accusation. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Hank." He could feel his pump rate increase again, though this time out of nerves. That was an emotion he knew.

"Nothing wrong with having a little crush, Connor." Hank shot a look behind him, making sure you were still in another room before continuing. "They're not going to make it easy for you."

"They don't even want to talk to me."

Hank snorted. "Well, then, what are you going to do about it, kid? Listen," He gestured with his thumb back towards your locale. "I've known them for eight years. They're a hard one to crack, but only if you're not persistent. You gotta make them want to talk to you."

--

If Connor didn't know any better, he'd think even Nines was apprehensive of you, and that was saying something. Hank had left for the day, but Connor had some more evidence to go through before he caught the cab back home. This current case had the duo in a stump, and Connor had caught the short end of the stick. Tensions were running thick in the office today after this morning, when Gavin sent Nines to go park in his spot, the fourth one to the left of the precinct--your spot. Of course, Reed knew what he was doing, taking any opportunity to torture the android as possible. You had seen him leave Gavin's car, and from the second you stepped into the bullpen the air shifted.

Connor recalled the buzzing feeling that erupted within him, that feeling of air being shot through his core returning, as you grabbed Nines by the tie before shoving him against Gavin's desk, death set in your eyes.

Gavin had let out a snort at the scene, which had drawn the attention to himself as the true culprit. You had released the confused android, and Connor had the unabashed fantasy of being in Nines' place. Your hands pulling him by the tie to meet your gaze, pushing him against the nearest surface and--

He rapidly blinked to shake the image from his head.

These thoughts were new to him, he knew this. He didn't need to breathe, but felt that the extra air would help his cooling sensors work faster. Connor had been experiencing these...unique emotions more and more. The barista at the coffee shop Hank stopped at who locked eyes with Connor before he threw him a wink and wrote his number on the cup, the lovely android who greeted him every morning as he walked inside with her kind eyes. But you seemed to elicit these feelings the most from him.

Ever since the day you stopped by with Hank's birthday gift, he felt his sensors go into overdrive at the mere thought of you.

You had walked right up to Gavin Reed, swiped his files off of his desk, and then decked him right in the cheek. "Jeez, Doc, who put salt in your coffee this morning?" He had rubbed the bruise forming under his eye, taking the punch. Who knew how many people he had thrown his fist at today already--it seemed as if he had a daily quota some days. That being said, no one moved to chastise you or help him other than Nines. Nines, who whilst wearily eyeing you, sidestepped your body and examined Gavin.

You spat at Reed's feet. "Told you, I don't do third chances. Mind your own fucking business, and don't get others to do your dirty work for you." You looked to Nines before glaring once more at Gavin, turning around and heading to your desk. Connor and Hank's desk were in your path, and Connor was lost in his little world of you holding his tie as he realized you caught him watching the debacle.

"You have a staring problem, you know that?" Your voice still had a little of the intimidation husk to it, and numerous warning notifications of system overheating appeared in his vision as you spoke to him.

You didn't allow time for a response, keeping your stride before taking a seat at your desk for the day.

This morning had been running on a loop in poor Connor's head.

You had gloves on as you examined a piece of what appeared to be curtain, fixed with a look of determination. He gathered up his courage before standing and heading over to you. He was built for literal interrogation, why was he so nervous around you? He cleared his throat to announce his presence before he caught your gaze.

"Come back later unless someone is actively dying, I'm busy."

He's pretty sure that's the longest sentence you've said to him yet.

"What are you examining?" You squinted your eyes at him before returning to your subject.

"Anything that could present a following lead. They said it was clean, but I don't buy it. I just can't find anything."

Connor spotted a few splotches of blue and decided to follow his intuition. No way was he passing up an opportunity to talk to you. "There's thirium on the corner edge. It spreads all down the side of the fabric."

Your hands froze before you met his eyes again, this time holding them. "I've checked this over more times than I can count."

"Thirium isn't noticeable to the naked eye after a few hours, but I can see it perfect. It looks like the victim was strangulated." You glanced at your clock before looking back to him, ultimately getting up and walking away. Had he really batched it that bad with you?

His worries were resolved as you pulled a nearby chair back with you, placing it next to your own. He looked at you with a quizzical eye, head slightly tilted. You gestured to the empty seat before changing your gloves. Connor took the hint and sat down next to you. He was treading on new ground--this is the longest you two had ever even held a conversation. His mind started to drift back to earlier, the thoughts of one hand on his chest and the other pulling his tie overriding anything previous.

A pair of fingers snapped in front of him. "Hey, Connor, are you going to help me here or just stare at my fucking desk?" He stored how you said his name to memory. Was that the first time you said his name?

For once, it seems, he said the right thing.

He locked eyes with you before hovering his hand over the thirium marks. "They run in a pattern that starts up here," he trailed his finger just above the evidence, making sure not to touch it. "And from there it staggers a bit until a blotch here." He pointed to the bottom left corner, where electric blue was splattered in what almost made a fingerprint.

"Where, here?" Your finger was slightly off from the locale Connor pointed out, so he shook his head. You moved your finger down slowly trying to find it, but to no avail. You were so close to it, but so far that Connor couldn't help himself.

With a feather touch he covered your hand and wrist with his own. Being this close, he felt the tempo of your breathing change at his grasp. He delicately moved it to hover over the spot, holding it there for a second before using your hand to trace the thirium. "It follows until about here, where it stops."

You move the hand under his grasp back to the beginning before replaying what he just did. "Does the pattern of the thirium follow the curtains seem or go against it?"

"It follows it, which means that--"

"That the unsub must have ripped it from the rod." You gestured to the frayed area of the evidence. "I had a hunch, but couldn't put my fucking finger on it." Connor analyzed your motions as you analyzed the scene in front of you, taking in how in your element you were right now.

There you were, back slightly hunched over the desk, hair awry, bags under squinting eyes.

He had no need for breath, but if he did, the sight of you here and now would have taken his breath away.

Connor noted that your hand was still covered by his, eyes glancing to the two before you took yours away. Maybe he should've felt hurt at how fast you withdrew your hand, but he couldn't over the unknown bloom that was occurring at your readiness to have it held for nearly five minutes straight.

You looked to him, forgetting how close the chairs were to each other. "You said you can always see thirium?" Connor nodded. "I hope you know what you just signed yourself up for."

--

Connor was shocked to see you get out of the police car, especially tonight. The snow had melted, weather still relatively cold but not freezing, making any new precipitation come in thick and heavy. The rain was pouring down tonight. He ran a diagnostic of the possible reasons for your attendance and had come to the conclusion that this rain was the most probable cause. The crime had occurred outside, making it integral that they have an analysist on site just in case something were to wash away.

You didn't fare well in this weather, Connor could tell. He had been able to spend more and more time with you throughout the past two months, his ability to see thirium making him your eyes for android related cases. He had tried to breach personal topics on more than one occasion, but you never took the bait.

He did have a feeling that you started to warm up to him though, because you made it a point to show up to Hank and his home about once every two weeks for a dinner or movie night. It confused Connor, the way you were able to withhold so much of yourself from anyone. A fleeting thought occurred to him that at times, you seemed more machine than he was.

He shuddered to clear his head. "Doctor, it's a pleasure to see you, unfortunate that it's under these circumstances." You shot him a look at his words, and that's when he saw your eyes. This case was called pretty late at night, but the bags under your eyes made him conclude that you hadn't been sleeping for awhile. That was another thing he picked up on--you wouldn't admit it, but you had a few pretty severe self-destruction habits. You didn't sleep much he assumed, and he knew you didn't eat much--you would frequently work through your lunch, and tended to pick at your food when you came over for dinner.

On that note, about two weeks ago he had made a folder in his system dedicated to you. It held objectives, sub objectives, alongside the limited information he was able to gather about you. You currently had three likes, and seven dislikes.

An ongoing objective of his was to get you to resume healthy living habits. Eating, sleeping, hydration. He knew this would be an excruciatingly long task, but who was he if not persistent?

"Doctor, thank you for the help, I’m aware this isn’t your usual scene." Connor offered you some space under his umbrella.

The glare adorned on your face was nothing short of irritated. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart." You kept walking, past him and his umbrella, past Hank, moving to crouch by the first set of evidence signs.

There was that word again. Sweetheart. You had let it slip a few times over your interactions, and though Connor picked up that they weren't meant in an affectionate tone, a small part of him documented it as such.

After all, he didn't have any friends really outside of Hank, and his emotions were overwhelming at times. You calling him a name typically associated with positive intonations, even if you didn't mean it that way, made his head woozy. He had documented every time you said that to him in your file too. He would never admit it, but when he was having an extremely rough day, he would replay the moments you called him that to ease his mind.

"Who's in charge of this fucking investigation?" Your voice coursed through the thrum of the rain, Hank crouching down next to you before explaining everything he knew.

"Someone get a tarp!" Hank yelled over the rain, patting you on the shoulder once before going to check his car for one. Connor took that as a cue to deliver the information he had gathered to you. Once he arrived by your side, he bent down to prop the umbrella up as a temporary protection for the evidence. You continued to examine the shards of broken glass, turning to him when he mirrored your position on the ground.

"Any thirium nearby?" Connor shook his head.

"Not that I can tell. Is any of this salvageable for your studies?"

You sighed. "Some of it, if the soil doesn't start to flood." Your gloved hands delicately picked up a piece of the glass, examining it before placing it back down. The rain didn't let up. You glanced to the sky, eyes briefly closed as you inhaled. "I need to find CSI, inform them on the lab tests I need completed."

That's when things took a turn. You placed a hand on the ground to support you as you stood, but his previous hypothesis of your health status proved correct, as when you went to stand, your eyes fluttered closed before you reached for something nonexistent to steady you. You opened your eyes, but Connor could see that they were unfocused, and opted for what he thought would be the best option as you started to fall down.

He reached his arms out, catching and steadying you as you came down. "Woah there, are you alright?" A pleasantry, really, as Connor knew for a fact that you were not, no matter what you said.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you placed a hand on his arm. "I think I stood up too fast, I'm fine."

"You are not fine, Doctor." He had to broach this topic very carefully, as you could become quite hostile very fast if he did not phrase this right. And while he should have thought about what exactly it was he would say, it came out before he could stop it. "This isn't the first time I've seen this behavior from you. I'm worried about you."

When you had slightly collapsed, it was against his chest. Now, he steadied you with a hand on each arm as he brought you back to a normal stance, your eyes blinking rapidly.

"I'm anemic Connor, these things happen. Drop it." You were not anemic. His initial scan all those months ago showed that. He felt frustration bubble up in him at your lie.

"No, you're not."

"Excuse me?" You took a step towards him in what he assumed was intimidation, but you started to blink rapidly again, just like he did when he got a new influx of information.

"Your nervous system is firing synapses at an elevated rate. I would feel better if I accompanied you to the nearest CSI, in case you take a tumble again." He had meant it cordially, but of course you didn't take it as such.

You took a step back from him, forcing his hands to drop from your sides. "Fuck off, I said I'm fine." He could see you jaw clench before you took a deep breath, pushing past him as you went to talk to CSI.

Something settled in Connor then. It was resolute, final. He was going to help you whether you liked it or not. He cared for you a little more than he'd like to admit, and he didn't even know why. But he did know that he could be of assistance, and you needed someone to know that you weren't alone here.

A new mission appeared by your file.

And Connor always accomplished his missions.

--

Your apartment was...not what he thought it would be.

For some reason, he had it in his head that you lived in some lair like Batman, hiding in your secret crevices, only occasionally coming out of the woodwork for your job. That was not the case at all, he realized, as he stood staring at the little grey mat outside your door.

Hank had been so surprised at Connor's plan that he paused his basketball game. He had repeatedly questioned if Connor had any extra biocomponents or thirium ready in case you fucked him up for showing up unwelcomed and uninvited, but Connor persisted.

He had explained some of his findings to Hank, who in turn replied with a breathless remark along the lines of "if you don't come back tonight you're either going to be in over your head or dead," before wishing him luck.

It couldn't be that bad, could it?

He gulped, gulped, as one hand tightened around the paper bag full of groceries. He was actually doing this.

He was actually doing this.

He knew it would be pointless to knock on your door, but he did so out of politeness at first. After a few moments, even though he could hear you inside, no one came, as suspected.

Time for plan B.

He pressed your door buzzer, and held it.

For a minute straight.

He knew that this would most likely work, but with negative consequences. Honestly though? He didn't really care.

The entire day, he had tried to channel his inner you in preparation for tonight. He allowed himself to feel the annoyance and frustration that came with your words, the little time you dedicated to actually care for yourself. He was angry on your behalf, and he was going to do what was necessary to complete this mission, whether he liked it or not.

It was important to him. For some reason, you were important to him. You made him feel a type of way that no one else could elicit, and not only did he crave it, but he was fairly sure that you might feel similar if you let down your damn guard.

Maybe he was channeling a little bit of Hank right now too.

After another thirty-two seconds of pushing the buzzer, the door unlocked.

"'Can I fucking help you, Connor?" You sneered. "What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even find my fucking place?"

There you were, standing in a black sweater with navy blue sweatpants. The shadows from outside seemed to lengthen the bags that draped under your eyes, and you looked...worse for wear.

It was now or never.

"Hank gave it to me. I'm coming in."

"No, the hell you're not."

"Yes, the hell I am." He was not good at this when it came to you.

He looked at you before pushing his way into your home, using the element of surprise to his benefit.

Your mouth gaped open in shock at his confidence, and he could tell you were a little shellshocked at what he had to say. Good.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time." Your tone was dipped in venom at the intrusion. "What the fuck are you doing here."

It was almost as if his interrogation modules had kicked in with how quick he was. "I'm here to take care of you, obviously." He gestured to the bag of groceries in his right arm.

"You're not some fucking housekeeper, and I don't want you here." Your pulse increased, and he could tell you were fuming. He tried to let your words fall off his shoulders. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much."

It slipped before he could help it. Like he said, he didn't think straight around you, and frankly, your words did sting a bit. "Yeah, clearly."

You scoffed, arms crossed, glare fixed on him. You took a step towards him as you clenched your jaw, teeth grinding. "Get out of my house."

He ran a quick diagnostic on you, if only to prove his point. He shrugged.

"I mean, maybe you're right. If not sleeping in thirty two hours with only a shitty meal and a half in your system equates 'taking care of yourself,' then you're doing a great job."

Oh, he was in it now.

You took a heated breath in, clenching your jaw in unbridled fury. There it was, the calmness that over took you when you were about to lay into someone.

This time, that someone was him.

You started slowly, too slowly for Connor's like.

"You show up, unannounced and uninvited at my place at nearly one in the damn morning. Then, you start going off about how I don't take care of myself, and how I have poor living habits." You took a step with every sentence, now leaving barely any space between the two of you. He could see your tongue punching the inside of your cheek. "Then you have the gall, the nerve, to what? Offer your help?" You were standing practically against the grocery bag now, that's how close you were. "Let me make myself clear, I don't want your shitty fucking help, Connor."

As Hank would say, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Because Connor analyzed your status then, before carefully setting down the groceries on the nearest table. He then returned to his previous stance, head tilted.

Like he said, emotions tended to overwhelm him quickly. The amalgamation of what he felt around you was built up like a dam, one that he just broke.

He matched your tone, staring you down. Hands behind his back, he was ready to pounce.

"Let me make myself clear, Doctor." He started. "You are a nuisance to work with. You are never kind, no matter who you're with. You had no friends, no one that cared about you." He saw you suck a breath in, ready to retaliate, but he didn't let you butt in. "You sleep for, on average, approximately twenty four point seven hours a work week, and you eat around one meal a day. You may not think anyone pays attention or, as you say, 'gives a shit,' but you're wrong. You are relatively dehydrated and present yourself as hostile to all those around you."

He could hear you mumble a 'fuck you' in his direction. He continued. "Yet, for some reason, you have entranced me, sweetheart." Something bloomed inside of Connor at that sentence. That felt good to say. "I spend a quarter of every day making sure you're functional for your shift, planning alternatives if not so. I have tried over and over to be your companion, and just because you scare me a bit doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying. Not when you're actively almost killing yourself." He heaved an unneeded breath.

"So yes, I came over unwarranted, but too bad. I'm staying, cooking you a meal, and making sure you sleep tonight." He clenched his own jaw, words softer this time. "You are not the only one who feels alone in this world from time to time. Let me do this, Doctor. Please."

Your eyes were wide at his outburst, stunned into silence. It took you fifteen full seconds before you responded, and though Connor was proud of his words, the familiar claw of anxiety was starting to devour him.

You opened your mouth to assumedly give him a run for his money, before slowly closing it. Instead, you opted to stare him down for a minute before looking to the ground. "I'm going to go shower." You muttered, walking off up the stairs.

Connor stood there, at your front door, looking around your living space before his success struck him. Did he just win that? A small 'objective complete' appeared in his HUD by your file, the words Convince the Doctor to let you stay turning green before fading.

You hadn't kicked him out, which meant two things. One, that you didn't mind his presence, and two, that if you were accepting help, things were bad. You were akin to Hank in that way, refusing any help until it was too late.

Connor wasn't too sure he'd get this far, and was glad for the small cooking lessons Hank had offered him before coming here--he was not programed for that skill originally, and since he didn't really taste much, he struggled with the concept of cooking. Hank had showed him how to make a relatively quick and healthy dinner option, to which the ingredients were held in the paper bag.

He blinked rapidly before grabbing the bag, a new mission appearing to find your kitchen. His LED spun a continuous yellow as he took in the details of your apartment. Books lined the walls, with a shelf underneath the television for record playing. You had a fireplace, something that he hadn't seen much of here in Detroit. There were a couple of photos, and Connor decided to take a look at them. There were only two, one of them being Hank and a begrudging you, the other of a little black cat.

He didn't see any animals upon entering? Who's cat was that?

That's when he felt the odd pressure against his legs. He looked down at the source. You did have a cat. It meowed as it weaved between Connor's shoes, and started to make an odd rumbling sound from its system. Connor didn't know much about cats, so he was a little freaked out at the sensation, but not opposed. He reached his hand down and the cat bumped their head against his hand, rubbing their face alongside his palm. The fur was soft and fluffy like Sumo's, but more textured, more delicate.

He decided he liked cats.

"Hello, little one." He murmured to the cat, who meowed back at him.

He eventually found your kitchen. It wasn't completely upkept, but Connor didn't mind. There was a cup of water laying on the counter and some dishes in the sink. He set out to wash his hands before preparing dinner for you, your cat hot on his heels at the new guest.

The late night ambience added to the personality he was drawing of your place--it just seemed right to be here when it was past dark. Warm hues flooded in around him as he turned the light switch on. Most lights were digitally commanded these days, so he was mildly surprised at your manual switch.

A little chirp emitted by his feet, the cat quickly jumping up onto the counter. Connor panicked, he figured that the little one was not supposed to do that. Awkwardly, he walked over to the cat before attempting to pick it up. His sensors registered the fur as a new texture, and with one hand holding the underbelly of the cat, he used his other one to give a little pat on the creature’s head before the cat wriggled out of his grasp. Connor made a noise of fear as the cat jumped down, afraid of the distance between the floor and his arms. He stumbled as he went to catch the furball, the cat appearing much more graceful than he. When all four paws landed on the ground, Connor and the cat stared at each other for a minute, the cat in annoyance, Connor in relief.

The sound of your shower turning off made him shake his head in an attempt to re-regulate himself. Dishes, food, you got this.

Fifteen or so minutes later, you came in to join him in the kitchen, where he was very intensely monitoring the levels of heat ascending onto your frying pan. He was nearly done, and in his opinion, it looked very acceptable. Nothing had burnt unlike when he first tried to make the meal with Hank this morning, something which he was quite proud of. He didn't notice you watching him as he carefully took the pan off the stove after turning the flame off, pouring the contents on top of the first half of the meal. He was researching the ratio of seasonings that needed to be added on top as he placed the pan in the sink.

When he turned around to locate your spice rack again, you startled him. He cocked his head to the side. "How long have you been standing there?" He could feel the thirium rushing to his cheeks.

You studied him, raking your eyes from his hair to his undershirt (he had discarded his leather jacket at the door upon settling in, and now had his sleeves partially rolled up to avoid any spillage from the food). Connor did the same to you, or tried to, as when he saw your look fresh out of the shower in a tee and sweats, he nearly short circuited.

Literally, because he had to manually turn on his cooling fans.

When he was able to move again without making a fool of himself, he offered the plate to you. He set it down for you on the table before pulling out a chair for you and one for him, both next to each other. When he had sat down and got comfortable, he noticed that there were extra bags under your eyes.

No one said a word for about ten minutes. Once you were done with your meal, you cleared your throat, and Connor could see your jaw clench. You locked eyes with him.

"Why are you doing this, Connor?"

Could you not see it? He studied the wooden table as your unwavering gaze beat into him. The gusto that he had acquired seemed to have dissipated. What came from him instead was raw and unfiltered.

"Because, believe it or not Doctor, I care about you."

He saw you take a deep breath before you collected your dishes, taking them to the sink. He could hear your heater kick on. Your voice lacked its usual bite as you spoke this time.

"Well, you shouldn't."

He knew he needed to tread lightly, but there was a question that had been gnawing at him for the past half hour. "When was the last time you had company here?"

The vulnerability in your gaze sharpened at his inquiry. That small gap between your armor had been welded shut, but that didn't stop him.

"You have a really nice place, objectively speaking for today's market."

You still offered him no response, so he tried again. "Your cat seems quite lovely.”

That made you respond. “You met Boo?” Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “She’s usually afraid of new people.”

“She was an excellent supervisor to my work on your dinner. We’ve become friends, I think.” As if on cue, the cat in mention waltzed into the room, letting out a quick chirp before going up to Connor and rubbing against him again. He smiled down and stuck his hand out (he had researched friendly behaviors towards cats as he prepped your meal) letting her bump into his hand before affectionately giving her some head scratches. When she purred, it reverberated through his system.

He felt honored at her respect of him, so much so that he didn’t notice the small smile that graced your features at the sight. In fact, he had literally only seen you smile once, so had he known what you were doing, at that it was directed at him, well, he would’ve frayed a wire.

“She really likes you, huh.” You tilted your head inquisitively, and when Connor looked up to meet your gaze, he could see your eyelids start to droop shut.

“We have work in the morning, you should head to bed.”

Your walls went right back up at that, face going into a scowl. “You don’t think I’d be asleep if I fucking could?”

Connor started to scan your for fatigue rates, but you interrupted him. “Quit fucking scanning me, Connor. I’m not sleeping because I don’t want to., it's because i can't.” You left to walk down the hallway, one that Connor was sure lead to your room.

His chair screeched back in protest against the linoleum as he stood up, following you in tow. You disappeared into the farthest door on the left, and without a second thought he followed you in.

Something that he definitely should have thought about first.

“Get the hell out of my room.” You grumbled as he stepped foot in. He saw you sit down on the bed, back facing his frame. The clock on the opposite wall showed it was 2:17 am.

He ignored you. "Why can't you fall asleep?" He started to scan you again before your previous words echoed through his head. He stopped midway, opting instead to take a step closer to you.

"You wouldn't understand." He could not tell if that was an uncertainty you were voicing or a diss towards him, but he paid no mind either way. He could see you winding up to fight for yourself again, but a steady overhang of exhaustion dulled your bites.

"Then help me. Understand, I mean. I want to help you."

Though you were a little more dreary with your words, you didn't stop them from coming out.

"Why do you care?"

Frankly, Connor was frustrated. Why couldn't you just accept his help? He flexed his hand, something he'd seen you do once to help expel negative feelings before adopting the technique himself.

His tone was bold but gentle in response. "I'm not going to have this argument with you again. I told you--"

But you cut him off. "No, Connor, I mean, why do you care. you're always sweet to me, polite no matter what I throw at you. You don't take my shit and try again even when I'm annoyed, which is all the time, so why do you care so much?"

Connor quieted for a second before responding. It was a bittersweet response.

"Because we're both lonely."

That stunned you into silence. A note that Connor saw and ran with. Why couldn't you understand?

"When I first arrived at the station, before I was deviant, besides Hank, you were the first person to not see me as just a machine. After my deviance, you--" Connor searched for his words. You were staring at him wearily, a yawn catching your breath. "You enticed me. I knew that I wanted you in my life, and Hank told me that you needed more people in your corner. And that's what I did."

You stared at him hard and long, opting to sit on the bed. "Nightmares." You whispered. "If I manage to sleep at all, I get replays from my past that enter my thoughts while I sleep." You took a deep breath. "Some nights it seems easier to ignore them altogether.” You took a breath. “Stay awake.”

"Then I will stay here with you. If you begin to experience one, I will wake you up." He sat down next to you, a bold move that he prided himself on.

"I--"

He turned to you, locking eyes. "Let me do this, please."

Your head moved down towards your lap. You took a deep breath as you stood and moved to go under your covers.

"If it counts for anything, I don't hate you." You murmured before sighing, shifting into a laying position. "Do you sleep?"

Connor shrugged. "I enter a stasis period every now and then, but no actual sleep. It's relatively the same process, but I don't reap any of the benefits humans do, as I don't need them.”

Your eyes fluttered close for a second before you grabbed the other end of your covers, pulling them back. Your voice was hesitant, light. "Well, get in here then."

He was still preening at your compliment of not hating him--he was fairly certain that if anyone else saw or heard him right now, he'd look like an idiot. An error message appeared in the corner of his HUD, but he immediately dismissed it, because he could tell you were serious.

"...are you sure?"

He could sense the moment slipping away, so he quickly caught himself. "I just wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable." You rolled your eyes, you rolled your eyes.

Your voice was scratchy and caked with sleep. Connor devoured every second of it. "Sweetheart, I wouldn't have asked if I was. Unless you'd prefer to sit on the floor all night."

So slowly and hesitantly, Connor joined you in bed. He couldn't think too deep into this right now, because if he paused for a second to consider what was actually happening, he might have short-circuited.

He had never shared a bed with someone else before, and that was made apparent by the way he sat ninety degrees in the bed as you laid back down. Your voice floated across from the other side.

"You're not doing this because someone asked you to, right?" Your voice sounded unusual, sounded vulnerable. While the words stung a bit, Connor knew for once that this was genuine.

"All of this is on my own accord." Your name slipped from his lips as his eyes landed on your frame, the top sheet covering your shoulders with the duvet and blankets sitting a little farther down. "Like I said, you're not in this alone. I..." He watched your chest rise and fall with every breath. "--I care about you, more than I'd like to admit. I even enjoy your presence, believe it or not."

You rolled over to face him at his words. Connor melted a little at the sight. "I must be dreaming already because no one has said that to me in a long time." Connor made a note to rekindle that topic later. You mumbled the next words, so quick that he almost missed it. "It means a lot that you did this, you know." Your eyes met his then, scrunching in question. "What are you doing up there? Lay down."

He did not know how humans tended to sleep at night, so he followed your suggestion. Albeit awkwardly, he slid himself into the covers, leaning right up next to you. He could hear your heart pump. "That's better."

Once again, the words slipped from Connor before he could stop himself.

"I like this side of you, you know. I've never heard you be nice before."

A sleepy smile pulled on your face. You were on the edge of succumbing to rest. "Yeah, yeah, don’t go telling people now, I have a reputation to uphold." You nuzzled your head into your pillow. "I like you, too. Probably a little too much."

Something tugged at Connor's thoughts. "You like me?"

"Oh, sweetheart," You murmured as sleep dragged you under. "Believe it or not, I adore you."

Blue coated his nose down to his neck, and instinctively yet hesitantly he wrapped an arm around you.

He didn't even think as he took a glance at you, so close.

You were still awake, and he knew this, because something came over him then, and he kissed your forehead.

He made a vow then to care for you for the rest of his days, if this was how it was received. He closed his eyes and he began the process required before going into stasis. Just as he was shutting his eyes, he felt it.

You leaned your head fully against his chassis.

As you both were gifted rest into the night, he could tell that you had fallen asleep.

He took the opportunity to whisper back.

"Adoration isn't the right word. I think--I think I'm in love with you."

The blank canvas of stasis welcomed him for the night.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔄𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔬𝔦𝔡 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔢𝔯 Connor x male reader

Summary: What starts as a simple case turns into something far messier when Connor finally acts on the crush he’s catalogued in silence.

Tags: Day 20 ‘Breeding kink / cum inflation’. No use of Y/N. Male reader. Coworkers to lovers. Top Connor. Bottom male reader. Anal sex. Breeding kink. Overstimulation. Android stamina.

Gif

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 - 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉ℴ𝒷ℯ𝓇

Words count: 2700

It began as a case so small it should have barely brushed your radar, two cars lifted from opposite ends of the same neighborhood, a string of thefts so low-profile that most of the senior detectives had waved them off with excuses about being overworked.

Having been on the force a short time, Captain Fowler had tossed the case your way with a pointed look that said “cut your teeth on this before asking for the heavier stuff.” A couple of stolen vehicles weren’t glamorous compared to murders or corporate sabotage, but you took it anyway, determined to prove yourself.

That’s when Connor inserted himself into your orbit. The sleek prototype android was still most often paired with Lieutenant Hank Anderson, trailing the older detective with quiet deference. Everyone at the precinct had made the joke at least once that Connor looked like Hank’s reluctant, overgrown son, but you kept the joke alive more than anyone else, partly because you liked the way Connor’s LED flickered yellow when you teased, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if he was supposed to correct you.

When he offered to help you with your beginner’s case, it startled you more than you’d ever admit. The great RK800, deviant hunter, revolution-savior, working on car thefts? Still, his smile when he extended the offer was different from his usual rehearsed expressions. It wasn’t tight at the edges or calculated to mimic humanity; it felt real, faint and hesitant, but warm. It's impossible to turn it down.

The revolution had changed everything and deep down you knew it was for the better, a city that now felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years with androids walking free, experimenting with choice and freedom, the precinct reluctantly but steadily adapting.

And there was now Connor, too handsome for his own good, far too easy for your eyes to linger on whenever you were supposed to be analyzing evidence.

You thought tonight was just another routine late meeting, one more night of coffee growing cold between you while you swapped notes and tried to connect the dots. The suspect list had narrowed, just a few names left to check.

What you had no clue of was that Connor had already solved it. The last man you interviewed still carried the crime on his skin, oily residues of gasoline and engine degreaser clinging to his hands, absorbed into his cuticles, faint sheens beneath his fingernails.

Your human eyes failed at detecting those but Connor’s sensors parsed the chemical profile instantly, octane traces consistent with handling unrefined gasoline, oxidized hydrocarbons embedding in fabric fibers of his sleeve. Too specific and impossible to mistake.

If Connor had wanted, he could have closed the case that moment, reported and wrapped it all neatly with his usual clinical precision.

But he didn’t. Hank’s words echoed in his memory to sometimes just… live. He decided to wait and stretch the case a little longer, because this wasn’t really about cars anymore.

It was about the time he enjoyed spending with you.

Nights where you sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the precinct, laughing over shared frustrations and half-joking that you were both married to the job already. Nights where you dragged him to bars that welcomed androids, your enthusiasm radiant every time he walked in beside you, thirium pump humming faster at the warmth in your voice when you ordered for the two of you. Ninety percent of your conversations weren’t even about work, dogs you both loved, movies you tore apart scene by scene, small preferences like how you hated watered-down beer but liked the bottles icy enough to sting your lips.

He logged every detail.

Tonight felt no different until you admitted, voice soft and hesitant, that you liked being with him, maybe more than you should. His response was immediate, characteristically blunt as he told you he had all your moments together catalogued, every file carefully preserved, that spending time with you had checked off every milestone he’d been told a partner should reach.

Then, zero filters and with an utterly deadpan expression, he asked you out on a date.

The shock must have been plain on your face because his LED spun yellow, processing outcomes while tilting his head to the right, lips pressed together, brows drawn low in concentration.

His pupils didn’t dilate the way a human’s would, but there was still a depth in his stare, confusion painting every line of his face hotter than anything you’d ever seen, a machine glitching on the most beautiful error, so precise in every other circumstance, but now staring at you like he couldn’t compute your laughter.

And oh, how you laughed. Too hard and sudden, hand coming up to cover your mouth as tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, laughing at the sheer absurdity of his clinical delivery, that perfect poker face paired with something so vulnerably human, tore the air out of your lungs.

Connor froze mid-analysis, his search algorithms halting, because every wave of your laughter filled his auditory canals with a sensation he had no metric for. The sound wasn’t something he wanted to classify, but keep forever on.

When you caught your breath, you asked him if this had been his plan all along, helping with your case just to have an excuse to ask you out. He nodded, simple and unembarrassed, confirming your suspicion with that same mechanical sincerity that made your chest ache.

The delight on your face softened into something warmer and deeper, your gaze heavy with adoration as you stepped closer. Both your arms draped over his shoulders and Connor’s internal readings spiked: surface skin temperature up by two degrees where you pressed into him, heart rate soaring from baseline. He processed the rise in your heat signature instantly, logged it as a sign of arousal, but what mattered wasn’t the data. It was the closeness, the living pulse he could feel against him.

You whispered to him then, words like a prayer, asking what he possibly found in you when he was already so flawless and perfect.

His answer wasn’t hurried. He looked at you steadily, tone calm but the content searing hot in its raw honesty when admitting that you occupied his every thought even when he wasn’t at work, that during long nights alone he reviewed surveillance feeds just to see you in the background. He confessed how, in the bullpen, his eyes always gravitated to your desk first and when you weren’t there, it triggered a sense of alarm he hadn’t been programmed to feel.

The words hit you with the weight of how this was how he really felt and it gave you no hesitation, convincing you to surge forward as your lips found his, soft and trembling.

At first, he was rigid and awkward, his mouth not quite matching the pressure of yours, movements stilted as though he were pulling from stored simulations of what kissing should be, then his programming caught up with his desire and lips softened, angled and parted.

A big and soft hand of his lifted to cradle the back of your head, thumb brushing against your hairline as he tilted you deeper into him. The kiss turned full consuming, no longer awkward but alive, tongue teasing against yours while his vision was filled with datas about you.

Connor had calculated every parameter of your body long before you even touched him, yet the moment your lips pressed to his, the flood of human unpredictability overwhelmed his predictive models.

His HUD lit with biometric data scrolling in streams: skin flushed to thirty-eight degrees Celsius, a spike of adrenaline lifting heart rate from resting seventy-two to one hundred thirty-one beats per minute, pupils dilating until only a thin iris band remained.

Every moan you choked out registered as both sound pressure wave and elevated blood oxygen demand, heightened oxytocin release.

Moments blurred, the desk forgotten, the case closed in silence. Sheets rustled instead, back against your bed, Connor’s weight above you as clothing vanished in quick, efficient motions. His cock slid into you with inexorable depth, stretch burning and every thrust lit his HUD with cascading readings: your prostate struck, pelvic tension spiking, heartbeat climbing to one-forty-six.

He heard every gasp and desperate plea spilling out as you clenched around him and catalogued them to replay in perfect fidelity when he craved you.

All while fucking you with relentless rhythm, data and desire merging. Semen release calculated, volume predicted, yet his system poured it into you like an inexhaustible cycle. He watched your abdomen swell subtly, sensors marking internal pressure as his cum filled you, each pulse syncing with your trembling moans, his own LED glowing yellow with the impossible sight of you taking more, more, more, while his audio systems drowned in your cries.

What began as minutes bled into something endless, a loop of motion and sensation so consuming that your brain had long since stopped tracking where you ended and Connor began. Your legs were locked high around his waist, ankles hooked tight as he drove in and out of your hole, the wet slap of skin and the obscene squelch of your body wrapping him echoing through the room.

Connor’s hands pressed firmly on either side of the mattress, caging you, pinning you into place beneath him, lips parted as faint low grunts passed through them, breaths perfectly measured in volume but too raw to be anything except genuine.

Inside him, systems that had never been touched before were lighting up. His sexual subroutines had been buried, unnecessary for missions, ignored like extraneous code. But now they activated one by one, mapping every microsecond of sensation as your body gripped him. The tight heat of your hole sent positive feedback signals cascading across his network, every squeeze a data point that spiked his pleasure sensors until his thirium pump surged faster than combat ever demanded.

Built for infinite stamina and durability that never faltered in case of chase with criminals, Connor was unleashing every ounce of that design into you who lost count of how many times he had already reached climax, releasing his synthetic semen and coated your insides with every spurt. But instead of shutting down, he simply reset and began again. Never have you asked him to stop and he never faltered in his pace of fucking you.

The mess inside you was staggering, possible to feel with every thrust, a wet fullness that made your body clench tighter around him, desperate for more even as you overflowed.

He measured every contraction of your muscles, every tremor that signaled the edge of your orgasm and adjusted his pace, angling perfectly until you cried out, arching beneath him, spilling against your stomach and his.

He never let you come alone, calculating perfectly to reach his own peak with you, cock pulsing hard, releasing another torrent of synthetic cum deep inside, forcing your walls to milk him harder, milking you both for every drop.

One hand left the mattress, shifting down to your abdomen. His palm pressed lightly against you, fingers splayed as he felt the swell beneath your skin, the way his own previous release had accumulated inside. Warm fluid displaced, slick pressure against his shaft as he pushed deeper. The sensation made your back arch, a hiss ripping from your throat as you trembled under the new stimulation.

Without hesitation, he leaned down, mouth sealing over yours, swallowing the moan that broke free. His hips drove in harder, deeper, perfect strokes that had you seeing white. You tasted faintly of salt and sweat, but he devoured it as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever known.

Then he bottomed out one final time, hips flush, cock buried to the hilt. His body jerked, releasing again pulse after pulse of thick, hot synthetic fluid pouring into you. The pressure built until you swore you’d split from the fullness and that was enough to tip you over. You cried out against his mouth, releasing shooting up your belly, splashing against his hard, perfect abs. He swallowed your sound greedily, fucking you through it, not stopping even as both of you shuddered violently.

The room was still heavy with warmth lingering in the sheets, the air damp with sweat and the faint musk of synthetic fluid that clung to your skin. You’d finally peeled yourself away from him, shaky-legged and laughing at your own wobble, insisting you’d collapse if you didn’t wash up. Connor, propped against the headboard with that perfectly composed posture, had logged every second of your walk to the bathroom, eyes tracing the marks he’d left on your thighs, the slick shine between your legs that he’d put there.

He sat in the silence after, processors whirring with the unfamiliar ache in his thirium pump. He should have shut down excess cycles, focused on self-diagnostics, but instead he initiated a call sequence. His HUD flickered, encryption keys exchanged, the line crackling as Hank’s gruff voice came through.

“Christ, Connor,” Hank rasped, voice thick with sleep, that perpetual gravel even rougher in the middle of the night. “What the hell’s wrong? It’s—” a pause, paper rustling, probably his clock—“three in the goddamn morning. Even my damn dog doesn’t get me up this late.”

Connor hesitated, LED flickering yellow, then blue again. His tone, though calm, carried something softer than usual. “Everything is fine, Lieutenant. I wasn’t certain whether or not I should call, but I decided… to go for it.”

There was a beat of silence on the line, and then a weak, tired chuckle. Hank’s laugh was like worn leather creaking, weary but genuine. Connor could visualize it perfectly with the free hand rubbing at his face, dragging down his white bearded chin in exasperation.

“That so.” He sniffed, voice softer than he’d admit. “Where’s the kid, then? He’s not makin’ you do extra paperwork at this hour, is he?”

Connor blinked once, lips twitching faintly. “He is in the shower. He said he preferred it, even though he initially wanted to sleep. I believe he required it after the activity we engaged in.” His voice didn’t waver, still that smooth monotone, but his words were loaded. “We had sex for one hour, thirty-seven minutes and twenty-six seconds, with brief intervals for repositioning.”

The sound Hank made was halfway between a cough and a choke. There was a sharp clatter, as though he’d nearly dropped his phone, followed by wet, sputtering hacks. “Connor—” he wheezed, “Jesus Christ—don’t—” he coughed again, a curse muffled against the receiver. “Don’t need a damn stopwatch on your sex life.”

Connor tilted his head slightly, LED pulsing. “I thought precision would help clarify the context. He invited me to join him in the shower, but I was… confused. I do not require hygiene protocols. Bathing is unnecessary for me.”

Another groan came down the line, long and beleaguered, like Hank was dragging every ounce of energy just to keep from slamming the phone shut. “Goddamn it, Connor. You don’t gotta tell me all the play-by-play. Sweet mother of…” His mutter trailed off, low and grumbling. “CyberLife’s crown jewel, state-of-the-art machine, but dumb as a brick.”

Connor’s brows furrowed, LED flashing yellow as he parsed the insult. “Lieutenant—”

The line clicked dead, leaving Connor in the dim quiet. He sat there, bare chest streaked faintly with the dried remnants of your release while listening to the water run in the shower. The sound wrapped around him, not like data but like comfort. His fingers brushed the sheets where your warmth lingered and though he didn’t have the word for it, every system in his body hummed with something bigger than programming.

You called out then, voice muffled by steam, teasing him to come in and he obediently stood, immediately already moving, the ghost of Hank’s coughing fit still echoing in his processor but overridden, completely, by the need to be near you again.

[toxicrelief]

The most nothingburger pet peeve of mine is when a writer gives the reader a favorite ANYTHING.

“I love fried rice” she exclaims while eating said fried rice.

“My favorite color is purple”

“I’m dressed up as coraline ‘cause she’s my favorite character ever.”

STOPPPP, NONE OF THIS IS ME AND I CAN GUARENTEE THAT ITS NOT A LOT OF THE READERS!!

Is it that big of a deal? No, I survive and so does everyone else. BUT IT NEVER ADDS ANYTHING TO THE STORY, if you have to have a character say they love something that’s personalized to each reader, pull some shit like:

“she tells the person her favorite (x)”

IT REALLY IS THAT EASY!!

This is not directed at anyone, being a writer is hard and it sucks and I will still eat up stories that have this stuff, it just drives me a little insane.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[starii-light]

y'know what i just realized? not enough people write about dbh. its honestly a crime, i need more to quench my 3st.

pre-revolution!connor rk800 who doesnt have free will yet, so he hopes everyday that you would get assigned to the deviant case with him and hank. he swears its not a deviant trait, he just.. admires your work ethic.

pre-revolution!connor rk800 who will always make you a cup of coffee. he memorized what time you come into work everyday and how you like your coffee in the hopes that it would catch your attention.

pre-revolution!connor rk800 who, when you do finally get assigned to the deviant case with him and hank, couldn't be happier. he briefed you on every new case and even sat in the back of hanks car with you to "better share information" with you ;)

post-revolution!connor rk800 who was so excited that he could finally live free, like a real human could. he was released from wearing the same jacket everyday and was open to figuring out what his style is. he even wnt out shopping with you to many different stores to find clothes hed like.

post-revolution!connor rk800 who comes over to your apartment almost everyday of the week, watching different movie genres, figuring out which one he likes. so far, his favorite has been men in black.

post-revolution!connor rk800 who ends up moving into your apartment, carving out a drawer and closet space just for him. with two stable incomes from government jobs, you could afford to upgrade and get a small home with reasonable rent.

post-revolution!connor rk800 who cooks breakfast for you on the weekends, making many core memories seeing your sleepy happy face come to greet him.

just connor in general 💕💕