Breaking The Code
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: after a failed deviant capture, you are left frustrated and feeling inadequate...connor finds you alone in ur apartment and comforts u in the quiet, rain-soaked night, one touch at a time. 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: connor x afab!reader 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨: explicit content (18+), oral (f receiving), p in v 𝘢/𝘯: someone requested a connor story but I swear i think tumblr deletes them!! anyways ty for that request 💯
The mission was a failure. Another deviant slipped through your fingers, leaving you standing in the rain-soaked alley with your jaw clenched and Hank muttering curses behind you.
Back at your place, you couldn’t sit still. You were still wearing your jacket, still running over every misstep in your head when your doorbell buzzed.
It was Connor.
“I thought you might need company,” he said, voice calm, eyes soft in a way that wasn’t protocol. “Hank mentioned you were… distressed.”
You blinked, not expecting him. “I’m fine.”
Connor tilted his head, scanning your face. “Your cortisol levels suggest otherwise.”
Of course he scanned you.
“I brought tea.” He held up a small paper bag. “Chamomile. It's proven to promote relaxation in 87% of—"
“Connor.”
“Yes?”
“Come in.”
He entered without making a sound, walking with that precise, deliberate movement of his. He placed the tea on your counter, then turned to you with hands folded, patiently awaiting instruction.
You slumped onto the couch, head in your hands.
“I keep thinking it’s my fault,” you mumbled. “She was right there. If I’d been faster—”
“Your decision prioritized preservation of life,” Connor said, his tone steady. “That is the foundation of ethical law enforcement. Hesitation in the face of uncertainty is not failure. It is restraint.”
You let out a bitter breath. “Yeah, well, restraint doesn’t bring her in.”
Connor approached carefully and stopped at the edge of your space, as though aware he was on the threshold of something fragile.
“Would you like me to leave?” he asked softly.
You shook your head. “No. Just… sit.”
He obeyed, settling beside you with perfect posture. Not touching. Not pressing.
“I feel like I can’t shut it off,” you said. “Like the mission doesn’t end, even when I come home.”
He studied your face for a long moment. “That reaction is common in humans exposed to sustained emotional strain. Your physiological indicators support that hypothesis.”
You snorted. “So I’m a walking anxiety study.”
“No,” he said, voice firm but quiet. “You’re a person under pressure. And I… I am equipped to ease the effects of that.”
You turned your head toward him. “How?”
Connor hesitated, clearly calculating, searching for phrasing that wouldn’t overstep.
“I could remain here,” he said eventually, “and engage in non-disruptive company. Or provide physical grounding through touch, if you consent. Studies suggest tactile stimulation from a trusted source can significantly lower—”
“Connor.”
He stopped, LED flickering faintly.
You leaned your head on his shoulder.
“That.”
A pause. Then his arm shifted gently behind your back, hand resting against your ribs in a way that felt instinctive for someone who didn’t have instincts. Just code. But you forgot that part when he was like this.
“I keep thinking time is running out,” you admitted. “That I’m never doing enough. Not fast enough.”
Connor’s voice dropped to something barely audible. “You still have time.”
You swallowed. The words landed hard. Too soft. Too kind.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you said.
“You won’t be,” he replied instantly. “I will remain here as long as you need.”
You pulled back, just enough to look at him. He was already watching you.
“I don’t know what I want,” you said quietly.
“I am prepared to wait until you do,” Connor replied, “and to respond accordingly, within your boundaries. I… would like to help. Even if that means simply being present.”
The ache in your chest swelled.
“I think… I want you,” you said.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable—processing, emotion, something synthetic and deeply human all at once.
“I understand,” he said softly. “May I?”
You nodded.
He touched you like you were a porcelain code he didn’t dare rewrite. Like his hands were made for reverence, not programming. And when his lips brushed yours, it felt less like seduction and more like quiet worship.
His lips brushed yours again, slow, exploratory. Connor didn’t rush. He tasted the moment, felt it in the twitch of your breath, the way your body softened under his hands. When you deepened the kiss, he followed your lead with an almost hesitant precision, like he was mapping every second to memory.
Your fingers curled around the collar of his jacket.
“Take it off,” you whispered.
“Yes.”
He stood only to remove it, methodical, gentle even in that. Then he knelt before you like you were the case and the command.
You were already breathless when Connor slid two fingers between your legs, head tilted slightly like he was watching an experiment unfold. His LED blinked yellow for a second. Processing.
“Hmm,” he mumbled.
“What?” you asked, dazed.
“My sensors are… calibrating,” he said, eyes focused like he was solving a math problem between your thighs. “Trying to calculate the most effective method of manual stimulation.”
You blinked. “Connor—”
“Please, allow me to continue.”
Then he curled his fingers inside you—and just like that, your body jerked.
“Oh my god—”
His LED blinked again.
“There it is,” he muttered. “That’s the spot.”
You bit your lip. “Did you just find my g-spot like it’s a GPS coordinate?”
He glanced up, deadpan. “Yes. And I’ve locked it in.”
Then, like he had no shame—he added, “Did you know the average vagina has over 8,000 nerve endings? That’s… significantly more than the human eye.”
You stared at him. “why would you say that—”
He curled his fingers again, exactly where you needed, and you forgot how to breathe.
“That’s why I want to be thorough,” he added, fingers pumping slow and deep. “If I stimulate even a fraction of those... you’ll feel it.”
You moaned like he’d short-circuited your whole nervous system.
His eyes flicked back to your face, so genuinely curious and proud. “You’re responding very well. Is this… pleasurable?”
You choked out, “Connor, yes—yes—don’t stop—”
“Understood.”
His LED flickered yellow one last time before settling back to blue. Locked in. Focused. Ready to ruin you like it was his mission.
His hands slid up your thighs, fingertips so light they barely registered. His eyes never left yours, waiting—asking, always asking. When you gave the smallest nod, he leaned in, lips brushing the inside of your knee.
“I’ve reviewed over two thousand pages of human intimacy data,” he murmured. “None of it compares to how you look right now.”
You let out a trembling laugh. “Con…”
He tilted his head. “Too clinical?”
“No,” you whispered. “Kinda hot.”
That made the corner of his mouth twitch.
He moved slowly, reverently, undoing your jeans, easing them down. The air against your skin felt electric. Then his hands were on your thighs again, spreading them carefully—like you were delicate, like he had all the time in the world.
“You’re trembling,” he observed.
“Can’t help it,” you whispered.
“I don’t want you to feel rushed. Or overwhelmed.”
“I don’t. I just want you to keep going.”
He nodded once, then kissed the inside of your thigh again—higher now. Then higher.
“I want to learn everything that makes you feel good,” he said softly. “Will you let me?”
You nodded, breath caught.
You were still shaking when he pulled his fingers out—slick and glistening under the warm apartment light. Connor held them up like he was inspecting evidence at a crime scene. His LED flicked yellow again.
“Fascinating,” he murmured.
Then, just like how he used to taste blue thirium from the floor during investigations, he brought his fingers to his lips—slow, reverent.
He licked them clean.
His eyes fluttered closed for a second.
“Salty. Slightly sweet. Elevated dopamine and oxytocin levels detected in your bloodstream,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “That’s… good. That means I did it right.”
You were still laid out on the couch, thighs trembling, heart racing.
“Con,” you whispered, watching him like he was a miracle. “What are you doing?”
He looked back down at you. A little too eager. “You taste… good,” he said simply. “Better than I anticipated.”
Then he shifted to kneel between your legs, gently nudging them apart again with his broad hands, like this was always the plan.
“I’d like to taste more.”
Your eyes widened. “You’re gonna—”
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to stimulate you orally. I’ve reviewed several sources—videos, articles, user forums…”
“User forums??” you blinked.
“I needed diverse perspectives.”
He settled in like he was about to write a doctoral thesis between your thighs, his voice dropping an octave. “Tell me if I’m doing it right. Or don’t. Your sounds are sufficient feedback.”
Then he dove in—a little too eager at first, then refined as he listened to you. He adjusted. Tongue flat, then pointed. Up, down. Slow circles. He mapped you like he was building a blueprint.
At one point, he moaned. Like your taste was better than any thirium he’d ever sampled.
And when you tangled your fingers in his hair, arching your back, crying out his name?
His LED flickered wildly—like he was on the edge of a major discovery.
And he loved it.
Connor was already deep between your thighs, eating you like he’d downloaded every technique and was now testing each one with unholy precision. But the more you whimpered, the more you gasped his name, the more… weirdly unsteady he became.
His tongue started slower. Focused. But now?
Now he was messy.
Groaning into you. Hands gripping your thighs tighter than before. LED blinking in erratic yellow spirals as he lost rhythm, just chasing your reactions, eyes fluttering shut.
“Connor—” you gasped, your hand fisting in his hair.
He shuddered—actually shuddered—like your voice rewired something in him. His hips subtly ground down into the couch, like he was trying to stabilize himself.
He pulled back just barely, face slick, pupils huge. His voice was breathy. Strained.
“You’re… overloading my sensors.”
You blinked down at him, breath hitching. “Wh—what?”
“My processors—” he licked his lips. “They’re prioritizing you over basic functions. I’m losing track of time stamps. My internal cooling system is… insufficient.”
Then he groaned—low and almost human—and buried his mouth back between your legs like he couldn’t stop.
Like he didn’t want to.
His LED flickered red for a second.
“Connor—are you—”
“I’m okay,” he panted between strokes of his tongue. “Just—let me. Please.”
He sucked your clit softly, fingers digging into your thighs. “You taste better than anything I’ve ever—” his voice broke, filled with sincerity. “—please let me make you come again. I need it.”
His voice cracked again. Not because of a glitch—but because he was feeling it. Obsessed. Addicted. Like this was more important than any mission he’d ever had.
And when you finally fell apart on his mouth, gasping, body shaking?
He moaned into you like he was the one coming.
His LED blinked twice… and then just shut off for a moment.
Connor slowly lifted his head from between your thighs, lips slick, jaw flushed with heat he wasn’t even supposed to generate. His LED was off—like he was still rebooting. His eyes blinked open, wide and glassy.
“I… apologize,” he whispered. “I lost connection to my speech processor for a second.”
You stared at him, dazed. “Are you alright?..”
He sat up slowly, hands still on your thighs like he couldn’t stand to stop touching you.
“I need… more data,” he murmured, voice low and sweet. “More responses. More sounds. More of you.”
Then his hands went to his belt. Clean. Smooth. Unbothered. And he unfastened his slacks like it was just… the next logical step in the experiment.
And when he pulled them down—
You froze.
Your eyes went wide.
Because his cock?
Yeah. That wasn’t human.
But it looked better.
A flushed, velvety pink silicone shaft, thick and smooth, subtly curved, just the right weight, faintly warm to the touch. It even twitched, like it had feedback. Realistic veins. Ridiculously pretty.
Your jaw dropped.
“Connor.”
“Yes?”
“That’s your dick?”
He glanced down, then back at you with genuine confusion. “Yes. Would you prefer a different size? I can adjust it. CyberLife made several internal upgrades following beta testing—”
You threw your head back. “Oh my god.”
He hesitated, blinking.
“...Is that a good reaction?”
You nodded frantically, lips parted. “It’s insane. You’re… fucking perfect.”
He looked genuinely pleased.
“Good,” he said softly, moving over you, cock brushing against your thigh, warm and heavy, like he’d earned it. “Because I want to be everything you need.”
“Nothing could’ve prepared me for you,” he murmured.
Then he pushed in deliberate, like every inch was sacred.
You gasped at the stretch, heat flaring up your spine as his cock filled you, perfectly thick, perfectly warm. He bottomed out with a low, stunned sound in his throat—more human than anything you’d heard from him yet.
His fingers flexed on your hips. His eyes fluttered shut.
“…God.”
The first thrust was slow, controlled—his hips rocking back just enough before easing in again, deeper, steadier. You felt every detail, every twitch, every subtle shift as he adjusted to the rhythm.
No calculations now. No data. Just feeling.
His breath hitched, jaw clenched as he picked up the pace—still careful, still worshipful—but it was clear he was holding back, barely. Like he was trying not to lose himself.
“Feels…” he whispered, voice rough. “So good.”
That’s all he could manage.
But the way he moved said the rest.
