when there aren't any officers available, connor and hank respond to a distress call at one of the more rundown apartments abandoned by the city after you come home to find your place in absolute disarray-- fortunately, your cat is unharmed.
tags: fem!plus sized!reader (implied to be in late 20s), mentions of violence, breaking and entering, reader has a cat because one should always have a cat :3 (inspired by my own little old lady!), connor is not yet deviant, this got wordy haha
"Take a left on Washington Avenue, lieutenant." Connor sits properly in the passenger seat with his hands folded neatly in his lap with the seatbelt drawn over his lap and chest. Safety was important.
Occasionally swaying with Hank's driving, Connor's eyes drift to the twinkling skylines of downtown Detroit. Lights of blue and white and yellow reflect back in his eyes, LED swirling as he processes new information.
Billboards now flash with images of androids. Cyberlife's newest models available for purchase. Some were on sale... Now only three-thousand to buy your own android and they're selling like hotcakes.
The brightness of the city fades away into a less saturated background. Less light pollution and more eerie liminal spaces. Most of the street lights don't seem to work properly. A few lights twinkle with flickers of remnant energy like a match trying to spark into flame.
"God. Talk about letting the town go to shit...," Hank grumbles under his breath, slowing the car to 30MPH. The gray-haired lieutenant leans over his wheel towards his dash to get a better look through the windshield.
Connor turns towards Hank. "Are we certain anyone lives here?"
"This is where the dispatch said to go." Hank continues to creep his car forward.
The scenery before them felt straight out of an apocalypse movie. Empty and darkened houses were lined on either side of the road. It's derelict with very few cars. Most of the cars look like they've been scavenged for parts and left to rot and rust.
Litter and old newspaper scuttle across the sidewalk with the tepid July breeze. At 11:40pm, it was starless void of a sky tonight save for the halo of light coming from the cityscape behind them. The artificial light was so bright it made the trees look like they were plastic. Unnatural. There was something unsettling about this area.
A faint light glowed ahead. In the sea of darkness, a faint light glowed ahead. An apartment complex sat at the very end of the street. In fact, it was the only thing left with a light on. The street was a dead end.
An ambulance is parked outside with its lights flashing. The EMTs are just finishing up, packing up the transporter and driving off.
“Should be just up ahead,” Hank spins the wheel lining his car parallel to the sidewalk.
--
The building reeks of mildew. Mold was certainly growing in the seemingly damp entryway carpet. A lone frosted-yellow rounded light buzzes above them. A moth frantically tap-tap-taps at the glass. Inside, were the corpses of numerous insects that met their end when they could not escape their spherical coffin. The moth would likely assume the same fate.
Hank covers his nose with a ragged bandana kept in the back of his jeans-pocket. “Oh, holy shit. Jesus Christ that reeks. Smells like a skunk got high and exploded.”
“That is very descriptive, lieutenant.” Connor blinks. “You certainly know how to paint a picture.”
“Shut up, Connor.” Hank replies gruffly. The floorboards hidden beneath the moldy carpet creak as they ascend up the stairs to the second-story of the complex. Hank scans his notes. “This one.”
Two gruff knocks against a faded wood door ease it open and off its hinges. It creaks open ominously. Hank’s hand moves to the gun stashed at his thigh. Carefully pushing the door open
“Hello! Detroit Police! We got a call to come investigate. Anyone home? Hello-oooo?”
A plump woman dressed in a barista’s uniform appears in the hallway of the trashed complex. Her eyes are dazed, her lip split, and a bruise swells on the left side of her face. In her hand is an ice pack.
“Hello. So sorry--,” She greets. “I’m the one who made the call. I just got home from my shift at Detroit Sips when I was accosted by a man in a mask.” She pulls out her ID and takes two step towards them before a rush of lightheadedness overcomes her. Cursing, she groans, holding a trembling hand to her head.
“Whoa there, miss, slow down. You’re okay now. I’m Hank and this is Connor,” Hank placates like a bear trying to calm down a frightened duckling. “Can you tell us what happened when you got home?”
Connor crosses the threshold, helping her to a rathe comfortable looking sofa. “Are you alright? Please, sit.”
--
Taking a deep breathe, you recollect to the best of your abilities. You were asked to work later than intended with your shift finishing at 10pm rather than your normal 5pm. A last-second twelve-hour shift never failed to exhaust you. It’s Friday and pitch-black already.
It was already dark when you were leaving your shift at one of your favorite haunts—Detroit Sips. A new age yet somehow retro café that also sold mint to gently-used condition records and CDs. In the wake of technology, the café remained steadfast. It was the place to go when the world of convenience grew too loud. Smooth jazz plays comfortably over the store’s radio system meant to soothe any listener.
Inspired by gastropub industry the café was designed to have reclaimed iron-wooden tables, countertops, and chairs all with a seductive dark stain. Accompanied by high ceilings with exposed beams and low-lighting the atmosphere was comfortable.
“I think we are getting off of track.” Hank interjects, your cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Right. Sorry.” Your gaze shifts to Connor who gives you an encouraging nod and gestures for you to continue.
“No worries. He’s just grouchy since he missed third dinner—ow! I’m only kidding. Sorry, lieutenant. Miss, please continue.” You have to bite back a grin at Connor’s dimpled smile and sparkling dark brown eyes.
Your story continues with you closing up for the night. The buses have already stopped for the night and it seems, as luck would have it, that any of the automated taxis could not come to your location. Technology at its finest. Even with how advanced it is there are still hiccups.
The walk home in the balmy air was pleasant. It’s a forty minute walk from the café to your apartment. You didn’t like living so far, but it’s all you could afford on your meager income. It was enough to keep a roof over your head and your belly fed. That was peace enough.
“When I opened my door there was a man rooting through my belongings. High on red ice would be my guess. – I don’t know what he would want, I don’t have anything worth taking other than my cat.” You point to a small corner of the room where an elderly calico lay atop a pillow like a chicken on her roost. “She’s all I have.”
“Anyway,” You continue. “He got spooked and clocked me in the face with a brick. Hell knows where he got that from. He was medium-height, on the heavier side with a beer gut. He had a high widow’s peak and greasy, stringy black hair. I’ve seen him in the neighborhood before, I don’t know his name, but I’ve never seen him act like this.”
Hank and Connor take their notes. Nothing of value had been stolen. Some quarters for laundry and a few newspapers for clipping coupons.
“We’ll let you know if we come across anything or need to contact you. My buddy Connor here has your contact info.” Hank gives your place one last surveying look.
Absolutely criminal that a landlord would let such a historic place fall into disrepair let alone allow anyone—especially folks down-on-their-luck—to live in such a place. It was no place for a lady to live.
“One more thing, move the second you are able. Even if it’s through government help or by living with someone you know. You and your cat need to move outta here.” Hank leaves the complex.
A creak behind you makes you jump but it was Connor fixing your fallen over bookshelf. He’d tidied up without your knowledge whilst you were talking with Hank.
“There.” Connor smiles proudly to himself. He was much more animated and human-like than expected. Cyberlife truly outdid themselves. If it weren’t for the LED on the side of Connor’s head you wouldn’t have suspected that he wasn’t human.
Stepping forward, you give him a warm smile. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“In times of stress, it’s quite normal to want to be able t lean on someone to lend a helping hand. Oh—sorry, I was reading your vitals. My apologies, miss. Old habits and I didn’t want your cortisol levels to spike any higher I—” Connor continues to stumble over his words. A delicate blue blush coats his cheeks and his ears. You’ve neve seen an android quite like him much less known one to get embarrassed. Is he a deviant and he doesn’t know it yet?
With a cheerful wave and a goodbye, you’re left watching Connor’s back from the doorway. His pristine shoes squelch on the damp carpet. The door grunts as Connor presses in the push bar and exits into the dark Detroit night. He isn’t sure how or why but he just knows that he needs to see you again.
He’ll ensure a follow-up. He will discuss it with Captain Fowler tonight.
Hey, thank you so much for checking out my work! If you enjoyed it please, like, comment, and follow! Let me know what you thought of the story! Happy reading! ^_^
THIS AND A03 ARE MY ONLY WRITING ACCOUNTS. IF YOU SEE THIS POSTED ON ANYWHERE BUT TUMBLR AND A03; IT IS STOLEN. PLEASE REPORT IT AND CONTACT ME. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REUSE, REPOST, OR EDIT ANY OF MY WORKS EVEN WITH CREDIT GIVEN. DO NOT POST MY STORIES TO TIKTOK. DO NOT USE AI FOR ANY OF MY WORKS. THANK YOU.
Chapters: 2/3
Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Reader, Connor (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson, Original Android Character(s) (Detroit: Become Human)
Additional Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Female Reader-Insert, Robot/Human Relationships, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Journalism, POV First Person, My First Fanfic
Summary:
You are a journalist working at Detroit Today. You were criticised before for having an android as a friend, and treating them the way you treat humans — with respect and dignity. An unexpected situation at the workplace introduces a new android friend in your life. He seems to be reserved, navigating his new life. Will the promises and apologies lead into strong emotional bonds?
I FINALLY HAVE THE CONFIDENCE TO SHARE MY VERY FIRST FANFIC! I might also share it on Tumblr, but hey, you never know.
synopsis: the stratford tower scene where connor gets his thirium pump regulator ripped out, but hank isn't the one who finds him
warnings: swearing, angst, blue blood and descriptions of connor's chest being torn open (plus all that comes with that), connor likes art, dbh violence
a/n: you'll never guess what scene i just played again whoops--in my head this takes place in the same universe as you know just how to get to me, but it can definitely be read as a standalone! p.s. this is only like, half edited because it's four thirty in the morning so do with that what you will
word count: 1k
my masterlist
i do not use ai in my work, never have, never will. do not steal my work.
You weren't expecting to find Connor bleeding out in the Stratford tower.
Honestly, you didn't want to think about what would have happened if you didn't walk in kitchen after talking to some of the others--you had almost made your way up to the roof before you caught him go in.
You were watching the android's broadcast when you heard the crash. Earlier, you and Hank had both agreed, albeit you had to keep it from the android, that you were fighting on the wrong side. The events of the Eden club solidified it all--they were finding themselves, becoming people, and who were you to--what? Stop them? The emotions that Connor claimed was 'error in programming' seemed pretty real to you.
And on that note, Connor was a whole different story. He was not fully a deviant yet, you knew that, but you could've sworn he was on that path, not that you were complaining. He was using more inclusive language when talking about androids, even himself, for a start. Add on the subtle additions of "I think" and "I wish" to his vocabulary, well, something was going on there.
And then there was the whole you situation. About two days ago, he started to...act differently around you. To the regular eye, nothing would seem out of place. But to you and Hank? Well, you two had been around him practically since he arrived. He had suddenly become more...careful around you.
Weird way to put it, but that's the best word you could use to describe it. He waited for you more, started bringing you your coffee every morning (you never told him your order, yet all of a sudden it was already at your desk when you walked in, from your favorite spot too), and started complementing you. That was the one that threw you off guard the most. It wasn't just a polite compliment either, no, it was a 'the way you drew that confession out of them was so good I might have to recheck my programming' and 'your outfit really brings out the color of your eyes--you remind me of a Monet painting' type compliment.
You couldn't help that he was growing on you. You could help the feeling that began to overcome your heart even less.
Which is why, when you heard the crash from where Connor disappeared to, you immediately grew suspicious. You were at the doorway when the yellow and black uniform blurred past you, his body slamming into you, sending you stumbling. The service android had booked it into the broadcasting room without a second glance. You expected Connor to come bolting out afterwards, but the air turned stale with immobility.
That's when you heard it.
His voice, strained, calling out to you for help.
You ran inside, looking around as he called for you again. Your head shot down, seeing his chest blooming with blue. His brown eyes locked with yours as he crawled towards you, but he was growing tired. You rushed to his side, flipping him onto his back.
"Woah there, woah, Connor--what?" Your breath was coming in rapidly now.
His voice glitched as his hand laid on his chest. You saw the gaping hole where you assumed some vital biocomponent usually rested, but you didn't know the first thing about them. Fuck.
"Hey, hey, save your energy." You grasped your other hand over his, giving it a squeeze. You could see it then, the fear, and knew two things.
There was no question about it now, he was deviant, and
You suspected that, even though he may not admit it, he knew it too.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, you're gonna be okay, hang in there love." The pet name slipped out without you ever noticing, though his distorted system he sure as hell caught it.
His pupils blown wide, he stared into your eyes. "I--I don't want--" He glitched halfway through the sentence. "I don't want to die."
"Fuck." You looked around. "You're not dying, not now." While you held him, you scanned the floor around you, looking for, well, something. Assuming it would be silver or blue, you frantically swept your gaze over every section of the goddamn room before you saw it. There, in its cylindrical shape, was the missing part. You shot a look at the android, dread rushing through you as his LED began to fade.
You gave his hand a squeeze. "I'll be right back."
His grasp tightened around yours, that same fear present on his features. "Don't--" his voice cracked, "--don't leave me, please."
You clenched your jaw, throwing a curse at yourself before prying your hand away and setting him down gently, a cry of protest leaving his lips. You scrambled to get to the biocomponent, the electric blue shining brighter with a coat of Connor's blood from your hand as you picked it up. You panted a breath before making your way back to Connor, his eyes rapidly fluttering, body seizing up.
"Shit shit shit shit shit--" You took a look at the part in your hand before shoving it into his chest, grasping onto your hope of it functioning the same way as a battery did when went into a remote, before hearing an unnerving whoosh. Your hand resumed its spot holding his as you searched his face, and you felt nauseous as his LED faded to gray.
You gasped for a breath, quietly pleading to the android before you.
"No, no no, Connor don't do this shit, don't you dare die" Your free hand was over the previously ripped out biocomponent, blue blood coating your fingers. You shut your eyes, the familiarity of stiffness that came with choking up rising in your throat.
"Connor, come back."
And though you couldn't see it with eyes closed, blissfully ignoring the possible death of what had just become alive, call it coincidence or fate, but something happened in the stars just then.
synopsis: there's an android virus going around, and it seems connor has caught it. he's never had anyone in his life take care of him, but that was before he met you.
a/n: this is a request from @littlestrawberrybunny, i hope you enjoy it! i hope it’s alright that i wrote it as gender neutral—i had so much fun writing it, and have been listening to the song aperture the. entire time i was editing this.
want to be added to my connor taglist? let me know!
my masterlist
i do not use ai in my work, never have, never will. do not steal my work.
gif credit to @annmarcus63
"You look like shit."
You took a sip of your coffee.
"Always a pleasure to talk with you, detective."
You stood at the edge of Connor's desk, leaning partially against the metal. You felt like you could hear his cooling fans from across the bullpen, they'd been on overdrive since he arrived with Hank a couple hours ago.
Word hit the public earlier this week of a known virus that was accidentally created through a flaw within Cyberlife's latest software regulating update, one that most androids automatically would have received, including golden boy here.
"Are you feeling alright, Con?"
His eyes snapped from some photos laid out in front of him to your steaming mug, then to you. He offered a smile, one that failed to reach his eyes. "I assure you, my diagnostics are up to date and running efficiently. I am at my full potential."
You shot a glance over at Hank, who in turn scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Kid's been acting like this all morning, refusing to admit what's really going on in that head of his."
It was almost as if the man in question's fans had grown louder in response. You set your mug down on Hank's desk (Connor wasn't a fan of the rings they left on his) before walking over to the brunette. His eyes dilated the closer you got, something that tended to happen when you were around, you noticed.
"If I look close enough, Con, I'm pretty sure I can see right through your synthetic skin." You squinted at him, tilting your head.
He squinted back at you, though if your growing hypothesis was correct, then that was because of the light directly behind you instead of him mirroring your action. "That's impossible without my knowledge of such action, and I have not allowed any diagnostics tha--" His words abruptly halted as you laid the back of your hand to his forehead.
Growing up, this was always done to you as a kid to quickly check your temperature, so you assumed it might work for him. The problem was that whatever was going on with Connor, no one here had seen before. On top of that, you weren’t sure how his forehead usually felt. From an outsider looking in, this probably looked quite childish.
That didn’t stop you from springing you hand back mere moments after you placed it against him, expression laced with worry. “You’re scalding hot.”
He looked up at you, eyes slightly unfocused. “My normal temperature has been in an elevated state today.” He closed his eyes for a second.
“Man, this android sickness is no joke, huh.” You studied him, looking at the blemishes and freckles that dotted his skin. Like the constellations, they were gorgeous.
“I can assure you, detective, that my model proves immune to the attempted virus spreading, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
You adjusted your stance on the desk before speaking. “If whatever you have going on right now is your immunity, it has a real funny way of presenting itself.” You wished you could offer him water, or something. "Being sick is making you a shit liar, babe." No response. You sighed, feeling for him. “Try to stay out of all the bright lights today, it might help,” was as much as you could offer.
—
An hour into your shift, you drew the line. Connor now had a thin sheen of what looked liked sweat running along his face, he kept shifting in his seat, and his eyes tried time again and again to remain closed.
You went to explain to Fowler the situation, him disapproving of your idea but not denying it from happening. With a ‘thank you,’ you exited his office and strode over to Connor’s desk again. Without saying a word, you reached across his desk, picking up his tablet before opening his bag and placing it in there. His eyes were closed when you first came up to him, but now they were boring into your side.
"What are you doing?" He asked suspiciously.
"Packing up your shit. C'mon, you're going home to rest."
Connor's protests were immediate.
"I'm at a perfectly functionable level, I don't need to 'go home'."
You scoffed. "Love, your eyes started to droop mid sentence just now. I got the clear from Fowler. You need to rest and relax, there will be more crime tomorrow." You leaned in closer. "Plus, I told Fowler that you'll infect all of the computers, so he's letting me watch over you." You took a step back, sidling his bag on your shoulder as you reached in your pocket for your keys.
You could tell Connor was about to concede, but he was nothing if not a little stubborn. His eyes reached yours, invisible weights slowing down their movement. "The case work needs to be completed by the end of the day and I can't afford to have it put on the back burner. I appreciate your concern though." He threw a poor attempt at a smile your way, however due to his overheating it looked more like a grimace at best.
You crossed your arms. Dragging out a sigh, you spoke. "Fine. If you can get up and walk to me without hesitating or stumbling, I’ll leave you be. Deal?” You raised your palms up as a peace offering.
“Deal.” He scooted his chair back, eyes locking with yours before standing. He even pushed his chair back in, to which you scoffed.
He took a few steps, pride overcoming him. Little did he know, it was a lose lose situation. The effort of attempting to desperately prove he was not sick was in turn proof enough, and you gave him an unimpressed eye when he made it the first few steps.
By the time he reached you, you could tell he was really thinking about his footwork. A pained smile crossed him at his pathetic attempt at a victory,
“See? Not sick.”
You gave a roll of your eyes as you took the few paces to his desk and picked up his work bag.
You could hear the beginnings of a protest leave his lips as you shrugged it up over your shoulder.
“The only time someone goes all that way to prove they're not sick, is if they're sick babe." You saw his LED turn a quick yellow at your words, though you couldn't tell if it was from your trick on him or the use of 'babe'. His face flushed a light blue.
"C'mon. I'm not prompting you again--let's go." You gave him a look that told him to quit the banter and ease up, to which he thankfully did. Your face lit up in a small smile as he came up by your side.
--
When you arrived at your apartment, there was a refreshing chill to the air. You led Connor inside and up to your floor, not thinking twice about how his first time at your place would result in a skewed bias. You helped him take off his coat and hung it up, the extra couple hooks that typically lay bare welcomed by the new addition.
"My bathroom is the first door on the right. Go get changed into your extra clothes." You had made a stop at his and Hank's place after he made a comment of wrinkling up his work clothes, and had the rare opportunity to see into Connor's life outside of work. His room was quaint, with not much more than a bed, some photos, a journal on a bedside table, and a bed for Sumo to sleep on (though the fur on Connor's blankets led you to believe that the fluffy pup preferred to sleep on the android's bed).
You had set up a few blankets for him on the couch, alongside a TV table from way back when, and an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth. You didn’t know how fast his cooling fans worked, but you could tell he was still overheating. You drew your blinds and fluffed up the pillows, having grabbed one from your bed in case he fell asleep.
He took a steady amount of time to rouse from the bathroom, but eventually he made his way to you. You saw him stop short out of the corner of your eye.
“What are you doing?” Now that he was in a more comfortable state, you could see the toll this was taking on him.
“Taking care of you. Setting up a nice spot for you to relax.” You grabbed his arm and led him to the couch, him putting a hand to his head the way you did with a migraine. He was in a tee and sweats, and you had to remind yourself that he was ill goddammit. That didn't stop the thoughts that filled your head at what he would look like in nothing at all.
“Why?” He sat down on the couch, and you took a seat next to him, taking the back of your palm to check his status again.
He was still pretty hot.
You moved the ice pack up to his head and his unfocused eyes looked to you in confusion before he caught up to what you were doing, his hand shakily pressed over yours before fully grasping onto the chill.
“Well the ice will help lower your external—“
“No, why are you doing this?” As he settled in now, you could see the blue dusting his face again. You still weren’t sure of its origin. “You’re always so kind to me, you went out of your way to take time off for me, I—“ He couldn’t meet your gaze as he spoke, but the more he continued the bigger your frown grew.
His voice modulator was starting to glitch.
“Shh, Con, this virus is damaging your voice box. You need to stop talking for a bit.” He furrowed his eyebrows at you and you gave a hearty laugh, patting his knee before moving to stand. “Get some rest, okay? Do you need any extra Thirium?”
He shook his head in a ‘no’, but grabbed your arm as you stood. Though ill, there was still an exhausted attempt of playfulness to his expression. “Are you telling me to shut up?” The glitch became worse the more he talked.
You rolled your eyes. “You know I never would, however, it’s in your best benefit. Get some rest.”
You watched as he closed his eyes, assuming he was entering stasis. You admired his features as he did so—the curve of his nose, the freckles sprinkled on his face.
You saw, after a few minutes, that his eyes scrunched up in pain. “Everything okay?”
He gulped before strained to open his eyes. “The light.” His voice cracked out. Even with your curtains pulled, the daylight still seeped into this portion of the apartment—something you usually appreciated. However now it seemed turned against you.
“It’s messing with your sensors?”
He nodded, and you were thankful he decided to gesture instead of talk.
This left you in a bit of a predicament. There was one place where the light wouldn’t bother him, but that was—well, fuck it.
“C’mon then, let’s get you somewhere darker." You grabbed him by the arm to help him stand, and you were surprised when you felt his weight slightly shift onto you.
Your bedroom was not too far of a walk, and you sent gratitude to your former self for dedicating yesterday to tidying up the place.
It took him longer than usual to realize what you were doing. It wasn’t until you peeled back your duvet that his LED shifted from red to yellow. If you had not known about his state, you’d be concerned at that little LED of his—it had been red all day.
“Easy does it love, there you go.” You settled him into the bed before brining the covers up to him. His cheeks hinted cerulean now, something that you thought was a result from the sickness, but something that he thought was completely unrelated.
And to his credit? He was completely out of it when the words fell from his mouth. “I like when you call me names like that.” The confession was quiet, but spoken with a smile. The window cast a midday glow onto him.
You felt that familiar skip in your heart at his words—a feeling that was becoming more and more regular as the days passed.
You didn’t even want to dwell on the fact that he was lying in your bed right now. If you thought too much into it, you’d be putty.
So, instead, your checked his forehead again with your palm before shuffling to go get a damp washcloth. You didn’t know if it would help, but you would give it a shot.
You walked over to the window first, drawing the curtains as the last bits of your garden, and the light that came with it, disappeared from view.
The room, now shrouded in afternoon darkness, felt a blanket of ease descend onto it. Your footsteps were muted as you creaked the door open.
“Where are you going?” His voice was glitching pretty bad now, the one question taking about five seconds to become remotely comprehensible. Once again, you had to push some certain thoughts out of your head as he lay there, dressed down, in your bed, eyes half lidded and hair slightly ary. He was ill, get it together.
“I’m coming back, just getting some things for you, don’t worry.”
He hesitated, “…okay.” A beat. “You’re not just saying that, right? You’re actually coming back?” Anxiety coated his glitching words, and you couldn't stop the pang of pity that hit you.
“Of course I’m coming back, Con. Just fetching some supplies that might help you out a little. Now shut up." You opened the door further. "Plus, you can’t get rid of me that easy, babe.” He did say he liked the pet names, after all.
He seemed satisfied at that response, and you exited quietly. God, you were in this deeper than you thought.
As the water ran over the cloth and on your hands, you chuckled at yourself. You never thought the first time he’d be in your bed would be for this reason at all. Of course, you’d imagined him here for…other activities, but you never gave those thoughts form. He was your co-worker, and you were professional.
But there was that little voice again.
How professional was it for him to be lying in your bed, regardless of cause?
You shook your head in an attempt to clear it. Wringing out the cloth, you retrieved an extra just in case, and went back into the room, a knock signaling your return.
By the time you entered, the poor guy was nearly in stasis. At least, you suspected, because his eyes were closed, fluttering, and the artificial breathing module he installed had begun to slow.
“Con, you there?” Your voiced cast mutedly into the dark.
“Hmm? Yeah, I’m-I'm here.” The was a slur to the end of his words now, not a good sign.
You went to his side before gently placing the cloth over his forehead. “It might help with the cooling sensors.” You reasoned.
He gave a meek smile that you could just make out through the dark. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll be out in the living room when you wake up. Either that or I can come check in on you in a little bit.”
He wasn’t accustomed to asking for help, which made itself apparent in his struggle today, not only against this virus, but also surrounding your kindness. You watched as he laid his head back onto the pillow, cloth a top him, eyes now closed. He murmured something as you went to leave, quiet enough that you couldn't make it out.
"What'd you say?"
He repeated the phrase, and though he could barely get a sentence out properly, this one emerged crystal clear. Quiet, still, but unmistakable.
“Thank you, I love you.” Your name was tagged onto the end, and you nearly lost your breath.
Did he realize what he just said?
You peeked back into the room, but he was out like a light. No way he just said that.
No way he just said that.
No way he just said that.
It wasn’t even a brief, possibly friendly, ‘love you’, too. That was the full thing.
You shut the door with wide eyes and practically stumbled your way into the living room, seeking solace on the couch.
Fuck, the couch smelled like him.
Fuck, did he mean that?
Did he even know he said that?
He had to have meant it. Unless, was it just platonic? No, it couldn’t be.
You hoped it wasn’t. Because whatever the hell was going on within you was nothing near platonic.
He actually said that.
Fuck.
—
A few hours and an anxiety attack later, you were pacing on the carpet when you heard the rustle. You had made the totally healthy decision to focus only on those words for nearly the entire time he was out, and you had decided to address him on it once he felt better.
After all, he might not even recall that he said it in an illness induced haze.
Unless he brought it up when you walked in. But you doubt he would’ve. Unless he was already feeling better. Unless—
A groan coming from your room serrated your spiral, and those thoughts took as much of a backseat as possible as you made your way down the hall.
You gave a knock on the door before you entered. Turning the knob and hearing the creak of the old wooden door calmed you minutely, the familiar reminding you that you were alright.
"Hey there, how are you feeling, Con?” You took a gentle approach, voice softened and quieter than its normal tone.
You watched him roll his neck back and forth a few times, and even caught him reaching towards a nonexistent tie to adjust. His hands froze midway before awkwardly going back to his sides. “I’m feeling better.” He croaked, voice scratchy. At least it wasn’t glitching anymore. “Head still hurts though.”
“Is it okay to turn the lamp on?”
A meek yes came from him, so you went over to your desk at switched the little thing on. It set the room in a warm glow, nothing to further push a headache. There had been many a time where you had been exactly where Connor was laying, feeling nearly the same (you assumed).
“You didn’t have to do all of this for me, you know.”
You had your back to him, his words being put out into the air while you were organizing some of the papers that sat on your writing space. “I know, I wanted to.” You didn’t turn around as you talked. His previous words, accidental or not, rang through your head again, and it filled you with a giddy, anxiety-inducing warmth.
You swore at yourself internally. There was a high change this was all platonic, and it was frustrating you that you couldn’t tell.
“It’s what people do when they care for each other—they take care of one another.” You turned to face him now, and froze mid step. His gaze was on you, eyes connecting.
“I…” He trailed off, looking down to the sheets, your sheets, briefly. “I struggle sometimes with grasping how it feels to be fully human.” His hands were playing with the edge of a blanket. “But then, when you do things like this for me—honestly when you do pretty much anything for me—it makes me realize that that’s the point. I’m not supposed to feel everything all at once.” He let out an unnecessary sigh, looking back to you. “It’s supposed to come in pieces. Right now, I feel this, this warmth in me, and I can’t explain it.”
You yourself took a step to the edge of the bed, hands messing with each other.
“So you’re feeling better, I take it?”
“Mainly because you’re here, I think.” Damn, he’s direct, that one.
You gave a light laugh--you were never the best during serious and vulnerable conversations. "You must've been sicker than I thought if you're talking like that, Con."
He shot you a mildly confused look. "I just said that I'm feeling quite better--what makes you think that?"
You avoided his eyes. "I just--the last person that laid in my bed and said something like that, well..." You sent a smirk vaguely in his direction.
Connor, oh, sweet, innocent Connor, didn't get it. "Well? What do you mean?"
You chuckled at him. He was like a breath of fresh air, that one. "They got laid, babe." You side-eyed him with that smirk still on your lips, and oh you were so glad you did. His eyes were widened, blue tint starting on one cheek, crossing over the bridge of his nose, and ending at the other. From there it spread, colors a mixture of hues between a deep sea and a post-storm sky blue.
"Oh." His voice was strained, and you nearly laughed. He cleared his throat. "I-uh, um,"
Your smirk glided into a playful smile. "Yeah, Con?"
He swallowed. "When you call me that, it makes something in me feel so light."
You shot an eyebrow up. "Call you Con?"
He shook his head. "Call me babe."
Maybe his earlier words weren't just spoken in a sickly haze after all.
"I know, you said that earlier."
His eyebrows scrunched. "I did?"
You laughed. "Yeah, you did."
An empty space filled between the two of you
He began to ramble at your lack of conversation. "I mean, I know you say it to others, or at least, you used to. But, around two and a half months ago, you began to use it solely on me, no one else, and maybe it's just the way you talk but--"
Your breath was slowly stolen from you as he continued on. "--but I don't think I'm making this up or looking too much into it. It makes me feel an emotion, you make me feel an emotion, one that I have only ever heard about before."
You raised your hand, and he stopped. "Connor, listen to me very carefully for a second." He nodded. "You swear that this is not virus you talking? This is a serious conversation, one that shouldn't be held if you're not feeling stable."
His LED, which had returned to blue since he had woken up, now flickered red for a miniscule moment. He was frustrated. You could see his jaw clench. "No, no. This is not that."
You threw him a bone at the admission. "Okay, good." You shifted to face him, your body closer to his, faces just a heads width apart. Because I'm going to kiss the doubt out of you now, if that's alright."
And then, something you had never seen before occurred. That shiny LED of his faded into a pink hue, and he nodded (rather eagerly).
You smiled down to yourself before placing your hand along the cusp of his jaw. You drew in towards him, murmuring when your lips were almost touching. "If you get me sick, Con, I swear--"
You could tell he was done with your antics, because the brunette cut you off. "That's not possible and we both know it."
You gave a singular laugh. "Just checking."
And then you melted into his lips.
Airy and eager, the kiss was delicate, hesitant. You were sure this was his first time doing this, so you took it easy. When you broke apart, he was smiling. Your noses leaned against each other when you heard him.
Hesitant, yet strung along with a tone of playfulness, he spoke. "Can we do that again?"
You nodded, and this time, when your lips met, it was a burst of passion, his hand coming to rest along your jaw as well, other along your side. You felt his warmth everywhere he was, something that mildly surprised you. You had assumed that androids would be slightly colder to the touch. That was, well, when they weren't sick.
This time, when you broke apart, it was due to your lack of breath. Something shifted halfway through, and you assumed in the break before your second kiss that he did some quick research, because he got that technique down quick.
The evening light emanating from the open doorway coated his face in a mesmerizing shade of orange.
He smiled to himself, eyes crinkling, a little dimple appearing on one side of his face.
where connor worries too much about your habit of sleeping at work.
word count - 1.4k
warnings: mentions of struggling to sleep (not sure if that’s a warning but no harm in putting it here)
masterlist
it had been meeting after meeting — multiple, similar conversations about how to deal with deviants. how to interrogate them, prosecute them, even how to defend yourself against an android.
each one was the same.
hence why you saw no issue in quietly dozing off for a few minutes.
or maybe an hour.
“detective.” a soft, quiet whisper, followed by a gentle judge to your arm.
a groan escapes you, you’re not ready to wake up yet. not ready to listen to more rambling about incorrect techniques or whatever they said…
“detective, you might want to wake up.” the tone is still calming. “captain fowler is staring.”
and with that one comment, you gradually sit up straight, removing your head off connor’s shoulder.
“sorry, captain.” you nod curtly, voice rasped as your hands wipe at your eyes.
hank holds back a chuckle from your other side — you’re surprised he managed to stay awake during these meetings too.
with one last stern look, your captain gets back to talking and all the other officers, sergeants and whatnots turn back to him as well.
you just yawn, way too tired to feel embarrassed.
connor leans closer to you, mumbling quietly again, "l/n, do you require a coffee?"
you stare back at him, eyebrows furrowed, "hm?"
"coffee." he repeats, "since you keep falling asleep."
"oh," you smile softly at him, "no, it's okay, thanks connor."
his led flashes yellow briefly before he sits straighter, “if you say so, detective.”
you watch him for a moment longer, taking note of how caring he is for an android — especially when you’re constantly getting told that they can’t feel things.
connor has only been here for a month and he’s already made you doubt that statement on multiple occasions.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
it didn’t take long before you were back at your desk, hands cradling your head and eyes squeezed shut.
thankfully you didn’t have much work to do today. at least, you don’t think you do.
you were enjoying the deep slumber, that was until a certain coin-flicking robot decided to shake you awake.
“connor,” you groan tiredly, hands blindly pushing his solid body away, alas, he doesn’t budge. “give me five more minutes.” you ask, relenting your hands back to cover your head.
“you’ve had a total of two hours of sleep today already — bear in mind, you’ve been in the precinct for four hours.” he states simply, as though tracking how long you’ve slept was what he was designed for. “you need to start working.”
you wish you had another set of hands to cover your ears. “too tired.”
he sighs.
since when could androids do that?
“detective,” his tone is stern now, “your lunch break is in one hour, i suggest you fill out some reports and sleep afterwards.”
when you don’t move, head still glued to the table, he takes one glance at hank — who’s only smirking at the whole altercation — and decides to take things into his own hands.
he pulls a random chair up and slides next to yours.
then, he starts jabbing your bicep with his pointer finger, like an eager toddler demanding attention.
“connor.” a gentle warning. although, it’s more of a disguised plea.
“not stopping until you sit up and log onto your computer.”
a few more agitating seconds pass by before you give up.
you take your time sitting up, typing in your password, and opening up some reports — just to annoy connor.
a smile graces his face, “was that so hard?”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
he didn’t leave your side. not even when you needed to go to the toilet — he waited outside, but that still felt like he was right there with you.
he claimed it was so that you wouldn’t fall asleep again, which didn’t happen, thanks to him.
you were excited for lunch. excited for the small nap you could fit in. however, connor had other plans.
“detective, i can’t let you sleep, especially since you haven’t eaten all day.” his eyes look at you with so much concern
“but you said if i did my work i could sleep at lunch.” you whine.
“i was only negotiating with you. now come on, i know a great place for burgers.” he pulls you up off your chair by your hand, tugging you towards the exit.
“how do you know of good food places? you don’t even eat…” you query out loud.
he shrugs, hand still attached to yours as you now leave the station. “hank eats.”
that explains it.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
it didn’t take all that long to reach the burger stand — and you have to admit, it was good.
you’re both sat on a bench, overlooking a river as it slowly frosts over.
connor thinks it’s peaceful. he notes how still you’ve become. how your heart rate has decreased to a gentle thrum. how low your cortisol levels have dropped.
he’s slightly amazed that you’re not asleep.
yet. there’s still time.
he takes the quiet opportunity to ask you some questions. “y/n…”
he waits for you to look at him first.
“what’s up?” your response is soft. gentle.
he purses his lips — a habit you think he’s obtained from you. “why do you have such troubles staying awake?”
your stress levels increase slightly.
“i just- i don’t get much sleep at home.” a simple answer.
he nods, pretending to understand. “how so?” his voice stays hushed.
his eyes track how you begin to fidget with your fingers.
“it’s embarrassing…”
he shakes his head, placing his hand on top of yours to stop you from fidgeting. “if it’s giving you issues, it can’t be embarrassing. i would never judge you, y/n.”
he says the latter with such sincerity that you would mistake him for a human had you not known he was an android.
then you look at his eyes. they look more human than most.
his led flashes again, awaiting your response.
a sigh escapes your mouth. “i get nightmares most nights. every night, really.”
his thumb begins to stroke circles across the back of your hand — a tactic he’d just searched up to help people calm down. “are they of anything in particular?”
you have to think for a moment, recall every night. then you shake your head, “no. maybe it’s just because of the job?”
“could be.” he comments, actively wracking every website page he can access that mentions ‘nightmares’. he’d do anything to help you.
you shuffle closer to him on the bench, gradually beginning to feel the brisk, winter air.
“an article says that having a companion with you can help to reduce nightmares.” he suggests, “have you ever tried that?”
instantly you shake your head, a laugh leaving you too, “i don’t know anyone who would willingly stay over at mine.”
“i would. to help you, of course.”
your heart beats a bit faster.
he notices.
“i mean- if you wanted to- if it helps, right?”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
so now here you are, you and connor both sat awkwardly on your bed.
“maybe close your eyes.” he attempts to help but it just sounds like teasing.
you move under your covers, connor copying, “do you know how to turn off your sarcasm?” you jab back.
“sorry, i’m just trying to help.” he absentmindedly moves closer and simultaneously makes you feel bad.
“i was just playing with you, connor.”
“oh.” he looks around your room, “do you need me to turn the lamp off?”
“uhm, sure, thank you.”
he leans over you to reach the switch, flicking it off before laying back down, now even closer to you.
“would you like me to tell you a story?” he whispers.
“no, it’s okay.” you mumble.
“you’re already feeling tired.” he states with a small, successful smile on his face.
you shuffle your head across your pillow, making contact with his chest as you relax into him. “maybe because you kept me up all day.”
much to his surprise, he enjoys the human contact. maybe that’s because it’s you. he wouldn’t enjoy it if hank were sleeping in his arms instead of you.
he quickly blinks that picture away.
gently, he wraps an arm around you, soothingly rubbing your back.
you’re out before you know it.
if connor had a heart, it would be melting. your soft snores take over his hearing. the smell of your shampoo filling his senses.
but it’s not until he looks down at your sleeping face to see your hand clutching onto his top, your face completely relaxed — that’s when he feels it.
love, maybe?
is that something an android can feel?
the room faintly lights up red as he ponders. it quickly returns to blue when he focuses back on you.
he doesn’t care about what he can and can’t feel- not right now- not when he’s got you.
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