❝ 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.