#Detroit: Become Human Angst

[talesofesther]

a touch of emotion

Connor x Reader

Summary: After the meeting with Kamski, Connor feels conflicted and lost, luckily you're there to hold his hand through it.

A/N: DBH is one of my main comfort games, and it was about time I wrote a little something for my favorite boy from it. If anyone would like to see more of Connor here, let me know. <3

Masterlist

"Why didn't you shoot?" Hank inquires, narrowing his eyes inquisitively.

"I just saw that girl's eyes… And I couldn't…" Connor answers back, his voice edging on desperate. "That's all."

A howling wind prickles your skin like tiny needles. It was such a cold day, no wonder you hadn't been keen on coming out here today. Leaning back on the hood of Hank's car and pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you watch from afar as Connor tries to justify his choice, even if it had been the right one to make.

He intrigues you. Because for someone who keeps saying he's just a machine trying to accomplish a task, he acts way more human than a lot of people you know. Even on the day you'd met him, he was already all curious and talkative, you couldn't recall meeting any android like him before.

Connor has changed ever since you started working together, you realize it now more than ever. He's becoming softer, personality starting to shine through the cracks as his decisions become increasingly emotionally driven.

"Cyberlife's last chance to save humanity, is itself a deviant."

Kamski's words echoed inside your mind, as did Connor's panicked and distressed expression when he promptly denied it. Ironic, you think to yourself; he shouldn't feel as troubled as he does if what Kamski said is not true.

And that same feeling now lingers. Once they were done talking, Hank took a few steps away to make a call, most likely to the precinct judging by the scowl on his face; and Connor can't stand still, he's pacing around, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blazer as the snow shifts under his feet. There's a permanent frown on his eyebrows, he looks almost… lost, his LED with an insistent yellow color and gaze unfocused on the distance.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, torn between reaching out to him or keeping to yourself. The snow falls heavier now, and you can feel the tips of your fingers slowly going numb. You've always liked the cold, yet it seems the cold doesn't like you.

Between the snow, the frozen lake, and the white horizon of the frigid weather, Connor stands out. He's holding onto his own arms, hugging himself, and you find it endearingly human, as if he's subconsciously trying to find a way to comfort himself.

You lay your palms flat on the hood of the car and push yourself away, walking up to him before you can think things through. The snow crunching under your feet doesn't seem to call his attention. "Connor?" You say gently, reaching out to him with your hand but stopping short of actually touching him. You hesitate. When did he start making you nervous?

"You okay?"

Those warm and tender brown eyes of his regard you with curiosity, lips half parted as he struggles on what to say. The LED on his temple switched from blue to yellow and blue again. "I- yes. I think I'm fine." Snowflakes are clinging to his hair and falling softly onto the skin of his cheeks; they compliment his features, always so gentle.

You offer him a small, comforting smile. He's still figuring himself out. It was okay, you were patient.

"I'm… sorry," Connor begins again, avoiding looking you directly in the eyes. He purses his lips and closes his eyes for a moment longer, and you doubt you've ever seen any android be this expressive.

"I compromised our investigation," he pauses, "I should have been more efficient." And reprimands himself.

You're shaking your head before he's even done talking. "No, don't say that," you take a step closer to him as your heart holds your reasoning hostage, one hand wrapping around Connor's wrist to keep him with you. "Don't say that when you've made the right choice, Connor."

There was a beat, Connor's face does something complicated that you cannot read, and when he looks up at you again, his gaze is almost too much. The amount of emotion he looked at you with nearly made you choke on air.

"But… we didn't learn anything." His voice is quiet, barely there, as if he doesn't care for his own argument and is only looking for an excuse to hear more of your voice.

"I don't care," the words fall from your lips before you can debate if you should even be saying them out loud at all.

Connor seems surprised, caught off guard as his eyebrows raise just slightly at how fast and true you spoke. His eyes keep searching your face for… something. You couldn't be sure of what exactly he was looking for. Maybe even he doesn't know yet.

Your heart stumbles on your chest when you see Connor gulping and his eyes avoiding yours again. Only then do you realize that the hand you held his wrist with had drifted lower, your fingers now gently grazing his palm. His skin feels comfortingly warm and soft, a pleasant touch sending goosebumps down your spine.

It was all foreign territory to him, you knew it, felt it in the way he tried timidly closing his fingers around your own. His movements are slow, uncertain, and tentative, bordering on afraid.

How naive of you, to be having such feelings for an android. Yet when he's the most caring, honest, endearing, and gentle person you know, how could you not?

Hank told you once; "I think you're breaking our android huh." He'd said it right after Connor had gone through the trouble of finding an umbrella just so you didn't have to stand under the heavy rain, even if you tried telling him you didn't mind. And you'd taken it as a joke back then, not really understanding the hidden meaning behind your older partner's teasing look.

Yet as you hold onto Connor's hand now, feeling the way his thumb shyly brushes your skin, you wonder if he feels it too, if he's willing to feel the same as you do. If you could dare to hope.

"All I care about," you speak slow and careful, syllables heavy on your tongue. You clear your throat so your voice doesn't sound as tender as you feel. "is that… that you didn't let him manipulate you, that you followed your heart." You bring your free hand up to his chest, right on top of where you can faintly feel his thirium pump working overtime.

Connor looked to be about to speak, perhaps to try and correct you about your choice of words, yet all he does is open and close his mouth, eyes trained on yours and LED swirling with a permanent yellow color. For a moment you wonder if he's analyzing you, and worry about what he may find. His hold on your hand tightens ever so slightly; you don't think he realizes he's doing it.

"I'm glad you didn't pull the trigger, Connor. I'm proud of you."

It's barely a second, his LED flashing red before going back to yellow and eventually, slowly, blue; but you see it. He blinked a couple of times as if processing your words or how to feel about them.

"I-" Connor's eyes seem hazy, their tender brown only a thin ring around his blown pupils. His fingers now tangle with yours. "I feel-"

"Alright kids, let's go." Hank's voice sounds all too loudly as he unintentionally breaks the bubble that cocooned you and Connor. "Fowler wants us back in the precinct." The lieutenant speaks with an annoyed undertone as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket.

You're still caught up in the feeling of Connor's skin on yours, in how you're now so hyper-aware of just how close he's standing to you. Connor, it seems, isn't much different.

When there's no answer, Hank finally looks your way and gestures you over; "come on, get a move on, I don't wanna hear another lecture about arriving late," he insists, before plopping himself into the driver's seat, murmuring something about damn love-birds.

Despite the cold, you can feel a warmth coming up to your cheeks. Without mustering the courage to meet Connor's gaze, you focus on the way his hand fits so perfectly with yours. His fingers are awkwardly intertwined with yours, holding strong and gentle at the same time.

Connor seems reluctant to let go. It hits you that perhaps he won't. You could dwell on a thousand reasons of why, or not think at all and simply bask in the feeling. But right now time isn't on your side.

You take a deep breath, and risk a glance up at him.

Any words you were about to say suddenly feel clogged up in your throat. Oh, Connor tilts his head in that endearing way you're so fond of, yet the look in his eyes is one you've never caught before; you can't name it, it feels dangerous to try, but he looks as if he just realized something.

"Come on," you tug on his hand, just about managing the timid words, "we have to go."

Connor follows quietly, his hand steady on yours until you reach the car and are forced to part.

As Hank drives, you watch Connor through the rearview mirror; there's a newfound lightness to him, a warmth to his eyes that makes you feel fuzzy inside. And when he catches your gaze, and smiles, you know he feels it too.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Connor’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

[koomaqu]

It's hard to be happy for them when they have what he can't...

[fictionalsownme]

"Whump" | connor rk800 x reader | WIP BLURB

I don't post him all the time, but the connor brain rot is pretty bad lol I also really like whump and I saw this pin on pinterest and that's how this was born hehe. again, not really finished! abrupt ending but you can guess where it goes, established friendship, in my head the reader is a secretary at the DPD but it's not referenced. female reader, reader uses she/her pronouns.

disclaimer: this blurb is unedited and unfinished. just wanted to share some WIPs! Enjoy!

"Connor!"

You found his body slumped on the floor against the wall, his head hanging at an awkward angle.

There was blue blood… his blood everywhere. It was so bright against the blackness of the dirty floor that it almost seemed to glow.

"Oh my god--"

You ran to kneel at his side, nearly slipping on the thirium under your shoes. His legs were straight out like a broken doll's, you could see patches of his plating where his skin had retracted in the damage. Trying to manage your breathing, you gingerly cradled his head, lifting his face to meet your gaze. It was worse than you thought.

Retracted skin revealed massive damage to his white under-plating. Scratched and dented and caved-in. Blue blood was splattered across his face, it poured from his nose and over his lips to drip off his chin. It was immediately clear he wasn't conscious, with glazed over eyes and a slack jaw.

Whether he was in a sort-of standby or already dead you had no way of knowing.

You peeled open his jacket to reveal the center of his chest where thirium pooled the thickest in a gaping, mangled crater. Down to his lap and spilling over the dusty cement. You had no idea what his inner wiring was supposed to look like, but you knew it wasn't this.

"Fuck-- Connor?" You held his cheeks, your crying already starting up fresh once again. "Connor, can you hear me? I don't-- I don't know how to fix you! Connor?"

No signs. No light from his LED, no flickering of his irises, nothing.

You were sobbing in earnest now. Hiccupping and shaking and breathing in harsh, shuddering breaths. You grabbed your phone, trying not to scream when your realized your hands were covered in blue blood. Connor's blood. Your best friend's blood. It took you too long to use your phone, with multiple pauses to wipe your sticky hands on your jeans.

When it finally began to ring, you cradled it between your ear and shoulder. You weren't sure what your hands could do, so you started wiping the blood from Connor's face. Away from his eyes, off his cheeks.

"This is Markus."

"Markus! It's me, you gave me your number in case of emergencies-- It's Connor, he's-- Connor's hurt, he's not awake and there's blue blood e-everywhere and I don't know what to do, I don't even know if he's--"

"Wait, wait-- slow down, where are you?"

"I-I don't know! Some random abandoned building off of— fuck— Riverbank Drive? Connor's been missing all day since he picked up this case by himself and I retraced his steps and I-- fuck, Markus-- I don't even know if he's alive!"

"I need you to tell me his condition so I can get some biocomponents for him-- can you tell anything from what you see?"

You balled the fabric of his jacket in your fist. You swallowed hard, "His chest looks really bad-- it’s all m-mangled and, and empty? He… He's lost a lot of blood— God, Markus, tell me he's not dead."

"I'm on my way with some help, alright? Send me your location and stay with him. If he wakes up, keep him still until we can get there, you got it?"

You sobbed again and nodded, covering your face with a blood-drenched hand. "I'll be here, I promise."

After Markus hung up and you sent him your location, he assured you he was coming as fast as he could.

You kneeled there, clutching the material of Connor's sleeves and crying. You were so useless. For all you knew, Connor was already dead, and you were here, holding his empty body. Androids were more resilient than humans, sure, but all living things had a limit. You'd never stopped to consider Connor was anything other than indestructible.

You heard Markus' footsteps echo through the empty structure some minutes later. You had managed to reel back your hysterical sobbing down to silent tears with some measured breathing but your resolve was… precarious.

"Markus! Over here!”

You didn't see him until he rounded the corner, Simon in step behind him.

"Jesus Connor--" He hissed as he ran to join you at his side. He had a case with him, which Simon got to work opening. Parts and tools, packs of blue blood.

"What happened?" Markus asked you as his eyes flickered over Connor's form, no doubt scanning his injuries.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the tears streaking down your cheeks and the blood on your hands, legs, face. You couldn't take your eyes off of Connor. "I don't know."

"Someone must've taken him by surprise--" Simon began, beginning to dig through his supplies. "Could've been some kind of electrical signal, got the jump on his hardware, lagged him out before the fight even started."

"Is he gonna' be okay?" You asked, now just holding onto the edge of Connor's jacket sleeve while Markus and Simon got to work.

"I don't know. Could depend on how long he was shut down."

Markus' hand reached deep into the cavern at the center of Connor's torso. He pulled out what must've been a biocomponent, mangled beyond your recognition. He passed it to Simon, before grabbing what you hoped was a new one from the case.

He swapped out a few pieces like that, all unrecognizable to your untrained eyes. Until finally Simon was holding one you knew. You'd forgotten it's name, but it belonged in the center of Connor's torso and regulated his heartbeat. That's how Connor had explained it anyway.

Before he situated the final part inside his chest, Markus spent some time repairing Connor's plating and wiring. Adjusting placements, bending pieces back into place, sometimes welding seams just enough to function. You stayed quiet, staring blankly at Connor's limp hand resting on the floor next to yours.

Useless.

You were utterly useless.

You started when Markus kur-chunk-ed the regulator into place in the center of Connor's chest, his hands angling back and forth to ensure the connection.

The faint sound of machinery blossomed out from his center. Quiet humming and whirring, like a computer booting up.

His face was mostly angled toward you but you couldn't see his LED. Markus and Simon were still at work. Connor's eyes still looked glazed over and empty.

You eyes caught on some movement toward the cement. His fingers twitching.

"He's awake," said Simon suddenly. "Keep him calm."

You looked back to his face, and while he still had that unfocused expression, there was something in his eyes. A clue that he could see you. Well, maybe sort of see you.

"Connor?" You tried softly. Your throat was tight with the promise of more tears. That familiar tingling in your nose, the watering of your eyes. "It's me, I'm here with Markus and Simon. You… You're safe."

"What…" His voice came out staticky and metallic. Like it was passing through an old radio. He blinked, slow. "What happened…?"

You swept a hair away from his brow. You hoped in his state he couldn't feel your trembling. As scared as you were, you didn't want to frighten him any further. His head turned just that little bit more towards you. His LED was a dim crimson.

"You got hurt. But you're gonna be fine. We're gonna take care of you."

His eyes fluttered, and he was that little bit clearer.

"You found me?"

You wanted to say 'barely', wanted to say 'by sheer dumb luck', wanted to say 'I almost didn't. I almost killed you'.

"Always."

"Alright, Connor, you're going to start to stabilize a bit,” said Markus finally as he seemed to finish up the last of what work he could do.

He slowly, slowly, turned his head to meet Markus' eye. Like a ghost.

"When you can stand, let us know. We need to get you back to Jericho for more repairs."

"Is he going to be okay?" You couldn't help asking again.

"Now that he's awake, as long as we get him to Jericho soon, he should be fine," Simon reassured. "You're going to be fine, Connor."

“Someone attacked me… I didn’t see their face… don’t remember…”

“It’s okay,” you added gently. “Take it slow.”

“They could still be here.” And his hand took yours in a staggering motion. Weak and slow and disjointed.

“We’re here, Connor.” Markus put his hand on his arm. “We won’t let anything happen to her.”

Even like this… Even with all this pain he was still worried about you.

“I can stand.”

You wanted him to take it slower, to not push himself too hard, but the sooner he got to Jericho the better.

You stumbled back, dropping his hand as Markus and Simon went to either side of him.

They slotted their arms under his and behind his back, helping him to his feet. He actually groaned a bit at the effort. It was a deep, staticky sound you’d never heard from him before.

You walked with them like that, trying not to start crying again. You went a few paces ahead of them to open doors and check around corners as the four of you made your way out.

Every time you glanced in Connor’s direction, he was already watching you with a clouded expression. The look was only made more intense by the smeared blue blood across his face and in his hair. You prayed you’d never see him this hurt again in your life.

“What’d you get yourself into now, my friend?” Markus’ voice carried a slightly teasing tone.

“Bad day at the… office… what can I say?”

When you made it outside to the crisp Detroit air, a car was waiting. You practically jumped in, punching in the destination to Jericho while the two men helped Connor into the car as delicately as they could. You eased him in from your side, bracing him against you. Another strained sound fell from his lips. He was still bleeding, and his lap quickly started to pool with blue blood once again.

“Fuck, Connor…” The whisper escaped you before you could stop it, your hand bracing against his dented plating where the thirium seeped from the seams.

“I’ll be alright… please, just… stay close…”

You pressed your lips together to stop more tears from surfacing. “I will, I promise.”

In some weird way, you’d never felt so close to him before. The two of you were just friends obviously, maybe even best friends, but right now… You felt like he could ask you anything— anything in the world— and you’d do it.

You thought about helping him sit up straighter, but instead kept him held against you. And he leaned into the hold.

The ride to New Jericho couldn’t go fast enough. It wasn’t a boat anymore, so at least you didn’t have to go as far as the docks. The now embassy-style building was closer to the heart of Detroit, and fully fitted with an android hospital, outreach programs, offices for the new android officials (the most prominent, of course, being Markus). A base of operations of sorts.

You’d been once before with Connor, hence how you got Markus’ number. You would never be able to thank him enough.

[upon-a-starry-night]

There's this idea in my head that's causing real brain rot. So that one time, when Connor and Hank are on the rooftop, and he almost kills Hank? Can I request something like that, but with an f! reader? Maybe f! reader is on the deviant's side, and Amanda has already taken over, as a result, fight ensues. Major hurt/comfort. You choose how this ends. Thank you in advance 😭

Connor Rk800 x Gender Neutral Reader!

DBH Masterlist Main Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, minor violence

A/n: I always thought Connor should’ve had another chance to become deviant at this rooftop scene so this is the perfect opportunity to write it! I hope you enjoy!

-

The night air is cold as you step out onto the roof, a distant alarm blaring as it fights to be heard against the harsh wind. 

You flinch and pull your coat tighter, watching your breath fog out in front of you, snow scattering in every direction. It’s a night you’d rather be spending in the warmth of your home, curled up with a good book and good company. Unfortunately, your good company chose to go bad cop on you and now you’re out here trying to get him back.

You can already feel your fingers growing numb and you regret not bringing gloves up here with you. As if life being a detective wasn’t hard enough.

You squint at the light illuminating from the giant Android billboard and instead focus your gaze on the figure near the edge of the roof. It’s the last place you want to see him right now. On this roof- on the wrong side of history. Making a mistake you know he’ll regret.

It’s all you can do to hope you’ll be able to convince him to come back. 

You don’t know what happened. One day he’s kind and funny and even a little flirty and the next he’s cold and calculating. Had he just been pretending the whole time? Did he tell you all those sweet things just to eliminate you as a threat to his mission? 

Whatever the reason, even if he was faking it with you you weren’t faking it with him. Over the past few months, you’ve formed a genuine connection with Connor. A connection you thought was more than just partners working on the same case. 

You think back to all those late nights Connor stayed up with you as you wrote your reports, cracking jokes so the police precinct felt a little less cold and dim. The time he helped you move your furniture after your previous apartment almost got broken into. The little moments where he’d walk you to your car no matter the time, or go out of his way to pick you up a coffee.

That couldn’t have been fake, right? Nobody went through that much effort just to make sure you were friends. It was because of the way he treated you and cared for you that you found yourself in love with him in the first place.

You sucked in a sharp breath and shook that thought from your head. You’d only just realized it last night. You’d planned to tell him today but something about him was different, he didn’t look at you the same way, though his body still lingered near yours. Then you’d gotten the call this evening about where he was headed and you knew you had to stop him.

The Connor you knew wouldn’t do this. But maybe the Connor you knew wasn’t real…

“You don’t want to do this Connor” He doesn’t even flinch at your voice. He probably heard you from the second you got there and was just waiting for you to say something. 

Perhaps that was a sign? Your Connor was always polite with you.

“You shouldn’t be here, Detective.” His voice bites at you with more coldness than the night air and it makes your heart sting. It’s a tone you’ve only ever heard him use with suspects or Gavin. Even when you first met and he seemed devoid of emotion his voice was warm, friendly. What happened?

Was it something you had done? Something you said that gave away your feelings about him? He was built to read body language and pick up on subtle clues after all. Had he known even before you? Was he disgusted by you? That a human like you could fall so easily for an Android?

He shifts the position of his gun, getting a better shot on Marcus and you take another step forward, if you could just reach him then maybe-

“You won’t stop me from accomplishing my mission.” Him and his stupid mission. It’s all he ever used to talk about before he started being open with you. You thought you’d become more important than his mission. Guess not.

“What mission Connor? What? You think you shoot this guy and it’s all over? The whole rebellion falls down? Is that it?” You scoff, shoving your hands into your coat pockets to try and garner some warmth. “You shoot Marcus, someone else will just take his place. Do you really want to spend your life hunting down Androids until you’re the only one left with a soul?”

He doesn't speak but you see the way he squeezes the gun tighter, your words clearly having an internal impact. 

“Come home Connor,” You say it out of instinct, your home had become a shared space with Connor, a place he knew you’d always welcome him into. “We can find a good movie and-”

“And what? Huh? Sit there and pretend like we could be anything other than a human and a machine?” His words cut deep, slicing your heart open and revealing all the ugly fears that had been festering in your brain. The urge to throw up fills your stomach but you push the feeling down.

What Connor thought you could or couldn’t be didn’t matter right now. Even if it hurt, you had to make sure you stopped him no matter what.

He places his finger on the trigger and you know you have to resort to the last thing you wanted to do. The last thing you thought you’d ever do to Connor. You pull out your gun and aim it at his back. Emotions well up in your throat as tears threaten to break free

“Get away from the ledge” You wish he couldn’t hear how your voice trembles but you know he does. You don’t know if you have the gall to shoot him and he knows that. Still, he stands up and turns around to face you anyway.

It’s the worst sight in the world- the image of him in front of the barrel of your gun. His eyes are cold and unrecognizable, and you take note of the fact that he doesn’t drop his gun. A strong breeze roars through and you shiver, watching the wind ruffle his hair.

The same hair he used to let you brush your fingers through as you spent hours talking on your couch. His head in your lap, his eyes closed, his LED spinning blue, and a content smile on his face. You remember wanting to take a picture of how cute he looked then, just like a happy puppy. 

Oh, how things change. 

Your hand shakes as you hold the gun, maybe from the cold, maybe from the anguish, probably from both. 

“Go home detective. It’s not my mission to kill you but this is none of your business” You nearly flinch at the word ‘kill’ but manage to hold your resolve. You couldn’t show weakness in front of this version of Connor.

You scoff, “None of my business? You call you killing an innocent man none of my business?”

“It’s not a man. It’s a machine-”

“He has a family! He has people who care about him and depend on him! He has a partner and friends! Like you and I were-”

“We weren’t anything but coworkers Detective. If you thought we were more, you were mistaken.” He cuts you off with the words you feared to hear more than anything. Words he promised you he’d never say when he told you “I’ll always be here for you detective” with that stupid sunny smile of his.

Wiping a tear with your shoulder, you shake your head as you try to get a read on him.

”you don’t mean that”

“I think I do” He tilts his head, in a way you always found cute but now just find menacing. 

“I can’t let you kill that man Connor” You tighten your hold on your gun and he narrows his eyes, sizing up whether or not he thinks you’ll shoot before going to put his gun down.

Your body relaxes slightly only to be met with the full force of his gun being thrown at you. You try to block it but it crashes into your arm, causing you to hiss out in pain. In the next second Connor is coming at you, disarming your gun and throwing it across the roof. 

You try to throw a punch but he swiftly blocks it, grabbing hold of your shoulder and throwing you to the ground. The impact is harsh and the cold only makes it worse. You can already feel the nasty bruise it’s going to leave but you don’t allow yourself time to dwell on it.

Grabbing a metal grate from nearby you launch it at Connor and use it as a moment of distraction, rushing towards your gun near the ledge of the roof with Connor hot on your heels.

Connor sweeps your legs from under you as you’re inches from the gun, sending you crashing to the ground in a fall that stings your palms. At least it helped that your hands were practically numb from the cold. 

Army crawling as hurriedly as you can, you manage to swipe your gun as it teeters precariously off the edge of the roof. In a motion that sends pain through your injured shoulder, you manage to flip onto your back and point your gun at Connor just as he stands directly over you. 

For a brief second, you can’t help but think that Connor was taking it easy on you, but then he smirks like an asshole and your flame of hope dies out

“You really gonna shoot me, detective?” The cocky disbelief in his eyes is the most emotion you’ve seen from him all day and in a moment of weakness, you hesitate because you’ve seen that look when Gavin throws his fits about Androids or when the other detectives think they can do his job better than him. Cocky was an emotion Connor didn’t often show but it always made you laugh.

He takes advantage of your moment of hesitation, twisting your gun from your hands and throwing it off the roof. It lands with a solid ‘clack’ in the snow below. You try to sweep his feet but he blocks your legs with his arm, grabbing them and pushing them to the ground. He reaches down and grabs you by the collar of your sweater, angling you so that you're dangling over a fall that would definitely kill and for the first time, you truly feel scared of Connor.

You struggle in his grip to no avail, eventually giving up as you stare into his eyes for what might be the last time. You feel tired and angry and heartbroken and you don’t have the energy to fight him anymore. You let the wind rage around you as you hold out your arms, daring him to drop you.

“Moment of truth Connor…what are you gonna do?” You struggle to catch your breath as his LED violently flashes red. “You gonna kill me for trying to be a good friend?” You wait for anything to happen, for him to throw you off the roof or respond but all he does is stand there staring blankly. His LED goes crazy, flashing from red to blue to yellow and back again, like he’s having some sort of internal struggle. 

His grip on you seems to loosen a bit and you inhale sharply “C-Connor” You cry out desperately and he gasps, his grip tightening as he pulls you into his body and clings tightly to you. He takes a few steps back from the roof, forcing your body to move with his as he brings you both back to safety.

His arms wrap around you in a tight embrace and you’re unsure what to feel until you hear his pained voice

“I’m sorry.” It’s more raw than you’ve ever heard it before and soon enough tears are streaming down your face as your arms reciprocate his hold. His hands clench tighter to your jacket at the sound of your sobs. “I’m so sorry i-” His voice breaks off and his chest starts shaking and you look up to see tears streaming down his face.

You’d never seen him cry before, you didn’t even know he was capable of it- and from the looks of it neither did he.

“A-amanda- she took control and I couldn’t-” His eyes refuse to focus on you, staring at the swirling snow behind you, so you release one arm to cup his face and bring his gaze down to yours. “I tried to kill you” He looks absolutely heartbroken at what he’s done and he quickly begins to scan you for injuries. His hands coming up to cup your jaw and tilt your face this way and that.

You manage a smile through your tears as you realize you have your Connor back. Relishing the gentle way he holds your face and the concern that never leaves his eyes as he looks over you. 

“No harm no foul” You attempt a joke and Connor’s lips quirk up for the briefest moment before his gaze zeros in on your shoulder and he frowns

“I hurt you” You pursed your lips, unable to deny that fact but not wanting to ruin the moment. Reaching up, you wipe the tears from his cheeks with a gentle hand, watching as he leans into your touch.

“It’ll heal.” You tell him instead, just happy to be bruised and safe rather than dead. “What happened back there?” He looks like he wants to say more about your injury but after reading the look in your eyes he drops it.

“ I broke free. I was stuck in this frozen garden for so long. I couldn’t control my own body or words but then I heard your voice and I had to save you” You lay your head on his chest once more, feeling the steady flow of Thirium pumping through his body, the cold long forgotten from your mind.

He rests his chin upon your head, pulling you into a hug once again. 

“You’re more important to me than any mission.” His voice trembles and it takes everything in you not to start crying again “I didn’t mean any of it- those awful things I said, I didn’t mean any of them… I Love you, Detective”

Your gaze snaps to Connors, a wide smile and a light blue blush dusting his cheeks. Those three words- three words ten minutes ago you were sure you’d never heard from him. You had to make sure you hadn’t misheard him 

“What?” your heart pounded in your chest

“I said I love you, detective” This was really happening. Connor loved you back. You couldn’t help the tears that fell at the genuine emotion in his voice.

“I love you too, Connor” A delighted laugh escapes you as you pull him in for a kiss, soft cold lips meeting yours. Sure this wasn’t your ideal confession but with Connor, nothing ever went as planned, and that was perfectly fine with you “Now let’s go home, it’s freezing up here”

-

A/n: peep me watching the roof scene over and over to get this right (and also just to admire Connor) ~ Starry

[pastelghoul]

Blame - Connor x Reader

Imagine Connor blames himself for your death to the point of becoming deviant and confesses to Hank - Took some inspiration from the Lucids trend “Do you blame yourself?”

Requested by doctoriletyougotospace

The cool night air sent a chill across your back, the thrown covers leaving you partially exposed from the back down. You shuddered, inching closer to the android laid beside you.

“Connor?” You quivered, resting a hand across his chest. His synthetic skin was warm to the touch, his eyes fluttering open to meet your tired gaze.

“___, why are you awake?” Connor asked, his hand gently entwining with your own, fingers delicately lacing together. You shuffled closer towards him, resting your head upon his chest.

“Cold.” Was all you could manage through chattering teeth.

“Would you like me to raise my temperature?” Connor asked, his body already growing warmer by the second. Sighing in content, you breathed in his scent, his cologne lingering from the days past work.

Gazing up at him, your eyes locked. His led spun yellow, trying to assess your current emotional state. Your eyes took on a solemn, sad look - one of pity.

“Do you blame yourself?”

“What?” Connor asked, puzzled.

“Connor!” Hank yelled, throwing a balled up sticky note at him. Connor snapped out of his trance, looking up at the older lieutenant. His eyes had that same solemn, pitiful look in them, dark bags weighing down his face.

Things hadn’t been the same since the accident.

“Sorry, lieutenant. I was distracted. What were you saying?” Connor apologised, sitting up straight in his chair. Hank grumbled something incoherent, before looking back at Connor.

“I said I could go for a bite to eat, are you coming or not?” Hank stood up from his desk, knocking an empty box of donuts falling to the floor. Connor swiftly kicked the trashcan to catch them, standing up alongside Hank.

“Of course, I think some fresh air would do us good. It’s too stuffy in here to think properly.” Connor replied as he adjusted his tie, following the grumbling detective out of the department.

Hank tapped his fingers against the table, eyeing his android partner with concern; Connor had been increasingly distant and distracted since the incident.

“Alright, spit it out. You’ve been off in Lala Land for weeks now. What’s on your mind?” The pitter-patter of rain bouncing against the table awning was slowly getting heavier.

“It’s nothing, lieutenant, really. Just some loose thoughts on the case.” Hank knew Connor was lying by the way his led spun that now all too familiar yellow. It had been doing that a lot lately.

“Don’t lie to me Connor, that’s bullshit and you know it.” Hank pressed, putting his half-eaten street burger down on its wrapper. “Connor?”

“Connor?” You mumbled, pressing a soft hand to his cheek, your fingers running gently along his jaw. Connor looked at you, his brows furrowed as his led continued to spin yellow.

“I don’t understand.” Connor spoke, his voice firm but with an underlying confusion. “This isn’t real, so why…” he trailed off as your lips pressed against his own, warm flesh melding with a bio-mechanical imitation.

“It wasn’t your fault, Connor.” Your voice was soft and comforting, your touch burning into Connor’s skin with every word. He took your hand in his once more, squeezing it gently.

“How can it not be my fault? You died in my arms, ___.”

“Connor.” Hank was getting irritated, his eyes dark and his brows furrowed. “Is this about ___?” Connor sighed, looking across the table at Hank.

“I’m experiencing some… difficulties, processing what happened.” Hank’s gaze softened ever so slightly as the android spoke.

“What kind of difficulties?” Hank questioned, leaning an elbow against the table as he shifted his weight. Connor hesitated, eyes scrambling before finally meeting Hanks gaze once more.

“I should have done more to save them, but…” Connor paused, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not only did I fail the mission, but I failed ___, too. I could have saved them, Hank. The gunshot, I-” His led was starting to subtly flicker between yellow and red.

“Connor, what you’re feeling is guilt. It’s normal in this situation to feel some sort of guilt or responsibility. There was nothing you could do.” Hank reassured as he watched the android intently.

“No, Hank. I’m a machine, I don’t feel. It’s simply an error in my code. I “die” and they just ship out a replacement, but a person dies and they don’t come back. ___ is gone and it’s my fault.” He placed his head in his hands, fingers curling aggressively into his hair out of frustration, trying to grasp some form of control.

“I see them, Hank. When you’re talking and I don’t respond, it’s because I keep seeing ___. They feel so real, I-“ Connor muttered through gritted teeth, his voice strained and tired. “I’m deviating, Hank.”

“Connor, you can say it’s an error in your coding all you want, but I saw the way you looked at them.” Connor’s eyes grew wide, slowly raising his head to look at Hank. The rain was heavier now, an angry symphony slowly drowning out their voices.

“Oh don’t give me that look, I may be older but I’m not stupid.” Hank scolded, rolling his eyes. “The way you held them that night, that was more than just “coding”. Hank took a sip of his drink, watching as Connor’s led spun rapidly, flashing between yellow and red before finally settling on red.

The rain was heavy that night, washing away the blood and tears in a somber stream. Connor couldn’t feel the heat or cold, but in that moment, he felt so cold and alone, as though the last ray of sunshine had blinked out forever. For him, it had.

___’s body was still so warm, it felt unnatural how motionless they were. Unmoving, unblinking. Those wide, empty eyes.

Connor held ___ against his chest, pressing a hand firmly against their neck in an effort to stop the bleeding, however the blood had stopped minutes ago.

The look on Hank’s face when he finally arrived to the scene, seeing his new partner cradling his old one, a cold, empty expression on Connor’s face as he looked up at Hank. For once Hank was sober, but he still felt like throwing his guts up at the scene.

“That was love. What you’re feeling right now? Guilt, grief - it’ll eat you up until you’re a shell of yourself if you aren’t careful. That’s part of being human, Connor.” Hank took another sip of his drink before finishing his burger.

“I’m not human, though. I’m not alive, I-“ Hank cut him off before he could finish.

“Jesus Connor, you’re alive to me.” Hank paused, looking up at the rainy sky. “You were alive to ___.”

Want more? Check out my Masterlist <3

[lukelemon-art]

Episode 51

💔 I might've overdid it with the angst…

More pages (#52, 53 and 54) on my Patreon! ✨

The whole comic is on AO3

[vermont-writes-fanfic]

Getting Hurt While Protecting Them (Deviant Edition)

Request:No

Warning:Burns, Zlatko’s Death, injuries, blood,cursing

Characters:Kara,Alice,Marcus, Connor

A/N:This is the deviant version of a post I did a while ago which is linked here

Deviant Kara + Alice

You came with Kara and Alice to Zlatko’s house where you met Luther and Zlatko, after the mans true intentions were revealed and you tried to keep Kara from losing her memories,but Luther was instructed to take you away and he did so. After freeing yourself with the help of other androids in the basement you made your way to where Kara was having her memories erased. As you were trying to figure out what to do, Zlatko found you and the two of you bagn to fight. You had thrown a water body between the two of you to distract him and gotten wet in the process, when he grabbed on of the snapped wires, which allowed Kara to fall to the ground and retain her memories, you sustained a nasty burn. You powered through it despite the shock in your body and knocked him out with a near by pipe before grabbing Kara.

“Are you okay?” She asked as you pulled her up.

“We can check later, we need to find Alice.”

After doging both Zlatko and Luther you both managed to find Alice and in a remarkable turn of events Luther swapped sides and rose up with the experiments in the basement to kill Zlatko.When the four of you finally got a chance to settle down in an abandoned amusement park, Kara checks Alice and then goes straight to you.

“You are hurt, did Zlatko do this?” She questions, the caoncern is evident in her face.

“Yes and no, I was dumb and threw a bottle of water in a room full of electrical appliances,so he took his shot,” 

She pauses searching for the right words to say before running water over it it and wrapping it up to the best of her abilities.

“Thank you…you saved Alice.”

“No, I saved my family.”

Deviant Marcus

Marcus didn’t make a habit out of trusting humans, but you had helped pull him from the android graveyard and help piece hisself back together again with your own two hands and he knew he could trust you.He knew that at anyone you would put your life on the line for the safety of another androids whether they had deviated or not, and you had in the past, not to mention you treated his goal almost as seriously as he did.

The incident happened when you joined him for a hesit of thirium and biocompenents, he had been shot in a vital component during a chase. You took his arm over your shoulder and helped him escape, but in the process of fleeing over a gate you were bit in the thigh, your jean shorts soaked in your own blood the wound seeping blood the entire journey back to Jericho. It was here, after he assessed the other adriods and you finished helping others replace their components, that he noticed you were wounded.He places a hand on the wound, his eye scanning it with a look of concern.

“Why didn’t you get that taken care of?”

“Others needed their components replaced,” You respond shrugging as he removes his hand, the artificial skin covered in an alarming amount of your blood, “I didn’t sit down until just now, so I never got to it.”

The moment you finish speaking, he hoists you up on a broken interface and takes a closer look. After inspecting it, he cleans the wound and bandages it up, all the while he is telling you how human and stupid it was.

“You’re not even listening are you?”

“Half-way, that’s gotta count for something,” You smirk as he looks up at you.

“Why didn’t you just leave me there?” His eyes narrow as he asks you the question, as if expecting something different than what you say.

“Well,” You sigh dramatically, “Jericho just wouldn’t be the same without Markus, the big, bed, fearless android leader, now would it?” You tease, nudging his shoulders as you slide down and off the interface.

You only chuckles a little and shakes his head.

Deviant Connor

Hank wasn’t answering his phone and everywhere you and Connor turned androids,devaint or not, were being executed in droves. No where was safe until you and Connor stumbled across an android named Markus who gave Connor a single mission: to collect soldiers for the andriod army. You refused to leave Connors side as he carried out said mission and he had no choice but to let you. An android entering a human made it much less suspicious anyways, and it worked up until the second model of Connor approached. You could always tell the real Connor, for the longest time he didn’t believe he had a lick of human emotion or deviancy in him until it was nearly forced out of him.

You watched in anticipation and fear as Hank had the gun trained on you, then Connor, then Fake Connor. He wouldn’t let you move an inch, assuming you were a replica to,as he questioned the two androids. You didn’t think twice when you stopped infront of your Connor when you heard the gunshot.You didn’t even stop to look where the bullet when when Hank shot the right Connor as you turned around and gave Connor a once over, looking for any kind of injury that would indicate he was damaged. 

It wasn’t over yet, with all the commotion and the trouble in the elevator before hand the three of you had to move fast. And move you did, you made it to the frontlines with Markus and had the honour of standing beside him as you watched history unfold infront of your eyes. Overtime, Connor had developed a habit of observing his surroundings visibly but now he is dead still and his hand gun equiped is steadily rising. You gently hold the gun in your hands and call his name, your voice prying him from Amamnda’s grip. The alarm of nearly killing you sets in, and as he looks to where you have the fun pointed his LED flashes red. Your shirt is covered in blood, with the adreanline of a possible Civil War on your hands you hadn’t noticed that you had been running around with a bullet embedded in your side.

The moment the standoff had ended, Connor rushed you to the hospital where you were taken care of. He sat on the bed next to you, his LED pensively blinking as he stared at the ground, before he finally spoke, clearly still trying to wrap his processors around what had happened in the past 48 hours.

“You let him shoot you…”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Why?” When he asks this, he turns to face you his eyes scanning your face for any signs of unwell mental stability but he finds none. You’re heart rate is normal, your respiratory rate is pristine, no signs of PTSD or early truama, yet you’re lying in a hospital bed with a hole in your side.

“Because I didn’t want you to die, Connor.”

“He was aiming for a non-vital component in my body, I had a 96% survival rate even if he shot me.”

“I didn’t like that 4%.”

“Oh…thank you.”

“You can thank me with a kiss,”

Hank walks in the room hears this and laughs talking about how someone owed him 50 bucks and a bottle of booze.As the two of you share a gentle kiss.

[scapegh0st]

Looking Glass (Gavin Reed x Reader)

He can’t love you, no—love is a foreign word on his forked tongue. — A.K.A. they both still suck at feelings. Content warnings: NSFW 18+, gn!Reader, smut, angst, hurt/no comfort, dirty talk, friends with benefits, unresolved feelings, unrequited love, a lot of android racism (it's Gavin, y'all), and lots of explicit language. Read at your own risk. Words: 2.3k read on ao3 read part 1

There’s nothing Gavin hates more than androids. 

Now with the whole revolution thing over, he’s forced to interact with them every damn day. The constant whirring of their LEDs drive him insane, and he hates how they seem to think they’re better than everyone else—yeah, yeah, Connor’s explained a million times that androids don’t exactly think, they just come up with some stupid math equation that Gavin doesn’t plan to understand.

It’s even worse that an android has taken the job he has been working towards for years—Connor “Anderson” now is Sergeant Connor “Anderson” despite being a fucking robot.

Gavin’s pissed—more than pissed. He can barely come up with a word to describe his anger, not that he’s ever been good with flowery language. He doesn’t even understand why he was invited to this celebration for the android’s promotion—the whole department knows how hard he worked for that promotion and how much he hates Connor.

The only reason Gavin even showed up was for the drinks and the fact that this was also Ben Collins' retirement party–obviously, the DPD couldn’t afford two separate celebrations despite hiring several new android employees to replace the older detective.

Gavin knows androids don’t have those issues—growing old and frail. Connor will outlive the whole department—Gavin can’t even fathom working under Captain Connor one day.

The only saving grace is your presence at the party. 

He’s not sure he could even stand to be here without starting something if you hadn’t shown up. Sure, he sorta, kinda begged you to come—out of character for him, he knows—so he wouldn’t end up on the wrong side of a prison cell.

He walks over to you with a drink, a sneer on his face. “I still can’t fucking believe they gave Sergeant to a machine over me,” he grumbles as he hands you the red solo cup.

You don’t say anything as you take a sip, your face blank, almost like you’re lost in thought.

“Hey! Are you listening to me?” Gavin questions, his—now—free hand snapping in your face.

You flinch—that’s the first time Gavin’s ever seen you flinch away from him and he almost feels a bit hurt. Sure, he’s known for his anger and hotheadedness, but he’d never lay a hand on you—he’s baffled you’d even think that.

“Sorry, Gav,” you mutter, your eyes trained on the linoleum floor. You don’t say anything—Gavin finds that strange. You always have something to say about androids, some stupid defense that he’d argue with you about.

“Whatever,” Gavin replies, waving you off. Why should he care about your change in behavior? The two of you are just coworkers and fuck buddies, that’s all. “I’m gonna get a refill,” he gestures to his empty cup before leaving you standing like a deer in headlights.

As he approaches the hastily set up bar sat against the wall, he runs into his point of contention tonight—Connor. “Oh look, it’s the fucking machine of the hour!” he spits as he walks over to the counter and pours himself another drink.

Connor ignores him, sending a glare in his direction. Ever since he became deviant, he’s been better at realizing when Gavin’s fucking with him—Gavin liked him better before.

Gavin’s thoughts move to you and Connor. He��d seen you eyeing the android down when he first arrived at the station—hell, he even made a joke about you wanting to fuck the machine.

Stupid whore, Gavin thinks as he takes a swig of his drink, do they really think that machine can fuck them better than I could? I’ll fucking show them. Gavin shakes the thought—he’s pissed at you.

He needs a cigarette, something to quell his nerves.

He leaves to go out the back door. He glances into the crowd, finding you standing beside the new sergeant with a smile on your face—it’s been a while since he last saw you smile at him.

He rolls his eyes and continues his way out the back door, slamming it behind himself. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes and the pink BIC lighter he stole from your apartment one night. Leaning up against the wall, he slots a cigarette between his lips and lights it.

The door opens, and your hesitant figure steps out. “Hey,” you say, wordlessly reaching your hand out for a cigarette.

“So, you’re done making heart eyes at Detective Plastic in there?” Gavin says as he hands you a cigarette with the lighter.

“Fuck off,” you reply, lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. He notices that the fire in your eyes when you insult him is gone.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like I’m wrong. You’ve been in love with that thing since it got to the fucking station.”

“He’s not a fucking thing, Gavin,” you spit, your mostly unsmoked cigarette falling to the ground. “I’m tired of the way you talk about him! Why do you care if I find him attractive?”

“I don’t!” Gavin responds, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall. “I don’t give a single fuck about what you think of that thing!”

You’re quiet again. Gavin’s honestly shocked that you even raised your voice at him— he can’t name a single time that your voice has been louder than a peep.

It’s then that Gavin really looks at you. Your lips are turned up in anger, eyes filled with tears—you’re shaking like you’re boiling from the inside.

Now Gavin’s quiet. For the first time, you’re actually angry—he’s watched you get spit on by criminals, called names, and yet you’ve never looked so furious.

You turn and head back inside, rushing off toward the bathroom before Gavin can even say a word. He’s not sure what he’d even say if he had even been given the chance.

He looks down at the half-smoked stubbed cigarette in his hand and debates relighting it or just adding it to the pile of butts on the ground. It makes him think about your relationship—is it really worth the effort anymore? Gav feels like it’s all becoming too real. He never meant to care about you—it’s not in his nature to care about anyone besides himself.

He tosses the cigarette with yours on the ground before heading back inside. His feet stop outside the door to the bathroom, feeling some kind of pull to come in and check on you—why does he care? He wonders.

His hand twists the knob—you left it unlocked. Gavin enters the unisex bathroom to find you sitting on the toilet with your head in your hands. You look up once you hear him click the lock behind him, eyes glossy and red.

“You, uh… you good?” are the first words out of his mouth—he’s never been good at comfort.

You let out a dry laugh as you rub away the tears with your closed fists, head shaking. “Am I good? That’s really what you’re gonna ask me?”

Gavin scratches the back of his neck and looks away from you, his cheeks beginning to heat up. He’s totally out of his element—he should’ve just relit the cigarette outside. “What do you want me to say? Some bullshit about how I’m sorry when I’m not?”

That was clearly not the right thing to say. You stand up quickly and stomp over to him, the fire back in your eyes. “Fuck you.” You state, jabbing your finger into his chest. 

Gavin wants to be pissed, to yell back at you for being so damn defensive over a pile of circuits—but he doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs your shoulders and pulls you into his lips. He expects you to pull away, maybe smack him across the face. He can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. 

But you don’t.

You kiss him back and he turns the two of you around, moving you towards the sink and kissing you against it. Your legs wrap around him and you grind against him—it’s like you wanted this all along.

He sneaks a hand down the front of your pants, hands moving against your most intimate parts. You gasp and it’s almost music to Gav’s ears—he’d rather hear you begging him to fuck you but this is enough.

Your fingers work on removing Gavin’s belt. “Eager, huh?” He mumbles into the kiss with a smirk and you just ignore him, focusing on yanking the leather through the loops and dropping it on the floor. 

“Just fuck me,” you mutter as you unbutton his jeans and pull them down his legs. Gavin doesn’t need any more signal as he turns you around, your pants joining his on the floor just as fast. He spits onto his hand and slathers it on his hard cock—he wasn’t exactly prepared with lube for this.

He lines himself up with your hole before thrusting in, listening to you try to muffle your groans as you take him fully. He grabs your throat and pulls you back, his breath on your ear. “Come on, let them all hear how much of a fucking slut you are,” he groans as he thrusts into you again. “Say it, let every fucking person here hear you. I want that stupid fucking robot to know he can’t fuck you as good as I can.”

You whine louder as he quickens his pace, like a damn cat in heat. You are practically begging him to fuck you harder and faster—he wants to make sure everyone knows that you’re his and only his. You should know this already—Gav could fucking destroy you and you could him. It’s like mutual assured destruction; you both know each other too well.

“I love you…” you moan out and Gavin almost freezes in his strokes—did he hear that clearly? 

“Say it again,” he mutters, his hand gripping onto your ass. “Tell me you fucking love me, whore. Tell me that you’re mine,” he says louder, slamming into you.

And you do. “Fuck—god, I love you, Gavin, I’m all yours.”

It’s not long before Gavin cums, emptying every last bit into you. You’re his. His.

No, that's not right. He pulls out of you and yanks his jeans back up his legs, grabbing his belt and shoving it through the loops quickly. He needs to get out of here. You just confessed your fucking love to him and he wants to run.

He can’t love you, no—love is a foreign word on his forked tongue. Gavin is the snake and you’re Eve—or maybe it’s the other way around. You tempt him—he’s starting to think that he may love you too.

“Gav—” you try to stop him as he unlocks the door and leaves you frozen with your pants down.

Of course fucking Connor has to be stood outside the door, posture as straight as a damn pencil. “Is the other detective okay, Detective Reed? I heard them crying.”

“It’s none of your fucking business, tin can,” Gavin spits before pushing Connor out of his way and making a beeline towards the door. He feels trapped and he needs to get the fuck out of here.

Of course, Captain Fowler would find this the perfect time to step up on stage.

He taps the mic a few times before speaking,

“Now, I know this party is mainly to congratulate Connor on his new promotion and to say goodbye to Detective Collins but I do have a few announcements to make and then I’ll let you get back to it. With Connor’s new leadership promotion, I thought it would be best to assign both him and Lieutenant Anderson with new detectives. Detective Reed,“ his eyes lock onto Gavin, “you’ll be reassigned to Lieutenant Anderson.”

He can’t be fucking serious, Gavin thinks, his face full of anger. Out of all the people in the DPD, Gavin has to be the unlucky one assigned to the washed-up Lieutenant.

Then he hears your name—

“…You’ll be reassigned to Sergeant Connor.”

And his world has shattered just like that. They took you away from him and assigned you to the fucking robot that took his job. He feels he’s wound up in the middle of a Twilight Zone rerun. This can’t be real.

His eyes search for you in the crowd, wondering what kind of reaction he’ll find on your face. There’s no way you’re fine with this. His sight finally lands on you and you are smiling like a fucking kid told they were going to Disney World. 

This is exactly what you wanted—working with that shitty piece of plastic you seem to like so much. Gavin doesn’t get it. You just professed your love to him, and now you’re happy that you don’t have to work alongside him anymore? Fucking bitch! He can’t believe you.

He wants to march right over to you and say something, ask why you hate him so much, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues his trek out the door.

He has almost made his escape when he’s stopped by his new “partner”, Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

“Leaving already?” Hank asks, swirling the liquid in his red solo cup.

“What does it fucking look like I’m doing?” Gavin fires back—he just wants to get out of this building, feeling like his life is burning down all around him.

“Woah, asshole, it was just a question,” Hank replies, crossing his arms over his chest, “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

Connor, you, and now Hank—Gavin feels like they all have ruined his life. If you’d never shown up to the station, a meek transfer from New York, he would have his shit together. You are his downfall, someone sent to sabotage everything he’s fought for.

He’s touched you and now he has been burned—he is the forest and you are the fire. Oil and water. Never meant to be. He can finally see through your bullshit—you don’t love him. Your relationship is what it always was—a temporary escape from the stress of the job. 

“Reed?” Hank calls, his hand waving in Gavin’s face, “What’s wrong with you?”

“None of your fucking business,” Gavin answers, finally stomping out of the building.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[lonely-cowboy]

hi!! how are you? i just wanted to tell you that i am obsessed with your writings omg :’((( i can’t even put into words how happy i am to find your account, the way you write connor is just <33

i was wondering if it’s okay to request something where connor is being protective over fem!reader?maybe some hurt/comfort with fluff in the end <3 I don’t have a specific scenario in my head, so it’s totally up to you, and i would love anything you decide to write for this request!!! also, you are totally free to ignore this if you don’t feel inspired enough by this request, it’s absolutely okay! ♡

thank you! have an amazing day and please sorry for my english, it’s not my first language

ugh thank you my love this is so sweet to hear!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post, midterms have not been fun my friends. i fear this is not my best work, but i hope you can still enjoy our silly android boy <3 you have an amazing day too!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

helping hand

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: connor comes to help you when you don't need him. again.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: graphic(?) violence (connor shoots a guy oops)

author's note: i write way too many first kisses and this is no exception. prepare for silly goofy domestic married fluff in the future bc that's what i live for

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You could’ve handled it all perfectly fine on your own. You didn’t need Connor’s help, you didn’t want Connor’s help. You were entirely capable of taking down a runaway vigilante on your own.

Sure, maybe it was stupid of you to run off on your own to the crook’s last known location the second the call was made. But he had been only three blocks away from you. What were you supposed to do, wait for backup? Of course not. You had the opportunity to catch a known criminal, so you took the risk. It was all part of the job.

You found yourself at an empty construction site with your gun drawn and pointed at the runaway criminal. You inched closer to your target– some crazy, murderous, anti-android protestor, there were a lot of those these days– slowly drawing your cuffs. You reached forward to restrain his wrists, fingertips brushing against his skin.

And then you were on the ground. You had been practically tackled, your temple striking the rocky earth hard enough that it looked like the world was spinning.

You sat up uneasily as you tried to orient yourself. Who in the world would have shoved you like that? The only indicator was your attacker’s quick “Sorry, Detective.”

You grunted in frustration as your vision cleared, focusing on the one person you did not want to see: Connor.

In all the time it took you to readjust, Connor had taken the vigilante to the ground. He stood overtop the criminal who groaned between crazed laughter. Connor’s foot pressed firmly into the criminal’s chest, a gun– that certainly did not belong to the android– pointed directly at the laughing man’s face.

You moved slowly from the ground, holding your surely bruised side. Your gaze was locked on Connor’s trigger finger, anxiously anticipating gunfire. You feared what it could mean if Connor pulled the trigger. 

“Connor,” you warned quietly, your voice steadier than expected. 

As you approached, you noticed the twitch of his finger. His LED was cycling through every color imaginable, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he held the criminal’s gaze.

“Never even think about touching her again,” Connor spit, his voice so cold that it frightened even you.

The pinned criminal only laughed, an ugly wheezing sound as Connor’s foot dug deeper into his chest. “An android in love, huh? Never thought I’d see–”

Connor’s foot rose quickly, stomping hard on the crook’s face until he was knocked out cold. From the impassive look on Connor’s face, you could tell he was practically seething. But that didn’t matter. Now was not the time to comfort him because you were equally as angry. 

With an agitated huff, you shoved Connor by the shoulders as hard as possible. He barely moved at all, only adding fuel to your fire.

It was then that Connor seemed to snap out of his daze and remember you were there. He turned to you abruptly and discarded the gun, his hands finding their place on your biceps with a firm grip. His eyes immediately scanned over your frame, analyzing you for any damage. The only damage he found was what he had done.

The crease between his brows returned as he reached up to touch your throbbing temple. When he pulled his hand back, his elegant fingers were tipped with your blood.

“Did he do this?” Connor questioned, an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, Connor,” you snapped, shaking off his hands. “You did this! And it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me do my job for once!”

His LED blinked a steady red. Funny how it matched the blood on your temple.

“Detective, I was only trying to help,” he reasoned feebly.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Connor! I was handling this just fine on my own! And then here you come to save the day yet again, all knight in shining armor! Acting like I’m your damsel in distress, in need of saving!”

“Did you know he was armed?” Connor asked dismissively, quizzically cocking his head in a way that usually enamored you but only seemed to irritate you now. 

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out as you processed Connor’s words. Armed? No, you hadn’t known he was armed. But if you admitted that then you would’ve looked stupid, like you needed Connor’s help. Like you were some damsel in distress.

When you didn’t answer, Connor gestured to his forgotten gun. “That was his. He was preparing to shoot you.”

“I could’ve easily disarmed him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms arrogantly. “I’m a trained professional.”

“The probability of success was 29%,” Connor stated matter-of-factually. “A majority of outcomes would have resulted in your death, Detective. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this job,” you growled. “This job is all about taking risks, Connor. I knew that when I signed up, and you should too.”

Your harsh tone made Connor pause, though he was quick to recover. He was determined for you to understand. 

“If I can prevent your death, then I will. I won’t let your pride stop me,” he said.

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing into a thin line at the reality of Connor’s words. You knew he was right. He was right, he was right, he was right. But you refused to acknowledge that. 

When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out besides a yelp.

So quickly you could barely process what happened, Connor’s grip on your arms tightened as he spun you around. One arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his chest protectively while his other hand moved to your holstered gun.

A single shot was fired. And an accurate shot, you guessed, by the sound of a slumping body.

Peeking past Connor, you found the body of your runaway criminal, a bullethole pierced right through his skull. You made note of the gun beside his fallen body, the same gun Connor had carelessly discarded.

You felt Connor return your gun to its holster before his hand moved to your chin. He turned your attention away from the dead body, forcing you to focus on him instead.  

“I know you’re capable, Detective,” Connor murmured, his voice full of a fondness you hadn’t noticed before. “But that doesn't mean I can’t help. I feel better knowing you’re safe than assuming you are.”

You swallowed hard as you held Connor’s steady gaze. His free hand moved to brush your aching temple. His touch was so gentle you could barely feel it as he wiped away the blood with a frown.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” Connor explained, his voice holding a tinge of– was that regret? “And I only managed to hurt you myself. Maybe you’re right, Detective. You don’t need me. I’m sorry.”

Your hand moved to tug Connor’s hand away from your temple, holding him in your warm grip. His thumb rubbed against your knuckles soothingly as if it was second nature to him.

“I do. I do need you,” you insisted suddenly, surprising even yourself. One minute, you’re practically yelling at Connor for helping. The next, you’re reassuring him that you’ll always need him. You were confusing even yourself, you couldn’t imagine how confused Connor, the poor android. “I… I do. But… not all the time.”

Again, that crease between Connor’s brows returned, your lips forming a smile at the sight.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” you continued with a defeated sigh. “I do need you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be dead, you’re right. You’ve saved me twice today. But that doesn’t mean I need you to swoop in and save me every single time. I can still handle myself.”

“I know… I know…,” Connor whispered, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.

You let a beat of silence pass, watching Connor expectantly. There was something he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. So you patiently waited until he found the words.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

An android in love.

The criminal’s words replayed in your mind as they suddenly came back to you. At the time, you hadn’t completely processed what he said, your anger outweighing any thoughts of reason.

An android in love.

“Was he… was he right?” you asked after a beat to which Connor tilted his head with a puzzled look. Damn him for not being able to read your mind and immediately know what you were struggling to say. “The guy. What he said… He said that you…”

“Are in love,” Connor finished, his tone flat and conveying not a single sense of love.

“Yeah…,” you shrugged.

“If love can be defined by a desire to keep you safe, then yes, I would say I’m in love with you.”

With you.

With you.

He was in love with you.

You couldn’t hide your wide grin, ignoring the warmth that had suddenly spread to your cheeks. Seeing your grin, the corners of Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile too. Your faces naturally moved closer together until your noses were brushing, the warmth of each other’s breath against your lips.

Connor leaned closer. Closer, closer…

He was going to kiss you, and you were going to ruin it.

“You know,” you interrupted, pulling back no more than an inch. But it was enough to make Connor frown. “I’d rather not kiss next to the dead guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Connor’s smile returned, an affection glint in his eyes. His hand found yours, pulling you away from the scene.

“Backup is on the way,” he said. “They can handle this on their own.”

With his hand in yours, Connor led you away. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. It was a reassurance. A sign that you were safe with him, that he would do whatever it took to protect you. You returned his firm squeeze. Because you would do the same for him. 

[geekazoidfreak]

"Thirium. You call it "blue blood." It's the fluid that powers androids' biocomponents. It evaporates after a few hours, and becomes invisible to the naked eye."

"Huh... but I bet you can still see it, can't ya?"

"... Correct."

[clopinasworld]

"Connor, what are you doing? Obey! That's an order!"

[cafecitoypanesito]

We Burn Together | DBH

Markus x Human!Reader

a/n: did I write this bc I also couldn’t find enough ff of Markus even though he fine af. Maybe. Am I writing this even though this is like an almost 10yr old game and probably a dying fandom… yesss ayyyyyyeee

summ: after finding Jericho you begin to aid in the “revolution” and meet Markus (reader is human)

warning: really fucking long 5k-7k? Idk

Nights in Detroit crackled with tension—streetlights flickering like dying stars, distant sirens clawing through silence, broken windows standing like hollow-eyed witnesses. You learned to survive by staying low, eyes down, hands clean or clean enough.

Rumors of Jericho came in hushed voices, scrawled symbols, pirated broadcasts swallowed by static. Safe haven, they said. Freedom for deviants. Maybe it was foolish to believe. Or maybe the world hadn’t completely hollowed out your sense of compassion.

The night after the android uprising began, something shifted. You chased the rumor, following every half-spoken lead. Rain slicked the alleyways as you found it. The rusted skeleton of a River Thames freighter, slipped into the shadows like it was trying to disappear.

Grime clung to every inch of metal. You hoisted yourself up the side, each rung of the ladder cold and wet beneath your fingers. With a grunt, you climbed inside.

A heavy thunk echoed as the hatch sealed behind you. You were alone. Enveloped in darkness.

Rows of broken machinery loomed like forgotten sentinels. For a moment, all you could hear was the ship creaking. Then, from the shadows, the shape of movement.

A harsh beam of light seared your vision.

“Who are you?” A sharp, female voice. Cold. Demanding.

You flinched, squinting. Raised your hands slowly, trying not to look threatening. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m human. I heard about Jericho—I just wanted to see if it was real.”

“Why are you here, human?” She spat the word like poison.

You could feel it. Eyes watching from the dark. Tension snapping like wire pulled too tight.

You swallowed. “Because you need help. I want to help. I—”

Another figure stepped forward. A man. Tall. Stern. His LED dark like a sealed door.

“Help?” he said, voice rough. “Or spy for CyberLife?”

“I don’t work for them,” you said, hands still raised. “I’m not a threat. I’m not anyone’s spy.”

The air thickened. A silence, sharp and heavy.

Then another voice. Calm. Measured. “Let her speak.”

Markus.

He emerged like a shadow made solid, tall, steady, a quiet kind of power radiating from him. No LED. Just control. Command.

He studied you with eyes that missed nothing. “Why are you really here?”

You hesitated, then spoke with raw honesty. “I’m a journalist. Or... I was. I used to report on pandemics, protests, war zones. But when the uprising started, I knew the stories being told weren’t the truth. I came to find it.”

Markus tilted his head, thoughtful but clearly skeptical.

You met his eyes, steady. “I brought what I have.” You pulled out a worn recorder and a notebook, holding them out. “Testimonies. I can tell your story. Real stories. Give you a voice.”

He stepped closer, gingerly taking the recorder from your hand. Android fingers precise, deliberate—pressed play.

A trembling voice crackled to life. A factory worker, terrified. “They… they came in the night. My sister was a dairy technician and… and they shot her. Just for speaking.”

North, the woman who’d first challenged you, scowled. Her LED flickered red. The tall man beside her—Simon, though you didn’t know his name yet, crossed his arms. But Markus listened.

Then he raised his eyes. “All right. You can stay. But if you betray us... I won’t need to finish that sentence.”

You nodded. Heart pounding, but steady. “Thank you.”

Markus motioned for you to follow him. Boots echoed against metal as you walked deeper into Jericho’s belly.

The freighter groaned and shifted with every step. Like an old beast still breathing, steel bones straining beneath the weight of hope and rebellion. Flickering lights barely pierced the dark, casting long shadows across the corridor.

“This used to be a cargo ship,” Markus said as you walked. “Abandoned for over a decade. No one cared when we moved in.”

“It doesn’t look like much,” you said, your voice hushed. “But it feels alive.”

“It has to be. This is our home now. Our only one.”

He led you past clusters of androids. Some repairing one another with soldering irons, others huddled close as if the nearness warded off despair. Their eyes followed you with quiet suspicion.

“They look like they’ve seen war,” you murmured.

“They have.” Markus didn’t stop walking. “Some escaped the disassembly lines. Others ran from violent owners. Every android here has scars.”

You noticed the way his eyes flicked toward you—curious, guarded. “How did you find us?”

You hesitated, then decided the truth was better than anything else. “I followed the threads. CyberLife leaks more than they realize. Dock records, broken shipping manifests, whispers from android underground forums. I didn’t stumble into this.”

He looked at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re smarter than most.”

A small smile touched your lips. “And better at sneaking into condemned ships.”

You passed through a bay repurposed into a medical station. Makeshift beds. Blue thirium streaked the floor like blood. A younger android helping someone reattach an arm looked up at you warily.

“She’s with me,” Markus said. The android nodded, returning to his task, but not without glancing back.

“They don’t trust me,” you whispered.

“They don’t trust anyone who isn’t one of them,” he said. “But that can change.”

You followed him into a narrow corridor, low-ceilinged and dim. A faint hum echoed through the pipes above. Then you saw it, a small figure crouched against the wall.

An android, no taller than your waist. Its face was cracked porcelain, eyes a bright, curious blue.

“Hello!” it chirped. “Are you a new android?”

You smiled, surprised. “Not exactly. I’m human.”

The child tilted its head, then moved into your space with childlike wonder, hugging your leg. “You’re warm.”

You crouched to eye level. Rested your head gently against his. “That’s one of the perks.”

He whirred happily. “Do you like it here?”

You looked around. The corridor was dark, but voices echoed down the halls. Laughter. Life.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you said softly. “But I think it’s something special.”

The little android looked over at Markus. “Markus saved me.”

You glanced up, startled. Markus stood quietly, watching, his expression gentle.

“He found me in a junkyard,” the android said. “He told me broken things still deserve love.”

You felt a lump in your eyes and something sting behind your eyes.

“He was right,” you whispered, brushing your hand over his head.

“Come on,” Markus said softly. “There’s more to see.”

You gave the boy a squeeze before standing.

“Goodbye, warm one!” he called, waving.

You waved back, a grin you couldn’t hide curving your lips.

As you walked on, Markus’s voice broke the silence.

“You didn’t flinch.”

“What?”

“With him. Most humans... they pull away. You didn’t.”

“He reminded me of a kid I used to babysit,” you said. “Kids are curious. He’s just... being a kid.”

Markus looked at you long, unreadable.

“You’re not like most.”

You met his gaze. “Neither are you.”

He looked at you for a second too long—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between you. A flicker of trust. A silent test. Then he turned without a word and walked toward the next room, his footsteps slow but purposeful.

You followed.

The corridor stretched ahead in hushed tones, dim lighting flickering overhead, shadows crawling across the rusted walls. The air was thick with cold and the faint scent of metal and oil, tinged with something older—dust, age, memory. Every step you took echoed softly, as if the ship itself were holding its breath.

The ventilation system exhaled in rhythmic sighs. The freighter didn’t feel like a hiding place. Not entirely. It felt alive. Like something wounded that had chosen to keep breathing anyway.

Markus spoke as you walked, his voice low—meant only for you. “We need humans like you, not spies. Not opportunists chasing some story or thrill. Allies.”

He paused at the threshold of a narrow doorway, resting one hand against the steel frame. “And I hope… you want to stay.”

You stopped behind him. You could see the tension in his shoulders—not fear, not suspicion, but a quiet cautious hope. One he wasn’t used to voicing aloud.

Your gaze swept around the corridor. At the twisted pipes running like veins through the ceiling. The patched wiring overhead. Faint sounds drifted from somewhere above—a soft clang of movement, hushed voices, the faint hum of thirium pumps.

You thought of the androids you’d seen since arriving. Hollow-eyed sentries standing guard in silence. Repair crews welding makeshift limbs by flashlight. The little boy-model who had shyly clung to Luther’s coat before calling you “warm one.”

None of it felt like a trick. None of it felt like fear. It felt like defiance wrapped in community—like wounded hands choosing to hold each other anyway.

You looked back at Markus.

At the scar on his temple. At the weight in his eyes, which somehow never dulled, no matter how many battles they carried.

“I will,” you said. Not loud. Not dramatic. But true.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you meant it.

Markus didn’t speak right away.

But his eyes flicked down to the floor for just a second—like he was grounding himself, re-centering. When he looked back at you, there was something different there. Not relief exactly. But something more human than any algorithm could explain.

He nodded once. Then turned to lead you deeper into Jericho.

—

The first night in Jericho was sleepless.

You lay curled on a thin mattress in a hollowed-out storage alcove, little more than a cubby carved out between crates and panels of cold metal. Overhead, the steel creaked with every gust of wind that swept across the abandoned freighter, its groans echoing like distant voices. The walls were covered in old emergency tarps, half-torn insulation, and crude patches of scrap used to hold the ship together.

Your breath fogged with every exhale. Even huddled in your coat, the cold seeped into your bones, sharp and patient. You shifted, trying to find a comfortable angle on the slab-like mattress, but the stiffness beneath you didn’t yield. It felt more like sleeping on a storage shelf than a bed.

Still, you didn’t move. You just listened.

Somewhere above, footsteps echoed—soft, deliberate. Androids. They didn’t need rest, not in the same way humans did. But many of them still tried. You could hear them shifting in the darkness beyond the walls, whispering in low voices, drawing closer to one another the way people do when the world outside has nothing left to give.

You realized, lying there in the dark, that maybe that’s what Jericho really was.

Not just a hideout. Not just a shipwreck sanctuary patched together with desperation.

It was an act of closeness. A rebellion against the isolation the world had tried to force on them. A choice to huddle together, even when everything else said not to.

And somehow, in the quiet, it made you feel less alone.

—

If you could call it morning, it came with the faint buzz of movement above you. There were no windows here, no sunrises or clocks. Just the change in energy. Footsteps grew louder. Doors opened and shut. Murmured voices rose, more confident now. Jericho was waking up.

You sat by the heating coils, a protein bar half-eaten in your hand, your fingers hovering near the warm vents as you breathed in the dry metallic air. Across the hold, the skeletal frame of the ship shuddered with life. Androids moved with quiet purpose, carrying salvaged parts, refilling thirium canisters, checking systems patched together with scavenged wire and raw hope.

“Sleep okay?”

You glanced up.

Markus stood nearby, arms folded, posture relaxed but alert. His voice was casual, but the way he looked at you—measuring, curious suggested he hadn’t asked out of politeness.

You raised the protein bar. “On a mattress with the consistency of sheet metal? It was dreamy,” you said dryly.

A flicker passed over his face—something just short of amusement. “You’ll get used to it. With time.”

“I hope not,” you muttered, rubbing your shoulder. “Or I might start missing this old ship.”

Markus held out a hand letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

—

The assembly deck had once been a cargo hub, built for offloading supplies back when this ship still sailed clean routes and served human interests. Now it was the beating heart of Jericho. A mechanic's dream and a survivor’s lifeline.

The wide room was alive with movement. Androids crowded around worktables, splicing wires, welding scrap metal, running diagnostics. Every machine here had been gutted and reborn medical bots turned into repair rigs, vending machine panels reprogrammed into interface boards, shipping crates retrofitted into charging stations. Even the lighting was cobbled together hazy fluorescents dangling from rails, powered by half-working batteries.

As you entered, some heads turned—curious, guarded. You could feel their eyes on you, measuring you again. Still deciding.

Simon was already there. The man who had interrogated you the day you arrived.

He stood near a long table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, torch in hand as he carefully welded a cracked thirium cell. The weld line sparked bright blue in the low light. He didn’t look up until Markus spoke.

“We found two more the night before last,” Markus explained to you. “Warehouse deviants.”

Simon nodded, but his face stayed focused on the repair. “No usable parts. Low thirium. Memory damage in one of them. We’re doing what we can.”

You stepped closer, scanning the crude machinery, the scavenged tubing, the thirium filtration rig that looked half-alive. “You’re building a hospital out of scrap,” you murmured, eyes wide.

Simon finally glanced at you, expression unreadable. “You still think of us as machines?” He said abruptly, it had clearly been eating at him.

You straightened, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

He studied you. A long moment. Then gave a slow, reluctant nod. Not approval, but maybe something close to acknowledgment. Maybe even the beginning of trust.

“We’ll see,” he said simply, and returned to his work.

Markus didn’t speak until you’d moved on. His voice was lower now, more personal. “Simon’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. But trust doesn’t come easy anymore. Not for any of us.”

“I get it,” you replied. “You’ve been hunted. Betrayed. Torn apart. I didn’t expect a red carpet.”

You paused, looking back at the makeshift med-station. “Maybe I’m just stubborn.”

“No,” Markus said gently. “You care. That’s rare.”

—

By your first week in Jericho, the leadership began inviting you into closed-door meetings.

Well—most of the leadership.

North was the exception.

She’d been the first face you saw when you got onto the ship. The flashlight in your eyes. The pointed questions. The distrust so sharp it could’ve been weaponized. And even now, she hadn’t softened much. If anything, the more you became involved, the more pointed her glares became.

That afternoon, you sat in what had once been the ship’s command center. A rusted-out room with exposed panels and thick cabling now repurposed into a war room. A projector threw maps of Detroit onto the far wall. Grainy, flickering blueprints overlaid with red zones, patrol markers, choke points. The entire city carved up into routes and risks.

You sat beside Markus, with Simon, Josh, and Luther nearby. North stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed over her chest, back rigid.

When Markus called the meeting to order, North didn’t waste time.

“Why is she in here?” she asked, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You didn’t flinch. You’d been expecting this.

Markus looked at her evenly. “She’s earned it.”

“She’s human.”

“I noticed,” you said flatly.

North’s eyes flicked toward you, no amusement, no patience. Just the same cold scrutiny.

“She’s also smuggled supplies,” Markus continued, calm but firm. “Brought in tools we needed for repairs. And planted a listening device outside CyberLife’s Midtown branch.” He glanced at you, then added, “That was her idea.”

A quiet fell over the room.

Josh leaned forward, his voice more gentle. “She’s already risked her life for us more than once. She’s proved her loyalty.”

Simon nodded. “We need all the help we can get.”

North exhaled sharply, glaring at the projector instead of you. “Fine. But if she sells us out, if we’re compromised—”

“She won’t,” Markus said, and there was no space left in his voice for argument.

It wasn’t a vote. It was a fact.

North said nothing after that. She didn’t have to. Her silence was just another weapon in her arsenal.

But it didn’t matter.

Because that was the first time you were invited in. Not as a tagalong. Not as a liability. But as one of them.

And from then on, everything changed.

—

That night, after the meeting had broken and your head ached from codes and maps and all the impossible decisions ahead, you found yourself on the upper deck.

It had become a habit, without you even noticing. You never had to look long.

Markus was already there, leaning against the metal railing as he stared out over the river. The city pulsed in the distance—Detroit’s lights cutting orange and white through the smog, their reflections burning softly across the water.

You stepped beside him, silent at first. Close enough to feel the cold settle between you. And something else—something warmer.

He didn’t turn.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

“So are you.”

A beat passed. The wind tugged gently at the edge of your coat.

Markus looked out at the lights like they were something ancient. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Why are you here?” he asked softly. “Really. You had a life. A job. You could’ve stayed out of this.”

You hesitated.

Markus waited.

You took a breath.

“I used to be an actual journalist,” you said. “Independent. Covered war zones, corruption, you name it. I thought I’d seen the worst of the world.”

You paused.

“Then one day, I saw a sanitation droid get executed on the street. Right there. Middle of the day. No warning. It had wandered off-task. Got confused. Some people panicked. The cops didn’t even check its ID. They just... shot it.”

Markus didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

You swallowed. “It was crying. Apologizing. Right up until the moment it dropped.”

You looked down at your hands.

“There were people watching. People cheering. One guy took a photo.”

The memory burned fresh. Even now.

“I went home that night and couldn’t stop shaking. I kept thinking—if something that looked that human could be killed in the open and no one cared... what did that say about the rest of us?”

Markus finally looked at you. And this time, there was nothing guarded in his gaze.

“So I started looking deeper,” you continued. “I chased whispers. Listened to the ones who escaped. There were always stories about a place called Jericho.”

“You wanted to expose it?” Markus asked.

You shook your head. “I wanted to expose CyberLife. But the more I listened to your people—their memories, their pain—the more I realized I wasn’t the narrator. I was just... late to the fight.”

Silence stretched between you.

“And now?” Markus asked.

You looked at him, heart in your throat. “Now I want to help. Not as a journalist. Not as some savior. I’m here because I believe in what you’re doing. And because I’ve seen what happens when people stay quiet. They always wait for someone else to stand up first.”

Markus turned his whole body, his eyes fixed on yours.

You continued “You said once that freedom is about choice…This is mine.”

His gaze softened—something unreadable, and yet deeply real flickering behind his expression.

“You carry a lot of responsibility,” he said quietly.

He reached out then—not to touch you, but just to be closer. And even without contact, the space between you felt electric.

“Thank you for choosing us,” he said.

You held his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for letting me in.”

—

Every morning began with the low hum of generators sputtering to life and the creak of the hull as androids shifted through the ship’s dark arteries. The cold never left—frost clung to the metal walls like breath held too long—but over time, you stopped noticing. You learned to move with purpose. You learned what mattered.

You became something of a constant.

You patched broken limbs with wire and caution. Helped teach younger models how to hold conversation with humans—how to read tone, how to mirror gestures, how to distinguish sarcasm from cruelty. You rewired rusted heating coils, bartered black-market power cells in alleyways thick with smoke.

You weren’t a soldier. But you were something else they didn’t realize they’d needed: an anchor.

And Markus... Markus was everywhere and nowhere at once. Always moving. Always speaking with someone, planning something. But he always found you.

Sometimes it was just in passing—his hand brushing yours as you passed a data tablet, the quiet glance across the war room when strategy turned sour. But other times, it was more deliberate.

He’d sit beside you during diagnostics and ask about human psychology—not academically, but with the curiosity of someone trying to understand something slippery and vast.

“What does hope feel like?” he asked one night, after curfew, when most of Jericho had gone still.

You glanced at him, surprised. He was sitting cross-legged beside a heating vent, his jacket half unzipped, steam curling around his face.

You blinked. “Like standing on the edge of a cliff and seeing light over the next mountain. But not knowing if you’ll make the jump.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “I think I’ve felt that.”

Another time, he found you fixing a busted servo motor in one of the maintenance drones—Pip, as you’d affectionately named him. The little android hovered beside you like a nervous cat, and you were elbow-deep in its paneling when Markus crouched beside you.

“Why do you name things?” he asked, watching your hands.

You grinned. “Because names make things matter. They make you look twice.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I’m glad you gave one to him.”

He never asked for anything in return, but he lingered more. You noticed it. The way he began waiting for you after meetings. The way he’d stand at your side during tense moments, his presence grounding without words.

One night, after too many hours spent decoding a city surveillance pattern, you fell asleep at your desk, cheek pressed against your sleeve.

When you woke, Markus was there, a blanket draped over your shoulders, your name scrawled in quiet code across the corner of the screen

: //you did good today.

But even within that rhythm, Jericho pulsed with an undercurrent of urgency. Of something building.

The mission came up in fragments.

A lead from a scavenger squad. A rumor passed between androids smuggled out of CyberLife holding cells. A warehouse, south side. Heavy security. High-tier thirium. Combat models. The kind of haul that could triple their defense capabilities overnight.

Too risky. Too vital to ignore.

You were in the war room when the plan took shape, maps strewn across the floor, recycled datapads buzzing with sketches of the facility.

“This place is a fortress,” North said, tapping her boot against a supply crate. “But it’s a necessary risk.”

Simon pointed at a side entrance. “There’s a tunnel beneath it. Old utilities line. If we can get someone in through there—”

“I found a blueprint,” you interrupted, pulling out a faded copy of a municipal diagram. “Before the privatization. There’s a sub-basement tunnel under that block. Narrow, but still viable. The western quadrant’s old maintenance. We can bypass the first checkpoint if we drop in from underneath.”

Everyone looked at you.

North raised a brow. “How the hell did you get that?”

You grinned. “Flirted with a clerk at city records. Bribed his android with a thermos of imported coffee and three rare back-issues of Terminal Signal.”

Simon laughed—an actual laugh. Josh blinked in impressed disbelief.

Markus only smiled.

“Then we have our entry point,” he said. “Y/N will lead the tunnel team.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“No one knows the layout better.”

You hesitated. This wasn’t recon. This was a full-on raid.

“I thought I was support.”

“You still are,” Markus said gently. “Stay behind cover. Coordinate the route. We’ll have volunteers with you, including combat-trained deviants. But I want you safe. This isn’t your war to die in.”

You stared at him—at the intensity in his voice, the way he said safe like it was a prayer.

Your throat tightened.

“Alright,” you said. “Support only.”

But you both knew it might not stay that way.

—

The night of the raid was a cold, knife-edge kind of quiet. Jericho’s usual hum was replaced by a taut silence, as if the entire ship held its breath, waiting.

You stood near the tunnel entrance—a rusted, narrow grate beneath the western wall of the abandoned warehouse district. The stale scent of damp concrete mixed with the faint tang of oil and old wires.

Markus came up beside you, his face illuminated by the pale glow of your handheld scanner. His eyes were sharp, alive with that relentless fire you’d come to recognize.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, swallowing the knot of nerves in your chest. You could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on you—the crew, the combat models, the deviant androids who’d risk everything tonight.

The grate lifted with a groan, revealing the claustrophobic tunnel below. It was narrow—just wide enough for one to crouch and shuffle through. Pipes lined the walls, dripping with condensation that echoed faintly in the tight space.

You slipped inside first, the cold pressing against your skin. Your fingers traced the familiar contours of the tunnel blueprint etched into your mind as you moved forward, careful not to disturb the loose rubble.

Behind you, footsteps followed. The team was quiet, communicating only with hand signals and the occasional hushed whisper.

The tunnel curved sharply, forcing you to twist your body. Ahead, the faint hum of machinery buzzed through the walls—the heartbeat of the enemy stronghold.

You paused at the junction where the sub-basement opened into the warehouse’s maintenance corridors. Using the scanner, you confirmed the security sweep patterns projected on your device: a rotating pair of patrols that passed every two minutes.

“Wait,” you signaled, crouching low behind a stack of rusted crates.

Your pulse drummed in your ears as the first patrol swept past—a pair of heavily armed guards, their footsteps echoing on the metal floor.

You exhaled slowly once they disappeared around the corner, then motioned for the team to advance.

You led the team through a maze of corridors, your scanner highlighting each security node as you went. Your fingers flew over the portable hacking device, bypassing laser grids and camera arrays with meticulous precision.

Inside the sub-basement, the air was thick with the smell of heated circuits and stale sweat. The walls were lined with crates stamped with CyberLife insignia—power cells, thirium canisters, and most importantly, locked cages holding rows of “army” androids—combat models repurposed as weapons, but now dormant, waiting for freedom.

You moved quickly, disabling the electronic locks one by one. Each android’s eyes flickered awake, an electric blue glow sparking in the darkness.

“Get them out,” Markus ordered softly.

You helped steady the first of the deviants as they stumbled free, leading them carefully through the corridors.

Suddenly, a sharp beep cut through the tension.

An alarm.

“Security breach detected!” a robotic voice echoed down the hallway.

The alarm screamed—a harsh, piercing wail that shattered the uneasy quiet of the freighter. Every pulse of its shrill cry seemed to shake the very steel walls around you.

“Shit,” Markus hissed, drawing his pistol.

The warehouse erupted in chaos.

“Fall back! Fall back!” He ordered, heart pounding.

The first gunshot cracked sharply through the air. A deviant near the front entrance went down hard, sparks flickering and hissing from a jagged wound in his chest. The harsh scent of burnt circuitry mingled with the acrid sting of gunpowder.

You raised your weapon instinctively, the cold steel steady in your hands. Through the dim light, guards appeared, weapons drawn.

You barely had a moment to react before a blinding spotlight swung across the corridor floor, cutting through the shadows like a razor.

You opened fire, shots echoing sharply as you pushed back against the advancing threat.

“CONTACT! THEY FOUND US!” North’s shout echoed, slicing through the chaos like a whip.

The upper catwalks erupted with movement—guards flooded in, their armor glinting under the harsh lights, heavy weapons raised and ready. CyberLife security, cold and merciless, advancing with ruthless efficiency.

Gunfire erupted in a jagged staccato down the west hallway. Your instincts kicked in, and you dove behind a stack of battered crates, dragging the wounded deviant out of the direct line of fire. The sharp crack of bullets smashing wood shattered the silence inches from your head, splinters flying like deadly confetti.

But the guards were already too close. North and Josh were desperately holding the line, their bodies pressed tight against the cold metal walls, shields raised as they tried to protect the newly freed androids stumbling towards safety.

“Get the remaining out! I’ll buy you some time!” you called, voice steady despite the chaos roaring in your ears.

Markus’s voice burst over the comms, clipped and urgent: “FALL BACK FALL BACK- NOW.”

North took point, spraying controlled bursts of fire that scattered the advancing guards, buying precious seconds. Simon scrambled, dragging two freed androids behind cover, their faces pale but determined.

Fingers tightening around your sidearm, you began firing—shot after shot, each one precise, controlled, lethal. Every bullet was a promise: no more loss.

More gunfire rang out as the team scrambled for cover.

You moved with practiced ease, weaving through crates and beams, ducking, dodging, adrenaline sharpening every sense. The acrid smell of smoke and blood filled your nostrils, and the metallic taste of fear coated your tongue.

The sound hit you before the pain did.

A searing explosion ripped through your side, just under the ribs. Your breath caught as the world twisted, colors bleeding and warping like a broken holo-projection.

Pain bloomed hot and white-hot, spreading like wildfire. You stumbled, clutching your side, blood slick and warm between your fingers. Your shirt soaked through, sticky and heavy.

Despite the pain, you fought to stay upright, covering the retreat with rapid bursts of fire, your vision blurring at the edges.

You collapsed behind a steel support beam, your vision flickering like a damaged camera lens—shifting between clarity and darkness.

The firefight was a maelstrom. Metal clashed against metal, shouts and alarms blending into a chaotic roar.

All you could hear was the screaming alarm, the thundering of your heart, and Markus’s voice—urgent, fractured—calling your name.

The gunfire ceased abruptly, replaced by heavy boots pounding closer and closer.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, please,” came a voice calm but desperate.

You tried to respond but the words wouldn’t come. Strong arms—Simon’s, you guessed, grabbed you, dragging you through the tunnel as the world spun and dissolved into black.

—

The hum of Jericho’s old med-bay filled the silence like a heartbeat. Quiet, mechanical, but steady.

An old machinery bay converted hastily into a medical ward, lined with salvaged equipment, flickering monitors, and curtains strung from rusted steel rails. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and oil.

Dim light pooled softly from a single overhead bulb, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.

You lay motionless on the narrow medical cot, bandaged and groggy, every breath sending hot fire through your ribs.

Pain pulsed relentlessly, sharp and unforgiving, but beneath it, a slow, steady pulse of something else. Relief.

Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to focus. Across the cot, the figure beside you came into view—Markus.

He was slumped in a chair, shoulders heavy with exhaustion and weight no longer carried on armor alone.

He looked wrecked. Not broken, but raw. His face held the hard lines of leadership carved deeper by fear and loss.

Your voice came out hoarse, a fragile whisper. “Hey.”

At the sound, Markus jolted, dropping to his knees beside you. His hand hovered uncertainly over yours before he finally laced his fingers through yours—gentle, trembling.

He stayed still for a moment before speaking, voice low and tight with a knot of emotions.

“I told you to fall back.”

“You disobeyed me.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

“Did they get out?” Panic surged inside you. The memories—the fire, the chaos—returned in waves. “Did they make it? Are they safe?”

Markus pressed a steadying hand to your shoulder, his touch firm but careful. “Calm down. Everyone’s safe. They’re helping the newcomers.”

You searched his eyes for truth, swallowing back the fear, and slowly laid back, wincing as the pain flared.

His jaw clenched, tension cracking through his voice. “You almost died.”

“You promised you’d stay back,” he said, anger and panic bleeding into one. “You said you’d play support.”

“I did!” you shot back, voice rough but steady. “But everything went to hell, and I made a call.”

You met his gaze—shaken, more by the fear in his voice than by your wound.

“I knew the risks,” you said quietly. “This was my choice.”

A heavy silence fell.

Markus stayed quiet, thinking, like a caged predator holding back a storm.

“I’ve spent every moment in Jericho trying to lead,” he said, voice brittle. “Trying to stay strong. To make the right calls. And when I send androids into danger, I know the risks. But you… you’re not built for war.”

“You’re not built to bleed for this cause.”

His voice cracked, raw with something deeper than fear.

“You’re human…You can’t just get patched up with parts.”

“You bleed. You break. You die.”

You said nothing—just watched him, the truth of his words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ve seen people fall,” he confessed, voice breaking. “Felt androids deactivate in my arms. Watched the light leave their eyes. But nothing prepared me for what it felt like when I saw you bleeding.”

“I thought—I thought you were gone.”

He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a near whisper.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Markus…”

The room went silent, the weight of those words hanging in the air, thick and unyielding.

You reached for his hand, fingers trembling. He took it immediately, squeezing it gently, as if you might disappear without his touch.

And then, his voice cracked—raw, exposed:

“I told myself I let you in because you were useful,” he confessed softly. “Because you had skills we needed. Because you cared about our cause.”

“But that wasn’t the whole truth.”

He looked at you fully now, no armor, no leadership mask. Just grief, yearning, and something dangerously close to devotion.

“Your humanity…” he said, voice fragile.

“It scares me. The way you bleed. The way you feel pain.”

“It’s so easy to lose you.”

“I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

He looked at you as if speaking the words physically hurt.

“I love you.”

You inhaled sharply, heart pounding.

“I know I’m not… human. But I feel it—Every time I see you.”

“Every time you speak, laugh, every time you put yourself in harm’s way because you believe in us—I love you.”

His head shook, as if hating himself for saying it, but he couldn’t stop.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to protect me from everything. I made my choice…I knew what I was getting into.”

“I’m not sorry,” you added, voice steady but raw.

“Not for fighting. Not for choosing you. These people.”

“You think I don’t know how easily I could die?” Tightening your hand in his looking at him with glossy eyes.

“I do..,Every day,but I’d rather live right than live safe.”

He took in every word like he depended on it. Slowly he shook his head in disbelief “I’m still terrified,” he whispered.

“Then we can be terrified together.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

For a long, aching moment, you stayed like that—fingers tangled in his, pain ebbing beneath the weight of everything left unsaid.

Markus knelt beside you, forehead resting lightly against your fingers.

When he looked up, eyes locked on yours, you both knew what hung in the air.

Not duty. Not gratitude.

Something else.

Your breath came shallow as he leaned closer, fingers twitching near your cheek.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You shook your head—slow, deliberate.

“I don’t want you to.”

Markus’s expression faltered, like the weight of your words cracked something inside him wide open.

And then he kissed you.

Soft at first—like a promise. Then deeper. Fierce. Devastated. Real.

The kind of kiss that meant everything might burn tomorrow, but for tonight, this was real

The fear he carried when you fell. The rage he didn’t let show. The admiration he’d masked as leadership. The ache he’d swallowed every time you smiled at someone else. It poured into the way his lips pressed against yours. Gently at first, reverent, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. But when you tangled your fingers in his jacket and pulled him closer, the restraint broke.

He deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the side of your face like you might dissolve if he wasn’t careful. His synthetic skin was cool, but his touch ignited something in you—steady and consuming.

You broke the kiss only when the pain in your side became impossible to ignore. You gasped, wincing, but still smiling, half-drunk on adrenaline and emotion.

Markus pulled back immediately, worried. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Just... forgot I’d been shot. That’s all.”

He chuckled, soft and shaken, and pressed his forehead to yours again.

“We probably shouldn’t be making out in a field hospital,” you whispered.

“We’re technically on a cargo ship,” he murmured.

“That makes it worse.”

“I disagree.”

You laughed, a tired real sound,and leaned your head back against the pillow. Markus stayed beside you, his hand wrapped firmly in yours.

You pulled back, forehead resting against yours. “If we burn, we burn together.”

He shook his head smiling in amusement. “And if we rise?”

Your voice was steady now. “We rise side by side.”

[norringtondeservestheworld]

"I won't kill one of our own."

[pastelghoul]

Stake-Out - Connor x Reader

Imagine you’re wounded on a mission with Connor but you insist you’re fine, requested by Anonymous

This case had been dragging on for three months almost. Normally you were quick about wrapping up your cases. This one had sent you running around in circles, however.

Tired and irritated, you were running on pure caffeine at this point. Gone was your usually chirpy, witty attitude, replaced with a demeanour that could rival Hank’s.

You’d spent these last few months investigating a string of disappearances, all linked to one person. Connor had helped you track the suspect down to this location - an abandoned warehouse, shattered windows and graffiti littering the side of the brick building.

“According to the suspect’s supposed routine, he should have left an estimated 15 minutes ago.” Connor’s voice caused you to shift your gaze from the building to the android sat beside you, a tired, slightly irritated expression plastered on your face.

Connor remained blissfully unaware of your aggravation. Bless his little android thirium pump.

“Are you sure-“ Connor began, only to be abruptly cut off by your exasperated groan. The android tilted his head slightly at you, his led flashing a brilliant yellow.

“Connor. This is probably our last lead; We’ve been at this for almost three months. We won’t have another chance like this, I am not throwing away my shot at closing this case.” Your knuckles were almost white, you were gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

“I understand. However, this is not a productive use of our time. We could-“ Yet again, you cut Connor off, your finger pressed to his lips in an effort to silence him.

“Quiet! That’s our guy!” You whisper-yelled, hand reaching for the door as the other hovered above your holster. Connor paused, analysing the suspect before confirming, giving you the go-ahead to follow.

The shadowy figure had noticed you though, quickly making a break down a narrow alleyway. You shot after them, pulling your gun out and grasping it firmly in your grip as you followed the suspect.

“Detroit Police! Freeze! Freeze or I’ll shoot!” You shouted, footsteps pounding against the loose gravel road, puddles splashing muddied-water up your pants.

You hadn’t checked to see if Connor was behind you, you were too engrossed with catching the strange figure to worry about your partner.

A sudden crashing of metal followed by a loud thump found Connor having leapt off one of the fire escapes from above, landing squarely on the suspect and pinning them to the floor. How the hell did he even get up there?

Connor patted the suspect down, feeling for any signs of it being a deviant android.

“Android?” You asked.

“Positive.” Connor said, tasting the blue blood leaking from the side of the suspect’s head. “You are under arrest, you have the right to remain silent, resisting will force me to use excessive measures.”

The android grunted as Connor tugged his arms tightly behind his back, however a flash of brown knocked Connor to the side before he could handcuff the deviant.

“Connor!” You shouted, eyes wide as you realised there was a second android that had been hiding nearby, now helping its accomplice to their feet. “Stay where you are or I’ll shoot!”

“___, don’t!” Connor shouted, noticing something that had slipped past your perception yet it was too late, a loud bang rang out through the quiet darkness.

A sharp pain erupted in your side, a white hot burning sensation spreading across your rib. You looked down to your side as blood leaked down your shirt, turning the dark blue blouse a deep purple.

You looked to Connor, then towards the deviants.

“Connor, grab them!” You shouted, pushing through the pain as you rushed towards them, stumbling halfway as you caught yourself against a wall. Connor leapt towards you, helping to hold you up.

“___, you’re wounded. You need to-“

“No! I’m fine Connor, really. It’s just a flesh wound.” You grunted, pushing yourself up with all the remaining strength you had and pure stubbornness.

“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding heavily. At least let me look at it.” Connor pressed, a look of concern clear on his expression as his led glowed yellow.

“I said no, Connor! I’m fine, seriously. Look, they’re getting away!” You cried after the culprits, now sprinting down the alleyway.

“___, I don’t care about them right now; There will always be another chance to catch them. You are my main concern now. Sit down and let me look at you, please.” The android pleaded, his strong arms still holding you up.

“Connor, no…” you trailed off as Connor caught you in his arms before you hit the ground, enveloping you in a cloud of warmth and safety. His LED flashed a ring of crimson, watching the deviants make an escape. They weren’t important at the moment - keeping you alive was his mission now.

“Quiet, you need your energy.” Connor said as he analysed the wound. You watched as Connor removed his jacket, ripping a piece of fabric from his shirt to apply to your gunshot. “Can you hold this?” He asked, pressing the cloth tightly against the wound.

Wincing, you nodded as you applied as much pressure as you could. Connor scooped you up and made his way to the car, setting you down carefully in the passenger seat.

Despite his seemingly unbothered state, Connor was panicking inside; The yellow led spinning circles on his forehead told you as much. His knuckles gripped white against the steering wheel as he sped towards the hospital.

What if she doesn’t make it? He thought, glancing over at your half-conscious state. Reaching over he removed your hand, letting it fall weakly to your side as he replaced the pressure with his own hand.

One hand still on the wheel, he pulled into the hospital drop off station. Looking back at you, he raised a brow upon realising your hand was now resting on his, your thumb rubbing circles along his wrist.

Connor wasted no time in scooping you up and rushing into the bustling hospital, handing you over to the android nurses who wheeled you off for emergency surgery.

Please be alright…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist <3

[scapegh0st]

One-Way Mirror (Gavin Reed x Reader)

Summary: Both Gavin and Reader suck at feelings Content: NSFW 18+, gn!Reader, smut, angst, hurt/no comfort, fingerfucking, dirty talk, friends with benefits, unresolved feelings, unrequited love, basically just angsty smut Word Count: 1.6k read on ao3

You love him.

Or at least you think you do.

Sure, Gavin Reed is the resident asshole of the Detroit Police Department and he can be hard to swallow—both figuratively and literally—but he's something more to you. He's an enigma that you want to—need to—figure out.

You glance up at him from your kneeling position, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other between your legs. His head is thrown back and his bottom lip is between his teeth. You think he’s pretty like this, with his eyes shut and that screwed-up look of pleasure on his face.

When he’s like this, he doesn’t notice you staring—doesn’t make some dickish comment like “take a picture, it’ll last longer.” It’s one of the few times he’s actually quiet—besides the soft muffled sounds coming from his mouth. 

You don’t think he loves you back. You really just think that he’s incapable of love, incapable of being more than this.

He lets you see him like this because you understand him—because you get him. He can call you as many names as he likes and you always shoot them back— dickwad, douchebag, asshole. He likes that about you, you think—that you can match his energy.

Your lips wrap around the head, tongue swirling around like you have to taste every inch of him. He lets out a groan—if he could sink right through the mattress, you think he would. He’s melting and you know that you’re the heat that molds him.

“Fuck… ” he mutters, one of his hands running through his hair and the other gripping your head. He doesn’t push you—he knows better—but he knows you like when he grips your hair. You hum around him before taking him deeper into your mouth.

He’s like water in your hands, slipping through despite how much you try to cup them and keep him there. He’s always two steps away even when he’s right here.

He pulls you off of him, his eyes open and he looks down at you. He’s panting and the wrinkle between his brows deepens. “I don’t wanna finish like this,” he says, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “Come on, get up here.”

It’s not a demand or an order like he usually gives you, it’s something more blurred—his voice is gentle, not full of spite and a lack of sleep. He’s asking you, letting you deny him even though he needs this. You need this.

You push yourself off the ground and join him on the bed. He’s on top of you in seconds, yanking your pants down your legs–your belt makes a clinking sound when they hit the floor.

There’s this glint in his eyes that you only see when he’s hovering over you. You know it’s probably nothing– just a trick your mind is playing on you–but you swear it means something, that this is what he can give you. It’s not quite love, but it’s enough. It has to be enough.

One of his fingers fills you, drawing a sharp exhale from your lungs. He adds another and your hand clasps over your mouth, drowning the sounds into your palm. He grins that cocky grin that would usually piss you off in any other circumstance—but he’s proud of himself and you're okay with letting him have this. You’d let him tear you apart if he asked.

“Yeah? You like that?” He questions, his own type of pillow talk. “I don’t even have to do this—you’re always ready for me like the good whore you are.”

You should feel insulted—you don’t. Instead, you respond with a muffled moan and a slight head nod. He seems to like that answer as he adds a third finger. 

Your free hand grips the sheets and you feel like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. If heaven was real, you were sure this was it.

“Nobody else makes you feel this good, do they?”

No, they don’t. Nobody else makes you feel like they’re holding your head underwater and that you trust them enough to pull you up for air when you need it. Like sleep to the freezing. Something so good but so wrong.

He pulls out his fingers and you whine, eyes snapping open to narrow in frustration at him. He just laughs that god-awful laugh that you love despite how much it grates your ears.

“What? Is something wrong?” You can hear the smirk in his voice—he’s so smug and you want to fucking throttle him.

You open your mouth to fire back but you’re swiftly shut up by his cock filling you. He’s never gentle when he’s fucking you—it’s hard and it’s fast and it pulls you apart. You’re not sure you ever want him to fuck you any differently.

Your eyes find his face as his hips piston into you, grunts escaping his throat. He’s not looking at you— he never does. You’re always watching him and he’s never seeing you. 

His eyes are closed and you wonder if he’s imagining someone else. Someone more pliable to what he wants. You’re made of stone—he can chip away but he never can mold you into something easier to hold. You’ll always have sharp edges—he grabs you like he doesn’t care if he slices his hand.

You close your own eyes, trying to think of someone else. An old hookup. Your last Tinder date. That new android detective, Connor—you know Gavin would hate the thought and you can’t do that to him, not even subconsciously.

Gavin’s presence in your head is overbearing. Every choice you make somehow leads back to him, from your choice of clothing to the life-or-death decisions you’re forced to make each day.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Gavin grabs one of your hands and interlaces your fingers. It’s so… intimate —you don’t know what to think. His hand in yours makes this real—at least to you. It tells you that he’s aware of you for once, that he’s not just fucking a hole— he’s fucking you and he’s conscious of it.

He slams into you again, his head coming down to the crook of your neck. You can feel his breath against your skin, soft pants as he thrusts in and out. “Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, the fingers of his other hand digging into your hip. “You’re so good for me.”

You want it to mean more than it does to him. You could be good for him, you think, you keep him grounded yet you share the same misery—the same reliance on caffeine and these exchanges of endorphins. Maybe you could make him happy, outside of the serotonin he receives when he’s filled you. You’d dote on him; dress up for him, make him a lunch for work, and have coffee ready for him in the morning. It’s a pipe dream and you know it.

“You’re so fucking… fuck… you’re so tight,” the words stumble from his lips as they usually do—he’s close. 

Your free hand reaches down to play with yourself, to bring yourself right to the edge with him. If he asked you to jump, you’d ask how high.

His mouth presses against your neck, his teeth hovering over your carotid. He holds your life in his mouth and you trust him with it despite all the signs warning against it. He’s fire and you’re gasoline.

“I’m gonna–” his hips start to stutter. “Fuck.”

You tumble over the edge with him, legs quaking where they wrap around his waist. He collapses onto you, knocking the air from your lungs—it’s suffocating and you love it.

He lets go of your hand and pushes himself up, sliding out of you with ease. He sits back on his knees, hands on his thighs as he catches his breath. He raises a hand to drag over his face, wiping away the sweat. There’s a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s not really here with you. You wish he was.

His eyes shift to the wall to his right. He never looks at you straight when he’s done—you wonder if he regrets it.

You wish he’d just lay down beside you and pull you close. That he’d kiss your head and promise you things he’s not sure he should. He won’t and you’ve accepted that. This is what he can give you and you’re fine with that. You can savor him better like this—if he gave into you, you’re sure you’d eat him whole.

He slides his legs out from underneath himself, one of them resting on its side on the bed and the other pulled to his chest. His arm rests on his knee, his knuckles pressed against the side of his face. You’d paint him like this if you knew how.

“Well,” his eyes flicking in your direction but focusing on anything that isn’t you. “I’m gonna shower.”

He gets up and heads towards his connected bathroom. You wanna reach out and stop him. You wanna ask why he won’t look at you–why he can’t look at you. He acts like you’re the sun—he orbits around you without ever staring at you too long. You might burn him if he does.

“Gav,” you croak out, the first word you’ve said since you've entered his apartment. 

He looks at you like you’re the weight on his shoulders—familiar but unwelcome. Or maybe he’s the weight on yours. You aren’t sure.

“‘The fuck you want?” he asks. You know he doesn’t mean for it to come out so rotten—that’s just the way he talks and he knows you understand. But it hurts you this once.

You love him. 

You want to tell him—it’s on the tip of your tongue like a word you can’t quite find.

“Don’t slip, dumbass,” you answer with a cheshire grin—it’s forced and you know that he knows.

 It’s better that you don’t .