#RK800 sixty x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

honey-beann · 2 years ago

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rk boys (Nines, Connor, Sixty) x Reader Smut

Word count: 4,244

It was a beautiful morning, especially for Detroit, and Connor was feeling almost too content, watching the birds fly past the window above the kitchen sink as he sat comfortably at the breakfast bar.

The new house was perfect, notably different from the apartments he had lived in prior, and he found himself feeling so at home within it that he was filled with a joy he had only experienced once before, in an entirely different situation.

He allowed his mind to drift back to that night, your pretty dress, your ecstatic grin, and the calm waters lapping gently against concrete and wood sticking out clearly in his mind, even in memory alone.

Unbeknownst to the outside world, he examined his calendar internally, his LED briefly blinking yellow before calming back down to blue almost immediately as he checked just how long it had been since that wonderful afternoon.

He startled a bit (though he hoped only internally), at the realization that it had already been two months, and made a mental note to pick up some flowers to commemorate the event.

He had only just begun considering what type of flowers, when he heard his name get called from the speakers of the laptop that sat on the countertop in front of him.

"Do you have anything to add, Connor?"

Connor fixed his eyes on the screen and smiled politely at the speaker as well as the many college students who sat uncomfortably in their cramped desk seats a few hundred miles away at NYU, where he, Markus, Kara, North, and Simon were currently giving a lecture over video call.

"I'm sorry, I must have gotten lost in thought for a second, what was the question?"

Connor could see North cast the section of the screen he was taking up on her end a brief glare, but Kara, who had been the one to ask for his input in the first place, just smiled easily and waved his apology off.

"No problem. It was just about android-human romantic relationships and how the laws surrounding them are believed to change in the next few years. Markus mentioned his plans to have marriage legalized, and North spoke on the amount of negativity that these relationships face outside of the legal system, but I thought you might be able to provide some extra insight, if you felt comfortable."

Connor gave a slight nod, his smile returning to his face as he turned his attention back towards the large crowd of students, who, despite having been required to attend for credit, all seemed rather invested, though that was hardly any surprise given the speakers present.

Ever since the revolution, Connor and Markus in particular had gained a significant deal of notoriety due to both the rolls that they played, and the romantic relationships they had.

Markus had now been in his relationship with another android for a few years now, and Connor had been in his with a human for around the same amount of time, and people found that to be immensely interesting.

Here was Connor, the deviant hunter, a former prototype android designed for detective work, dating a human as if that were the most natural thing he could possibly do, and honestly, the media ate that up.

There were photos of you in the tabloids, articles about you posted online, and you were both criticized and adored by androids and humans alike for your relationship with Connor, even after all these years.

Of course, there were many other juicy aspects of your romantic life that the media loved to fixate on, but Connor hardly thought those were worth bringing up now, unless he wanted to complicate things extensively.

So instead, he chose to give the simplest answer he could without making it seem as if he were against the idea of speaking on his personal relationship (because he most certainly was not, in fact, he thoroughly enjoyed talking about you whenever an opportunity presented itself).

"Well, in my experience, android-human relationships are very similar to those shared between only humans and only androids. There are a lot of stereotypes, like that android lovers are superior, or that human partners can connect easier, but truthfully, I think most of these concepts are contrived by those who don't accept these relationships as legitimate and seek to weaken them because of that."

Just as he finished up his statement, a student raised their hand, and Kara, as the moderator, was more than happy to call upon them.

"Yes, you in the front row?"

The girl seemed nervous as she spoke up, but even so, Connor was able to make out her question easily.

"So if these stereotypes that Connor mentioned can be eliminated or lessened to a certain degree, can we anticipate the legalization of android-human marriage to occur shortly thereafter?"

Markus was quick to respond,

"Well, the legal system doesn't necessarily depend on these stereotypes being less prevalent, but it would definitely help our cause. That being said, I believe it won't be long now until android-human marriage is legalized, and that seems to be the consensus among many in the U.S. There has been a significant increase in the number of android-human betrothals within the past year, and I think that points to a general agreement that non-regulated marriages will definitely be legalized in the near future, it just depends on how long it takes for the government to recognize that from a legal standpoint."

Connor nodded in agreement,

"The data trends towards a general air of acceptance at the idea of legalizing these marriages. I myself proposed to my fiancee just two months ago with the expectation that in a slightly lengthened wedding planning time frame, the legalization process will be completed."

Soft murmurs echoed out among the crowd at this, as very few people were aware of your engagement (though the media had spoken frequently on the sudden addition of a rather expensive looking ring to your every day outfits).

Connor fought back a slight grin of amusement at the surprise that his words had caused, choosing instead to turn his attention towards the class's professor as the older man asked a question about android unions in the workplace, something that was much more in Simon's wheelhouse than Connor's.

He listened intently as his friend and colleague spoke in depth on the issue,

So intently in fact, that he neglected to notice the bedroom door opening until it was too late for him to do anything about it.

Out you walked, donning only an oversized dress shirt, slippers, and underwear, your hair mussed up, and your expression still rather drowsy as you made your way across the living room and into the bathroom, fully in frame of the camera you were all too unaware of for the majority of your trek.

Connor bit back a chuckle, his cheeks tinted a slight blue color as he admired via his screen how lovely you looked in your pajamas despite your immense lack of effort.

Of course though, he wasn't the only one to notice, and when you walked back through towards your bedroom after using the bathroom, there was a strong silence present from both the speakers as well as the audience, all of whom were rather distracted by the intrusion. Finally, clearly hoping to move on for the sake of time, the professor cleared his throat and spoke up through the newly awkward atmosphere.

"Excuse me, Mr. Anderson, but I believe there is someone in the backgrou-"

He cut himself off suddenly when an arm reached over from just out of frame and pulled you in toward it, shock clearly written across your face as you were yanked straight from view, yelping at the unexpected tug.

"Er, is everything alright?"

The professor spoke quietly now, his brow furrowed in confusion as Connor offered him a polite smile and nod,

"All is well, I believe my partner simply forgot about our professional arrangement this morning and neglected to use the other bathroom upon waking up."

"But who was-"

"As for the individual that removed her from the camera's view, I'm unsure if that was the rk800 or rk900, but I can assure you that our fiancee is entirely safe."

The crowd remained silent for a few moments as a great deal of the students took in what was for them, new information.

Of course, some larger fans and smart speculators had been able to piece together the relationship you shared with Sixty and Nines, but most people chose to ignore the complicated question of your romantic life beyond you and Connor.

After all, in the eyes of the media, Connor was a big sweetheart, while you were his equally innocent and adorable life partner, and how could they ever push that image out if they speculated that you were also engaged to both the rk800 model that had tried to kill Connor and Hank prior to deviation, and the rk900 model who had been strictly designed for military use when it came to hunting down deviants?

The short answer was that they couldn't, and as a result, the already rarely posted images of you and either of your partners who weren't Connor struggled to gain much traction, meaning that not many people believed, or even knew the rumor about your romantic relationship with all three men.

Except recently, you'd all sat down and had a conversation about this topic, which had ended with one strict viewpoint shared by all four of you:

Your relationship was not a secret, nor was it something to be ashamed of, and there would be no more comments leaving that up for interpretation.

The silence continued for multiple additional seconds beyond what Connor himself would consider awkward, until a student loudly cleared their own throat before slowly raising their hand, to which Kara responded by calling upon them in a manner that was almost hesitant.

"So uh, have android related marriage benefits been considered yet?"

North was quick to jump on answering that question, but even still, Connor couldn't help but feel his attention drift towards the situation just outside the range of his camera.

He couldn't quite make you out without making it obvious that he was looking in your direction, but he could clearly see Sixty's back as he caged you in against the wall, arms on either side of you while he leaned down to capture your lips in his in a manner that was no doubt ravenous.

He and Nines had both been out of town until just before Connor had began setting up for his prior arrangements earlier that morning, and if the android had meant what he'd said over the phone the night before last, you were likely in for one hell of a two month engagement celebration.

Connor attempted to turn his attention back towards the lecture, ignoring the growing pressure between his legs as he turned up the volume slightly, eyes fixated almost too intently on the screen.

Suddenly though, he was forced to hold back a wince as you stumbled back into the view of the audience, cheeks pink, lips bruised, and hair even messier than before as you struggled to avoid Sixty's attempts at grabbing you again with a laugh that was distant to the mic, but sharp in Connor's ears, igniting a spark of adoration in him at the sound.

He watched via the screen in front of him as you backed further into clear view with Sixty following confidently, a predatory grin at his lips that immediately let Connor know that the android couldn't care less whether or not those on the video call saw him.

Now more than a little bit enthralled by the chase as well as the sparkle of excitement he could see in your eyes, Connor kept his gaze trained on the scene playing out on the screen, a slight smirk fighting to show itself as he watched you start to lose your balance after being forced to raise a leg to stop your feral fiance from grabbing at it.

You shrieked as you fell back, catching yourself on your palms as you tried desperately to scoot away from Sixty's grip, though your efforts proved futile when he wrapped a nimble hand around one of your ankles, tugging you towards him and eventually just out of frame once more.

Soon afterward Connor heard the familiar sound of your feigned pleas for freedom being muffled against Sixty's hungry lips as they claimed your own for the second time that morning.

It proved to be very distracting.

Though, not nearly as distracting as you backing your way into frame once again moments later, palms flat against the floor behind you as you kicked playfully at Sixty, still doing your best to win the game of chase he'd started despite your obvious enjoyment.

You were fighting a grin as you continued to move backward, using your hands as leverage to pull yourself along faster even as Sixty followed on foot, which gave him a very clear advantage.

Repressing the urge to calculate how long on average Sixty tended to play with you before choosing to halt his typically lengthy games of cat and mouse, Connor shifted his gaze back towards the audience, hoping that the scene in the background wasn't the reason their gaze was so affixed to the projector screen in front of them.

Unfortunately though, the android's attempt at placing his regard on something that wasn't his fiancee's rather amusing struggle was squashed by the notable visual of a new figure entering the frame.

This definitely didn't help his cause, and he was almost certain that the crowd couldn't have possibly gone without noticing it either, as Nines made for an incredibly imposing figure under any and all circumstances.

That being said, you had clearly gotten very comfortable with his presence throughout the years, because you didn't even notice that he was there until you'd accidentally backed into his legs.

And by then, it was far too late.

Connor watched, artificial breathing paused as you slowly looked up to see Nines standing behind you, eyes slightly widened as you took in the sight of him. The android cast a brief glance over to the video call that his predecessor was on before shifting his gaze toward Sixty, who had his hands in his pockets as he smirked down at your helpless position between him and the rk900.

You were laying with your back pressed against Nines' body, one leg extended outward while the other was bent at the knee, as if you had been mid struggle when you'd finally stopped.

You let out a tiny squeak of fear, one that Connor barely managed to make out above the sound of North's voice, as without warning, Sixty knelt down to run a hand slowly up your leg before wrapping it loosely around your calf, his gaze hungry in a way that Connor was certain you were all too familiar with.

Nines, on the other hand, crouched behind you, his torso unyielding against your back as he ran a hand up from your straightened leg to your throat, where it briefly curled and squeezed before loosening, though it notably did not move away as he lowered his mouth to your ear.

Connor attempted to make out what he was saying, but in the end, it was your reaction that held his attention more than anything else.

He watched your muscles tense and your throat bob as you leaned into Nines' touch, nodding softly as the android in question smirked against your neck before he slowly stood, guiding you up with him and walking you backwards and out of frame once more, Sixty following eagerly.

There was a distant clamor that Connor was almost certain came from the counter of the bathroom sink, and then suddenly, his LED was flashing yellow with an incoming call from a familiar rk800 model android.

Connor swallowed thickly, briefly ensuring that the attention of those participating in the lecture wasn't on him before he answered hesitantly, the sound of your muffled whimpers instantly filling his ears and forcing him to hold back a shiver as he shifted in his seat, suddenly very uncomfortable thanks to the increasing strain within his pants.

"Shit."

He murmured under his breath, inhaling sharply as Sixty chuckled in response, a teasing lilt to his tone as he spoke,

"You hear that pretty girl? Connors decided to say hello in spite of his little arrangement, isn't that sweet?"

Connor tensed at the sound of you gasping on the other end of the line, a keening whine slipping past your lips at Sixty's taunting words, which he continued to utilize mercilessly.

"What was that, Princess?"

He pressed,

"I don't think he can hear you."

From Sixty's end, Connor was able to make out an oh so familiar squelching sound followed by a sharp cry that he knew for a fact belonged to you, your head falling back to what he imagined was the mirror behind you with a dull thud.

Connor flinched slightly at the sound, but assuaged his own worries with the knowledge that neither Nines nor Sixty would ever allow you to get hurt in their presence.

And clearly the injury wasn't anything severe, because mere moments afterward, Nines spoke up,

"Why don't you tell Connor how good it feels, hmm? We don't want him to feel excluded sitting all alone out there."

You whimpered at Nines' cruel tone, but opened your mouth to speak regardless, your breaths so hurried that Connor could hear them easily.

"C-Con..."

You whined out, and the sound of his name leaving your lips immediately had the android in question holding back a groan, his LED flickering briefly as he sent Sixty a message.

After doing this, Connor waited patiently, until finally, the receiving android let out an audible chuckle, humming softly as he spoke,

"Well isn't this interesting, Connor here is asking me to narrate your little... Predicament for him."

Sixty paused for a moment, allowing his predecessor to better make out your soft pleas before he continued, voice full of a mocking amusement that he had mastered the use of ages ago.

"Does that sound nice, Sweetheart? You want me to tell him how hot you look all spread out for Nines' fingers? How fucked out your expression is when we haven't even taken you properly yet?"

There was a brief silence for a moment or two, but Connor was quick to deduce that you must have nodded, because Sixty gave a short chuckle before he spoke up again,

"That's right, Baby, you look so fucking pretty when you take what we give you. Does it feel nice?"

You gave a shrill cry of bliss in response, and the next time that Sixty spoke, it was to Connor directly, his voice barely above a growl,

"Fuck, you really should see her, I don't know if she's ever been this wet before."

The loud squelching sounds in the background only served to cement Sixty's statement as truthful, and Connor had to mute himself so no one would hear the heady groan that was pulled from deep within him as a result.

"And she's desperate too, already begged Nines to fuck her before you could even answer the phone."

Connor heard his successor chuckle softly in the background before the squelching increased in intensity, followed shortly thereafter by your rushed pleas for more, which fell from your lips like a waterfall.

Connor then heard Nines give a sigh that was a bit too close to a growl for him to ignore, before suddenly, the squelching stopped entirely, replaced immediately afterward by the sounds of zippers being tugged down and clothing hitting the floor.

To Connor's surprise though, the next thing he heard wasn't some sharp cry or plea from you, but rather Nines' harsh tone as he spoke up for the second time that morning,

"Since you just can't seem keep your mouth shut on your own, you don't mind if Sixty helps you, do you, Sweetling?"

You whimpered shakily, but spoke up nonetheless, no doubt knowing the punishment that awaited if you didn't,

"N-no sir."

You whispered out, and Connor could all but hear Nines grin as he hummed softly before finally replying,

"Good girl."

And the next thing that Connor heard was a loud curse from Sixty, who let out a strained laugh immediately afterward, as if surprised by his own exclamation.

"That's it, Princess, open that pretty mouth just a little more for me,"

And a second later, he groaned heavily again, hissing through his teeth before he spoke up,

"Shit, that's it, Baby, just like that."

Connor held back a moan as he imagined how desperate you must have looked in that moment, spread out for Nines with Sixty's dick stuffed down your throat as you took them both eagerly,

It was almost enough to make him whimper at the thought alone, suddenly all too ready to end this video call once and for all.

Distantly, he could make out a new voice asking a question, but all that he could do was pray that it wasn't for him, because there was no way he could muster up the strength to say anything coherent knowing that his beautiful fiancee was being absolutely ravaged in the next room over.

Connor tensed slightly at the sound of your muffled groans, stifled by Sixty's length as you took everything that both he and Nines gave you, which was apparently about to be increased according to the latter individual.

"Did you want me to fuck you, Little Dove? Is that what you were begging for so shamelessly?"

Connor inhaled sharpy at the sound of your replying whines despite the rather large obstacle that was keeping you from speaking properly, which, judging by the noises that Sixty was making, likely wouldn't be an obstacle for very much longer.

The android in question was growling out your name, fucking your mouth with so much force that you would occasionally gag around his thickness, which only served to bring him closer and closer to orgasm.

"C'mon Baby, take me, just a little more and I'll come right down that pretty little throat of yours."

You whimpered weakly around Sixty's cock, and something about that sound must have struck the android as particularly ruinous, because mere moments afterward he was fulfilling his previous promise, hand in your hair as he rode out his orgasm with a harsh groan of pure bliss.

Connor, recognizing the familiar sounds of Sixty reaching his end, was more than a little bit eager to hear what would come next, and was not let down by what followed, because immediately after Sixty had backed away and leaned against the wall to get a better look at your fucked out expression, Nines took the opportunity to push into you, having removed anything that might get in the way of that a long time ago

You gasped immediately at the unexpected fullness that followed, and Connor could hardly restrain himself as Nines began thrusting in and out of you, hands on your ass as he set an absolutely brutal pace right from the get go.

"N-Nines!"

You cried out loud enough that Connor could hear you both through the call and through the bathroom door, making him immensely relieved to note that he was still muted, because he really wasn't sure how he could ever explain away the sound of his future wife getting fucked by her two other partners in the next room.

Nines chuckled darkly at your exclamation, and unbeknownst to Connor, pressed his thumb against your clit as he continued to take you fast and rough, quickly building you up to your orgasm with practiced skill, all while pushing himself straight to the edge as well.

"Fuck"

He hissed out between clenched teeth, hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises as he drove into you, savoring every little sound you made for him as he did so.

And then, he said something that nearly made Connor snap.

"Do you want me to come inside of you, little one? Fill you up the way that Connor always begs to? Would you like to feel it drip out of your aching cunt and down your thighs for hours to come?"

His voice was like gravel as he spoke, strained and broken up by the occasional grunt or curse, but even still, it provided Nines with the reaction he so desired.

You gave a sharp cry upon hearing those words leave his mouth, and immediately, Connor knew that you were coming, voice haggard and body quaking as Nines dragged your orgasm out of you ruthlessly, until finally, he too came with a groan, filling you with his artificial seed just as he'd promised he would.

And that imagined visual, of you dripping with Nines' come after he had said such filthy things to you, things that Connor had long since made clear he desired, had him sending Markus a brief message about some contrived emergency before he all but slammed his laptop shut, stalking towards the bathroom with a clear purpose in mind.

This was indeed going to be a very long 2 month engagement celebration for you, and Connor would make sure of that far beyond anything you'd ever experienced before.

masterlist

AO3

#dbh connor x reader #dbh nines x reader #dbh sixty x reader #dbh x reader #dbh x reader smut #dbh connor x reader smut #dbh nines x reader smut #dbh sixty x reader smut #dbh smut #c: nines #c: connor #c: sixty #rk900 x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh rk bros x reader smut

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vee-beeee · 1 year ago

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Chicken Noodle Soup

HELLOO

I got a super nice request from Ant1SocialVapor3on over on ao3!

"Basically request is, Y/N wakes up sick one day, and try to go to work as is. Of course the fluffy RK boys aint having any of that, and they try to bring a cranky and sniffly human home to bed, oh and fuss over and overreact. I would really apreciate this, and keep up posting these fluffy bangers :D"

so that is exactly what im gonna do 😈

Warnings: sickness, general discomfort, RK boys are all over you, hank is literally their dad, they boys care for you, gavin slander

Connor, Sixty and Nines x reader

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*...-eep beep BEEP*

You groaned, blinking sleep from your eyes. It's way to early for this.

So you rolled over, snuggling into the blankets.

*beep beep BEEP*

Grumbling again, you rolled back over to slap you hand on your phone a couple times, before finally gaining some purchase on it and grabbing the device to pull it right in front of your face. Clicking the power button to see the time, you read the bright numbers at the top of the screen.

5:02

Sighing, you placed the phone back down and rolled onto your back to lay an arm across your face in an attempt to try and block out the morning, along with the world.

And then you sniffed

And you couldn't breathe. Your reaction was instant.

"please no" you moaned, shooting upwards in bed and then proceeding to groan once more in pain from sitting up way to fast, it felt like your head was going to implode.

Then the coughing started

Getting(falling) out of bed, you stumbled your way to the bathroom, where you rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for a thermometer. Finally letting out a shaky breath in relief when you felt your hand grasp it, you leaned your back against the wall and brought the small machine to your forehead, whispering pleas to not be what you think you were.

102.5

basically super duper sick.

Banging your head against the the cabinet and letting out a soft "nooo", you sniffed and contemplated your options.

You could stay home and disappoint everyone at work

Or power through and go on like normal.

Guess what you did.

That's how you landed yourself walking through the station in a giant black puffy jacket, blowing into a tissue, half bottle of cough syrup in hand, and hacking like no tomorrow.

You were truly a sight to behold.

Espically for 3 pairs of curious eyes

Arriving at your desk, you sat down, set your cough syrup on the desk, and proceeded to face plant onto a stack of papers that were sitting on top of it waiting to be worked on. You sniffled a little and slowly sat your chin on your paper to look up at your partner

who was staring at you with the most disgusted face on this planet.

"what" your deep sick voice asked (with a hint of amusement) as Gavin shot up from his desk, and slowly backed away

"are you sick?? i cant get sick, im meeting some guys tonight and I DO NOT want whatever you have. You look absolutely horrible"

You squinted your eyes and stared into his soul, un-moving, until finally you just leaned over his desk, grabbed his coffee cup that was full of pens, and dumped them out.

And then you licked the side of his mug, maintaining eye contact as you did so.

"Hey!" he yelped as you leaned back over to set it back down on his side of the cubicle. You crossed your arms and gave him a smug smile, which only lasted a second before you were consumed by an urge to sneeze, and quickly dove your face into your elbow.

He deserved it though.

You heard him grumble and storm off while you were grabbing a tissue, and you swallowed as you finished, noticing your throat was sore too. Awesome.

Before you could bury your face in paper work again, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jumped and turned around to see 3 faces, full of concern.

" y/n? Are you alright today?" Connor slowly leaned down onto one knee so he could better see your face, which he then softly took into his hands, brushing hair out of your sweaty face. He looked so distressed, his caring eyes boring into yours. His hands were soft and cold, and you leaned into them, closing you eyes. Another palm pressed against your forehead and you sighed in appreciation.

"She has a high fever." a low voice murmured, and you suspected it belonged to Nines.

Blinking your eyes open, you started to open you mouth to say something, but instead a cough started. A tissue was pressed into your hand, and you brought it to your mouth, noticing Sixty had given it to you.

And was also giving you the softest look you have ever seen the sarcastic android wear.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach as the group coddled you with their worried looks.

"Guys I'm fineee" you totally lied, sniffing your nose once again and leaning back away from the group to clear your throat.

"You are clearly not" Nines answered, crossing his arms as his LED went yellow, raising his eyebrows

"I agree with him, you need to go home" Connor gave you a sympathetic look and dragged his hands down from your face to your hands, and took them in his, rubbing the knuckles.

"Let us take you home sweetheart" Sixty tilted his head and brushed a hand through your hair.

You grumbled and shook your head, trying to look assertive "I have work to do, I cant leave"

Connor sighed, looking at his fellow RK units, LED flashing amber. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Sweet cheeks, we can do this the easy way-" Sixty started, shooing a reluctant Connor away from his crouching position to stand in front of you and put his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning forward so you couldn't escape his gaze "-or the hard way. Which is it gonna be?"

Glancing up at Sixty, you stuck your lips out and harrumphed, choosing to look out the window instead of the android and crossing your arms in defiance.

"The hard way it is then"

you turned back to ask him what he was going to do, but it turned into a yelp and finished in a cough.

Nines had swept you from your chair, holding you in his arms bridal style.

And was giving you a small smile.

You gasped like a fish out of water and thrashed slightly in his hold, which you quickly found out did nothing. You were secure in his arms.

Your over-exhertion resulted in more coughing, and Nines smug expression morphed into one of concern as he turned to his fellow units.

All of their LED's started flashing and you knew they were having a private android conversation.

Unfair.

Nines turned his steely gaze to Connor, who just nodded and started off towards their partner Hank, who was looking at your group with a troubled expression. You watched as Nines then turned to Sixty and motioned with his head to the stations front door, to which the rk800 responded by quirking his lips upwards, and rushed forward to kiss your hair, before leaving the main office to go to reception.

Nines adjusted you in his hold, before heading to follow behind Sixty.

As you walked through the lobby, you saw stares pointed at you from androids and humans alike. Everyone was giving you and Nines a raised eyebrow, and you were so embarrassed that you just instinctively leaned forward to hide in Nine's neck, silently apologizing when you coughed into him. He noticed and fastened his pace, lightly kissing your head and whispering in your ear for only you to hear:

"It's okay my darling, we'll take care of you."

Here come the butterflies again.

Or you were just really sick.

Maybe a bit of both.

In the blink of an eye you were fastened in the passenger's seat of your car, with all androids present and accounted for. Connor had told you that they had all taken the day off, and Hank saw his opportunity to leave for the day also. Hank had also wished you well, and said quote "being sick's a bitch". That had given you a giggle, but you still felt guilty for leaving. And now you were taking the 3 smartest detectives from the force.

"But Connor, I have so much work to do" you whined, once again giving the androids half-hearted death glares from around the car.

Nobody reacted, except for Sixty

"You look like a pouting baby" he chuckled and leaned back in his car seat, gazing out the window instead of meeting you now rage filled eyes. Your face was stuck in a jaw-dropped gasp, and you watched Connor turn his head to raise a judging eyebrow at his twin, who continued to ignore everyone.

But you saw that smug grin on his face.

Nines was the one driving, and kept checking your temperature with his hands during the trip to your house. You know you started the drive pretty lucid, but you knew it was getting worse.

You were so in pain from your throat and stuffed up nose, that a few hot tears slid down your face. You turned your head and huffed, hoping none of the boys saw it, but almost immediately after those tears hit your big puffy jacket, a gentle hand was on your chin turning your head in a certain direction.

Nine's direction.

The android had quickly punched in the coordinates to your house and set the car on auto drive when he saw your condition getting worse, and had noticed your tears the second they ran down your cheeks.

"Hey look at me, it's okay were going to help you" a few more tears slid down your cheeks at the comforting words, and Nines gave you the sweetest look to ever adorn his usually un-fazed expression, full of sympathy.

"He's right, we're going to do everything in our power to help you recover as fast as possible" Connor leaned over in his seat to kiss the side of your head while you finally closed your eyes, letting a comfortable darkness take over.

And finally, you fell asleep.

"....-ful sixty! you...e go...to wake th.....p if you hol...em like that"

"..-ever im...b..ing as care...as i can"

Your lids fluttered as you absorbed a conversation around you. Hearing bits and pieces as it felt like you were once again being carried somewhere.

You felt safe and warm, so you snuggled into the body holding you and shut your eyes once again.

"w...- up my heart"

The first thing you felt was a hand on your forehead.

You also noticed a body pressed to your back.

Blinking your weary eyes open, you meet Nines adoring gaze. His LED was yellow however, and he was leaning on one knee in front of your bed. Scrunching up your nose, you wondered how you even got to your bed. A voice behind you chuckled in response, you must have said that out loud. Nines took the hand previously on your forehead and leisurely stroked it down your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Well i drove us to your residence, and then Sixty carried you. We....-" he looked away with a stony expression as his LED flashed red, and you furrowed your brows in confusion.

"what did you do" you croaked out, pouting your lips out as Nines stared at an interesting corner of your room.

"We couldn't find your house key, so we had to break in" another voice piped up, and you looked to see a guilty Connor standing in the doorway with a cup of what looked like steaming tea.

The room went quiet as you stared with wide eyes as the boys.

"We'll pay for the window." the voice behind you mumbled, before nuzzling into your hair.

And then, surprising the androids and even yourself, you burst into laughter. Which turned into more coughing.

The body behind you (sixty) shook with chuckles, until your coughing fit started. The RK unit immediately stopped his laughter and helped you sit up, while Connor came and dropped the mug of tea on your bedside table before rushing out of the room.

Nines leaned forward to take your hand, and rub gently into it, silently reassuring you.

Waving your hand in front of you, the coughing stopped as you hastily addressed them.

"Sorry guys, that happens when you get sick" you hiccupped a laugh, but the boys didn't react. They silently shared a look.

And then Connor reappeared.

"You need to take all of these"

and you gasped as you saw basically an entire medicine cabinet in his arms. The android looked extremely worried, and was giving you the softest eyes. If he asked, you probably would take all of them.

You saw Nines sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, and you wondered what had happened while you were out. On second glance at the cough medicine in his arms, you made a realization.

"Is that the brand of medicine that I brought to work?" you stuttered out, looking at Connor.

He shifted from foot to foot "I went to the store, and my memory record showed that this was your favorite brand. I didn't know how many to get, so I got...... a few"

The RK unit looked down on you with a small smile as you beamed.

They were the best.

And then an alarm went off.

You raised an eyebrow and watched as it was Nines turn to hot-footed it somewhere, and it looked like he was heading to the kitchen. Suddenly feeling a weight on your lap, you looked down to see Sixty had settled his head on your legs, and was gazing up at you.

"He's making Chicken noodle soup, Hank sent a recipe." Sixty murmured, and you watched his hand go up to tuck some hair behind your ear.

You instantly melted.

Maybe you would have a nice time being sick.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

HERE IT IS

Im sorry if that ending is a little out of character, just thought it was funny LOL

Still getting used to writing the three of them and their dynamics

Also feel free to request anything! I enjoy them :D

Thank you for the idea Ant1SocialVapor3on!

SORRY FOR SPELLING ERRORS

#dbh connor #dbh connor x reader #dbh rk800 #detroit become human #dbh hank #dbh nines #dbh rk900 #dbh rk900 x reader #dbh sixty #dbh sixty x reader

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pixelmensupremacy · 2 years ago

Note

May i request a DBH fic? The moment they realized they fell in love with reader. May i request Gavin and the RK bros

A/N: Honestly, I don't why it took me so long to get this out. Either way that's an interesting request, Nonny! Here's my take on the dbh boys realizing they have feelings for the reader.

Warnings: GN!reader, it's implied that reader is shorter, pretty much fluffy stuff, not proof read

Gavin

Being his snarky self, Gavin would be jokingly flirty at first not thinking much of it

Until he began sensing a warmth every time (Y/N) laughed at his silly jokes and sarcastic comments

Before he knew it, he was always spending his free time with (Y/N)

Going into the breakroom, whenever he noticed they were there

Greeting them every morning with a genuine smile on his face

Vibrant morning sunrays hit (Y/N) skin as walked into the building of the Detroit police department. It was quiet except for the usual sound of mouse clicks and the occasional phone ring. A bright smile curled the corners of their lips at the sight of their partner Gavin Reed.

"Morning, Reed!" Enthusiasm was evident in their voice; his attention was immediately anchored to them and their face, which he found absolutely adorable. Affected by their happy expression, he couldn't help but smile back at them.

"Somebody call the cops because it’s got to be illegal to look that good!" He eyed the from head to toe, causing them to shyly look away.

Interestingly enough, it was the colleagues at the department that noticed the change first

His longing to constantly be in (Y/N)'s company was obvious to everyone else but Gavin and (Y/N)

Happy to finally see Gavin break character and soften, his colleagues would tease him every once in a while

While on the other hand (Y/N) would get overwhelmed with questions such as "Did you put him under a spell?"

I feel like Gavin will distance himself once he realizes that his feelings toward (Y/N) are more than just a silly crush

Progressively he will grow colder to (Y/N)

He would find himself in a rabbit hole of repressed emotions and anxieties, connected to his past, which will ultimately lead to avoiding (Y/N)

Hurt and confused, (Y/N) wouldn't give up on reaching out to him but with little to no success

Until they give up, which in return pains Gavin even more

Suddenly he will have to deal not only with the fear of abandonment but also the consequences of said fear taking over him

I like to imagine Hank will be quick to notice the distance formed between the two and will talk to Gavin

Knowing him since his rookie days, Hank is one of the few people who know quite a lot about Gavin, which helps him in advising the detective

Eventually, thanks to Hank's help, Gavin will be able to realize that by avoiding his problems he made things worse

He will want to apologize to (Y/N) for hurting them

“I know I’ve been a total ass the past few weeks, but maybe I can make it up to you. (Y/N) silently gaze at him as if they weren’t sure if this was a dream or reality.

“There’s new restaurant down the block and I thought maybe..” He went on all the while studying their face. “Maybe we could check it out?”

Much to his delight, they agree

The two have the time of their life, catching up like nothing ever happened

And even getting closer

“So,” He spoke up, hot puffs of air escaping his mouth. “Are we even?”

(Y/N) swayed back and forth on their feet, overdoing the time it took them to answer.

“I’m afraid a single date won’t be enough, Reed.” Their hand reached for his neck, bringing his face closer to theirs; their lips touched his in a soft and delicate kiss that left him wanting more.

“Your wish is my command.” (Y/N) giggled, causing a warmth to spread in his chest, despite the cold of the November night.

Markus

Markus is definitely the type of person, who looks for a friend first and a lover second

So, I expect him to fall for (Y/N) after they have gotten to know each other

His feelings for them will slowly but surely progress into a sensation he's never felt before

Even if the thought of (Y/N) wouldn't leave his mind, he would be reluctant to share that with them

Or at least not verbally

Being the altruist he is, his love language would be one of service

Anyway he could, he would help

Standing on their tippy toes, (Y/N) struggled to reach the contents of the top shelf; even the chair they were standing on seemed to not help much. Passing by the kitchen, Markus’ attention was caught by the creaking of the chair and (Y/N)’s puffs and quiet curses. With a puzzled expression, he walked up to them and took a glance at what they were doing.

Reaching with a hand near theirs, he took a hold of a box of cereal; electrical shock ran through (Y/N)’s entire body at the slight brush of his cold skin against theirs.

“Is this what you were looking for?” They nodded as they got down.

“Yeah, thanks.” (Y/N) took the box with a bright smile on their face that caused his circuits to malfunction, resulting in LED lighting up in a vibrant amber color.

Though he will eventually come to realize that his desire to help (Y/N) exceeded past just his typical friendly behavior

He desired to be by their side at all times

He will absolutely melt if (Y/N) were to compliment him

The enchanting melody filled the space, alluring (Y/N) the source of the sound. Letting the music take over them, their steps were in perfect sync with the rhythm of the song; it almost felt as if time stopped and they have found themselves in a wonderland- one they couldn’t imagine even in their wildest dreams.

The volume grew louder so did the effect of the melody upon (Y/N); seeing a door, they weren’t surprised to see Markus sat before the piano. His slender fingers stroked the snow-white keys, the impact of his firm, yet delicate, touch made for a captivating melody akin to the song of a siren that drew in sailors in the dead of night.

Much like a sailor, bewitched by a magnificent siren, (Y/N) stood and watched as his composition tingled their every sense. Not long after did Markus sense their presence; startled by their sudden appearance, he stopped playing.

“Why did you stop?” Disappointment was written in their expression.

“I didn’t expect to have an audience.” He made a reply in a bashful manner, his colorful eyes avoiding theirs.

“I love it when you play the piano.” (Y/N) began as they neared him. “No matter how many times I hear you play it’s never the same. It’s truly fascinating.” There was a spark in their eyes as they spoke that caused a tingling sensation to occur in his thirium pump. Was he malfunctioning?

Markus will definitely confess once the revolution is successful and he feels safe enough to have another person in his life

Connor

He's completely oblivious

Never in his short life did he expect to feel let alone fall in love

So, he's very confused when he experiences system malfunctions in (Y/N)'s presence

He constantly runs system checks only to get confused when the results show no apparent errors

Despite being a prototype, created to unravel complicated cases with ease, it takes him some time to figure out it's (Y/N) that causes these malfunctions

Of course, not without Hank's help

Enamored by the enigma surrounding them, Connor couldn’t help but stare at them and wonder: why they caused such reactions in him. Coincidently or not, Hank had noticed Connor’s lack of focus on his tasks; following the direction of his gaze, the man had found the reason.

“You know it’s rude to stare right? Or that isn’t in your damn program?” Hank got straight to the point but Connor seemed clueless, for he gave him a puzzled look. The man let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Look, I know you got something towards (Y/N) and you better go talk to them.”

“But I-“

“Trust me. They like you too.” Silently, Connor looked at his partner, processing what he had said. “Come on! Don’t waste your chance.” He urged the android on.

Connor will get flustered if (Y/N) were to compliment him

“Good morning!” (Y/N) greeted; their voice akin to a bell rang in Connor’s ears.

“Mornin’, kid” Hank mumbled under his nose, not quite returning their excitement.

“You’re here early!” They stared in awe.

“Yeah, thanks to him.” He pointed to Connor, who shyly waved his hand; (Y/N) smiled.

“Good job, Connor! Even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to bring Hank here before noon.” They joked, causing the lieutenant to laugh, meanwhile, Connor’s cheeks got blue, dusted with deep shades of blue, and amber hues danced on his LED.

If it came to physical touch Connor would probably shut down from how many system errors he gets

Much like in Markus' case, I think Connor will be confident in his emotions after the revolution when he becomes a deviant

It may take him a bit longer to fully grasp the experience of having feelings

Though he will get used to it with some guidance

Sixty

Just like Gavin, Sixty will be flirty but mostly with someone, who reflects the same energy

He may be a bit too daring at times, openly flirting without any shame whatsoever

Heading towards the breakroom with their partner beside them, (Y/N) was eager to get their morning coffee, though it seemed Sixty had other plans.

"Is your phone in your back pocket? Because your ass is calling me." With him being close by their side, his voice- barely above a whisper- caused shivers to run down their spine.

“Haha very funny, Sixty.” They sarcastically laughed, in hopes of hiding the excitement that grew within them.

“You know I’m always at your service.” He winked at them as he opened the door for them.

It may take him a lot longer to get attached and even longer to acknowledge his feelings

He would definitely test (Y/N)'s loyalty for him to fully trust them

Being Connor's successor and the android that almost caused the downfall of the revolution, Sixty is battling his past

An awkward silence had settled upon the two; worried, (Y/N) glanced at Sixty though his blank expression didn’t aid them in understanding what was going on.

“Is everything alright, Sixty?” Their voice were calm and quiet, loud enough only for him to hear; his brown eyes stared back at theirs. A puff of air escaped past his lips.

“It’s none of your concern.” He cut them off, bitterness was evident in his voice.

So, he will fall for someone, who accepts him for who he is and helps him in forgiving himself

His path to deviancy will be turbulent, filled with an explosion of repressed emotions Sixty is forced to deal with

But by being by his side, (Y/N) cloud build a bridge to his heart

The moment he realizes he is head over heels for (Y/N) is when he lets his guard down

When the playful facade crumbles down and what is left is a person, fighting to be accepted and forgiven

Nines

Out of all of the boys, it will take Nines the most time to catch feelings

Being the most advanced android in the world, Nines is less prone to deviancy

Not only it takes him more time to feel emotions but to also acknowledge and accept them

So, romance with Nines is close to nonexistent until deviancy

Though there still would sign in his behavior that indicate a crack in his system

With all of his advances, I feel Nines would want to use his assets for good

And working at DPD gives him such an opportunity

Upon meeting (Y/N) he wouldn't sense anything right away

Though as they work together and get accustomed to each other, Nines will slowly change

His curiosity will grow, resulting in asking (Y/N) questions outside their field of work

Yet what draws Nines in is their tolerance

They never pressure him to open up or to talk when he doesn't want to

It just occurs naturaly

“Detective, may I ask you something?” Nines’ icy blue irises bore into theirs.

“Of course, go ahead.” (Y/N) took a sip of their drink.

“Why did you join the force?” A smear of genuine curiosity was evident behind his enigmatic gaze.

“Well,” A smile curled the corners of their lips as the memories flooded in. “I guess you could say I just want to help people.” Their gaze met his. “What about you?”

He stayed silent for a few moments; bright yellow circled across his light-emitting diode.

“I suppose we have common motives.” He danced around the question, yet they didn’t question him any further.

I feel like a life-or-death situation may bring his feelings to the surface

#dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh imagine #gavin reed x reader #markus x reader #rk200 x reader #connor x you #connor x reader #rk800 x reader #sixty x reader #nines x reader #rk900 imagine #rk900 x reader #requests

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blurredout10 · 5 months ago

Text

Remember To Follow

A Sixty/Reader Story

Tags: angst, amnesia, smut, memory loss, drowning, angstfest y'all stay safe,

Wordcount: 7360

Summary:

Sixty has Amnesia. He wakes with water in his lungs and the panic of an apartment he doesn't recognise. Sixty has Amnesia and he doesn't know you.

But, you vowed to follow him when fitting his wedding band on your special day. Even if he doesn't remember, you'll always follow him. Until...

"I'm done. I can't follow you anymore."

And in the darker weather, thick soot falls from black clouds, a weight that stretches the scales on his chest--the air suffocates him as does the truth.

The Earth pulls at his feet, shying away from where his footprints dusted over; baby leaves, the stir of deeply rooted wildlife tease into a growing distance, his shoes shaking off remnants of the ground once stepped. A distant memory.

It’s truly an inch away, where his ankles flail to meet the grasps of gravity and he fails. The image of the forest floor blurs together—it’s not shrinking, he’s flying—and desperate to find ground to gain root, he’s chasing something that can only brush his fingertips. Even if he savours the taste a little, the contact doesn’t imprint, barely licks his skin but not long enough to register it. He’s losing something, but it’s too far away to recognise it, and some third force urges him to dent it into his chassis as does the scar on his forehead. It's fleeting, tasteless when he forgets again, as if he was clawed hollow, ripped wires and shredded organs.

The ache stills in his shoulders, then churns to his elbows which he tries to knock out into open air. It’s desire and want and it’s everything he can no longer have. His breath delays.

Air puffs and clouds, and then cohere into bubbles that faintly cage his image before floating high. His brows tense and then furrow, wrinkling lines of equal parts confusion and frustration, before he wrenches an arm high to chase his mini image. He passes through cold nothing, his eyes cannot find it and it strikes him that he can’t remember just what he reached for. It’s all take, take, take.

He flies. He floats. The space around him grows dense. Cool air rushes into deep water.

The sea wraps him snugly, perhaps to make up for whomever's arms ghost around his chest - but the latches aren’t comfortable, they're unsafe and work to suffocate ventilation. There's only so long he can sink, so long the reserves in him squeal an exhale before his systems encourage him to break through the surface.

Warnings flesh as blaring red rectangles; he ignores it. He's waiting for something. A reason? An answer, to why an ugly, icky tumour clenches his palms shut, why he can't get rid of the feeling as much as he tries to stretch it away. The water swishes when he turns to his hand, expecting some creature to claw from beneath his skin, blame it for why his mind blurs when he thinks.

The sea is quiet; it dulls stimulation. Gives him some veiled excuse for ‘time’. It's why he enjoys it.

His chest tightens. His systems caution him further, overheating. It's an abysmal discomfort, but strangely cathartic. Wheezes muffle into the water but he hears it no less, feels how biocomponents sear in a mockery of pain. It's too loud, it hurts in the part of him he misses.

He blares crimson. His chest burns. The surface serves as his bright light, deep rushing currents and beeping warnings a choir for his funeral, and the sea will be his grave.

A boat passes. A canoe. Chatter muffles but he can make out two distinct voices. One hauntingly similar to his own and the other… he... can't quite... who...? No, he’s sure he doesn’t recognise it. No face to that sound. No lips to that mouth.

The sea edges him to the surface for him, bubbles that lift him with tiny limbs, pushing past surface tension until he floats. He’s hollow, it only makes sense how the sea lays beneath him.

Why does his body feel different? Why is there a one-way mirror fitted between somatic and internal, between instinct and thought?

Why does he feel longing ?

The surface tickles his lips, velvet soft, it reminds him of... his mind halts. Chest pulling in a cooler touch, he still feels a strain around his ribcage, a lie and truth meddled into a fluid mass. He chases the flash of... something tries to fill it in his lungs when he breathes in deep. His fingertips brush his lower lip and they feel prickly, new. No lips to that kiss. The warnings recede but his vision clouds still.

Something touches his hand. Stings, rather, like rope burn. Sears into his framework like his hand drove through a shredder. A thread weaves and gains purchase tight around his fingers, projections into cobwebs, but this time, it holds.

It's a fishing line, though it doesn't seem to have a handler, nor a place of origin. The line tangles and pulls taut around his hand. Crunches his plastic like day-old snow. It doesn't snap. It doesn't escape him.

And Sixty remembers.

There is no coming of sunshine, no beam pushes through that doubling storm, no spread of saturated colour when every memory muddies into one. It circulates and spirals him with a force harsh enough to stretch his skin thin and puncture vessels—tears him like a damp paper towel, watch it loosen and break away in wet chunks. It's impenetrable to light, for it absorbs it until light is no more.

Outlines form in dark space, meshing golden edges into one another as they layer per memory—like his mind spins on an axis, catching the clutter of reconstructions into something sensical. Sounds are out of sync, mouths of faces—he cannot name them—speak words he hears seconds later. Pressure finds stubborn fingers against his temple where he’s gripping tighter, as if to keep a fractured mind in one piece. It helps momentarily, but it’s an illusion of strength.

It hurts. It really does. Like the layers of him are spliced an inch apart, like his eyes could fall right out of their sockets, like his limbs could spring apart without reason.

He's lost in the nothingness of himself, forced in the corner to be pelted with memory upon memory until it bruises his skin for good - and for once, hoping it'll last. Choppy flashes of yellow that resemble some unnamed figure, wrap their fingers around his artificial brain, squeezing until he cries in paralysed anguish. He contorts in pain, it rubs harshly against his throat but carries no sound.

It makes him want to scream.

But his grip on the fishing line tightens.

The blood that rips from his fingers and the water coalesce, blurring the borders between the shades of blue. If the water exists as his illness, maybe his pain is fated to be forgotten.

And oh, how he burns. His blood is acidic and thaws the plastic that pumps it, cursing the rest of his body to a poisoned end. The screws in him rust to a hair's width. Sixty's the pieces of him that fragment in his memory.

Broken. Aimless. Nuts and bolts in a sack of simulated flesh.

The water latches on his ankle and pulls him far harder than he can hold on.

“No!-” Static twists his voice in a stray note, duly muffled by the water, a nodule in his throat he can’t cough out or swallow down. That desperation fills his lungs alongside the water, an unwelcome weight, but it jogs some corner of impulses in his android brain.

Struggle slips into gargles within the lake, locked in pockets of air, unmoving to keep his struggle unheard. Panic nestles in his joints as he is dragged faster, his kicks are clammy and desperate but useless from the unforgiving fingers of kelp. Seaweed shackles curl around his ankle tighter, pulling him closer to the ocean floor. His fingers fumble with little progress.

Colour evades the deeper he falls, remnants of the moonlight serving as a fleeting solace, a light at the end of the tunnel that Sixty is maliciously rejected. It's ironic, how the near-black expanse he's pulled into reminds him of something. The ghost of feathered lashes, The pressure on his chest punishes. Something audibly cracks in him.

Sixty takes to mouth something, his lips shaping a vow, a plea to the prison bars, and a familiar voice echoes on the tips of his hair.

“To never forget,” blurred lines of fading memories lose definition. Unravels in the wind, thread that's fallen loose from its clipboard, gathering dust with little memory of where it’s from or where it goes. Seaweed pulls him undeniably fast.

His hands fall immobile, hopeless, unsure. Defeated.

That feeling in his chest remains. That memory of sheer fear still knocks his bones, still tickles an itch without scratching it. But the panic, the bruises on his body fade inexplicably, where the vow curls around his tongue... what was it again? Why were his fingers slashed due to force that only could've been his own? Sixty's desperation tremors in his hands but his reason is long gone.

Thud.

Sixty hits the sea floor. Sixty becomes a shell of a man.

There is no panic, no fear. Memories have been abandoned, lost at sea. A hard reset makes Sixty's eyes look inexplicably hollow.

His arm solos above him but the night silently watches through the water. Down here, Sixty knows that nothing exists besides the vegetation that binds him low.

-.—.-

Daybreak bleeds between his curtains that fan the dull walls of his bedroom a better gold. The sun peeks at him boldly, this time without clouded company and its promise of a fleeting shelter. There was no escape.

It's like the sun has found him now, searched in a land untouched until he made the mistake of half-drawing his curtains to watch the moon last night.

Ambient rumbling of motors whine from the open window, birds scurry and sing in flight like little leaves caught in the wind; a solemn sense of consonance merges the bustle outside to an optimistic backdrop. It fills the space with warm adoration.

Ha! I knew I'd find you! The sunlight mocks with a childish cackle. A painful eyeshot of a blinding day makes him flinch. Sixty muffles a groan into his cotton pillow, rumpled bedsheets that felt a little too like…seaweed?

Sixty scrambles to his knees.

The day is anew, but the android feels cuffed to an undefined torment of the past, a crushing weight of the entire ocean converging to a singular point above his pump regulator. It restrains him so, like a timid hand pulling at his sleeve to return to bed and stay a little longer. He can’t quite decide whether it’s the ghostly touch of supple fingers or binding kelp pulling at his wrists.

What is he even thinking about? Sixty scoffs at his break in hysteria. He must be losing it. What the hell was going on anyway?

Sixty clasps his fingers around his other forearm unprompted, his thumb pushing into the autonomous ripple of the synthetic epidermis to the white shell of his android anatomy. He drags his palms proximally to his elbow.

He’s in a white t-shirt, crumpled akin to the bedding as if it were taken from the bedsheets themselves. Sixty pulls a fistful of his top; the wrinkles stretch and converge to sharper lines. His shorts are long and loose. Sixty pats his body crudely to feel if he was really half the person he felt.

The android runs a shallow scan of the space around him. An apartment? Decor looks to be thrown about without rhyme or reason, the hard floor littered with crumpled clothes and springing plants on cramped shelves. Bright yellow post-its look to be placed at random; one juts out near the pots with black scrawl that barely passes for eligible writing:

"Water every Tuesday. "

It’s a Tuesday.

Sixty pulls in air with a mechanical wheeze, though the space in his chest shrinks as it grows. A pathogen lives at the base of his lungs, one that gnaws at his inner workings with cannibalistic curiosity, digging its fangs to feed and multiply as a means to raise its young. Sixty can feel it moving inside him, but he’s limited to scratching helplessly at his diagnostics, nails scraping bits of white off his plastic thorax.

What the hell is going on?

Sixty keels over. His midriff spasms into a painful flurry of staggered breaths.

Was he not dead?

Sixty tries to recall, but all that meets him are razor edges of battered pictures. The pieces belong to an uncertain figure, one without eyes or lips, a memory true if he was to see it one more time. It’s a bitter reality, with no one to show him what he’s missing, no one to kiss away the infectious sting of doubt lining his vessels. He’s alone in feeling it clot and occlude sanity’s door with a final blow.

The more he attempts to recollect the pieces, the deeper the memory cuts. Sixty stops trying.

Time has passed, years , if he was being specific. The seasons have swept on shore and pulled far into the sea, tidal in that it changes before Sixty found a moment to appreciate it. Though mostly indifferent, Sixty can’t help but grow curious of his kind and their place in busy streets.

Does he stand alongside them? It took no detective to see he had established himself, so was this life really his own?

What was going on?

Sixty searches for the one who shares the likings of his identity. One who he scoffed at with the barrel of a gun back at the Cyberlife Tower. Perhaps, as with deviancy, he has the answers.

There he sits with company, laughter on his lips, dressed in a tan, woolly overcoat that drapes largely off his shoulders and brushes the pavement. It’s far too big, neither functional, for his standard build, and despite the odd calamity of ‘whatever the fuck was happening’ to Sixty, Connor looks as though he belongs. All temple LED and android awkwardness, he pieced effortlessly into the background.

Sixty isn't quite sure why the fact surprises him, that much he figured in the earlier turmoil of the time skip; from the moment of his fatal deviation and the current day, everyone moved on.

Sixty feels the same.

His hands dig deeper into his hoodie, fingers crumpling the post-it that served to tie the frayed ends of his questions. A stark yellow with a near-dysfunctional sticky back from sticking it on the wall again and again.

“You have amnesia. This is your house.”

The scene fans out in tones of autumn kisses and raining leaves, where the sun relishes the sky in a longing embrace before parting for a lengthy slumber. A rotten taste finds the base of Sixty's tongue; it's ironic, as the sun, Sixty knows this miracle is ephemeral.

His predecessor is fortunate, but what does Sixty know about the turning days, because for him, yesterday existed and nothing more. His mission . The gunshot . The spark of fear between the fired bullet and Sixty's definite demise.

For Connor, however, time was a plentiful gift, wrapped in a pretty pink bow with a note of gratitude.

That timid bounce of perfectly parted hair looks fresh with product, a snug knitted pullover dressing him in near-black blues and oranges, and fingers warm around a cafés coffee mug. Sixty fixes on the pointless thrumming below the blue patterns on the rim of white ceramic.

There's a gold band on his finger; something brief twists in the cogs of Sixty's chest though he struggles to point just where its core lies.

"Connor," the successor hesitates, an awkward distance to count as conversation but close enough to catch the surprise in the predecessor’s eyes. It lapses for a moment, mirror images locked onto the other before Connor softens to a knowing look.

Passing a glance to his partner, a soft nod that spoke terribly loud for a quiet autumn afternoon, Sixty can't help feeling the distance within himself grow. The confusion he woke with grips the wheel with unprecedented curiosity.

"Do sit," Connor gestures an easy hand to the empty chair next to him, "we have to catch up."

His name is Sixty, formally. Sixty , he tests the sound of it but it doesn't quite strike the way he expects it to. It misses something, an edge, or a lilt that matched the serenity of rippled water. Sixty , or perhaps it's his voice that can't quite string it the way it's supposed to.

Hood raised and hands deep in pockets, Sixty idly walks without a destination in mind.

The sun is too bright, albeit setting, and he scoffs for a quicker nightfall; just as he wishes to settle the intensity of his new life and bask in the dullness of ignorance again. Perhaps, it was better if he did not know this was the life shackled to him.

Remnants of the falling sun cough out the last of its light into the coming night, like the speckles of streetlights blurring in a distance, impressionable but not dominant. It's how Sixty feels about the world around him, the breeze against his skin, the mindless chatter of passing crowds. Reality cuts through him like streaks of rainwater on a car window, and he's following it down with every will for it to stop while he catches his breath. The yellow parts of the sky are far too bright.

He can't quite shake it off, the nagging truth of his sunken sense of identity and an apartment full of sticky notes.

Sixty passes a bookstore. He catches his reflection in a golden light and stops. Amnesia.

He’s angry. Was he fated to await the moment he forgets again if only to relive the shock of waking up in a strange bed in a strange apartment that’s supposedly his own?

Chocolate stares back at him. His hair is tousled, and his clothes swallow him whole. He’s unrecognisable. Sixty sees beyond the glass window.

People meddle in happy heaps, whether stamped with a temple ring light or not, all warping in their perception of the world around. Fingers edge out to take a book in hand, read the contents, engross in the feel, blinking with the living condition to experience until they cannot experience anymore.

His feet move autonomously. People brush past unceremoniously as he walks in. The bookstore is packed. His hand pulls at a book between colourful stacks, unprompted.

It’s busy. The air is thick with age-old literature and wafts of perfume from the collective. Sixty focuses on the embellished lettering of the cover and swipes a thumb to let it print in his mind in an attempt to remember it.

The title sticks to his lips far better than his own name.

‘Remember To Love.’

He’s never held a book before. He’s not done much of anything before. Not that he can remember it anyway. A dry laugh huffs out of his chest; the title delivers an ugly stab of irony between artificial ribs but stings as though the pain was lowly human.

Chatter fades. The door jingles frequently as crowds work to replace those who left. Was this the consequence of being conscious? To live on such a plane off-kilter from faces around, coded with a curse to bear it alone?

What was the point?

"You know , if you open it, they'll be even more to read. "

Sixty startles, which itself encourages another considering his exclusive knickknacks would've noticed anything and everything in his surroundings. Maybe he isn’t all the same.

The first thing his optics fall to is that smile and its easy curves. The cracks in your lower lips are a novel sight, akin to the veins of autumn leaves.

A human has spoken to him. A human . In friendly conversation. The shock on his face must be nothing short of picturesque. Doubled at how long he figures he’s been standing awkwardly, staring at a book’s cover.

Your head tilts, patient in his stunned silence with a glazing edge in your pupils. A gentle curiosity locks his way, slack bait hanging off of a fishing line. It doesn’t pull him closer to you but doesn’t let him fall too far behind. Sixty fails to formulate a response.

"That book is pretty boring actually," you exasperate with a dismissing flick of your wrist, "too much drama, not enough action, if you know what I mean."

What?

(Not even preconstructed responses can save him.)

In a stolen moment, your brows hitch in sync with your chest but are swiftly replaced by the exaggerated smile of a guiding angel, or that of a child’s favourite mentor. Warmth that favours a mother to a lost kitten in broken alleyways.

"You look like it's your first day on Earth," you chuckle lightly.

This feels like too much.

You say your name. It pokes at the base of his heart. You wait expectantly for his reciprocal.

"Sixty." He says. It sounds foreign still.

You smile brighter, like the sun that woke him with a giddy 'I've found you'. Something is fizzling in your eyes. Android curiosity scans it again and again.

You cock your head to the world outside, "want me to give you a tour, Sixty?"

You say his name. He follows you like it’s the easiest thing he’s done today.

The sea meets him once more.

-.--.-

“Your name is Sixty. You have amnesia.”

The lettering is imperfect, surely it cannot be his own.

A scoff splutters akin to a wet gargle, as if the sea floor that chained his corpse liquified his innards into coarse crackles. The whites of his eyes are inexplicably growing just as his resolve shrinks.

Is this a fucking joke?

The furniture feels the brunt of his anger.

Whatever the hell was happening had to be some sick ploy, a malicious scheme to punish Sixty's nihilistic pre-deviant operations. A bladed jab for every objective he itched to pursue. Kick him whilst he's down.

Connor must be behind this. He has to be. For that crumpled edge in the corner of his eyes that seeped in the reflection of red temple rings, it must be that android's petty, subordinate revenge for Sixty using his Lieutenant as bait.

The apartment must pose as a means to mock his sorry state, to brandish his failures in the solid confines of solitary punishment. That wretched copy and his all-emotive facial plate ; Sixty digs his heels as if it were twisting on that Connor's neck, itching for the leeway of the first crunch and those staggering, desperate breaths that would follow.

Amnesia? Sixty remembers well how his chassis burned with a brittle shake. Sixty remembers the looming spark in the back of his head urging him to pull the trigger. Dealing with that sorry sack of alcoholism for a police lieutenant was enough of a pain...

Sixty falters.

The memories play the same though he feels another character is in play. Disembodied, yet latching on his back with wet tendrils like it wished to become an extension of him. Sixty cannot wield it like a limb, but it voices the contortions of his pump regulator just as well.

You disappoint me, pathetic fool. It sears, speaking for him when he's coded a mouth sewn shut.

Sixty slowly dips his head, letting his eyes catch on the palms of his hands.

Something's off. He's missing something. Even with the added ghoul that makes all his mistakes and fills the cracks with reason... he's carved hollow.

What the hell is going on?

Weeks pass and tides pull him back in.

-.--.-

“You have amnesia. Your name is Sixty.”

He slams his fists in fearful proximity to his pump regulator, straining stridor amidst harsh coughs as if his insides scurried to escape him. There is no water in his lungs.

The seaweed remains cuffed as he seeks answers. What's happening to me? Someone sits just over an arm's length across a desk from him, eyes peering over meticulous glasses as if they'd cost him a component to afford. White coat in faux medical aid and a personal office that did its best to sell Sixty of the man's competency. A professional, albeit human, but one who has the answers he's looking for.

However, when the man falls in conversation, Sixty drifts in the dull expanse of clouded memories. His mind pulls from the foreground. The former technician bobs his chin repeatedly that doesn't quite look like talking; Sixty can neither hear nor recognise the shape of those words.

The android's fingers tighten on the armrests, digging into the peeling vinyl and its spongy abscess. In its opening, creatures with spindly legs crawl up the back of his hand, biting through synthetic skin to the burrows of Sixty's flesh. The android is unable to draw air into his chest.

They crawl with needle-like legs. Sixty can't move. The mounds under his skin crawl faster. Sixty's voice has no weight.

Subject to the horned teeth that staple his plastic makeup with spotting blue blood, Sixty is paralysed. His eyes grow. They crawl up his neck.

He wants to scream. It's all too much.

"Would you like some help?" A faint voice offers behind him whilst he stands idly in a grocery store. The shelves stock unforgivingly in blinding variations of colourful foods, neither that would settle for appetising nor their exploited prices. Why the hell is he looking at food he can't eat?

Sixty regains his breath but his feet don't move. Snacks stretch in favour of a distraction. He finally turns to the voice that jolted him back; the eyes that meet him are the closest he's felt to his feet on the ground.

"Are you curious about our snacks? I've got recommendations if you're interested." You play a small smile, but the lift in your brows and the glaze in your eyes never settle.

It's strange. You're a face amongst many though he feels like the centre of yours. You look as if you've rushed to catch up to him.

" Su-" he croaks and then clears his throat, "sure."

And the water takes him again.

-.--.-

A crumpled paper ball of a tennis ball-yellow is stuffed in Sixty's jacket. He squeezes it tightly until faint marks indent on synthetic skin.

He's out of breath, but he can't find you.

Audio muffles by the overlay of memories, merry tinkles of your laughter, the shape of your voice snug in the space that felt hollow. Sixty runs through the streets in search of it again.

The line pulls taut. All he can think about is finding you. The water calls him back but he surfs the crowds instead.

You must be here. Sixty is in search of your head in the many. His phone has run dry, posing his feared reflection with all the desperation to seek. It's all going wrong. He just needs to find you.

The line loosens, tides rush to his ankles but Sixty pushes on. There must be some way. Someone you're with. Someone who knows you. But the existence around you splits into shaky pieces, uncertain and incomprehensible. He can't let that line go, not when it's finally in his grasp.

It's a losing battle.

-.--.-

"You have amnesia."

Why does he feel so exhausted?

The days spur on. The note. The chase. The staggering step in when he remembers your outline. Warmth leaves him every time his head falls in his hands, bound to the curse of reliving what cannot and will never be his.

Fate is a cruel feat. Sixty stands by the shore and waits for the tides to rise.

"Sixty. You have amnesia. I love you."

As he wakes up from a thrashing slumber, he notes the absence of kelp on his wrists. The memories spring up like hollow balls in a body of water.

He remembers everything; nothing tops the crushing guilt of having you wait so long.

The note. The pulsations under his fingers when he rests a hand over his heart. The hitch in his breath when the smell of your skin revisits his senses.

Water fills his lungs anyway.

"Your name is Sixty. This is where you live. You have amnesia."

The note. The chase. The reality.

The fate of the sea floor.

"This is your house. You have amnesia."

How can he accept the path fate carves for him?

"Your name is Sixty. You have amnesia."

How long is he supposed to do this?

"This is your apartment, Sixty. You have amnesia."

Sixty digs through the balls of yellow paper in his waste bin.

"You have amnesia."

They're all notes.

-.--.-

"You have amnesia. Your name is Sixty. This is your home."

There's a knock at his door.

In the tattered assortment of piling memories, never really starting or finishing anywhere as if they were pieces ripped out from the middle, Sixty exhales and opens the front door.

"Hey," you speak as such too, like the middle of a memory, wet lines down your cheeks with questions of why and when . Your voice is small, enough that he could roll it in his palm like one of those balled pieces of paper in his trash can.

Instinct makes him step back to let you in, but not enough to speak to the stranger of his new life. Your lower lashes clump wetly, the tips of leaves edging the stream of rainfall. You tighten your jaw.

There’s a mass that sloshes in his vessels the longer he looks at you, though he’s not sure what to call it. It’s weighted, mobile in the way it keeps knocking the wind out of him like a soccer punch to a little boy. Your eyes are wide and Sixty knows what to call that strain in your expression; it's hope.

Speak, his subconscious commands, bobbing his jaw open without knowing what to say. Your tears glisten freshly yet hold firm. Willing the world to halt so Sixty could take all the time in the universe to finally say something.

Do I know you? But something urges him to not ask. Seeing the wild nest of your hair and swollen eyes drives all his impulses to the ground except for one; muscle memory lifts his hand closer to you in what could feel like the most natural thing he's done in the past few weeks he's awoken.

But he falters halfway.

Sixty isn't quite sure why he let you in the first place, let alone why he entertained the thick glass between the two of you like he was breaking the walls of deviancy all over again. There is nothing of the sort in your scanned details to enrapture him, nothing to stop him from asking you to leave his apartment. You must be one of those people who existed in the lost parts of him, waiting expectantly for him to return.

It's been twenty-six days since he woke with no recollection of who he was or why he was here. Twenty-six days, though according to Connor, this charade had dragged beyond dozens of times over three years. Twenty-six days of his neighbours conversing like they intended to invite him to their weddings, twenty-six days of loitering faces, gazing at him pitifully.

'What a shame, isn't it? It's no way to live.'

Sixty died every time he forgot. The version they long to keep has slipped into the high tides for its ocean grave. Ironic, that he is misunderstood as some copy of an android that shares his liking. How bad must it be for Sixty to actually appreciate Connor's lack of prodding, despite still carrying that coiled resentment pre-deviancy?

You stand in his living room, hair thrashed, clothes dishevelled, cheeks warm due to friction with the knocking scent of alcohol. You're searching for a piece of him that doesn't exist. Even if your very presence calms the unstable writhing of his components, his mind has been made up.

A light sound escapes you, sounding like the huff of a cry, until it croaks again into a chortle. It's pained; Sixty can measure it in amplitudes, and your laughter rings on for a few more before a heavy sigh.

You're laughing? The smile you flesh out doesn't quite reach your eyes, except you look a taste manic with those damp and dilated pupils. It's wildly unexpected, and Sixty pulls up short; it throws a wrench right into his thoughts.

"You know ," you begin and Sixty snaps to the brittle notes of your voice. It's better than your laughing, "despite you being an android, I somehow feel like the one who's immortal."

You chuckle a little more, tilting your head back. It shakes your shoulders and takes you wholly.

"I really want to hate you," you don't look at him, "I really do. I want to more than anything. A right old sock to your face."

You glance at him before fixing to the plants on the tiny shelves. Sixty's silence stretches on.

"I didn't come here to fight. Or to get you to remember. I'm surprised you let me actually. Lucky day for me, huh?"

The android's pump regulator stutters. He feels as though he is not there.

Tension disperses from your joints as if they had lost against gravity and slumped in major defeat. The sag is paired with a staggered sigh. "I've been honouring our vows, Sixty. I really have. Even if you..." you sound raw, static, "even if you can't- aren't able to. I've been trying for so long. "

Vows? Vows. That's why you're here. You were married to that version of him lost at sea, not him, not him . The memories you search for have been driven ashore, photographs paled by the kicking currents of the ocean. Those memories have been worn out, faded. Sixty feels the loss like it's his own.

Tears fall irregularly and Sixty watches you cry with a churning in his chest... it's not quite guilt, nor the tickle of envy, but a combination of both. He knows if he asked you to jump, you would leap with all your might, but it doesn't belong to him. It's the same tickle of envy he felt when Connor's memories became his own.

Your love does not belong to him. It is not his. Perhaps, that is why the grief doubles in around his pump regulator.

"I'm tired, Sixty ."

It's not his. You're not his. The pain sears harder than before.

"I'm done. I can't follow you anymore."

It burns. The wires he'd tangled to fasten his resolve loosen unapologetically. He doesn't know why it hurts. Why is he mourning ? Why does grief bite his breath away in mock gentle kisses? It's alternative to the sour kick of the sea floor, doesn't quite slosh in his mouth in salt and muck as he expects. Instead, it solders his metal tubes into a spoiled clump, an acrid impression he can't swallow down or wash out.

The android feels hot despite being cold to the touch. In the few weeks of his new life, Sixty has never longed for the bits missing this hard before.

Twenty-six days. Your tears trickle but the pinch in your brows settles. You're the first to let him go. God it fucking burns. Why does it feel as if you'd packaged all of your hurt and gave it to him? The layers of glass between you two shake.

He can't breathe.

The glass cracks one by one. A hand clutches his chest; it's his own. Another plane of glass shatters. Your outline grows sharper.

Is this what he went through every time he remembered? This oppressive weight subject to twisting his joints all the wrong ways, pushing his eyes far back until they were lost in his own head. He feels like he's going insane.

Water crackles in his lungs.

No! Wait! Not when he's this close.

He steps to the few layers of glass you stand behind, a distance only he could see beyond the broken memories he'd cast at sea. Sixty's fist pulls back and lands solid and true.

Another plane gives way.

He punches again, mimicking how he first broke through the cage of his android walls. It burns too much. If this is his way forward, if he has to step up where you step back... he lands another blow.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

It's almost see-through. The fishing line tightens around his fist with a definite hit. Crack! You're here. He sees you. Every note you left behind before kissing his forehead, thinking he was long resting. Every smile you chased him with despite rejected the reciprocation. In each of his fragments, for every time he forgot again, you followed close behind as the fellow pedestrian with a shared umbrella; the one who poked at him in a bookstore, the one who took him to the midst of Detroit river with a valentine's gift, fitting a silver band with the memory of your vows.

You're here. Sixty keels over. You're not following anymore. Sixty strangles a cry.

Warm arms slot him into the bubble of comfort only you can instil, kneeling in front of him to pull him tight. You're letting him go.

Please. He's only just... Not now.

You're not following him anymore.

"I love you, Sixty." Resonant for his chest so hollow, the vibrations of your voice linger like he was brandishing it into his steel skeleton.

You're not following anymore.

Sixty doesn't recognise the cries he lets out, the coughs he splutters to desperately rid any traces of ocean floor. He doesn't sound like himself. It's animalistic.

"I love you so much." You whisper between his breaths. God, he loves you too. Even if he forgot, his body remembered, at home in your love.

He loves you hopelessly, and he knows that means he must let you leave. For if he cannot fulfil his vows, you can't carry both halves in his shadow all by yourself. It's inevitably wasting you away. A pitiful curse, written as stars, to exist in the same sky but only catch the tail end of each other's light.

It truly hits, the tragedy of those balled-up notes, how they pile beyond measure with traces of foreign teardrops. Sixty clutches to you as if he were to break apart if he didn't. He feels pathetic. Small. Rotten in his biocomponents. He's a shell of a man, though he is full of the memory of you.

"I'm sorry," you speak into his neck. Sixty his head to encode the colour of your eyes. His thumb finds the edge of your lips, a supple and soft shape that would no longer smile at him whenever he looked over his shoulder. The android takes a moment amidst his breakdown to look at you if it's the last thing he'd do. The stray hairs around your eyebrows. Your cheeks, damp and tinted rouge. Your skin, smooth but textured, perfectly human.

Sixty finds that your features make up for his flaws.

I really love you. I love you too much.

Your lips meet naturally. Complete.

It's salty; whether from the looming threat of amnesia or the combined tears of the truth spilt, Sixty laps lavishly with his desperate tongue. To consume you through and through because it's in his hands now, to find you and take you back when he can, and lift that drawn-out burden off your shoulders. He can love you this way, even in times he doesn't spare you a second glance, doesn't recognise you in the crowd of many. Sixty kisses with the promise of finding you again, his vow, for when he doesn't forget, he will follow.

The android carries you with a heavy heart, slotting your bodies in the effortless flow of nature. He relishes in the gentle flex of your back under his palm when he lowers you into bed, lips never leaving yours.

He shuffles your clothes slowly, savoringly. Water riles up his throat. Sixty breaks away from you for the first time, taking to pressing tender kisses from the tips of your fingers, on the ring you still wear, up the soft expanse of your forearm.

The sound of impending tidal waves sing distantly.

"Let me carry the vows," he says low, broken like he hadn't spoken in weeks, "even if I forget..."

Tears fall off the tips of your eyes.

"...I'll follow."

" Sixty ."

You pull him to meet your lips again, tonguing in the language that speaks best. Your palm on his chest feels the racing beats that you saw in his eyes. You can also feel him spluttering too, but he makes no reaction to it.

Clothes strip at a languid pace. The urgency is heavy in the air but neither of you intends to rush things.

Forehead resting on yours, Sixty coats two of his fingers with saliva and dips between your legs, sharing the breaths you spill to take as his own. Your thighs flex at the newfound stretch, taut around his waist. He curls just where you like it.

The breathy notes you moan, the pinch in your brows, Sixty records them deep like an embellishment. A printed image of you on the surface of his artificial brain. He'll chase and chase just to see you like this again.

If only to make up for how long you've spent following him, Sixty can't begin the imagine the hurt that would've festered over the years. To catch your lover's eyes and have them look away confusingly, unaffected, where you itched for the moment the lightbulb struck and he loved you again. Fate was cruel, for the gift of sending such a person like you to him, and stringing the both of you out like parallel lines, only meeting when one breaks through the rules of their reality.

Lips mark the line of your jaw with traces of his tongue; your pleasure is perfected like it were the easiest thing for him to elicit. Your whines ring higher and faster and all Sixty can do is watch.

"Come for me," he rasps in the small space, transfixed on the fine contortions of your pleasure-drunk face. The android dips to kiss hard yet chaste, "I'll always make you come for me."

The night is lasting. Even though the sun has set, you've still found him beyond the horizon and splashed him anew. Your leg is pinned to his chest, foot over his shoulder whilst he paces himself to the glorious cacophony of your reactions. He's not quite worked you up like this before, in any of the passionate, urgent bed-rutting he's previously taken to, because despite the looming reality of his amnesia, he feels like he has all the time in the world.

Long, full thrusts to repeatedly remind you of his presence, even if fleeting, will always return. Sixty juts particularly hard and your nails scratch his abdomen with a pornographic wail. It drives him wild.

Sixty drives you to the brink again, selfishly pulling orgasm after orgasm for the solemn depths of his mind. He needed to take everything he could. The bed creaks loudly, meshed in the lewd sounds of his hips snapping against yours. Sixty squeezes your hand until the ring on your finger makes an indent on his plastic shell.

You plead for the sweet release over and over again. Until your eyes roll back, driven to the recesses of your mind with a pathetic range of vocabulary, not that Sixty would want it any other way.

The ocean calls him back, lapping at his knees. Sixty kisses you again and again and again until he feels numb.

' To never forget ', Sixty tucks his head against your neck, grunting loud into your ear whilst he fucks you until the early hours.

' And to always follow ,' you pant together, his hands cradling your face, and the words are left unspoken.

They ring loud anyway.

I'll find you.

-.--.-

The day praises Sixty's bedroom with a flurry of golden light. The birds chirp young and free, reminiscent of little children in a playground. Sixty wakes with salt in his mouth.

A note dangles from the wall above, Sixty twists his neck back to read the perfect letters.

"I have amnesia. I'm married. I will find her."

#dbh sixty #sixty x reader #rk800 sixty #dbh x reader #Connor-60 x reader #dbh fanfic #y'all I forgot how to write I swear #writing #dbh

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foxyarchive · 6 months ago

Text

Glass in the Ocean[P1]

After your grandfather's unexpected death, you find yourself temporarily living with your grandmother until she can find someone else to help her run her shop.

You, and everyone else, have always been taught not to trust mers. Even with this information, you find yourself drawing closer to three mers who have kept themselves hidden from the local populace for years, now. The closer you grow to them, the more you begin to learn about them, and the more the truth begins to unravel.

Was originally supposed to be just some steamy fun times with the boys but I got carried away so there's plot now so it may move a bit fast :,) Hoping for weekly updates!

Cross Posted on AO3!

Warnings: Mention of family death, almost drowning(not really though)

Words: ~5.2k

Tags in the comments! Ask to be added to the taglist!

P1 | P2 | P3

The ocean had always been a force of nature you were afraid of testing your luck with. Tumultuous tornadoes or shrieking storms? Terrifying, sure, but nothing that really got the hair standing on the back of your neck quite like the thought of being lost to the yawning expanse of the sea. There was still so much that was unknown about it, after all. Not only that, but waters were extremely dangerous when filled with such a variety of life; Intelligent, too.

Sharks were an issue to those who couldn’t keep to themselves. After all, they preferred to stay in their own waters, away from beaches where pesky people invading their space roamed and swam. Jellyfish could be terrifying in their own right, too, along with any seals that happened to be swimming too close and feeling a little too irate at those in the waters. All of those animals had one thing in common, though: Intelligence. Although the creatures held enough intelligence to make decisions of their own(and most were much smarter than humans assumed), most of them acted on instinct. They didn’t purposefully go out of their way to ruin your day, unless something spooked them enough to. Perhaps they were feeling a bit peckish as well– It’s only natural.

No, the ones who purposefully sought a chance to absolutely fuck over your entire life were the mers. Cruel, intelligent creatures that loved to see nothing more than the suffering of landwalkers. They would pretend to play nice with you, inviting you in with the allure of wanting to learn more about yourself or the world beyond sea; Those that could speak the common coast tongue, at least. It was rare to find a mer who could actually speak any coast tongue, besides a couple of keywords; Namely, those were something like, ‘Help!’, or, ‘Save me!’. Another luring tactic, besides their ethereal looks. Mers were beautiful creatures in the eyes of many. Flawless skin with long, sleek, shimmering tails. It could be easy enough to trick humans into coming closer, and those allured enough fell right into their trap.

Most mers only had their claws, inhuman strength, swim speed, and fangs, though. Thank God for that, as the very rare, known as ‘sirens’, had the ability to actually put some under a spell. Well, scientifically, it wasn’t actually, technically a spell. It wasn’t quite magic, after all, but the song apparently made chemicals in your brain flood enough dopamine to lure you towards the sensation. A heady, hazy mixture of lust and a false sense of security. Any sirens that were caught out were usually killed on sight. Not all mers were immediately killed, after all. Despite the fear humans had of them, and the staunch irritation, there was a certain balance to the ecosystem to be had… And certain prices to pay for killing a member of a pod.

All in all, everyone was taught not to trust mers. You weren’t excluded from this, but you never found yourself taking all of these warnings too seriously just because you had no desire to go swimming in the ocean. Any beaches made specifically for human points to swim in were always well guarded by eco-disruptors, and even the occasional patrol boat set with a spear. Anything else beyond that, though? It was a risk to swim, especially alone. Luckily, some areas were less densely populated with mers, which made them booming vacation spots.

You happened to be visiting one of those areas, but not for vacation. It was a more somber occasion, unfortunately, which would be followed by some work. Your grandfather had just unexpectedly passed away, and you were going to attend the funeral. Thankfully, your job allowed you to work from just about anywhere that had internet. Your grandparents had owned a small shop together after they retired to the coastside; A cute little building with beautiful glass blown and shaped figurines on the boardwalk. It had been something your grandmother loved doing, and you knew that closing it was the last thing she wanted to do. However, you knew she couldn’t keep it open herself. So, then, you decided that you’d help her out for a while until she found somebody who could work with her.

You weren’t an expert in glass blowing or shaping, by any means, but you’d done it a few times before with her. She was going to take on the brunt of the molding, and you knew you’d only really would need to help with holding and blowing when necessary. It was something you could do between your actual job, so why not?

It had been a long time since you’d visited the coast; At least, right up on the edge. Your grandmother had her own little house right along the coast, as did many others around here. Something your grandfather had managed to snag years ago, when you could practically buy homes with bubble gum and paperclips. The home was well maintained enough, even if it could use a fresh coat of paint and some reinforcing in parts of it(namely the balcony, some of the wood sagged just a bit too much). If you were handy at all, you’d probably offer to take it on as a side project when you weren’t doing glass blowing or your actual work, but you didn’t trust yourself in the slightest.

The service was early in the morning. You had driven in the night before, shacking up with your grandmother in the spare bedroom, which you’d come to call home for at least the next week or so. Probably longer. After the service, there had been the reception, which left you rather stuffed full of food, tired of mingling with family you hadn’t seen for a long time, and just tired in general. Getting here had taken a lot out of you, and it wasn’t every day you were so social. It was nice to see some family members you hadn’t seen in awhile, and swapped cherished memories of your grandfather. By the time it was all over, though, you were exhausted. Your grandmother was still out, and your immediate family had invited you to come peruse the town with them, but you declined, too tired. Instead, you headed back to your temporary home to take a nap so you could have dinner with them later in the evening.

Eyeing the bed as you undressed from your funeral wear, a sudden idea crossed your mind. Peering out of the window, you took in the warm, inviting sky. Blue with fluffy, wispy clouds, you decided on a whim that you would do something you hadn’t done in a long time: You’d go sunbathing. This place was free of mers, after all. The beach was totally safe– Maybe except for some crabs and birds, but you doubted anything was going to come pinching or nipping at you. Decidedly, you put on your swimwear, grabbing a towel and large brimmed sunhat. After lotioning, you put on some flipflops, walking down the small pathway carved into the cliff, down to the beach right outside of the house. It was a quick walk, even if a little unsteady due to the uneven nature of the stone’s cutting, but it was worth the price to have easy access to the beach.

You walked a little ways from the staircase, opting for some privacy should anyone return to the house early. Last thing you wanted was some annoying cousins throwing bits of plants or rocks down on you if you were right by the staircase. There was a decent sized overhang a good distance from the stairs, forming an alcove, and although you didn’t move to lay under it(you were trying to sunbathe, after all), it offered you some sense of security for whatever reason. Maybe due in part to it technically being ‘shelter’. You rolled out your towel with a flourish, putting your flipflops aside as you settled down with a sigh. The ocean was still a good fifteen feet from you, and you doubted the tide was going to be rising up anytime soon.

Already beginning to feel more sleepy due to the sun’s rays beaming down, you decided now was as good of a time as ever to finally get some rest. Laying back, you popped your earbuds in, flicking on a playlist. After turning it down reasonably enough, you took a moment to admire the gleaming beast in front of you. It stretched out far beyond your vision, sparkles shimmering atop the vast deep blue. The waves were gentle, foam softly curling up onto the beach, free of any clutter or weeds. A serene smile pulled onto your lips, and for a moment, you thought about possibly swimming later. It was something you rarely ever did, ocean or not, so… Why not do it now that you’ll be local for a bit?

That was definitely later, though. Right now? It was nap time. You laid back, placing the sunhat over your face so the sun wasn’t glaring right onto your closed eyelids. You just hoped there wouldn’t be a significant difference in tan from your face on the rest of your body. Any worries about that quickly vanished as you dozed off, lulled by the sound of your music, encompassing heat, and the faint sound of waves rolling in the distance.

—

You weren’t entirely certain how long you’d been sleeping for. You didn’t wake naturally, either. The reason you had begun to stir was because you felt droplets on your legs. The comparing cold drew you from your slumber as it continued, making you grumble and shift. It stopped, briefly, and you just assumed that there had been some spray carried by the wind. As you began to drift off one more, it happened again. It felt a little more prominent this time; The drops were fatter, and definitely more annoying. Then, there was more, and it managed to spray across your stomach as well.

That’s when you finally sighed out, deciding that the wind was not on your side. Grumbling, you spread your arms, back arching in tandem in one long, delicious stretch. A moan of appreciation left your lips, and you found the stretch was so good that you were briefly left winded afterwards. Opening your eyes, you peered up at the sun, grimacing as you held a hand up to shield your vision from it. Wait. Weren’t you wearing your sunhat? Did the wind sweep it away? You took a moment to rub your eyes with the heels of your palms, before sitting up, scanning the area when your vision cleared.

There were two concerning things, immediately. The first was that you did see your hat, beginning to be pulled along further and further out to sea. The second, much more concerning thing, though, was the creature that was partially washed up on the beach.

“Oh, f-fuck!” You scrambled, hastily, to your feet. Or, well, you tried to. Your ankles had gotten caught up, tangled in your towel, causing you to just plop right back on your ass in the sand. The mer partially lounging let out something that you were certain was a laugh, and you weren’t sure whether to be cross or terrified. A mix of both, perhaps, as your eyes landed back on it. It– He, you were certain– Was partially out of the water, looking quite lazy. Well, if at least one thing was true about mers, it was their beauty.

You were certain this was the most attractive creature you’d ever laid eyes on. He was lean and muscled, skin lightly sunkissed in a sense where he had a faint tan, but still didn’t seem quite as tan as you’d heard other frequently breaching mers were. His jaw was sharp, and so were his cheekbones, and he had this roguish, very handsome smirk on his face as his eyes met with yours. They were a beautiful, alluring umber, adding to the gorgeously tousled mop of hair atop his head that was a slightly lighter shade. Although all of that was most certainly attractive… You found your eyes trailing downward, taking in the sight of his tail.

Long and slick, you couldn’t see all of it, as half of it was still submerged in the water. What you did catch, though, was that his scales were a glossy navy blue with a pretty pattern of blue yonder interrupting them. It was then you noticed he had some scales on his ribs, as well as on his hands and cheeks. It didn’t make him look any less unattractive, though, and was it weird that you kept referring to him as attractive? Probably. He was a mer, but damned if he wasn’t hot. You didn’t even notice that his lips were moving until you spied the faint activity out of the corner of your eye. You couldn’t hear him, earbuds still softly playing music.

“What?” You asked after you popped them out, trying to clear the haze from your mind that you convinced yourself was definitely shock and not anything else. He looked amused, lips curling up further, revealing a set of slightly sharpened teeth.

“I said, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Oh, God, he’d totally caught you ogling. He didn’t seem to mind, though; In fact, he was practically preening under the attention as he turned onto his back, stretching out his lithe form. His tail curled up from the water, briefly, and you caught sight of the beautiful fin at the end; Long and elegant, but still webbed and strong enough to where you were sure he was a formidable swimmer like his kin. “I can pose, if you’d like.” He turned his head to the side, accentuating his delicious jawbone, and you noticed now his ears were a bit pointed at the end, scaled as well. Your cheeks immediately heated up, and you found yourself stammering, trying to assure him that, no, you weren’t going to take any pictures and you totally didn’t feel super attracted to a mer.

Before any of that came to your lips, though, a sudden realization hit you: He was talking to you.

“Y… You speak coast tongue?” You asked, a little astounded. That was so rare for mers, especially in areas where so few of them resided. Apparently, there had been less than five spotted here in the past six years, which meant that there were none. And yet, you happened to find one on your first day here, and he spoke your language? What were the odds?

“No.” He replied, rolling onto his stomach. You noticed a small fin on his lower back that shivered a bit under the ocean’s breeze. He rested his head on his arm, drawing a pattern in the sand with slightly webbed hands as his eyes took you in. He looked like a big, lazy, content cat. Not a care in the world. There was another flash of merriment in his eyes as he noticed your confused expression, before he gave another soft laugh as you realized he was fucking with you. They really were intelligent beings…

“That’s your hat out there. Right?” He asked, pushing himself up with an elbow, jerking his head in the direction of your floating clothing article. Stupefied, you blinked, merely giving a nod of your head. You didn’t trust your words. Was this a dream? “I can get it for you. If you’d like.” You didn’t know how to respond. All you knew was one thing that kept creeping up in the back of your head: Never trust a mer. This was literally all the signs of a mer trying to garner your attention and lure you in, from what you recalled. Looking alluring. Playing nice. Asking questions. This was the biggest red flag if you’d ever seen one.

Clearly, he could read the hesitation on your face, and he let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “I don’t have to. I was just offering. Is it so wrong to want to be nice?” Your gaze hardened a bit, and you brought your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. He was still a good fifteen feet away from you. Even if he tried to advance on you, you were certain that being able to run was in your books faster than he could drag himself ashore to you. Well… Mers did have inhuman strength, so… Maybe that wasn’t quite out of the books.

“Okay. Go get it.” You finally agree, suspicion still heavy in your gaze as you take in his facial features. He looked a bit smug, before rolling over once, and then slid back into the water. Once he was settled in it, he was gone with a whisper, and all was quiet once more. Your gaze found your hat, much further now than it was before. Nothing was happening… Nothing until you blinked, and it was gone. You looked around for any sight of the mer, spotting nothing until you saw the faint glimmer beneath the waves. He broke water as quiet as a mouse compared to the rolling of waves in the distance and on shore, your now sodden sunhat in his hand. You frowned a bit at the sight. “You had to drag it underwater?”

He seemed wholly unimpressed with your comment, frowning himself, a faint look of irritation crossing his features. “You’re welcome.” Is what he replies with, scoffing as he holds it out in front of him whilst he pulls himself back onto the shore. The perturbed look on his face is quickly replaced with another grin as he spies your hesitation. “...If you want your hat back, you need to come get it from me.” He purrs, waving the sodden article in your direction. You grimace, feeling annoyed at the proposition. Of course. That was his game.

“I’m not an idiot, you know.” You bite out, and he sets the hat down, tilting his head to the side. He has this adorable curl that crosses over his forehead with a few other strands.

“I never implied you were.” He responds, smiling peacefully, and you glower.

“Obviously you think I am, though. As soon as I come over there, you’re just going to drag me under with you. No shot.” You insist, and he clicks his tongue, offering an unimpressed roll of his eyes.

“Really? Come on. I wouldn’t do that.” He insists, rounding his eyes in what you assume is supposed to be a more ‘innocent’ manner. “Why would I go all the way out to retrieve your lovely hat, only to immediately kill you? I think you’ll look lovely in it, wet or not.” He purrs again, curling his lips up once more, and your scowl deepens.

“That was hardly a swim for you.” Comes your flat reply, body prickling in uncertainty. “It'd probably be the easiest meal you’d ever get.” “Please, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want to eat you; I’ve already had lunch.” He narrows his eyes, and you shudder softly against your will as you notice the more carnal look in them. “...Unless, of course, you’d like to provide me with a treat. That would be probably the best ‘thank you’ I could get.” You consider that he really is talking about ravaging your body, until you realize his eyes are pointedly staring at your crotch between your pulled up legs. Then, his eyes travel to your lips, before meeting your own. A sudden heat travels through your body that leaves you holding a breath. He takes the opportunity to shift forward a bit more, and that immediately brings you out of your stupor.

“J-Just throw the hat forward! Please…” You ask, voice trembling a bit from the combination of soft lust and fear crowding your mind. “Thank you for getting it, but I… I can’t… I don’t trust you. Surely you understand.” You insist, one of your hands coming down to grip the towel. His lips come to form a thin line, and you’re not so certain the dark look in his eyes is as lustful as it was before. Your time is definitely up, now, and you quickly scramble to your feet. You grab your earbuds, phone and towel, beginning to walk back the way you came, but his voice stops you.

“Wait!” Looking back, you see that he’s tossed the hat a couple of feet from him, and he’s pulled himself back just a bit. His tail is further in the water than before, he’s peering at you, gaze brighter than before, but definitely more unreadable. “...I understand your distrust.” He relents, and you hesitate for the third time this meeting, uncertain if you should take the bait. You still had the advantage on land… Is your cute hat really worth risking your life, though?

You look back at him. He’s just watching you now, a sort of benign curiosity over his own features. Maybe… He was just as curious about you as you were him. Clearly he’s had contact with humans before, though. He wouldn’t be able to speak otherwise. This is all a trap. You convince yourself, body stiff as you consider what to do next. You could just order another one… But it was perfect for here and now. You could just buy more in town, though…

You consider that your life isn’t worth risking over a hat. And yet, you find yourself placing your items on the ground, your feet slowly inching towards the wet article. The mer watches your every move, head low to the ground, and your eyes are following the way his tail twitches beneath the waves. You look at his hands. He’s rested his head on them now. That assuages some fears… Maybe he really wasn’t going to do anything. Was he so bored that he just wanted to see you closer? Use you for amusement? Perhaps. That wasn’t the most egregious sin, though…

You’re finally close enough to the hat, slowly bending down to reach it, as if trying not to spook him. He doesn’t move. You grab the brim, slowly bringing it up. For a moment, you find yourself just looking at him, and he’s looking at you. He’s even more gorgeous close up, now that you notice all of the little freckles and imperfections that dot his face. The only other ‘imperfection’ you could find, if you could call any of it imperfect(which you really couldn’t), was the small scar gouged into his forehead.

For once, instead of fear or any sort of weird arousal, you feel… Awe. This dangerous, beautiful creature sits not five feet from you, drinking you him as you do him. He has a sort of boyish charm to him that is enough to make you test your own willpower and suppress yourself from reaching forward to brush your fingers through his hair. Comb back those hairs that curl in front of his eyes, brush your thumb across the beautiful scales on his cheek bones…

Seems you’ve been enthralled, and you’re not quick enough to move as he suddenly lunges and grabs onto your wrist. You cry out in surprise, molasses quickly turning into a rapid stream as you try to pull away, but he’s strong. Dear God, is he strong. “I helped you. The least you can do is return the favor.” He finally speaks up, and that look of wonderment that was in his own eyes has vanished. He looks smug like before, smirk planted as he tugs you a bit closer.

“P-Please, let go!” You cry out again, trying to wrench free to no avail.

“I just want one, little thing, then I’ll let you go. I promise.” He insists, leaning up a bit, his eyes flashing with that same dangerous intent as before. When he was looking at you like you were his next meal. His ‘treat’. Another shudder wracks your body against your will, and you bite your lip. “Just a kiss. Only one. That’s it. Please?” He tilts his head to the side, eyes rounding a bit into something akin to a puppy. Oh, no… That was awfully convincing, especially with that heat still in his eyes.

Okay. You had been a fool once, shame on you. But twice? You were not going to die here today. Most certainly, no kiss was worth dying for, and you knew better than to trust his words, now. His grip was painful, only because he was strong, but he didn’t claw at your arm or wrist, thankfully.

“...If you let me go, I’ll kiss you.” You finally said, quietly, heart thundering in your chest. He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, eyeing you to try and find any deception. Finally, he pushed himself up a bit more, giving a small incline of his head in agreement. Slowly, he released your hand, letting it come to rest in front of his chest. You were so very grateful that the Lord had granted you the strength to go through with your plan and resist that very kissable face.

As soon as he released you, you turned on foot and fled. Or, that’s what you tried to do, but he was so fast. He grabbed onto your ankle, jerking you back, and you fell with a painful gasp. A wheeze left your chest as you struggled for breath, but you realized you needed to struggle now to not be pulled into the water. He was beginning to drag you, laughing all the way, and you shrieked in fear, desperately trying to claw your hands into the sand. You were so, so stupid. Why the fuck would you do that? Why did you have to go back for your hat? Why did you have to stand there and admire him?

“H-Help! P-Please, no! Let me go, let me go!” You shrieked, feeling hot tears begin to roll down your face as fear bloomed through your entire being. You tried to kick and pull, but he was easily able to evade your swats or keep you held tight. Whereas before, with your wrist, he was being careful, he most certainly was not with your ankle. You felt his nails digging into you, and you realized that this probably really was the end. Mers had the capability of releasing a neurotoxin that could easily make your mind and body go numb if enough was administered, and you were almost certain that was happening to you as you felt a cold flush through your system. You didn’t think it was the waves hitting your body, after all.

“Stop! S-Stop, please, I– I’ll s-stay away, I promise!” You sobbed, feeling the water now up to your chest as you thrashed and pleaded with the mer. You wondered if he’d kill you here on shore, devour the best bits of you and leave your carcass to float along. At least then your family would know what happened to you. Perhaps, instead, he’d drag you further into the water, play with you until you just couldn’t fight back anymore, then he’d pull you down with him and drown you. Would it hurt? What did drowning feel like? All of these morbid thoughts floated into your mind as you fought and twisted and tried to claw at him, but nothing was working. You sputtered as water entered your mouth and nose, and your sob was bubbling as you once again shrieked hopelessly for help.

This is it. There was a reason you didn’t you never wanted to fuck with the ocean, and yet you did. You had entirely fucked around, and now were finding out. What a fool you were. The shore was becoming further away, and you couldn’t let out anymore loud calls for help with water constantly invading your mouth, but you noticed he wasn’t drowning you. So… He was playing with his food first, then. Maybe you could do something about it. Catch him off guard. Go for the gills, or the eyes, or–

There was a whoosh beneath your body. Another bubbling shriek of terror left your lips, before something emerged behind you. There was an instant chittering of furious clicks that caught your ears, exchanged back and forth as you were tugged and pulled, and you suddenly realized there were two of them, now. Fuck. How many more were there?

You expected to feel the rip and tear of your flesh, likely being fought over for food, but instead found the pressure around your ankle disappearing. You flounder, still feeling too paralyzed with fear and a hearty dose of adrenaline to make your limbs coordinate with what you wanted to do. There was a hiss, before you cried out again as an arm was wrapped around your torso, pulling you to another slick body. You fought and kicked, but all you stubbed your foot into was pure muscle of another mer tail.

“Stop fighting me, please! I’m going to help you back to shore.” The voice piped up, sounding both a mixture of weary and fearful itself.

“I can take her back; I was just messing around! I swear, I wasn’t gonna kill her!” Came the other mer’s voice, and although you noticed they sounded eerily similar, you pinpointed that one as the one that had dragged you. You fought and pushed against the mer holding onto you, but you did notice that you were being brought closer to the shore. You paddled as well, partially in an attempt to get away, partially to try and go faster, you figured. There was no response from one you were close to, but there didn’t need to be one. Soon, you felt your feet hit the sand, and you instantly pushed yourself away from him.

It was a big of a slog to get through the water at your hips, but you managed probably the fastest you had ever done. You almost tripped once, but finally made it back to shore, chest heaving and ankle burning as you glanced behind you. You could see the mer that had dragged you out in the distance, a look of something akin to frustration on his face. What shocked you the most, though, was the mer that had taken you to shore.

He looked just like the other mer. Identical down to the eye and hair color and facial features. The only real difference you could find was that he looked just a bit more pale, and his overall features were somehow a bit softer, his hair not as wild. You couldn’t see his tail, but from what you could gleam from the scales on his cheeks, they were a lighter blue. He watched you, a concerned look on his face as you backed away. Tears were still streaking down your cheeks, and you fought to keep walking, trembling as he swam a bit closer. “I’m sorry for what he did. If you’d let me explain–” He begins to speak, but you’ve most certainly had enough.

You turn, leaving your stupid hat behind that got you into this mess in the first place. You have the forethought to grab your towel and phone, because they’re far enough away. You don’t put on your flipflops and don’t feel your earbuds tumble out of your towel as you hurry down the sand. There’s more angry clicks in the background which sends a chill right up your spine, but you don’t look back, even as they recede into the distance and vanish.

#reader insert #reader #detroit become human #dbh connor #dbh sixty #dbh nines #dbh connor x reader #dbh sixty x reader #dbh nines x reader #merfolk #merpeople #au #rk800 #rk800-60 #connor-60 #rk900 #hank anderson

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