#lieutenant fowler

[detroit39incorrectquotes]

Connor: In my defense, I was left unsupervised.

Fowler: Wasn't Hank with you?

Hank: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised.

[detroitbecomefandom]

Gavin: Hell yeah just scored a 100% on that test

Hank: So did I

Fowler: You do realize those were mental health evaluations, right?

[write-tama]

"hank.. what am i feeling right now?"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ connor anderson (4k800) x officer!reader

sypnosis ; connor is very interested in an officer who just joined the police force. after being told the news that they would be joining the team, connor just had to make an acquaintance with them. anything to hear their voice.

containing ; use of you/yours and they/them pronouns! connor struggling to process emotions. hank being a proud father.

author’s note ; hihi! havent written for connor in SO long so i thought this was a cute little way of them meeting each other. connor is a

04.12.24 | 1.9k words

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everyone knew about the infamous RK800.

The last most developed and intelligent android produced by Cyberlife.

A machine built to hunt its prey and to always accomplish his mission.

But now?

A confused man sitting at his desk, elbows on the surface as he ran the fourth diagnostic this morning.

Connor was never really taught how to feel his emotions, considering that he was forced to compress them from the moment he was made. If he were to feel any sort of emotion, it was either to the scrap factory for him or a hard lecture from Amanda.

But Amanda was gone, and androids were free to express any emotion they pleased.

It’s been weeks since Markus hit the headlines for his famous android revolution. He worked with the government extensively to pass bills in order to settle android rights for the country. Connor, on the other hand, continued to work with the DPD as a full-on detective under the supervision of Liutenant Hank Anderson. Hank was more than just a coworker, but a father figure to Connor. And that brought Connor joy, an emotion Connor was well aquainted of.

But not the feeling he was experiencing now.

Connor couldn’t get his mind off a certain someone who had joined the team a bit before the revolution. You had joined a week prior, and honestly, you were kind of regretting it. As android and human tensions rose, you were on duty 24/7. Originally, you were supposed to start easy with basic patrol around a part of a city, but because you were so impatient in doing the “big kid stuff” you found yourself frequently in the middle of the android and human discourse. Your shifts nearly lasted twelve hours, and you would be absolutely exhausted.

Things are different now. Sure, there were still some situations between the two sides, but it was definitely peace compared to literal boycotts. You sat at your desk idly scrolling through your past cases, making sure that all the information was correct and accurate. On the other side of your desk was a tablet full of notes you had taken after some cases you had to deal with. What you didn’t notice was the android detective constantly glancing at you, watching your every move to see if maybe, at some point, you would notice him.

A loud groan echoing from the desk in front of Connor made him jump, immediately turning his attention to his lieutenant taking a seat in his chair. “Fucking hell..” Hank sighed. “Fowler does nothing but my bust my balls these days, huh?” Connor stared at his partner with his hands folded in his lap and eyebrows furrowed.

“Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, tilting his head.

“It’s nothing too serious. Fowler just wants me to take the rookie on our next homicide case. He insisted that they would be a perfect addition to the team or whatever.” Hank groaned. “Now I’m responsible for two of you fucks.”

Connor, admittedly, felt his thirium pump racing. You? As part of the team? It was almost like he could overheat and shutdown momentarily right now. “I think they would be a great addition to the team.” Connor stated, biting back from smiling. “They have an excellent track record of solving cases in an orderly and timely manner, has caught every perpretrator with their undercover skills, and had a reputation back in their training classes as one of the top students.” He explained. Hank looked over as he was slouched in his seat with arms folded across his chest.

“Jesus, Connor, you sound like some creep searching up their name on Google.” Hank scoffed, half smiling. Though this caught Connor a little off— was he being creepy? He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on you, especially now that you're about to meet for the first time. His face scrunched up in anxiety, feeling as if he made a mistake. Hank immediately took notice and sat up. “Ah— I was just joking, Connor. I’m sure you have uh.. Good intentions.” Hank reassured, though he never said he was exactly good at it.

Hank looked over to you, seeing that you were preoccupied with work despite the fact you haven’t been on a case in a few days now. Hank looked at Connor. “Well.. Why don’t you introduce yourself to them.” Hank suggested, nodding his head over to you.

Connor immediately jolted his head up, a little wide-eyed to even suggest such. “O-Of course.” Connor stuttered out. Connor never stuttered, and though Hank was in a mood after his exchange with Fowler, he certainly didn’t leave that unnoticed.

“Did you just stutter?” Hank asked, a little amused. “Are you.. Nervous?”

“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Connor replied as steadily as possible. “I am an android.”

“Connor.”

“Yes?” Connor replied, mindlessly.

“You’re a deviant, for fucks sake.”

“Oh.”

Connor, to avoid anymore embarassment from the man he deemed his father figure, swiftly got up and started to approach you. Hank watched in pure amusement, not even wanting to stop the boy from probably embarassing himself even further, but at least Hank had some faith in him. He is Detroit’s best god damn detective.

“Hello, Officer (l/n). My name is Connor. It is nice to meet you.” Connor said, putting his hand out for a shake. You looked up from your computer screen only to be met with the most chocolate eyes you’ve ever had the privilege of being in the prescence of. He smiled politely, but behind that smile he thanked Elijah that androids could not sweat, otherwise you would’ve felt the claminess of his palm.

You took his hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure to make your aquaintance. My name is (y/n).” You smiled generously, and wow, did Connor felt like his pump couldn’t get any faster.. He cleared his throat before darting his eyes to the unoccupied chair that sat next to your desk.

“May I?” Connor asked, gesturing towards the seat.

“Of course, I’m not doing much anyway.” You nodded. Connor took a seat, and for some reason, he struggled to even maintain his balance as he sat himself down. He nearly had to think about how to fold his hands before placing them firmly on his laps and looking at you. Thankfully, you barely realized any sort of struggle as you looked away to take a swig of your morning coffee.

“So..” you said, clasping your hands. “Am I in trouble or anything?” you joked. Connor immediately shot his head up, worried he had made the wrong impression.

“Oh, no— I—” Before Connor could sputter out an explanation, you tilted your head a little and started laughing.

“Relax! I was just kidding!” You playfully waved off. Connor’s shoulders immediately relaxed as a breath he didn’t even know he was holding back escaped his lips. You looked at him curiously, a smile still resting on your face.

“I’m sorry. Usually, I am not like this.” He said, shaking his head a little in embarassment. He was always on his A game and constantly prepared. Why were you the reason for this disruption. “I.. Uh..” He couldn’t think of anymore to say. Suddenly, he got a message through his LED.

NEW MESSAGE:

HANK: tell them u think theyre pretty.

Connor blinked a bit, registering the text message. Hank was at a perfect view watching this unfold. The back of your head was visible but he could see all of Connor’s reactions, who desperately tried to maintain a polite smile.

“I think you’re very pretty, (y/n).” Connor complimented.

“Oh— ah—” A subtle blush began to form on your cheeks as your eyes widen a little, not expecting a compliment from a handsome android such as Connor. “Why thank you, Connor. I wasn’t expecting that as our first conversation.” You chuckled a little. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Thirium was rushing through his circuits and to his cheeks. The faintest color of blue appeared dusted on his face. “Thank you.” He maintained a calm, neutral voice. They stared at each other for a minute, sort of registering the sort of corny first conversation the two of you had.

“Ah.. I almost forgot to mention.” Connor snapped back to reality. “I came here to introduce myself sfter I heard that you were joining our team on our next investigation. It’s good to make an aquaintance with our future team member.” Connor smiled politely.

“Why thank you. I am very excited to work with you and Lieutenant Anderson.” You nodded. “Though I will miss working with Gavin and Chris’ team.”

Ah, that’s right. You used to work with Gavin. It almost left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth knowing that Gavin probably spat some awful opinions about him to you. Though from the looks of it, you were enjoying your conversation with him which eased him.

“I promise we will a provide a welcoming and safe space in our team, and of course, to make sure you don’t come into harms way.” Connor assured. Though he was mainly promising this to you personally. God forbids Connor seeing you get hurt.

“Why thank you, Connor.” You said, tilting your head. Connor was rather intriguing to you— an android acting this way around you. His LED constantly switched between yellow and blue as if he was making sure to process every word you uttered. Yet he was so human— he would scratch the back of his neck, fidget with his fingers, and shuffle a bit in his seat. You would think someone as advanced as him would at least be able to have a composure, but he was different. It was something you admired about him.

“(l/n), in my office!” Captain Fowler called from the balcony of his room. You looked over to Connor before sighing.

“Well, boss is calling me. I’ll talk to you afterwards?” You suggested as you stood from your seat.

“Of course.” Connor replied, shielding his excitement. He stood up from his chair as well. “I’d be happy to talk again, (y/n).”

“Likewise.” You winked. With that, you left your desk and headed straight to Fowler’s office. Connor stood shellshocked. Did you just.. Wink at him?! Connor’s eyes slowly drifted to Hank, who was chuckling heartily. He gave Connor an assuring thumbs up as Connor made his way back to their desks.

“You’d be a shit detective if this is how you acted all the time.” Hank snickered. Connor grinned a little before taking a seat back at his desk.

“I know.” Connor sighed, leaning a little back in his chair. He at you through the glass walls, noticing your upright posture and the way you listened intently to Captain Fowler’s words. He looked over to Hank before thinning his lips.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“What is it, son?”

“What am I.. Feeling right now?” Connor asked, a little lost on how to explain it. “I can only think about them— only envision them when I close my eyes. I get nervous and its like my programming has reduced to 0s and 1s.” He sighed, hell, even a little frustrated that you had this affect on him.

Hank with a wide smile, shook his head and looked at Connor with a knowing stare. Connor looked up, both lost while desperate for an answer and maybe even a cure. Hank sat up and made sure to look at Connor right in the yes.

“Connor,” Hank sighed, grinning. “Son, that feeling your experiencing is called love. And your plastic ass better get used to it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

thank you so much for reading towards the end ! im sorry if its a little messy-- i quickly had to post this before hanging out w some friends but i just wanted to get this out of the way rq! reblogs, replies, and even likes are so so appreciated <3

[nevadancitizen]

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

synopsis: The Soviet Union has been producing robots for a long time based on a miracle compound: polymer. But that was invented in 1941. The current year is 2038, and, due to rising tensions in the Arctic, Americans aren't as kind to Soviets as they once were. It's too bad you're a russki, and it's really too bad that you work in cybersecurity. And honestly, with the case Fowler has put you on, you're at risk of losing your job. It doesn't help that you're stuck with Lieutenant Hank Anderson and some new android apparently called Connor.

A Detroit: Become Human AU with elements from Atomic Heart (2023), in which the international political climate is a bit different and more prominent within the story. The Soviet Union still exists, and she's threatening America by proxy of her invasion of the Arctic.

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

tags: Robot/Human Relationships, Action/Adventure, Action & Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender-neutral Reader, Mutual Pining, Minor Character Death

small note: this fic has russian in it (i mean, obviously). i'll be posting the translations in the comments of the fics, so if you're confused, be sure to check them :)

note, continued: also, the reader in this fic is gender neutral. please do not refer to them with feminine or masculine pronouns. instead, please address them by they/them pronouns. this fic is all-inclusive and not meant to alienate anyone -- it's meant to be written so that everyone can read, no matter their personal pronouns!

CH. 1: A Silent Dog & Still Waters

CH. 2: Like a Mouse in a House Full of Cats

CH. 3: Android Autopsy (Or is it Necropsy?)

CH. 4: Without Torture, There is no Camaraderie

CH. 5: Live For a Century, Learn For a Century

CH. 6: Some Sort of Sick, Self-Inflicted Schadenfreude

CH. 7: Does Every Rabid Dog Get its Tail Docked up to the Ears?

CH. 8: Mind Palaces & Other Shattered Crystalline Dreams

CH. 9: If You Chop From the Shoulder, the Ax Will Find Your Hip

CH. 10: Either Fickle or a Friend (Or a Really Fucking Fickle Friend)

CH. 11: Only Philosophy From the Poor Rings True

CH. 12: Friends & Tobacco are Separate Things (& so are Revolutions)

CH. 13: The Joys of Soviet Technologies (or, Good, Honest Snake Oil – if There is Such a Thing!) (or, Let's Talk Homecoming (the Military Operation, not Prom)) (or, The Smallest Church in Saint-Saëns) (or, Wake up & Smell the Ashes)

CH. 14: No Misfortune is Without Blessing

CH. 15: These are the Moments

EPILOGUE: <currently being written...>

[cyberllfe]

I got 1300 words! (Which you can absolutely shorten if you don’t feel like writing that much, absolutely understand as a writer.) and I would adore a “Shag me” prompt with Connor 🥴 if you feel up for it. My thoughts on this request (and you can adjust and add to because you’re a great story writer and I trust you) would be a female reader who works as a receptionist at the station (human preferably) and has known Connor since he first came to the department. Soon after his deviancy, they navigate a sort of awkward almost-friends-nearly-more type of relationship and stumble unto a slow romance, until Connor discovers the human emotion horny. It would be amazing if it could be at an awkward time too, like while watching a movie together or at work. I’ve been reading your pieces on AO3 and I truly think you are a talented writer, sending you all my love and inspiration💞💞💞💞

thanks for waiting, anon. connor will see you now. (ao3 link) 1300 words, rated E.

want a turn? prompt me.

It’s been raining all day—classic Detroit November—but all anyone can talk about is the guy who died, his escaped android, and the android investigator in the precinct. You’ve caught a glimpse of him more than once since yesterday, and this time is no different: he comes trotting in after Lieutenant Anderson, covered in glistening droplets of rain and speaking very insistently about something you can’t hear.

“That’s him.”

Your eyes would have slid right past him if not for the intensity in his face. He’s single-minded, emphatic... for all the good it does him. Anderson rolls his eyes and pushes Connor out of his path, leaving him standing there, recalculating. Only then do you notice the LED.

It’s barely two seconds before he’s started after Anderson, calling his name.

“Looks good wet, doesn’t he?”

You don’t offer anything but a soft hum. The thought follows you for the rest of the day.

*

Connor precedes Hank into the building today. He surprises you by speaking to you instead of simply scanning in, and you feel… strange. The look in his eye is so human, almost anxious. With an awkward smile, you offer a reassuring platitude. You’re earnest, but the offer seems to confuse Connor. He thanks you anyway and leaves your desk.

Between jobs, you keep an eye on him. He’s so animated. It’s marked, the difference a handful of days makes—he paces back and forth, oscillating where Hank is static, following his trail of thought as if it were physical.

Neither notices you. The rude FBI agent doesn’t notice you either; too intent on getting into the Captain’s office, he chucks his ID at you with a cursory here you go, sweetheart and goes back to his phone.

The ID is fine. You let the jackass through, and hope he gets shouted down by Fowler, who could probably do with a good outlet for his repressed frustration.

You laugh, later, as two uniforms perform a dramatised version of Anderson’s right hook on Perkins, but it’s brittle. Your eyes are on the news, and the demonstration in the street, and the news anchor’s silent mouth framing the words what do they want? without listening to the answer. Connor had raced out of the station earlier, and caught your eye as he went. You hope he's okay, wherever he is.

*

“Excuse me.”

Brown eyes meet yours, familiar intensity tempered with... caution? Nerves? It’s hard to tell them apart on a face that was built to display but not feel.

Connor wears plain clothes with all the ease of a soldier. There’s no tie to straighten, so he clenches and unclenches his hand and lets his eyes wander. They find you smiling, tentative but warm behind your professional attitude.

“How can I help, Connor?”

He’s clearly unused to the question. It’s endearing, really, to watch him like this—the self-possessed turned self conscious, attempting to hide in the shadow projected by his own image, broadcast endlessly on the new cycles at Markus’ left hand.

“Is Lieutenant Anderson here?”

“No. I don’t think he will be, either. He left about an hour ago.”

When Connor sighs, you wonder if he picked that up to blend in with humans or to help him communicate better with them. Both, probably. His fist coils up again, but he gives you a slight smile as he turns to leave.

“Connor.”

He turns, mildly surprised, to face you when you call his name. His smile is late but warm.

With one hand you reach for his, and with the other you slide a business card into his palm. The touch seems to surprise him further, and he stares at your hand even as you withdraw it.

“If you’re looking for Hank, he’s here. Diner out on the edge of town. I thought you’d come by looking for him.”

You’re glad to notice that he doesn’t look as guarded as before. Connor’s not around every day, not anymore, but you see him often enough to watch him relax into himself—to laugh when you make a self-deprecating joke, or hold the door for Officer Miller’s excitable son. Instead, Connor seems thoughtful, like you handed him something heavier than a wedge of paper with a cartoon burger on it.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

To your surprise, he lingers. Spends enough time to ask you about your family, about the plant you keep on your desk, which you should water, by the way. You talk quietly with him about almost-dead houseplants, why you’re not allowed to play Monopoly at home over the holidays, and show him the family dog. All the while he’s leaning against the counter, one arm crooked atop it and grinning… you’re more than distracted. He leaves the foyer, eventually, but not your thoughts.

*

Laughter covers cheesy Christmas music. You’re wearing half your wine glass in the colour of your cheeks, but Connor thinks the flush becomes you.

You notice when he glances at you, and you smile in that shy, self-conscious way. He returns your smile, adjusting his posture to face you, and you turn away, pretending that you barely noticed, and noticeably trying not to check back. He basks in private amusement.

The party draws on a little long—someone pulls out a bottle of something strong and definitely against regulation, and when Connor leans down to ask you if you’d like another drink, you jump.

You’re never in danger of falling, of course. Inhuman arms encircle you and hold you steady against an equally inhuman body—and for the first time, Connor feels a response that correlates with your change in expression. The slow pull that binds you and builds to something far stronger than he’s felt before until letting you go is unthinkable.

He makes a plausible excuse for you to leave. The charge in the air grows to fevered sharpness, a harmonic buzz that doesn’t break until he has one hand in your hair, the other encircling your waist, and that insatiable need to get closer.

Connor doesn’t leave any of you untouched. When his kisses would deny you air, he leaves them in trails down your neck, then undoes a handful of buttons to continue down your chest, hands restless and hungry, so much warmer than you’d ever imagined, so much more demanding.

When he whispers I don’t want to wait, it’s as if he read your mind. A shiver runs through you when he parts your legs and leans his weight into you, pushing inside with a growl that thrills you.

You tense around him. It’s not intentional, but he grabs your chin and holds you still beneath him, feeling the burning heat of your shaky breath past his thumb. He caresses your lower lip, and when you realise you can’t nod, you whisper please, and reach for him with both hands, in case he doesn’t understand how much you want him.

Connor leans back and pulls out almost all the way. You whine loud, desperate and frustrated, until the hand on your face tightens, cutting off your mumbled demand and making way for the moan he fucks out of you.

His fingers claw your jaw and throat and it’s heaven: the sharpness against your skin, the deep pressure inside you, building with every rock of his hips, chased with a mouth that suffocates and teases you until you’re dizzy.

You feel heavy, waves of sensation breaking over your body with increasing frequency and intensity, and no outlet except your nails in Connor’s back, scratching until he presses in deep again. You tense, on purpose, and half-feel, half-hear the stuttering moan, then the frenzied motion of his body as he pushes himself to the brink and drags you with him, tangled and messy, sharing breaths, but sated at last.

[usaac-official]

The crew of a Royal Air Force Catalina IV of No. 210 Squadron at Shetland after sinking U-320, May 1945.

Front row (left to right); Flying Officer C Humphrey (navigator), Flying Officer F Weston (3rd pilot), Flight Lieutenant K Murray (captain), Flight Lieutenant W C Robertson (2nd pilot), Flight-Sergeant D Fowler (1st wireless operator/air gunner):

Back row (left to right); Flight-Sergeant G Swift (air gunner), Flight-Sergeant P G A Alway (Flight mechanic), Flight-Sergeant L W Rose (wireless operator/mechanic) and Flight-Sergeant I W Evans (2nd wireless operator/air gunner)

[all-gummed-up-inside]

a pathetic Hank? <33

A/N: this has been in the drafts for so long, I’m sorry anon

I fucking live for the idea of pathetic pervert!Hank, he’s *supposed* to be a police lieutenant, someone you could count on and trust! so how come he’s in the DPD’s grungy bathroom jerking off like it’s the last time he’ll ever be able to? He tried not to! Honestly! But it’s just so hard not to stare when you wear tight shirts like that, or speak so seductively to him <3

Hank would probably lose it if Fowler ever decided to partner you and him up together for a case, this is *supposed* to be a simple homicide case, but his mind is already too far down the gutter just by being in the same car as you :( probably thinking about sneaking off somewhere to take care of his hard on before it gets too bothersome, rubbing his thighs together minutely to try and release some tension.

Hank somehow gets worse once you two start dating, because now he has access to things like your clothes or intimate photos of you <3 he’s like a dog in heat sometimes with how desperate he can get at times, always needing to get his dick wet.

Hank is a full on service top! Dom or sub, doesn’t matter, he just wants to watch as his cock sinks into you. He could honestly cum just from the sight alone if you really wanted him to <3

[kissoflightning]

Lieutenant Hank Anderson Full-Body Reference Pics

Alice YK500

AP700

Captain Allen SWAT

Connor RK800, RK900

Chloe RT600, Chloe ST200, and ST300 Androids

DPD and Police Androids (Including Ben Collins, Chris Miller, Jeffrey Fowler, Tina Chen, and PM700)

Gavin Reed

Josh PJ500

Leo Manfred

Markus RK200

North WR400

Richard Perkins

Simon & Daniel PL600

Traci WR400 and HR400 Androids (Including "Echo" and "Ripple" ]

Zlatko's Creatures

[ersatz-ostrich]

Obvious

Gavin Reed x gn!Detective!reader

Hank isn't looking forward to working with you and Detective Reed on the scene of a murder. However, when he arrives, he notices something rather obvious going on between you and Gavin.

[A/N]: Hey everyone! We interrupt your regular Jason Todd programming to bring you...Gavin Reed? If you've read my other Detroit oneshot, you'll probably notice that this is the same concept, except with Gavin Reed instead of RK900. I love them both and I think they deserve some attention. The reader is gender-neutral but Hank (playing the role of Sherlock here) does mention that Gavin is wearing men's deodorant and so is the reader, which Hank uses to imply that they've been ~together~.

warnings: implied sexual references, glaring absence of beta reading

read here on ao3

Parked on the side of a residential street, Hank Anderson stepped out of the passenger seat of his squad car, too drunk to drive but too sober to turn down a new homicide case. The second his shoe hit the pavement, another squad car barreled past. Its wheels kicked up a wall of muddy water from last night’s storm, leaving Hank drenched. 

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” Asked Connor as he exited from the driver’s side. 

“Yeah,” Hank grumbled, shaking himself off and following Connor to the yellow holographic tape surrounding the crime scene. “Guess that’s one way to get sobered up.”

“Ah, there they are. Lieutenant Anderson and his plastic prick of a partner.” Drawled Gavin Reed from behind the yellow tape. 

“I’m here to see Detective L/N,” Said Hank, unfazed by yet another showing of Gavin’s barbed tongue.

“Why?” Gavin replied petulantly.

“He was invited,” Connor supplied. “I think Captain Fowler wants us to help analyze the crime scene. 

“Well, you know what I think, don’t you?” Gavin fired back. Hank shot Connor a glare. Not helping, Connor. 

“No shit, Gavin, of course I do.” Hank pushed past the holographic tape, but paused just as he brushed past Gavin. 

“What?”

“You didn’t make it home last night, did you?” Hank muttered, side-eyeing the belligerent detective. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Gavin spat. Sighing forcefully and muttering a string of curses under his breath, he stormed away. “Hank and the fuckin android’re here, bringing ‘em in,” he announced into his radio. Hank and Connor crossed the front yard to the porch, where you were just exiting the house where the victim lay in congealed blood. 

“Hello, Lieutenant, Connor.” You greeted the pair in your most cordial voice. “As always, this is a crime scene.” You leaned subtly closer to Hank, whispering in a threatening tone, “Try not to contaminate it.” 

“L/N, good to see you again,” Hank chuckled. “Don’t worry, Connor’ll have my hide if I so much as breathe on a sensitive piece of evidence.” His eyes twinkled as he looked you over. “Your landlady outta town?” 

“Uh…why are you asking?” You frowned, puzzled.

“Hey hey hey, what’s the hold up over here? We’re on an active crime scene and we’re running on borrowed time!” Gavin complained loudly as he approached the detectives.

“And you, Reed,” Hank’s zeroed in on the feisty detective. “Didn’t make it home last night? At least get someone to feed your cats for you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“And your deodorant,” Hank pressed on.

“What about it?” Gavin was growing increasingly combative.

“It’s men’s deodorant,” Hank continued. 

“Obviously—”

“Detective L/N’s also wearing it,” Clearly amused, Hank raised his brows at the two of you. “Coincidence?” You opened your mouth to say something, but the lieutenant cut you off. “And don’t think nobody noticed that thing on your neck.” Gavin was incensed.

“You son of a bitch—”

“Listen, Hank,” You caught Gavin’s forearm before he could lunge at the man. “Now’s not the time for this discussion. Can we please save this for later?”

“Oh, come on. I don’t care what you two are doing off the clock, but if Fowler finds out, I’m not covering your asses.” You sighed in defeat. 

“You know what, I’ll take it. Thanks, Hank.”

“Anytime. Come on, Connor, let’s go check out this mess.” Connor, who had been silently observing the exchange and concealing his amusement with the skill of Cyberlife’s most advanced investigator prototype, followed Hank into the house without further question.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

~~~~~~~~PLEASE HELP ME I NEED A BETTER DIVIDER~~~~~~~~~~

[A/N]: So what do we think, folks? Does Gavin wear something generic like Old Spice? Or is he the type of guy who wears cologne? Now that I've written that down, that question sounds hella creepy ("hmm what does this fictional male character smell like?"). But I really do wanna know if he makes enough money as a police detective to wear Dior Sauvage on the regular or something like that bc I feel like if he could he totally would.

Hope you guys enjoyed! Until next time x

let me know if you want to be added to the general taglist!

[coming-lieutenant]

Hello!

Got another idea about younger detective and how Hank can't believe she likes him, so he thinks she spends time with them for Connor, until she's fed up with all of this and kisses him. Maybe in front of DPD 👀.

Thanks Queen/King/any other royality you might identifies with 💖😌

Get a Fucking Clue

A/N: Sorry for the delay 😭 my life literally imploded over the last week and a half and I finally got the ship back on course. I hope you enjoy it!! I’m so sorry it took me so long!

~

Cool, refreshing air envelopes your body, a comforting contrast to the summer heat outside as you walk step into the Detroit Police Precinct. Today marks the beginning of a new journey for you as a criminal investigator. Over are the days of sitting on the side of the road, in alleys, waiting for someone to break into a building, mug some unsuspecting passerby, or any of the other unsavory activities that occur under the moonlight of this restless city. Now, you get to work among some of DPD’s finest on the scenes of the crimes, solving crimes with much higher stakes.

You take a breath, trying to keep yourself cool and collected as you walk into the Bull Pen. You’ve been in here before, but typically you didn’t spend much time here. You walk through, looking at the desks, looking for the lieutenant and his partner you’ve been assigned to train under. You see a man, or android, rather, as you can tell by the bright blue LED on his temple, sitting at a desk. You recall being told the partner in question was an android detective sent by Cyberlife, and though you don’t see anyone sitting with him, you approach anyway.

“Hello. You must be Connor,” you say, greeting the android as you walk up to the desk. He looks up from his computer at you. “Hello,” he says, giving you a warm smile, “I am in fact. Can I help you with something?” You look at the empty desk across from him. “Have you seen Lieutenant Anderson this morning?” You ask, puzzled by his absence. Connor smiles again. “It would be surprising if I had. I’ll call him and let him know you’re here.” He picks up his phone, calling Lieutenant Anderson. He looks mildly surprised as his call is answered. “Lieutenant? Our trainee is here. She wishes to meet you.” He’s quiet for a moment, seemingly listening to the response. “Alright. I’ll let her know.” Connor hangs up the phone, looking to you, “He wanted me to inform you he’ll be here in fifteen minutes. He said you may sit at his desk until he arrives if you want.” You smile, nodding. “I think I will.”

You sit at his desk, taking in the various items he has scattered around. He’s got a little plant, which makes you smile, and a picture of a saint bernard dog. He’s also got stickers all over his computer screen, almost completely covering the screen itself. You scan your eyes over the snarky and sarcastic stickers, referencing his disdain for his ex-wife, happy people, and complaints.

Just as you finish reading them, you catch the motion of someone approaching out of the corner of your eye. You look up to see a particularly tall man, taller than Connor, with shaggy, silver hair and a brown leather jacket approaching. You smile, standing up. “You must be Lieutenant Anderson,” you greet, holding your hand out for him to shake. He stands in front of you, an apathetic yet curious look on his face as he shakes your hand. The contact nearly sends a shiver down your spine, heat blossoming in your hand and running all the way up your arm, settling in your cheeks. “Unfortunately.” He responds, looking down at you. “Are you the new kid Fowler wants me to train?” Your smile falters a little bit, taken aback, but you’re not one to back down at the first sign of trouble. You stand up a little straighter, smiling at him confidently. “I actually have several years of patrol under my belt.” This makes him chuckle. “I consider ‘several’ five or more years. How many you got?” He retorts. You cross your arms, still smiling. “Four. But regardless, I’m not fresh meat, Lieutenant, and I’m sure someone as experienced as yourself will have no problem training me up in no time,” you quip. This finally gets you a smirk from the detective. He sits down in his chair, “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Your training under Hank went like that for months. Sarcastic comments from Hank, witty replies thrown right back in his face from you, Connor being an unfortunate bystander, day in and day out. As the days went by, you found yourself growing… Particularly fond of Hank. It was nearing the end of your training, meaning working so closely alongside Hank and Connor was about to come to and end, and you would be assigned to cases on your own and eventually be issued your own partner. As exhilarating as it was, finally having the world in your hands, it was bittersweet. You found yourself waking up in the morning eager to go to work, and though you were in some degree of denial about it, deep down you knew you weren’t eager to work. You were eager to see Hank.

Hank was grumpy, cynical, and spiteful, yes. Absolutely he was. Concurrently, though, you knew that, much like Connor, he had grown a soft spot for you. In fact, much to Connor’s chagrin, he seemed to have more of a soft spot for you than he did for even his android partner. Of the three of you, you were the most likely to make mistakes. To get things wrong. Regardless, he always met your self criticisms with defensiveness. Defense of you. He never let you feel like you weren’t a good enough detective, or like you would never be able to make it on your own. And, though you would never let him know it, the banter between the two of you, when it happened, never failed to light a fire deep inside you. It was exhilarating to go back and forth with him, and you basked in the attention of it.

Nearing the end of your training with Hank, only weeks out from it, you found yourself standing outside of Chicken Feed with Hank. Connor sat in the car, as usual, seemingly wanting to give the two of you space as he slowly caught onto your feelings for Hank. You smile at Hank. “Only a couple more weeks of this, huh?” you quip. Hank chuckles. “Yep. You’re lucky, you only have to deal with two more weeks of this ugly mug. Connor over there has to put up with it until further notice,” he responds, motioning to Connor in the car with the sandwich in his hands. “You’re going to miss him, aren’t ya?” he says, laughing. A look of confusion spreads across your face, and you look at him with furrowed brows. “Miss who?” Hank gives you a knowing look. “Connor.” He says, as though it’s the most obvious statement in the world. You are thoroughly perplexed by this. “Oh, uh… Yeah? I guess so.” You’re not sure what the point of the question is, but you finish your lunch anyway, not much of a word from either of you as you finish eating.

Back at the station, Hank’s words repeat like a broken record in your head. You sit with him, once again in Connor’s absence, as the two of you quietly work on filing through cases. Suddenly, Hank speaks. “You know, I think you should tell him how you feel.” You sit up, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “Hank, what in god’s name are you talking about?” you demand, looking incredulously at him. He looks back up at him. “Connor. You should tell him how you feel. I mean, even when there’s no case, you’re always hanging around. You always seem to laugh when you’re with him, and you blush all the time. I think before your training is done, you should tell him how you feel.” You stand up, running your hand through your hair and sighing, pacing slightly away from your chair as you are struck with disbelief, not knowing how to respond. You’ve never in all your years seen someone be so dense. He starts to talk again. “Listen, I didn’t mean to stress you out, I just think-“ Suddenly, you know exactly what you should do. You spin on your heel, cutting him off as he speaks by grabbing him by the collar and slamming your lips onto his. Hank’s hands are suspended in mid-air where they had been while he spoke, and they slowly move to your arms, gently touching you as he begins to kiss back. After a moment, you pull away, smiling. “Still think it’s Connor I’ve taken an interest in?” Hank stares at you, a smile slowly creeping onto his lips as seemingly the whole bull pen stares at the two of you in disbelief. Hank chuckles, speechless. And you smirk, returning to your chair, satisfied with yourself as you return to your work. Finally, the man has gotten a fucking clue.

[detroit39incorrectquotes]

Fowler: We need to distract them for a bit

Hank: Leave it to me

Hank: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.

Connor, Tina, and Gavin: Immediately begin arguing

Chris, watching in horror: Oh this. I don’t like this. I don't like this at all.

[detroitbecomefandom]

Hank: Can I have a new partner?

Fowler: Why? You have Connor

Hank: Exactly. I don’t want Connor, he’s weird

Fowler: Tell you what: Go on this one mission with him and when you get back, I’ll assign you a new partner

Hank: Ugh, fine

[After the mission]

Fowler: Welcome back! I have that new partner-

Hank, carrying Connor on his shoulders: Nah I’m keeping him

[reedeemable]

Connor: Lieutenant, what should I do with these files? Hank: Oh, just run those by Fowler Connor: Um, ok Connor: *sprints past Fowler's office* Hank: ... Hank: What was that?

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 1: A SILENT DOG & STILL WATERS

synopsis: the soviet union has been producing robots for a long time based on a miracle compound: polymer. but that was invented in 1941. the current year is 2038, and, due to rising tensions in the arctic, americans aren't as kind to soviets as they once were. it's too bad you're a russki, and it's really too bad that you work in cybersecurity. and honestly, with the case fowler has put you on, you're at risk of losing your job. it doesn't help that you're stuck with lieutenant hank anderson and some new android apparently called connor.

word count: 2.6k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: based on an au i literally had a dream about. it's basically d:bh with elements of atomic heart :P this ch. is half exposition and half hank being an alcoholic lolololol

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The Soviet Union had always been very good at spying on and stealing American technology. They did so with the atomic bomb, the B-29 superfortress, and the space shuttle – with no lack of effort on America’s side of trying to keep them secret. 

But one thing set the USSR above the rest: polymer. A miracle compound that formed the backbone for every technological evolution that came after. It mimics a human neuron, including its ability to interpret input signals. With tinkering from top Soviet scientists (and a whole lot of luck), a gigantic neural network was established, the maximum computing power of which was orders of magnitude higher than the power of a conventional network.

With polymer, the Soviets reigned supreme as the only real international superpower. The other countries could play at being powerful, but the USSR was top dog – and she wasn’t keen on letting the others forget.

But that was in the past. And the past is boring. That was in 1941, and something you learn about in history class. Polymer is now regularly sold and traded and built upon and shared. After the Cold War ended, it was expanded outwards and is no longer a precious commodity. It was even needed to build a modern technology – androids. Ones that could pass the Turing test, unlike the TER-A1 Tereshkova (which was a human-looking robot, sure, but one that had an unsettling, unmoving mask for a face). 

And androids are simply better than Soviet bots. They’re versatile and able to be mass-produced without specialization development. They’re not big and clunky like the chimpanzee-esque MA-9 Belyash and can still accomplish the same installation, plumbing, and welding work. They can do the same agricultural work an ARU-31/6 Rotorobot can do without the risk of accidentally endangering humans while in use.

Again, they’re simply better. In the current year of 2038, American androids just trump similar Soviet tech in every way.

But that doesn’t mean that the Soviets aren’t still trying. They’ve invaded the Arctic with intent to claim the land, heavy with NA-T256 Natasha bots and the claim that the “heavy-duty ground-based loader bots can squeeze up to five liters of blood from a human body in under twenty seconds,” as a deterrent to American forces.

And this action has made your workplace a hell away from home.

Even though you immigrated from Chelomey, Russia to Detroit, Michigan in 2027, before all this business went down, people still eyed you warily – like you secretly enjoyed living under communism and the ever-watching eye of the Kremlin. Like you were just itching to get your grubby little paws on American secrets so you could report them to Comrade Molotov and a beautiful girl back home called Katya. Yeah, right.

These small, under-the-breath and glance-of-the-eye accusations weren’t helped by your current occupation: as a screen jockey for the Head of Cybersecurity of the Detroit Police. They acted like you hadn’t worked just as hard as everyone else for your position – for your polymer glove and the privileges that came with it.

Polymer gloves have come a long way from their prototype in 1955. They’re a single fingerless glove – one glove, as a person doesn’t need two – with an adjustable wrist strap. In the middle of the palm is a small silver star that can retract to expose prehensile, tentacle-like wires that can interface with terminals and other technology. 

But it doesn’t stop there – with a single gesture (holding your hand out and making an “L” shape) the glove can scan the surroundings of the user. Paired with an artificial polymer retina, the user can have information about the environment that they otherwise wouldn’t have. 

And, of course, you’re outfitted with the top versions of both – on the precinct’s credit card, obviously. 

But, again, you’re just a screen jockey. One of the best, but still just a worker bee that reports to a higher-up. There’s little to no interaction with the other departments, as cybersecurity is mostly isolated without any related crimes. Maybe cyberterrorism, but cases of that are few and far between. 

And you thought that’s all you’d ever be until you heard Fowler’s bellowing voice call your last name.

When you pop your head up from behind your terminal, you see him standing halfway through the glass door to his office. You swallow and trot over, a nervous idea tickling the back of your mind. Is he mad? Did you do something wrong? Shit… did you accidentally leak something?

You push open Fowler’s door and slowly shut it behind you. He’s sitting behind his desk, stark against the blue-grey backdrop of the wall behind him. His constantly furrowed brow and permanent frown lighten a little when he sees you.

You fold your hands behind your back politely. “Yes, sir?”

Fowler gestures to the seat in front of his desk. “Go ahead and take a seat.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. You definitely did something wrong.

You walk over and sit in the chair. It screeches with a horrible sound.

You lean back in the chair and cross your arms. “What is this about, sir?”

Fowler leans back in his chair and drags a hand down his face. Immediately, the worst things pop into your head. You fight the urge to worry your bottom lip. 

“You have experience with androids, yes?” Fowler asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question – rather, a statement.

“Yes, sir.” You nod.

“And you have experience with Lieutenant Hank Anderson?” 

Your eyebrows furrow a little, but you still nod. “Yes, sir.”

Fowler turns to his terminal. “How do you feel about him?”

You bite your bottom lip as you think, then let it slip from your teeth. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s my friend. He is still a valuable member of the force, even if he has presented a few problems in the past couple of years.”

Fowler laughs. “A few?”

“Ah…” You smile, but it’s a bit forced. “More than a few. A lot. More problems than solutions, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s just how it goes sometimes.” He shrugs and sighs. “Do you know about the new case he’s been assigned?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “He won’t shut up about it.”

He hums and leans forward, resting his chin on folded hands. “Always one for discretion, that one.”

You duck your head, instead looking down at your lap. “Yeah. But I think he can do better – be the cop he was before.”

“An optimistic Soviet.” Fowler laughs lowly. “That’s a new one.”

You just clench your jaw and meet his eyes. “What is this about? If you’ve called me in just to poke fun at me and gossip about Hank, I’d like to go back to my desk. Uh, sir.”

“No, no.” He holds a hand up. “Tell me what you’ve heard about Hank’s case.”

You think for a second. “Deviant androids murdering their owners. It sounds like it would’ve been labeled self-defense if it was a human-on-human crime, but…” you shrug. “I’m not in Homicide. I’m in Cybersecurity.”

“Well, you’re getting some experience.” Fowler pulls a cord from his terminal, one you recognize as a port compatible with a polymer glove. “You’re on the case.”

“I’m on the case?!” You repeat in disbelief. “Sir, I – I don’t –”

He holds up a hand for the second time. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re the best screen jockey with the most field experience I can spare.”

He gestures with the cord still in his hand. “Now, c’mon. Jack in and download the files.”

You swallow your objections and outstretch your gloved left hand. The thin metal of the star retracts, and the prehensile wires extend towards the port, waving like blades of grass. The ends of all six find their homes in the port, still wiggling like black tapeworms. 

Documents appear in the corner of your eye, one after another, like pop-up ads. You blink hard to dismiss them, then disconnect.

Fowler feeds the cord back into his terminal, then leans back in his chair. 

He looks over at you. “What’s that one saying you Soviets say? Something about champagne.”

You look up at him, then down to your glove. The star retracts, then goes back to its original position, like it was winking at you. “He who doesn’t take risks won’t drink champagne.”

“Well, I hope you have a taste for harder liquor,” Fowler says. “Hank’s at having a drink somewhere nearby. Go find him.”

And Lord, did you know right where to find Hank. 

On the door to Jimmy’s Bar is a firm warning, reading: NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED – OWNERS WILL BE PROSECUTED. You just hope that they don’t extend the same kindness to russkis. 

When you open the door, everyone in the bar turns to look at you. You nod and, once they see who you are, turn back to their conversations or nursing their drinks. 

You spot Hank at the bar with what looks like a Tennessee whiskey. You sidle up onto the barstool next to him, easing into the creaky seat. As you drape your rain-speckled coat on the back of the chair, you glance at the clock on the wall. It reads just before twenty past eleven.

“Bartender?” You call. Your thick accent immediately catches his attention, and so does the money you slide onto the bartop. “Vodka, please.”

The bartender, presumably Jimmy, picks up a bottle of Stolichnaya from the shelving behind him. “This good?”

You nod. “More than good.”

He pours vodka into a tumbler glass, then pushes it across the bar. You accept it readily, and the tiny sip you take gives your throat a nice burn on the way down.

“A Soviet and vodka,” Hank mumbles against the lip of his glass. “Like a moth to a flame.”

“It’s what my mother served with dinner,” you say. “I’m just glad Jimmy’s got enough sense not to keep us from his bar.”

Hank chuckles and raises his glass to that.

“Fowler’s gone beyond the pale.” You sip at your drink. “Have you heard?”

“Yup.” He sighs, setting his drink on the bartop harder than necessary. “Don’t know why a kid like you has business with an old timer like me.”

“Oh, believe me,” you say, your voice heavy with sarcasm. “It’s nice to visit, but it’s better to be home. I don’t know what he’s thinking. A Cybersecurity worker partnering up with someone in Homicide? Next, we’ll have androids doing our thinking and philosophy instead of our laundry and dishes.”

Hank snorts into his drink. “Hell, with all these runaways? They might as well be.”

“I mean, I can see his line of thinking.” You swirl the vodka in your glass, watching the way it catches and reflects the low light of the bar. “Cybersecurity, androids… makes sense, but me? A russki? With all that’s happening in the Arctic? If we don’t do well, my job is on the line.”

Hank sips his whiskey. “It really sounds like Fowler’s settin’ you up to fail.”

“Setting us both up to fail.” You correct and mirror him, sipping at your vodka. 

The sound of the door opening and the rain outside cuts into your conversation. Nothing you’d usually take a glance at, but what puts you off is the sudden silence of the bar. Bars shouldn’t be silent – especially not Jimmy’s.

You look over your left shoulder and see a nice looking man that’s just walked through the door. He looks a bit dorky, sure, and a bit like a lost puppy dog, but that could look nice on certain guys. And the asymmetrical tuft of loose hair that’s escaped his hair gel looks –

There’s a blue triangle just above where his left breast pocket would be. On the other side of his blazer reads RK800 in even, white text. He’s an android, not a man. He meets your gaze and you inhale sharply.

Your eyes return to your drink, and so does Hank’s. This isn’t what you want to deal with right now – or ever, actually. It’s Jimmy’s establishment, so it’s Jimmy’s problem.

But still, as soon as the android saw you, he started making a beeline for you. His footsteps are quick, measured, and even. 

“Excuse me,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder. He addresses you by your title, and your gut clenches.

“No.” You try to wave him off. “No English. Sorry.”

“Officer, you passed each of your TestEaFL’s with flying colors,” he says, narrowing his eyes a little. “You can speak English perfectly fine.”

You cringe a little, but then a thought strikes you – how would this android have access to the scores of your Test of English as a Foreign Language? But before you can ask, he’s turned to Hank and started speaking.

“Oh, Lieutenant Anderson.” He moves so that he’s standing beside Hank. “Just the other person I was looking for.”

He glances between the two of you. “My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. Captain Fowler said that you were both having a drink nearby. I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar.”

You snort and your eyebrows shoot up. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that there was a hint of… something other than monotone indifference in his voice.

“What do you want?” Hank grinds out.

“You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android.” Connor glances at you, like he’s reminding you that you were also assigned this case. “In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.”

“Well, I don’t need any assistance.” Hank jabs a thumb at you. “I’ve got all the unwanted assistance I need right here, and I don’t need any more. ‘Specially not from a plastic asshole like you. So just be a good lil’ robot and get the fuck outta here.”

“He’s right,” you chime. “And it doesn’t really look good to have androids investigating androids. What if you snap, too?”

“I will not.” Connor meets your eyes, and you can almost see the switch flick in that little android brain. Great, now it’s your turn to be grilled.

He circles so that he’s standing beside you and leans down a little, putting his hand on the bartop. You keep your eyes down, firmly on your drink. 

“I’m sorry, Officer, Lieutenant, but I must insist,” he says. “My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany both of you.”

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Hank chimes in with a throaty laugh.

You glance over at Connor, who looks thoroughly confused. You smile and bring the glass to your lips. 

“No,” Connor says. “Where?”

Your throat seizes around the sip of vodka you were trying to take, causing you to cough it out as you try to suppress your laughter. You slam down the glass (effectively spilling most of it) and bring a hand to your chest, trying to ride it out as Hank pats your back.

“чёрт возьми!” You wheeze, your voice hoarse. Your chest burns. “Oh, fuck.”

You wipe your eyes as the burn dulls, still coughing slightly. Connor purses his lips before coming to a conclusion. 

“You know what?” He offers. “I’ll buy you both one for the road.”

“You better,” you say. “You made me spill mine.”

“Bartender!” Connor calls, and slips money onto the bartop. “The same again, please.”

“See that, Jim?” Hank says. “Wonders of technology. Make it a double.”

Jimmy pours a healthy amount of Jack Daniels into Hank’s glass, and starts to pour Stolichnaya into yours. You cut him halfway with a raised hand and a “Someone’s gotta drive us home safe.”

You knock back your drink, then let out a low whistle at the nice burn. Hank follows soon after and sighs heavily. 

He leans back and looks over at Connor. “Did you say homicide?”

[biggestxsimps]

Hi! Me again. I think I now read all Connor x male reader fan fics and I need more. So that is my request. Connor x male reader. Also, If you are comfortable doing so, could you add a little bit of spice? Not much. And only as long as you are comfortable. Luv u

Love?

A/N: Thank you again for the requests, we really appreciate it! Unfortunately neither of us feel comfortable writing spice yet, but I tried to make it seem like he’s head-over-heels for the reader instead! Most dialogue at the start is taken from the actual game, I think it’s obvious where it doesn’t become canon anymore.

Connor was determined to catch these deviants; they had caused too much harm, and he was ready to put an end to them. "Hank," he heard Fowler’s voice, turning, he saw a young man in uniform behind him. "This is Detective L/N; he will also assist you in your cases." He continued. Before Hank could complain, Fowler had left the group. "Evening Lt." You give a quick nod to the older man. He groans before muttering a greeting. Connor couldn’t help but stare, you seemed.. different. Your gaze turns to the android "And who might you be?" You send a small smile his way. "My name is Connor, I’m the android sent by Cyberlife." He quickly rises from his seat, offering it to you instead. You thank him as you take a seat, hastily checking through deviant cases as Connor stands beside you.

Hank had taken both you and Connor to ‘Chicken Feed’, his favourite food truck. You stood against one of the tables with Connor as Hank stood in front of the vendor, ordering food for himself. "I don’t mean to alarm you, Detective, but I think Hank’s friends are engaged in illegal activities." You couldn’t help but chuckle at the android, this wasn’t your first time being partnered up with Hank, so you knew not to worry. "People do what they can to get by, I think it’s fine as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone." You shrug. Connor slowly nods, your laugh making his circuits buzz; he felt what he assumed, people call, butterflies? He had never felt his insides do that before and made a note to talk about it with Amanda later. You pat him on the shoulder and say, "Don’t worry ‘bout Hank; he's a bright guy." Connor felt his skin heat up at the touch, his fan speeding up as he overheated. Now he was worried. Before you could ask if he was alright, Hank had come with his meal.

It wasn’t until after you had met Kamski that you brought his behaviour up. He had chosen not to shoot Chloe, instead choosing to lose any information he could’ve gained from Kamski. You had all met back up on the bridge. Hank sat on the bench facing the river as you and Connor leaned against the railing. You looked over at the android beside you. "Why didn’t you shoot her, Connor?" You meekly asked. Connor’s face scrunched up, "I-I’m not sure, I just couldn’t." He looked down, staring at the water instead of at you. "Con" His eyes drift upward, the same butterflies rising in his chest. "You showed empathy, empathy’s a human emotion, Connor." Connor felt conflicted at that. He wasn’t a deviant; he couldn’t be. But when he looked back at you, he couldn’t get rid of the way you made him feel. The thoughts he had of you drifted through his mind, ones he knew he couldn’t pursue. Wait, feelings? Thoughts? 

The next day, Connor went to Hank’s house, determined to get an answer to how he'd been feeling. He was about to knock but saw that the door was unlocked, so instead he walked right in. "Lieutenant," he said, nodding at the man sitting down. "Jesus fucking Christ, Connor. Knock next time, god." The gruff voice echoed through the room. "Sorry, Lieutenant, it’s important." Connor takes a seat beside the rough-looking man. "Why couldn’t you go bother Y/N instead?" Connor quickly shook his head. "I was going to, but I think it involves him." Hank’s curious gaze lingers on Connor. "Go on," he insists. "My system has been acting up whenever I come into contact with Y/N." Hank’s brows furrow as he gestures for the android to continue. "My body heats up, and I feel a sort of buzzing in my chest when he speaks." He says, placing a hand to his chest, the sound of his fan overworking at the thought of the young detective. Hank chuckles before erupting in laughter. Connor tilts his head at the older man's actions.

"You’re in love, Connor."

Connor dead-panned. Love? He wasn’t in love. He wasn’t able to love; Androids aren’t able to love. His mind races over every interaction the two of you had, scanning over every detail. Shit. Maybe he was in love. "-onnor?" He’s brought back to reality by the amused Lieutenant. "It’s alright to be in love, Connor. In fact, I think he’s fallen for you too." Connor’s quick to reply, "He’s in love with me? How do you know?" Hank shakes his head. "You youngsters are so obvious it hurts." He pauses. "You should go tell him how you feel, Connor. God knows you’re not gonna get anywhere talking to me about this."

Hank was right. Connor rushed out, hearing the gruff man’s laughter as he left. He was quick to reach your house, quickly knocking. He heard a muffled "Coming" from behind the door before you opened it. Looking at you now that he knew what he’d been feeling was nerve-wracking. "Hey Connor, what’s up?" You open the door, dressed in casual clothes he hasn’t seen before. He can’t deny how good you look right now. He reprimands himself before looking into your eyes. He had never felt so nervous to speak up before. "Y/N." You nod, smiling curiously at the oddly jittery android. "Yeah Con?"

"I’m in love with you, Y/N." You choke on the breath you had taken, his straightforwardness catching you off guard. "Oh wow." You pause. "I wasn’t expecting that." You awkwardly laugh. "I, uh, I think I'm in love with you too, Connor." Connor's cheeks flush blue as he smiles. You feel yourself grin wider at the blushing android. You slowly reach a hand to his cheek and ask, "May I?" Connor’s head tilts in confusion. "Kiss you, Connor. May I kiss you?" You giggle. Connor’s eyes widen before nodding, your smiles being felt on each other's lips. Connor was the first to pull away. "Does this mean we’re together?" You take a breath before nodding. "If that’s what you would like, Con." The now blue-faced android rests his head against your chest. "Thank you, Y/N."

A/N: This is so much longer than I thought it would be, I was only expecting to write 400 words or so. I think I hit 1000 lol. Sorry if there is a lot of filler. I'm really bad at writing for Connor, sorryyy.

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 1

[feathersandfarmers]

can you make a comic about bunty and fowler interacting with each other please

Fowler: *Grumbles*

Bunty:"What are you moaning about now you old sausage? Can't you enjoy a nice, sunny day?"

Fowler: "I happen to have an R.A.F story about it!"

Bunty: "Oh here we go..."

Fowler: "There was this HUGE drill sergeant rooster called Lieutenant Spur. He made all our lives a living hell"

Fowler: "He had a particular dislike for me!"

Fowler: "Maybe it was caused by that one time when I accidentally used salt instead of sugar while on kitchen duty...and ruined Lieutenant Spur's dessert!"

Fowler: "He called me over...and gave me a very special task"

Fowler:"He made me sweep up the sunshine..and so I did"

Fowler: "While he watched...."

Lieutenant Spur: "I'm seeing good progress private!"

Lieutenant Spur:"Youre a true professional Fowler!"

Lieutenant Spur: "You did well, Private Fowler...not a speck of sunshine left..."

Fowler: "Thank goodness it rained the next day..."

Fowler: "But I was made to mop it all up...."

*Bunty laughs*

Fowler: "I'm outta here....*grumbles*"

Bunty: "AHAHAH! I've got a new nickname for you....SUNNY! haha! No! Wait! Summer sausage!! ahahahahaha!"

Another comic! I'm not too pleased with how it turned out, but it was still fun to make up a story about Fowler in his R.A.F. days and the pointless punishments he received!

And of course, Bunty is not the one for empathy.

(ignore the spelling errors, I made this with major sleep deprivation haha)

@frutger-aero