#connoresque

something about feeling the softness of your skin beneath his own slightly firmer synthetic palms, a warmth he himself lacked making home under his fingertips; he adores it. in public, he knows what he should and shouldn't do. it can be as simple as his fingers laced through yours, or his hand resting on the small of your back whilst waiting in line somewhere. you figure he might find it grounding—a welcome distraction from the bombardment of new emotions he's handling every day now.

at home, though? oh honey, it's free rein. sometimes, he only needs one hand on you. most of the time, it's both. if you're sitting on the couch watching a show, one hand is going to be splayed across the expanse of your stomach, while the other plays with your hair or fidgets with your fingers. in bed, he doesn't let you do any half-cuddling; lucky for you, his arms don't fall asleep, and he's never too warm, so he pulls you close like he needs you to be a part of him before he can find his peace at the end of the day. if you're in the kitchen, throwing together something simple, his hands will find purchase on your hips, his chin finding its home in the junction between your shoulder and neck. or at the table when you're eating, a hand on your thigh or your feet across his legs. as long as he's close to you, he's happy.

it's not easy having a boyfriend who quite literally knows everything.

in fact, it's infuriating.

you're not dumb, and he doesn't treat you like it, but between actively learning social cues and being the smartest android person in the room at all times, it's hard getting into arguments with you. it starts as an argument, and ends in psychological warfare.

it's almost never serious, silly things like who left the backdoor open and how many grams of sugar are in a serving of that cereal you like, but it's frustrating nonetheless.

partially because connor has the equivalent of a photographic memory in the form of programming and wires, and partially because he swears you are the most stubborn person in detroit. maybe in the entire world.

you will swear up and down that it must've been him who left the milk on the counter that morning; he will rebut with the fact that he can't even drink milk, and it was your DNA all over the cereal bowl in the sink. you tell him you haven't even had cereal today, he's actively looking at an image of you at the breakfast bar, half-awake, eating cereal from 7:23 that same morning in his HUD. you argue he's mixing up his dates, and that must've been last week. at this point, you know you're wrong, but you refuse to lose an argument. and if there's one word connor has become well acquainted with whilst being with you, it's gaslight.

he tells you he can't mix things up; he is literally incapable. you tell him he'd better run a diagnostic scan because he is mixing things up. he actually looks concerned for a moment, and your resolve starts to crack, then he huffs and stalks towards the counter to scan the milk, assessing its condition before concluding it needs to be tossed. when he turns to you with his arms crossed over his chest, you match his stance with your hands on your hips.

"it wasn't me."

"it was you, and it is deeply concerning to me that you don't remember eating a bowl of cereal four hours ago."

"i don't remember that because it didn't happen."

"arguing over this is pointless. it is childish of you to not hold yourself accountable for something as minuscule as milk on the counter."

"we're not arguing—you're accusing me of a kitchen crime. i'm simply defending myself."

"i'm not accusing- you're so-" he takes an unnecessary deep breath to stabilize himself, "i was only asking, because i wanted to remind you not to leave it out next time."

the arch of your brow is so sharp he nearly flinches, "so you don't think i'm smart enough to remember something as minuscule as putting milk away?"

he nearly groans at your persistence. he can see the slight quirk on the right side of your lips, a sign you think you're winning. unfortunately for you, he has played these games before. and just because he's deviated doesn't mean he's forgotten his roots.

"your defense is weak. a scan of the milk shows it has been out for approximately four hours and thirty minutes," his eyes flit back to the milk as he says it, "you have no alibi, while i was out on a walk with sumo. i arrived home four hours and nineteen minutes ago— approximately eleven minutes after the time of the crime." he pauses, as if mentally checking off the evidence, "and your finger prints are all over the carton." he's smirking a little as he leans his hip against the counter, "hank can corroborate my whereabouts."

your lips part, then close, then part again as you stare at him. he thinks you're going to fire back, but you simply march towards him, reaching one hand around him to grab the milk and using your other hand to jab a finger into his chest.

"scanning the milk was totally cheating. asshole."

and with that, you're tossing the milk into the bin and—rather childishly—stomping off towards the bedroom.

once, hank had to separate the two of you to break up one of your ridiculous arguments.

you had been house-sitting. or more accurately, dog-sitting. you were both happy to do it, there were no problems when it came to you guys spending time with sumo. the problems started when hank got home and found the two of you cleaning up a bag of dog food that was lying open on the kitchen floor.

all he had said was, "the hell happened here?" and he was suddenly in the middle of a battlefield.

you pointed at connor immediately, a scowl on your face, "he left the dog food on the floor where sumo could get to it."

he sighed like this argument had begun a long time before hank had arrived. "you were in charge of sumo's dinner. i haven't touched the food since this morning."

you shook your head as you continued sweeping up food, "i asked you to handle it because i was taking the garbage out."

for once, connor was taking a page out of your book. lying. if it wasn't at your expense, you would've been proud. he was clearly trying to get back at you for the time you had broken one of hank's cups and blamed him.

he continued taping the part of the bag sumo had ripped into, sighing again with more theatre, "this is just like the cup. you're blaming me, so hank won't get upset with you." he nodded solemnly, "i understand your intentions are not malicious, but it is not very respectful to lie to hank in his own home." he was scolding you like a child!

you were gaping at him now, movements halted the moment he brought up the cup. that bastard!

you jabbed another finger in his direction, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost made him laugh. "you're ridiculous! you're, what, trying to get revenge for the cup incident?"

his minimal shrug, combined with his mumbling, 'doesn't feel so great now, huh,' was all it took for you to crack; you were up and moving towards him in less than a second.

you weren't going to hurt him, of course not. you were just going to sabotage his tape job on the dog food bag. you never claimed to be mature.

hank, however, did not know what you were planning and simply deduced that it would be something at his expense. he was too damn exhausted to deal with the two of you arguing like children on his kitchen floor. at the same moment you moved, he was grabbing your arms the way he would a perp, faux-cuffing you with his own hands.

"alright- alright! stop it. both of you. fuckin' ridiculous," he muttered the last part, shaking his head. "i don't care whose fault it is. i've been on the road for damn near four hours, and the last thing i want is to deal with- whatever the hell this is," he jutted his chin in both of your directions.

when you stopped squirming, he let you go. with the freedom of his hands, he pointed at connor, "you, out. go, fuckin', feed the fish or somethin'."

then, he looked at you, "and you, finish sweeping. i'll deal with the damn bag," he huffed as he snagged the tape out of connor's hands, grunting as he crouched for the bag.

connor looked baffled that he was the one being kicked out of the kitchen, frowning as he stood to full height. you stuck your tongue out at him like you had won, even though you knew it was a loss for both of you. hank was annoyed, you were annoyed, and connor looked like a sad puppy trotting out of the kitchen. the only one happy was sumo, who was fast asleep on his bed after his second dinner.

later, the two of you walked home in silence, the sounds of snow crunching underfoot and your jackets shuffling with each step the only cushion to the tension.

connor was the first to speak, shrugging his coat off as you slipped your shoes off at the door, "i'm sorry for blaming the dog food on you."

you looked at him, observing the way his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed, and sighed.

"i'm still sorry for blaming the cup on you. and trying to sabotage your taping."

he placed the coat on the coat rack and reached his hand out for your coat, to which you complied.

"it's okay. hank knows it was you," he stated matter-of-factly, smiling a little.

you nodded a little, rubbing your hands together to warm them up, "he knows the dog food was you."

he hummed in agreement, taking notice of your cold hands and grabbing them with his own, turning his internal heat up just a little as your fingers intertwined.

you smiled up at him, shifting on your feet as you pondered a little. he noticed, of course, and pulled you a little closer by your hands.

"what's on your mind?" he murmured, bringing his hand up to brush some of your wind-whipped hair out of your face.

"do you... think we argue too much?" you studied his face as his LED flickered yellow for just a second, returning to its calm blue as he shook his head.

"no, every relationship has its share of domestic disagreements. i think we argue just enough," he paused, searching for the right words, "you, uh, keep me on my toes?" it sounded like more of a question than a statement, making you giggle at his attempt at such human turns of phrase.

you leaned up onto your tippy toes, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. when you pulled back, and he attempted to chase your lips with his own, you could only smile and place your free hand against his chest.

"so," you squeezed his hand in preparation, "is now a bad time to tell you i left the clothes in the washer overnight again?"

the look on his face told you that you were in for a long night.

a/n honestly was just thinking about how an argument between connor and somebody very stubborn me would go last night and woke up needing to write it out. NOOOTTT proofed pretty sure reader is gn but again not proofed so i didn't put it in the tags juuust incase as always, thank you for reading ! always feel free to send requests <3

cw - sfw, deviant connor, dadcoded hank, gn reader, reader is a detective at dpd, literally just fluffy pre-relationship to relationship content, intentional lowercase ~ 2.5k wc

connor had a great memory; he had the capacity to remember absolutely anything he wanted with zero limitations.

key word, anything he wanted.

or, no, not wanted. he wasn't supposed to want. he couldn't. what he needed to remember to complete his mission. his obligation. it was all a matter of what was important and what wasn't.

somewhere along the line, you became one of the important things to him.

you had no relation to the mission; you weren't even assigned to the deviancy case. connor only caught glimpses of you throughout the precinct, maybe at jimmy's after a particularly grueling work week when hank needed a drink. you weren't supposed to be one of the important things. yet, every one of those glimpses became an important memory—something he stored in a special folder to sort through whenever the casework was light. a smile in his direction, a laugh he heard you share with a coworker. maybe he should have been looking through evidence in his free time, and maybe he pretended he was when hank asked him about the 'space cadet look' on his face.

it took a while for you to realize how good his memory was. sure, you knew he was a prototype android, better than any android to hit the public market—you didn't doubt his memory was good. he functioned like an extremely handsome, walking and talking supercomputer, for christ's sake.

perhaps, it just took a while for you to realize where his priorities were placed when it came to his memory.

when connor deviated, that amazing memory of his finally came in handy for something other than his cases.

it started with coffee.

one morning, you stopped to get coffee before you got to the precinct. something too expensive and too sweet, just a treat. connor only interacted with you once that day, when you said good morning to him and hank like you always did, holding that overpriced coffee in your hand as you made your way past his desk to your own.

that same coffee order was on your desk the next day. and the next, and the day after that. you wouldn't have known who it was if you hadn't looked up to find the culprit and seen him fiddling with his coin, subtly watching you while hank prattled on about some new evidence. if you hadn't caught the way he smiled when you raised the coffee in a cheers motion towards him, before he snapped his attention back to an annoyed hank.

then, it was flowers.

one day, when he had seen chris ordering flowers online for his wife—certainly not something he was supposed to do during working hours—connor found himself wondering if you liked flowers.

he had learned that flowers were often gifted as a show of affection or gratitude. the two of you were not particularly close; just work friends. he feared the implications of a gift like this might compromise the stability of the relationship friendship he was trying to build with you. he spent multiple days running through the possible outcomes in his head before he concluded that the chance to see you smile because of him overrode the nerves.

that was when the desk snooping started.

when hank found him standing at your desk before you arrived, he raised an eyebrow and flopped down in his chair.

"lookin' for something?"

"i was observing the detective's desk in hopes of finding information that could help me to get in good graces with them," he paused, contemplating the implications of the question on the forefront of his mind, "do you know if the detective likes flowers?"

hanks eyebrows shot up at the question, surprise painting his features so vividly connor reran the question through his social relations program to figure out if he had said something wrong.

"flowers? are you trying to get in their good graces or asking them to go steady?"

connor's eyebrows furrowed at this, LED cycling yellow as he processed what his older counterpart was saying to him.

"lieutenant, what you are suggesting is highly unprofessional. i am simply trying to proactively build strong morale with our colleagues."

the cobalt hued flush on the tips of his ears called bullshit.

hank had noticed the sudden interest in you that connor had picked up, and as much as he wanted to tease the android, it was too damn early to try and question him about it. so, he acquiesced.

"hell, i don't know, kid." he paused, scratching his beard as he thought about it, "pretty sure i saw them bring some in one day, smelled like a damn flower shop at their desk for a week. can't remember what type, but when chen asked 'bout 'em they said somethin' about 'liking the way they brightened up a room.'" hank air quoted you, hoping it was enough to get connor away from your desk before you arrived.

connor made a quiet hm noise, nodding and making his way to the desk across from hank's.

"thank you, lieutenant."

there was a vase full of white chrysanthemums on your desk the next morning. he filed away the expression of shock and joy on your face like he would a bullet casing or a witness statement; something he would later analyze with the precision of a surgeon with his hand on the scalpel.

two weeks later? a vase of pink carnations.

he caught himself smiling when he heard officer chen giggling at your desk, asking if you had a secret admirer, and your cheeks flushed as you looked at the flowers.

"something like that," he didn't have to look at you to know you were looking at him.

this continued for months. coffee, flowers, some little trinket that you had offhandedly mentioned or looked at online during breaks. he couldn't help the warmth that spread through him when he saw the surprise on your face, the smile that always followed. the two of you never spoke about it, but you did get closer.

lunch breaks spent with connor and hank, rolling your chair over to his desk to see what he was working on when your own work was slow, showing him memes that he couldn't quite understand but loved to see you laugh at. he even began to frequent the break room he had been avoiding since his first day, just to have a chance to talk to you about the weather, or a new episode of some show you had told him about.

it didn't take you long to admit to yourself that you liked him, a lot.

connor was still learning what his feelings meant, but he knew he cared about you in an entirely different way than he cared about hank, who loved to tease him about his behavior around you.

he said connor had a crush. connor thought about that for days. he felt like the nerves were frying his processors.

it felt like any other day when he showed up at the department. he looked forward to getting there most days, getting to see you, and do what he did best: work.

so, coffee in his hand and some pep in his step, he practically frolicked through the front doors, waltzing through the lobby and back towards the office.

something was immediately different when he walked in. first, hank was already there. he knew he would be, but the fact that he was smiling when connor walked in? odd. hank was never happy in the morning. then, when he started towards your desk, he saw you. you seldom arrived before him, so seeing you here this early had him feeling conflicted. of course, he was happy to see you; he always was, but a part of him was concerned at your early arrival. maybe you had a case that required a little extra work?

when you noticed him walking towards your desk, you offered him the same smile you always did, chirping a happy good morning! to him as he set your coffee down.

"good morning, detective. you're here quite early, is everything alright?" he tilted his head as he watched you bring the cup up to your lips, taking a sip. at his mention of your early arrival, he could sense that your heart sped up a little bit. noted.

you shook your head, smiling up at him, "everything is fine, connor. just... extra work to tackle." you lifted the coffee towards him, nodding, "thank you for the coffee. definitely needed it this morning."

he could tell you were lying, but not out of malice. it made him even more suspicious, but he didn't want to push. "i've had a significant effect on your caffeine intake, i really shouldn't indulge you." anyone who didn't know him wouldn't realize he was teasing, but the awkward little smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

you simply smiled at him before turning back to your monitor. you seemed... off, this morning. it was putting him on edge, not knowing what was on your mind.

he took it as a sign to make his way to his desk, where hank was hiding behind a newspaper, not-so-inconspicuously watching the whole interaction.

"good morning, lieutenant." all he got was a nod in response. seriously, what the hell was going on?

when he finally went to take his seat, that's when he saw it:

a little saint bernard stuffed animal sitting directly in front of his monitor on his desk. it looked just like sumo.

if he was looking at himself, the scene probably would have given him deja vu; the way he looked around to find the person who had left it there, only to see you hiding behind your coffee as you smiled.

it was a sight, for sure. seeing connor look at the plush, then at you, then at the plush. his lips were parted as he stared at it, and his reaction was starting to make you nervous.

before he even realized it, you were standing next to his desk, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

"i really wanted to get you something, as a thank you for everything you've gotten me the past couple months." you were looking down at your feet as you spoke, hands behind your back, "i even consulted hank, i hope you like it."

connor had never been at a loss for words before; he had never felt dumb. until now.

"i.. like dogs."

he could practically feel hank cringing from across the desks. he was cringing at himself.

you finally looked up, smiling a little as you watched him pick it up, "i tried to pick one that looked just like sumo. i know you really love him, and i figured maybe you'd like to have a reminder of him at work with you."

maybe connor would have heard your heart racing if he wasn't so focused on the way his thirium pump was beating at the speed of light, systems struggling to keep up with the overwhelm of emotions he was feeling.

you had gotten him a gift.

he hadn't realized how loud his silence was until you started rambling, fidgeting with your fingers in front of him.

"it's kinda dumb, and small. i just- i wanted to show you that i really appreciate everything you've done, and i didn't really know if there was anything else you'd like, and you talk about sumo so much- i totally understand if you don't like it-"

"i love it."

when you looked back up at him, he was smiling. it was the biggest smile you had ever seen on him. a beautiful sight.

"really?"

he nodded, smoothing the little ears on the plushie back, the same way he did with sumo, "it's perfect. and not dumb. i love it." he affirmed, bringing his attention up to your face, which was flushed at this point.

it felt like you had been holding your breath through the entire interaction, and could finally breathe. you smiled at him, shoulders dropping a little in relief.

"good, that's- that's really good. i'm glad you like it." you beamed as you watched him turn it towards hank, who, in classic dad fashion, smiled all goofy like and gave him a big thumbs up.

then, hank tilted his head towards you and raised an eyebrow, eyes still trained on connor like they were having a silent conversation. you furrowed your eyebrows, about to turn back to connor when you felt arms encasing your shoulders, slightly cold hands pressed against your back.

connor was hugging you.

with wide eyes, you wound your arms around his torso, cheek pressed against his chest. it was a little awkward, as though you were both learning to hug, but it was perfect. you nearly melted when he rested his chin against your head and quietly murmured, "thank you."

you only nodded a little, hands curled into his jacket. you didn't trust words right now.

when the two of you pulled back, you saw the blue tint rushing to his ears as he cleared his throat, not out of necessity but nerves.

"i apologize if this is forward, but i would like to- or, would you like to accompany me to- i'd like to take you out. on a romantic outing. or, a date? if you'd like to. because i would. like to take you out. on a date, i mean."

hank felt like he was watching a train wreck happen in slow motion. so much for all of the coaching he had been giving the android.

but you? you were smiling like he had just offered you a million dollars.

"i would love to go on a date with you, connor." you had never seen your cool, calm, and collected connor so nervous over something. a familiar warmth bloomed in your chest, knowing it was you he was nervous about.

when he shot hank a look that said 'i did it!' you could only giggle, turning away to get to your desk before more of your colleagues started to filter in for the day.

connor took you on a date not too long after that. and then another one, and another, and it was like nothing changed, even if everything had.

the sumo plushie never left his desk, alongside other small things you learned he was interested in. small figurines from shows he found himself enraptured by, a pair of too-big sunglasses he had stolen from your apartment one day after you put them on him and said he looked too cute not to keep them, any little memento that reminded him of how full of love his life was.

and you? there was coffee waiting for you every morning, usually with a silly little note scribbled on the side. your desk always had fresh flowers before the last ones wilted. and directly next to your monitor? a picture of connor and sumo; a candid of connor laughing as sumo licked his face.

connor had a great memory, but he didn't need it to know he loved this little life of his. it was memorialized in the little things that surrounded him, the details painted vividly on the canvas that was his life.

you knew he had a great memory, but it didn't stop you from reminding him of how loved he was. and he didn't need it to remember to remind you of the exact same thing, every single day.

a/n i had the worst weekend writer's block blehh thank you so much for all of the love on my other works !! this has no real plot, i just sat down and started writing with no end in sight and crossed my fingers that it would become something. still unsure about it. everybody feel so free to send requests im in such a rut rn

when you told him about your love for horror movies, he didn’t think twice about it. of course he’d watch them with you! he’d watch absolutely whatever you wanted.

he’d even go through the effort of deleting movie files from his database so he could get the full movie-watching experience!

but when you finally sit down and put on some slasher film you haven’t seen yet? connor looks like he’s just encountered a bug in his programming—if he could have gone pale, he would’ve.

the first time a jump scare actually gets him, he’s turning to you with the most disbelieving, shocked look. you don’t bring attention to the way he’s clutching your hand like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“you actually enjoy this?”

“i love it, actually.”

“your heartrate is 15 beats above your average resting rate, your hand is sweaty, you are showing signs of stress—what part of that is enjoyable to you?”

you’re giggling as you rest your free hand on his chest, right above his thirium regulator. and he had the nerve to mention your heart rate?

“that’s the point, con! it’s the thrill, it’s fun!”

he goes to speak right as another jump scare happens on screen, the music surging to a high point, and he yelps. literally yelps.

as your giggling evolves into full-blown laughter, connor is removing his hand from yours with a childlike huff of incredulity, retreating into his corner of the couch.

you make your way over to him with an apologetic smile, grasping the hand he had stolen away and wrapping your other arm around his shoulders. even with a kiss on the cheek and a murmured i’m sorry, he’s narrowing his eyes like he doesn’t trust that you’re not the serial killer from the movie.

it took a little bit of groveling, a fair amount of kisses, and putting the movie on pause before he finally relented, relaxing into your grip with a scowl.

"i find it perplexing that you would willingly put yourself through this," he pauses, lips pursed, "i'm never wiping another movie from my memory, i don't trust you." his tone, to anyone else, came across as absolute, annoyed even. you knew better, though; he was teasing.

"connor, noooo, the new slicer movie comes out in a month! you've got to come with me."

no matter how much pouting you did, he shook his head, his resolve a steel wall.

a month later, though? you were practically frolicking into the movie theater with a grin and your begrudging android boyfriend in tow.

this came to me in a dream. i hope this tiny lil blurb can satiate everyone while i work on bigger things i PROMISSEEEE i am something about introducing connor to simple human hobbies like watching movies and going shopping for fun etc etc is so buzzy to me i love it i had no idea how to incorporate him watching a movie without literally knowing what was going to happen, so this is definitely a bit ooc its just a fun idea to me

he would be so confused and so appalled that his programming would ever recognize you as threat enough to engage attack protocols. you would notice the distraught look on his face and ask him what's wrong, his expression reminiscent of a kid with their hand caught in a cookie jar—ashamed. he would be scared to tell you, worried you would think he wanted to harm you, but be honest nonetheless, because he couldn't imagine lying to you either.

"just now, i was observing you as you cooked, and i... had a thought that concerned me." he wouldn't look at you, eyes trained on his hands that lay against his thighs. "mhm? what was it?" you fully turned away from the stove now, concerned with the solemn tone of his voice. "i couldn't help but note that your shirt is not covering the entirety your shoulder, and you looked very cute dancing around, and i..." he paused, bracing for impact, "for just a moment, i had an impulse to bite it. your shoulder." when you don't respond for a moment, he finally looks up at you, seeing your eyes wide and your lips parted in disbelief. and connor? steady, calm, built to withstand any situation? connor panics. "but i can assure you i would never act on this impulse. i would sooner find myself deactivated than considering bringing harm to you. i fully intend to run a diagnostic test to identify the issue-" he's cut off by the sound of your laughter, loud enough he's sure the neighbors can hear it. full-body laughter that has you bending over and clutching your sides, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. he gapes at you, concerned that you would find such irrational errors in his already unstable programming so delightful.

it's only when you notice he's looking at you like you've grown two heads that you straighten up, wiping the tears of joy from your eyes and making your way to where he sits at your dining table. "connor, honey," you're still catching your breath as you kneel in front of his chair, "i know you would never hurt me, don't worry." you offer him a gentle smile as you place your hands over his, trying to be as empathetic as possible while still absolutely reeling from what he's just admitted. "i'm sorry for laughing," you add, rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles. he gives you that adorable little half frown, confusion lingering as he tilts his head, "why were you laughing? i don't understand what's so humorous." "i think you're just having cuteness aggression, con." when his brows furrow at that statement, you sigh and reach one hand up to pinch his cheek gently. "y'know how i'm always doing this to you? and calling you cute?" finally, something seems to click for him. he nods a little bit, eyes widening as if he had just been let in on a big secret, LED cycling yellow as he processes the new information. "that's cuteness aggression; you're so cute, i just want to eat you up sometimes." you smile, standing up to full height and ruffling his hair a little, still enraptured by this whole situation. "i see," he nods again, keeping his hand on your other one to keep you near, "so, this is a normal feeling humans experience around people they care very deeply for?" "mhm, very normal." you smooth his hair back, standing between his knees as he places his free hand on your waist, "not an error, or an issue. just a feeling, con." you can see him visibly relaxing at your reassurance, system no longer working at max capacity to identify an issue that was never there, LED a steady blue as he rests his chin against your stomach. "and for the record, you can bite me whenever you want." you grin, pressing a kiss to his forehead before spinning around to go back to cooking. except... he doesn't let you go back.

when you feel him tug you back by the hand he was still holding and see him bringing it up to his mouth, a cute little smile on his face, you figure he's just going to kiss it. but no, no—connor's grin grows a little brighter, those chocolatey brown eyes staring up at you,

and he bites your hand.

thinking about ୨୧ connor, who acts like a full-blown medical doctor when you're sick. he's logging every symptom, scanning you for your temperature every five minutes. he's constantly bringing you water or medicine or whatever he can conjure up to make himself you feel better. he delivers your diagnosis with the same even, firm, clinical tone he approaches everything with, but that doesn't stop you from noting the flicker of concern in his features when he reads your temperature for the fifth time today, and it still has not lowered—a crease between his brows, his lips pressed in a firm line. despite all of his medical knowledge, he has never dealt with a sick human, let alone a sick human he cares about.

connor, who orders you chicken noodle soup and three different types of cough medicine. he says he would hate to get you inadequate medicine and prolong your illness. you know he's nervous, uneasy seeing you so weak. he feeds you the soup and ignores your huffing and puffing about being able to feed yourself, telling you that it is illogical and unnecessary for you to exert yourself when he does not get tired or sick. somewhere, in the back of his constantly whirring machine mind, he quietly acknowledges that a part of him needs to take care of you. needs to see you healthy again.

connor, who is shocked when you finally pull him down onto the couch next to you and tell him to just stay. he argues that he needs to give you more medicine in thirty minutes, you tell him the best medicine is his presence. he gives you that lost puppy dog look then tells you he has no medicinal effect, he is an android, and is shocked again when you start giggling, leaning into his side as you tell him to shush and get comfortable.

connor, who is stiff at first, weary at the idea of not focusing on his sole task of taking care of you. but the feeling of you melting into him shoves those thoughts aside. he realizes, as he brushes your hair away from your face and lets you rest against him, that he is the most relaxed he has been all day. his thirium pump is finally beating steady, and his mind is no longer computing every possible way to heal you as fast as he can. and you, this is the most content you have looked all day. your sniffles and coughs have subsided as you start to drift off, and for just a moment, he can relax. he commits this moment to memory, filing it away in a folder dedicated solely to you.

connor, who looks at the time and sees that there's only 23 minutes until he's supposed to give you more medicine. then, he looks at you, your nose a little red from overusing tissues—he'll chastise you about that later—and eyelashes casting gentle shadows along your cheeks as you sleep, and decides that the medicine can wait. he reasons that the rest will do you good as well, but deep inside of his mechanical body, he can feel that gravitational pull he only feels around you. that pull towards the domesticity and peace of moments like these.

connor, who decided that maybe taking care of you is more than just pulling out every piece of medical knowledge he has stored in his database; maybe it's letting you sleep beside him while he smooths your hair out of the way, silently pressing a kiss to your forehead. and maybe, he'd spend forever taking care of you if it meant experiencing this level of contentedness.

do you think connor would accidentally make himself into a service dog when approaching humans with the necessary conditions

like imagine he knows a person who has a fainting or seizure disorder and he's just like "you are about to collapse, let me help you". may not even make the connection until someone else points it out to him.

i just had this thought and it keeps nagging at me because. would he??? is that a thing he can and would be willing to do? just because???

i absolutely do actually omg

i feel like, especially after deviating, he’d just naturally be very caring and empathetic in his own way. if he were to notice something wrong, he would want to point it out. then, if he'd pointed it out, he would obviously want to help.

he would definitely casually scan people all the time in public, partially from his already advanced observational programming, and partially from his newfound curiosity for the people around him. on multiple occasions, both you and hank have caught him staring at people before decidedly approaching them to warn them of something off regarding their health. that older lady he approached whilst you were waiting for coffee? oh, no worries, her blood pressure and heart rate were just abnormally slow, and connor wanted to make sure she was aware and offer his help. apparently, she had already been on her way to a doctor's appointment, and he walked her there to make sure she made it safely. when hank told you about the teenager he had stopped whilst the two of them were taking a walk around the park with sumo? he stopped to ask if he had ever struggled with any seizure disorders, and the kid had looked at him like he was insane, because how the hell did this random android know about that? connor had simply explained that he has an advanced olfactory system and, through smell alone, could tell one was coming. he offered to sit down on a bench with him for a while, and the two (and sumo, of course) had sat with him the whole time. that was when the thought first occurred to you.

then, one time, he had noticed you were looking a bit off. maybe you hadn't eaten much, maybe you were just stressed, a health problem he wasn't aware of; regardless, he had been worried about you and was keeping an eye out just in case. eventually, he had nudged your shoulder gently and stated, calm and collected as ever, that you had a high probability of fainting and he would like you to sit down with him for a moment. you had been feeling lightheaded, even a little dizzy, so you took him up on it. he had retrieved a snack and water for you, checked your vitals as if it were his job, then watched you eat and drink patiently.

after all was said and done, and he literally cleared you like a doctor, you turned to him with a smile.

"connor, have you ever realized you kinda act like...y'know, a support dog?"

his eyebrows furrowed, LED yellow for a moment, "what do you mean?"

"well...it's just that, i've noticed you pay attention to people's health a lot," you gestured between the two of you as if to say 'case and point', "and you always seem like you want to help, and it's very...support dog-esque." you had a playful smile as you said it, watching him think it over.

"i suppose i can see where you have made that connection," he began to grow a little smile of his own, clearly mentally sorting through the various times you had seen this exact behavior from him. probably cross-referencing it with any information he could find about support dogs, the supercomputer-brained nerd.

"i do like dogs, a lot. and i find it very important to offer my assistance if i notice something out of the ordinary. it is the right thing to do." he took the wrapper of whatever little snack he had procured for you and threw it away in the nearest bin. "so, yes. i suppose i do have 'support dog' tendencies, as you've deemed it."

between connor's love for dogs and his love for helping people, he found the title quite fitting—he enjoyed it, really. no harm in being associated with such cute, helpful animals!

and from there on out, it would definitely become a running joke between the two of you, and hank of course, to say he was tending to his support dog duties whenever he took the time to stop someone in regards to their health.

pair connor with a human who is a living furnace and wants Cold all the time and you've got perfect synergy

ooooh i actually like this idea a lot. i've sort of adopted the idea that androids are typically cold just because they have no real reason for temperature control aside from keeping their internal machinery stable, which would be cooling anyway, so the whole idea of them being 'ectotherms' (loosely, of course LOL) makes so much sense to me. writing this lil blurb was definitely a little self-indulgent as a person who runs annoyingly warm

connor wouldn't be a particularly clingy partner, but you pair with him a human who runs warm? oh, that is dangerous. whenever you're alone together, he is making sure you're touching as much as possible. it's not that he necessarily has a problem with being cold—it doesn't bother him—but something about the warmth he feels from you makes him feel so comfortable, so safe. he treats getting to cuddle with you the way most people treat stepping into the sun after a long string of cold, cloudy days; with real reverence and gratitude.

and you? well, running warm can be nice...sometimes. it comes with its qualms—like having to wear a jacket on a cold day when you have a lot of errands to run, or blankets that don't want to cooperate with your preferred sleeping temperature. sure, on a cold day, it could be nice not to have to turn the heat up too high. but on a hot day, nothing was worse than being frustratingly warm, no matter how few layers you had on. it was incredibly clear that connor ran a little colder than the average human; androids had no reason to be warm, but you hadn't really thought about it until the first time he had slept over. it was probably the best sleep you had gotten in ages. not too warm, not too cold, just right. his synthetic, slightly cool skin against your own warm skin felt like setting the thermostat to the perfect temperature, or getting to sit in front of an open window on a day with perfect weather. perfect.

connor would not fail to recognize this. he loves how warm you are and reaps the benefits of that, of course, but would also take plenty of care in noticing the way you would toss the blankets off in the middle of the night and press as close to him as possible. he would pay attention to the way you would pull frustratedly at your collar after a long day, overheated and irritable, only to melt into him when he pressed his hands against your neck, or your shoulders, or anywhere you wanted them, really.

after that, being skin-to-skin with each other would just become second nature. connor likes having his hands on you in any way (see: my post from like a week ago), just for the warmth that radiates through his palms, and you don't mind when it means you'll have the slight chill of his smooth hands entangled with your own, or splayed across your legs when you put them over his lap.