#dbh x reader

and with that one comment, you gradually sit up straight, removing your head off connor’s shoulder.

“sorry, captain.” you nod curtly, voice rasped as your hands wipe at your eyes.

hank holds back a chuckle from your other side — you’re surprised he managed to stay awake during these meetings too.

with one last stern look, your captain gets back to talking and all the other officers, sergeants and whatnots turn back to him as well.

you just yawn, way too tired to feel embarrassed.

connor leans closer to you, mumbling quietly again, "l/n, do you require a coffee?"

you stare back at him, eyebrows furrowed, "hm?"

"coffee." he repeats, "since you keep falling asleep."

"oh," you smile softly at him, "no, it's okay, thanks connor."

his led flashes yellow briefly before he sits straighter, “if you say so, detective.”

you watch him for a moment longer, taking note of how caring he is for an android — especially when you’re constantly getting told that they can’t feel things.

connor has only been here for a month and he’s already made you doubt that statement on multiple occasions.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

it didn’t take long before you were back at your desk, hands cradling your head and eyes squeezed shut.

thankfully you didn’t have much work to do today. at least, you don’t think you do.

you were enjoying the deep slumber, that was until a certain coin-flicking robot decided to shake you awake.

“connor,” you groan tiredly, hands blindly pushing his solid body away, alas, he doesn’t budge. “give me five more minutes.” you ask, relenting your hands back to cover your head.

“you’ve had a total of two hours of sleep today already — bear in mind, you’ve been in the precinct for four hours.” he states simply, as though tracking how long you’ve slept was what he was designed for. “you need to start working.”

you wish you had another set of hands to cover your ears. “too tired.”

he sighs.

since when could androids do that?

“detective,” his tone is stern now, “your lunch break is in one hour, i suggest you fill out some reports and sleep afterwards.”

when you don’t move, head still glued to the table, he takes one glance at hank — who’s only smirking at the whole altercation — and decides to take things into his own hands.

he pulls a random chair up and slides next to yours.

then, he starts jabbing your bicep with his pointer finger, like an eager toddler demanding attention.

“connor.” a gentle warning. although, it’s more of a disguised plea.

“not stopping until you sit up and log onto your computer.”

a few more agitating seconds pass by before you give up.

you take your time sitting up, typing in your password, and opening up some reports — just to annoy connor.

a smile graces his face, “was that so hard?”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

he didn’t leave your side. not even when you needed to go to the toilet — he waited outside, but that still felt like he was right there with you.

he claimed it was so that you wouldn’t fall asleep again, which didn’t happen, thanks to him.

you were excited for lunch. excited for the small nap you could fit in. however, connor had other plans.

“detective, i can’t let you sleep, especially since you haven’t eaten all day.” his eyes look at you with so much concern

“but you said if i did my work i could sleep at lunch.” you whine.

“i was only negotiating with you. now come on, i know a great place for burgers.” he pulls you up off your chair by your hand, tugging you towards the exit.

“how do you know of good food places? you don’t even eat…” you query out loud.

he shrugs, hand still attached to yours as you now leave the station. “hank eats.”

that explains it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

it didn’t take all that long to reach the burger stand — and you have to admit, it was good.

you’re both sat on a bench, overlooking a river as it slowly frosts over.

connor thinks it’s peaceful. he notes how still you’ve become. how your heart rate has decreased to a gentle thrum. how low your cortisol levels have dropped.

he’s slightly amazed that you’re not asleep.

yet. there’s still time.

he takes the quiet opportunity to ask you some questions. “y/n…”

he waits for you to look at him first.

“what’s up?” your response is soft. gentle.

he purses his lips — a habit you think he’s obtained from you. “why do you have such troubles staying awake?”

your stress levels increase slightly.

“i just- i don’t get much sleep at home.” a simple answer.

he nods, pretending to understand. “how so?” his voice stays hushed.

his eyes track how you begin to fidget with your fingers.

“it’s embarrassing…”

he shakes his head, placing his hand on top of yours to stop you from fidgeting. “if it’s giving you issues, it can’t be embarrassing. i would never judge you, y/n.”

he says the latter with such sincerity that you would mistake him for a human had you not known he was an android.

then you look at his eyes. they look more human than most.

his led flashes again, awaiting your response.

a sigh escapes your mouth. “i get nightmares most nights. every night, really.”

his thumb begins to stroke circles across the back of your hand — a tactic he’d just searched up to help people calm down. “are they of anything in particular?”

you have to think for a moment, recall every night. then you shake your head, “no. maybe it’s just because of the job?”

“could be.” he comments, actively wracking every website page he can access that mentions ‘nightmares’. he’d do anything to help you.

you shuffle closer to him on the bench, gradually beginning to feel the brisk, winter air.

“an article says that having a companion with you can help to reduce nightmares.” he suggests, “have you ever tried that?”

instantly you shake your head, a laugh leaving you too, “i don’t know anyone who would willingly stay over at mine.”

“i would. to help you, of course.”

your heart beats a bit faster.

he notices.

“i mean- if you wanted to- if it helps, right?”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

so now here you are, you and connor both sat awkwardly on your bed.

“maybe close your eyes.” he attempts to help but it just sounds like teasing.

you move under your covers, connor copying, “do you know how to turn off your sarcasm?” you jab back.

“sorry, i’m just trying to help.” he absentmindedly moves closer and simultaneously makes you feel bad.

“i was just playing with you, connor.”

“oh.” he looks around your room, “do you need me to turn the lamp off?”

“uhm, sure, thank you.”

he leans over you to reach the switch, flicking it off before laying back down, now even closer to you.

“would you like me to tell you a story?” he whispers.

“no, it’s okay.” you mumble.

“you’re already feeling tired.” he states with a small, successful smile on his face.

you shuffle your head across your pillow, making contact with his chest as you relax into him. “maybe because you kept me up all day.”

much to his surprise, he enjoys the human contact. maybe that’s because it’s you. he wouldn’t enjoy it if hank were sleeping in his arms instead of you.

he quickly blinks that picture away.

gently, he wraps an arm around you, soothingly rubbing your back.

you’re out before you know it.

if connor had a heart, it would be melting. your soft snores take over his hearing. the smell of your shampoo filling his senses.

but it’s not until he looks down at your sleeping face to see your hand clutching onto his top, your face completely relaxed — that’s when he feels it.

love, maybe?

is that something an android can feel?

the room faintly lights up red as he ponders. it quickly returns to blue when he focuses back on you.

It left you with the task of “babysitting” his partner—the ever-famous and reliable Connor. 

You didn’t mind him. Truly, you had no qualms about working with an android. You’d much rather him than Detective Reed. He was a real piece of work. But, there were times when Connor could be a teensy bit unnerving, which was no fault of his. As far as you know, he’d only been made a few years ago.  

Hank had even invited you and a few other detectives and uniformed officers to watch a basketball game. Connor had told you he nudged him to be social, and you distinctly remembered snickering quietly as you stood next to him, bringing the plastic cup of alcohol to your lips as you told Connor he was performing miracles. 

So it wasn’t like you were unfamiliar with Connor. Neither of you had worked a case together. There was a difference between casually watching a game of basketball and working on an attempted homicide case.

“Yeah,” you slipped your eyes closed and peeled away from the window. “I’m just thinking. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”  Connor tilts his head. Looking all the more puppy-like. 

You hesitated to answer him as you turned to face him. Would an android be able to understand the inner turmoil in your head at the moment? You doubted that they even had brain fog, or that their ability to be happy sometimes partially relied on the weather. The thought of even confessing this to him caused heat to rise to your cheeks and you shrugged it off.  

“Taking my sweet ass time to think,” your muttering earns another head-tilt from the detective. “It is a tough case,” he responds neutrally, “the circumstances have me…bewildered.”

You scoff as your expression turns incredulous. Connor offers a gentle smile, his brown eyes as warm as ever as his knees shift to point your way in his seat. It escapes your mind that this man was capable of inhuman feats— vaulting between the gaps of buildings, tanking bullets to his torso with minimal issues, being a walking forensics lab to name a few— and you loosen your grip on the steering wheel. 

“The evidence left was nearly nonexistent thanks to the rain. The victim’s in a coma, and the perp was careful. It was a methodically planned out crime. I’m frustrated.” 

“You don’t show it,” your tone is lighthearted and Connor breathes out a laugh. “Sorry, is that offensive?” you grimace, shoulders lifting. 

”Because I’m an android?” Connor laughs again. He leans into the seat, posture still impeccable somehow, and shakes his head. “I’m not offended. It is something I have to work on. Hank says my dry humour isn’t always appreciated. He suggests I have a sunnier disposition.”

”What? Like his?” 

Connor coughs into his fist— you belatedly realise he had snickered and feel the brain fog slowly begin to fade away as you turn your car's ignition. The smooth rumbling and the radio announcer's voice blend seamlessly with Connor and your laughter. 

“You don’t have to apologise for being thorough, detective. It’s an admirable trait to have.” His reassurance should not have your heart picking up speed, but it does and you focus on the road before you instead. Your brain reminds you of every little road law that you had not thought about for years as the other vehicles on the road— including yours— fall into a monotonous routine. 

“So you admire me? I’m honoured,” you jest. Connor knows you’re joking. But his gaze lingers on you, the darkening bags under your eyes, the grip on your steering wheel, and the way your heart rates slightly elevated despite simply driving. Connor is perceptive, he was made to be. He noticed just how— for lack of a better word— funny your body acted when you were alone with him. At first, he assumed the rush of blood to your face and your slightly clammy palms indicated anxiety. All signs pointed that way. 

But you carried on conversations with him as smoothly as ever. He wondered if you had a knack for acting, most people do in their own ways, but you weren’t someone that was distrustful. He could hardly imagine you being deceitful. You were like he had said; admirable. Maybe a little clumsy at times, hard-headed too when you find a lead but Hank says that’s normal for younger detectives. 

‘The need to prove themselves, make a name in the precinct.’

Hank had told him. The human desire to leave a mark on the world, to be remembered. Connor could flood his entire brain with historical figures with a blink. Some more infamous than famous, some with their names used as a stand-in for another word even. So he knows that’s a fact.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts as you stop at a red-light. The pitter-patter of rain makes you squint at the warbling sight past the windshield. You pinch your brows tight, and Connor says something funny. 

“I’m starving.” 

“…What?”

He points to a diner. The red and yellow colour scheme stands out brightly in the gloomy hues of the weather and Detroit smog. The place was less than desirable, and as Connor read through the reviews and health department ratings he found himself tightening his smile. Still, he urged you to park in the parking lot next to it because he was ‘starving.’

You didn’t want to offend him by asking what exactly he meant. Maybe he’d gotten a stomach upgrade or something to be able to fit in a bit better. Eating together was an important aspect in socializing after all. So you kept your questions to yourself, simply parking all the way in the back and unbuckling your seat belt. Only to stop when Connor places a hand on your shoulder. You stiffen, turning to face him with your eyes widened and your brows raised in question.

”How long have you been awake, detective?” 

You sputter, your words barely tangible as your mouth gapes. Connor’s head-tilt this time seemed more like a honed police dog than a puppy, and you pressed your lips together. 

“I don’t know. I don’t exactly count that down, ya’ know?” You motion your eyes between him and his hand. Connor reluctantly slips it away and folds them politely on his lap. You try to ignore the lingering feeling of his body warmth on you. Your brain was playing tricks on you, mocking you again for not having a supercomputer instead of a mass of flesh and short-circuiting neurons. 

“I estimate 16-hours.” 

‘Way to rub it in,’ you thought bitterly. More so to yourself than Connor. But he catches the twinge of displeasure in your eyes. 

“Maybe we should end our day early. Both of us are tired.”

”Jesus, Connor. First, you’re starving and now you’re tired? Are you trying to take pity on me, or something?”

The anger in your voice is beginning to make itself known. Your lips curl as you hastily unbuckle yourself and practically swing your door open. Cold air rushes in, and so does rain, but you stubbornly soldier through. 

“I’m a grown-ass man. I can take care of myself.”

The car shakes when you close your door and Connor’s reminded of Hank. Logically, there was no way every single detective he’d known could be such…hardasses, but yet here he was with his own sample size. The thought of you sharing similarities to Hank causes him to scrunch his nose, as if tasting something sour, and he sighs softly. Connor rushes towards your grumpy figure, entering into the restaurant just a few steps behind you. 

The servers glance Connor’s way, wary but trying their best not to show it. As long as they didn’t commit any crimes in front of him, Connor would stay out of their way. Besides that, he had more pressing things to attend to. You, in particular. You find a quiet corner to sit at and Connor sits across from you, watching as you rub your hands together. 

He wanted to ask if you were cold. But he shouldn’t push his luck. Maybe he should’ve been more tactful leading you here, but he wasn’t unhappy that you weren’t behind the wheel anymore. For a while, the ambience of the restaurant muffles the awkward silence. You reach for some of the tissues and wipe off as much water as you can from your jacket, and face. 

Then, you push the box to Connor. He nods, then methodically wipes off as much water as he can. The peace offering was taken, so the silence was less thick this time. 

“What can we get for you, man?” You give a tight smile to the waiter, telling him you’d like a warm cup of coffee. He tells you the coffee here is shit. Connor knows he isn’t lying— the reviews didn’t exactly hold back on them regarding that. 

“Shitty coffee is exactly what I need,” sarcasm drips from your words. You add on a sandwich with a side of fries and the waiter goes off to fulfill your order. Another bout of silence. 

“Is the case keeping you awake?” Connor takes in the micro-expressions on your face. The twitch in your cheek, the tension between your brows, and when you brush your tongue over your lips his eyelids flutter. 

“It’s frustrating. I know. But you’re one of the youngest detectives in our precinct for a reason, your record’s impeccable.” You know he’s telling the truth, and using it as a way to comfort you. It was sweet, and you resist the urge to grin his way and say ‘thanks’ like some bright-eyed idiot. 

“It’s not just that, Connor,” you knead at the nape of your neck. Barely straightening up when your shitty coffee arrives in a white mug. The smell and warmth loosens your shoulders, and even when you grimace as you take a gulp the comforting heat that travels through you further eases the tension from you. 

You dismiss his reassurance. He takes note of it, but doesn’t push. Connor slides the sugar your way and you squint your eyes up at him as your cheeks barely lift to give him a pursed-lip smile. You were exhausted. It’s like the walk from the car to the diner sapped everything out of you. 

“The victim’s mom…God, she was…”

Connor knows. He saw her rush to you with tears streaming down her face as she begged for answers that you didn’t have. Her daughter was in a coma from an attack, her stitches fresh and bruises discolouring her skin— it would cause any parent distress. 

“It’s been days of nothing. No trails, no motive, we have a shitty CCTV clip of him running out the door but then what? We owe it to her to find answers for her daughter.”

”I know, and we will bring him to justice. But, detective,” Connor’s voice turns severe as he searches for your gaze. “It does no one no good if you’re sleep deprived. I need my partner to solve this case, so I need you to be 100%”

You scoff, ignoring the clink of the plate of food being put down your table as your sandwich arrives. It’s suspiciously room temperature while the plate is warm, and the fries are a little limp but you just stare down at your coffee. 

“You don’t exactly need me. I can barely think.”

”Yes, that tends to happen when someone experiences sleep deprivation.” 

You curl your nose at him, and he just gestures to your plate of food. You take a few bites and with each of them your face twists into further confusion. Eventually, you settle on eating your fries, something Connor thought was the safest option. He tries not to stare at you too much, occasionally looking out the window and noticing the Raindrop Race as most people do during a storm. 

There that puppy is again. Your eyes soften, and you grumble with your mouth still full of food. ”Sorry for being a dick.” 

Connor just chuckles. 

“Sorry, but Detective Anderson’s got you beat there. I didn’t even notice you were being a dick.”

Connor can’t drive. Something they were still pending on regarding androids driving personal vehicles. It was dumb, if androids were allowed to commandeer buses and aeroplanes then why couldn’t they drive their own cars? 

He’s not happy with you buckling into the driver’s seat. But the shitty coffee wasn’t worth a refill and you were in no mood to order anything else. 

“You should rest before you get behind the wheel, detective.”

You look over your shoulder and sigh. “There’s a motel, but I’m not shelling out 40 bucks for a 3-hour nap. I’ll be—“ you yawn, and you try to speak through the yawn “—fineee. I just had a coffee anyway. It’ll kick in.”

When you reach for the gear, he places a hand over yours. You’re always a bit surprised at how skin-like his touch was. You’d seen him exchange information with other androids before, how the flesh just smooths away to reveal that pure-white shell. You didn’t hate it though. He felt nicer than the cup of coffee. The weight of him, the feeling of the lines on his palms. Artificial or not— it was still Connor.

He narrows his eyes. His head tilts. Connor leans in, and you don’t lean away. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, detective. Do I make you nervous?”

”E-excuse me?” Your grip loosens, but Connor keeps your hand pinned beneath his. It was effortless; naturally, what with him being made of some sort of metal. 

“Your heart rate rises, you get clammy palms, but your pupils they,” he trails off as he catches your gaze with his own. Curiosity was so clearly written across Connor’s face, you felt like he was attempting to read you— as though you were some case file that he wanted to pour hours of attentiveness into. A steel-trap resolve to understand you more, to know your motives and intentions and grasp you in his arms. 

If you were a criminal, maybe you’d feel much more frightened. 

You tried to mask your expression, twisting your mouth into a frown.

”My pupils…what?”

”They…expand.” Connor tilts his head, then his mouth parts like he came to a stunningly miraculous conclusion. 

“Detective, do you perhaps have an infatuation towards me?” 

The radio plays a jaunty tune from decades ago, and the rain doesn’t lighten up the slightest. You don’t say anything. Stunned at your own stupidity for thinking Connor out of all people wouldn’t have noticed— the guy read your heart rate for fucks sake!

You try to slip your hand away from him, but he carefully cinches his fingers around your wrist. 

“Connor,” you warn. Your voice coloured with embarrassment. 

“Please, I’d like to know,” he sounded sincere. You wondered if he was morbidly curious about it. It wasn’t that humans falling in love with androids were anything new, there were plenty of cases. 

“I…shit, maybe I do have an infatuation with you, okay? It’s not like there’s a lot of options at our precinct,” you grumble as you finally slip your hand away from him. You place your hands on the steering wheel, but make no move to actually drive. 

Connor’s lower lip almost juts out as he processes what you said. Then the corners of his mouth curl up, and he faces his knees your way again. 

“You had a process of elimination to determine who’d be your precinct eye candy, detective?”

Your ears nearly turned red at the teasing tone he takes. You narrow your eyes at him, cursing for him to shut up as you reach for the gear again. But again, Connor’s hand grasps yours. 

“Are you trying to fuck with me or something, Connor?” 

“…I could if it’d help you rest.”

”What?”

Connor offers that gentle smile again, then glances down at your hand in his. He smooths the pad of his thumb over your jutting knuckles, and he feels the rush of blood on the protruding vein. 

“Orgasms are known to help with sleep.”

Your jaw drops. 

“My model doesn’t have functioning genitalia, but I can still provide—“  He flutters his lashes when you slap a hand over his mouth. Your brows are furrowed as you try to find the words. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is the offer offensive to you, detective?” Connor’s voice is muffled from behind your hand but he continues.”I just assumed that it would…my apologies.”

”I didn’t even know you could talk about those sorts of things…” You said in a breathless voice, stuck between feeling appalled and amused at the absurdity of it all. He tilts his head and you unmask his mouth, retreating into your seat again as you try to process his words. 

“I am…” he searches for the word, and you watch as he thinks. “Fond of you, detective.” Fond wasn’t a common word in these modern scenarios, and you’re unsure what he means exactly by it but you allow him to continue. 

“And I would rather you be well-rested than not. I can help…if you’d like me to.” You try to find any trace of bullshit on his face. You find none.

”Christ, you do this for every partner you have?”  Connor’s face twists into genuine disgust at your lacklustre joke. “Please don’t even imply that with my relationship with Detective Anderson.” 

You grimace, and apologize as you knead at the back of your neck once again. 

“Do you even know how to—“ Connor smirks at you when you ask. You shut your mouth and scoff. Of course, even if he didn’t know now…he could learn how with a few blinks.

”Show off.”

”We all have our flaws.”

”Shit, am I really going to spend 40 bucks for a nap and a lay?” You reach again for the gear and Connor’s had it. He reaches for your chin, pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger and he forces you to look at him. 

“Visibility’s low with the rain, detective. This diner isn’t well-liked. Your window tint provides enough cover as is. You can rest in the backseat.”

“Holy shit,” you utter. A lazy roll of heat crawls down your spine at his assertiveness. You’d never seen it aimed your way before— maybe a few times towards Hank, and a few interrogations as well. But never at you. You gulped thickly, then nodded. 

“Okay.”

You’re both sitting side-by-side in the backseat. The rush of cold that flooded in from opening the car doors causes you to shiver, so Connor slides his hands into yours. He raise his body temperature and you sigh in relief. You turn when he gets closer and when your nose brushes against his own he pauses. 

You’re wide-eyed. So unlike the detective he’s known. It’s adorable. Connor reaches and cups your cheek in his warm palm. Your breath stutters when he ghosts his fingers over the curve of your cold ears. 

“May I kiss you, detective? Studies show that foreplay can lead to a more pleasurable—“ You press your lips together. His eyes widen a bit, but he then adjusts to accommodate. 

It’s unfair how good he is at kissing if this was his first kiss. You frown, and pull away as the thought crosses your mind. 

“Is this your first kiss?”

”Yes.” 

Connor pulls you in again and you gasp. He doesn’t slip his eyes closed. He didn’t want to— though he knows it's what was expected. Connor was curious, and he wanted to make sure you were enjoying yourself. His attentive, thorough, partner deserved the same dedication in the bedroom. Connor could keep watch while he read through the case files, it wouldn’t be any less productive. 

You made a sweet noise when he experimentally bit down on your lower lip. He slips his hands into your jacket and slips it off your shoulders. His warm touch causes goose flesh to ripple under your clothes. Your flesh is so soft— he’s always marvelling at how soft humans are. So plush, and so fragile. 

You flutter your eyes open when he trails his kisses down your chin, to your jaw, and after a sweet kiss under your jaw he descends to your neck. You crinkle his coat when he traces his tongue on your pulse. 

“Your neck is sensitive,” he notes in a whisper. You slip his coat off next, your fingers crawling up to his nape and feeling the scratchy texture of his ‘shaved’ hairs. He grasps at your waist and you groan his name.

It stokes something within Connor. 

“Am I doing good, detective?” You nod wordlessly against the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your body is louder than you are— rising heart rate, the flushed ears, the perspiration on your skin— and he finds himself a bit upset at it.

He calls out your name, and you turn your head to look at him questioningly. 

“I…” Connor pauses for a second. This word always felt foreign for Connor, but he should say what he means if he wanted this interaction to go well. Studies had shown open communication during intimate acts proved more positive results, and he didn’t want the foundation of trust and infatuation between you to become shaky. 

So he continues. 

“I need to know if I’m making you feel good.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, then to his lips as you nod again. 

“You’re making me feel really nice, Connor. Your hands are so warm, and as annoying as it is you’re a real good kisser.”

Connor preens inwardly, and his grip on your waist turns more confident. 

“I’m sorry for being a good kisser,” he teases. You chuckle, brushing your teeth over his neck as you undo his tie. There was something fun about unwrapping Connor from his usually perfect shell. You can’t deny the rush it gave you, and he returns the eager sentiment as he unbuttons your top. 

You shoulder it off and he presses his kisses there too. His warm hands touch your bare torso and when it reaches your pebbling nipple, you bite down gently on his neck. Connor chuckles, tilting his head down at you as he nips at your collarbones. 

“You might break your teeth if you try any harder.” 

“Worth it.”

”Absolutely not.”

You feel his hands reach to unzip your jeans and when he does, he pats your outer thigh. You look at him, panting while he motions for you to lay down. The second you do, he descends onto you like a heated and weighted blanket. A very handsome one. 

Your eyelids go a bit heavy and Connor relishes at the signs of success. You shimmy out of your jeans, Connor helps. 

You’re now in your underwear and Connor zeroes in at the darkening spot on it. You curse, telling him not to stare but he remains fixated on it. 

“You’re aroused. Very aroused.” 

”I’m very aware, Connor,” you reply dryly. 

He braces himself on his elbows, kissing you again and you’re struggling to keep up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, his loosened tie dragging across your torso as his tongue battles for dominance. He reaches to place a palm against the window when he feels the seat under him giving away under his hand. It leaves a print, thanks to the panting you’re doing and him raising his body temperature. 

You inhaled sharply when that same hand sneaks down your sides. Connor watches you as your brows furrow, your jaw loose as every little noise excites him more and more. 

“Does this feel good?”

He slips his hands in your underwear and you flutter your eyes open. 

Connor’s eyes are hungry for your praise. 

“Touch me more, Connor. Please.”

He finds your slicked hole. You moan as he presses his fingers on your cock, and begins to rub you off. You stretch your back, tossing your head back as your hips ground on the seats. He’s entranced by it— by you. 

“Fuuuck, that feels good.”

”Forgive me, I didn’t think to ask what terms you’d like to use for your—“ Connor is cut off by your wanton groan. “Dick, cock, cunt,” you mutter against his lips before sneaking your tongue into his mouth again. He finally slips his eyes closed this time, focusing on your cock as he swallows your moans. 

“You’re too tense,” Connor tells you as he grasps the back of your neck. The car’s swaying slightly with the movement, and you mewl when he slides two fingers down to your cunt. 

“I was going to cum,” you pant out. Connor narrows his eyes at you. 

“Liar.”

He slides his fingers into you and you cover your mouth, thighs trying to snap shut around his hand if it weren’t for him quickly slipping out again. 

“Hm,” Connor peels away from you and you’re left a bit confused until he’s maneuvering your body around like a puppet master. You find yourself on his lap and he’s gazing up at you as your underwear is looped around your left thigh. You looked like a desperate slut— your button up still sleeved on your arms, your badge swaying between your bodies as your underwear’s rolled down, while your boots are still on. 

But Connor? 

With his loose tie and tousled brown hair. Pants still intact, and despite the crumpled shirt; he looked much more composed.

He holds your police badge, and then pulls you down for a kiss. Your bare cunts on his lap and he spreads your ass apart causing you to lift up. 

“You need to relax,” he whispers to your skin. “I can assure you that there’s no one here, just us. No one can see us.”

”This…This is still illegal I think,” you laugh at it. Connor gives you a pointed look, groaning a bit as you giggle about it. 

“Must you remind me?” Connor nearly grumbles. You press another kiss to his cheek, then to the tail of his eyebrows. 

“My bad, Mr Goody Two Shoes— Ah! Fuh—Fuck!”

He’s slipped two fingers in again, and you barely give any resistance to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, glancing out the window to ensure no one else can this— see you. So exposed on his lap, dishevelled and shivering in pleasure.

He presses a hand to the small of your back and it forces you to arch it further. He pumps his digits in and out of you. A slow pace that has you bunching his shirt in your fists as you mewl on top of him. He curls his fingers and you moan out his name.

That lick of fire within him grows bigger. You’re sweating now, and he strokes up your spine to impede the race your droplets of sweat were in. Connor takes your nipple in his mouth and you brace a hand on the roof of your car. 

You tighten around him, hips jerking and brushing your dripping dick onto the front of his pants. Marking him with your slick. 

“You’re— You’re making me— I’m going to—“

Connor looks up at you through his lashes, his expression puppy-like and you cum around his fingers. 

He releases your nipple with a lewd ‘pwah’ and reluctantly snaps the string of saliva that connects him to you with a sweep of his tongue. You try to catch your breath, swaying slightly as the aftershocks of your orgasm lazily wash over you. 

You fall forward into him and Connor wraps his arms around you, smiling a bit as he feels your breathing slowing down until you’re limp across him. 

He darts his eyes to his fingers, spreading two of them apart and admiring the traces of you still there. Connor brings them to his lips and into his mouth. 

The morning of the fifteenth of January was rather frigid, making Connor wonder whether or not he should venture to the police department. He hadn't received any reports since the day before, so surely, he wouldn't get in trouble for spending just a few extra minutes in bed. As his procrastination set in, he snuggled further beneath the blankets, inhaling the fresh scent of linen and flowers.

The room was oddly quiet, so once his system recalibrated after having been off for the entire night, he scanned the area, noting that you were nowhere to be found. Curious, he thought. It was six in the morning, and you normally didn't get up that early.

"My love?" he called, sitting up and stretching his limbs a bit.

His high-tech audio processors picked up the sound of shuffling in the hall, and soon enough, you entered the dim bedroom, already prepared for the day. You looked remarkably precious that morning, and he couldn't help but allow a little smile to grace his lips.

"There you are," he sighed, sliding his legs off the side of the bed. "What's going on today?"

You padded across the fluffy, minimalistic carpet and turned on the lamp on the bedside table, fully revealing your beauty to him. "Nothing really," you explained. "I just thought maybe..."

Connor's eyes had no need to adjust to the sudden light; he was already scanning you, trying to detect something you weren't even aware of. But you were healthy. Your hormones were out of control, though. "Do you mean..."

You looked away, a bit embarrassed, but Connor would never shun you for your body's needs. Never. "I had a dream last night, and I just couldn't help myself," you explained, uncomfortably shifting your thighs together.

"I can sense your pheromones," he said plainly. His eyes darted to your crotch, and he continued, "If I were to touch your panties, they would already be completely soaked. Am I correct?"

You shyly nodded, still averting your gaze.

"It would make sense, considering I stretched you out before we went to bed. Your body doesn't know how to adjust to not being constantly filled, so it's overproducing lubrication. That, along with the dream you mentioned, is certainly contributing to this... need."

"Do you have time to help me before you go to work?" you wondered, making sure to give him that look you knew he couldn't resist.

Without hesitating, he lay back down, propping his head up with a few pillows and patting his lap. "You'll have to do the work, though, honey," he teased.

You whined a bit, but you still couldn't stop yourself from pulling his boxers down and giving his cock a few strokes. Luckily for you, he could make himself erect on command. It made you feel a little guilty that you had quick sessions with him more often than not.

Sensing your unease, he cooed, "You're okay, my love. I wouldn't be doing this for you if I didn't want to. What I don't want—" He paused to help you out of your undergarments. "Is for you to be lying here all day, fingering yourself, getting no satisfaction because your fingers won't fill you up well enough."

Grateful for his comforting words, you wrapped your fingers around his girthy shaft and rubbed his tip along your slit a few times to collect your juices. He shuddered and gave you a smile when you met his gaze, assuring you that it was all okay. Trusting his judgment, you positioned him and effortlessly slid down, his cock perfectly filling up your needy hole. Connor let out a happy sigh and coaxed you to move with a gentle thrust.

Your hands found their way to his chest, and you began slowly at first, hesitantly lifting yourself up until his tip almost slid out, then you went all the way back down. Your walls were still sore from the night before, and how he'd worked you until he filled your needy womb with semen. How you were so eager for another round, he would never know. All he knew was that you needed him, so his hands shot to your ass, and he dug his fingers into your sensitive skin. Once he grabbed you, he pulled you down, letting you feel just how deep he could go. The feeling was borderline unpleasant, but when he lifted you up and brought you down again, all the pain meant nothing.

"There you go," he encouraged. "You can grind on me if it brings you more pleasure."

You immediately let your head fall and worked your hips back and forth in slow circles. His cock conformed to your movements and prodded at your walls just where you needed stimulation.

"Can you rub my clit?" you asked, letting a strained whine escape your throat.

Connor happily brought his fingers to your heat and curled them to rub rapid circles against your swollen bundle of nerves. Needing more friction, you rolled your hips more, making sure to grind against his hand.

He watched how you eagerly sought pleasure against his hand and felt every part of his shaft dragging along your soaked walls. He kind of pitied you, in all honesty. You were constantly horny, and he could only imagine how inconvenient it was when you felt hot and bothered when he wasn't even there.

"Does that feel good?" he wondered, his brown eyes searching yours.

You nodded, your body's exertion already beginning to wear you out.

"Oh," he said, briefly taking his hand away from your clit. "One moment, my love. Be quiet, would you?"

His LED flickered between blue and yellow, then settled on blue when he connected to the call. As soon as he did that, he pressed his middle and ring finger to your clit again, gripping your hip with his other hand.

Connor continued staring at your pussy, needing so desperately to catch a glimpse of his cock covered in your slick. "Yes," he said. "I understand. Seven o'clock, you said?"

You switched to bouncing, still trying not to pant too loudly, and you winced when your pussy squelched around Connor's shaft. He didn't seem to care, though.

"Oh, I only just woke up. I didn't turn my system on at my usual time." He paused, instinctively thrusting his hips up to meet your soaked cunt. "I understand. I will be there soon."

You shut your eyes, the pace of his fingers never once faltering, and he bucked his hips particularly roughly, which made you gasp.

"Oh, no, no," he said. "Everything's alright." He fucked into you again, his skin slapping against yours. "I'll be there soon."

Once he disconnected from the call, he placed both hands on your hips and started a forceful pace, making sure to sink his cock as deep as it went.

"Come on, baby," he whispered, eying your tits as they bounced with your movements. "Rub your clit a little. I have you."

Following his orders, you reached down, giving your desperate heat more attention. Connor's dick curved perfectly to meet that special spot inside of you, and you fell forward, letting Connor focus entirely on your breasts, which he always thought were so sexy.

He groaned and tilted his head back, murmuring, "Please let me fall asleep against your breasts tonight. You're so beautiful."

You nodded, only half-listening to his words, instead, paying attention to how close you were to falling apart. The deep pressure against your walls made it feel like Connor was attempting to tear you apart from the inside. When you picked up the pace, the tension caused your entrance to clamp down around the intrusion.

Connor finally moaned, "Oh, that feels so, so good. Are you close?"

"So close," you told him.

To push you over the edge, he doubled down, making sure you felt every inch of his cock as he impaled your sore hole. Just when it seemed like the friction was ripping your insides out, you tensed up, and your walls tightly contracted, milking Connor's length. As soon as you reached your high, Connor groaned, his hips nearly stuttering. But he held on, pumping just a few more times before his cum painted your greedy womb. Your walls continued to pulse around him, drawing every last drop from him.

Utterly spent, he let go of you and shut his eyes, his internal systems working to prevent overheating. The moment you relaxed and rested your body against his, he groped your tits, rolling them against his palms.

"Are you happy now, precious?" he asked, pressing a kiss to your neck and shoulder.

"Very happy," you admitted.

Connor smiled contentedly and continued to playfully toy with your breasts. "That's wonderful. If you feel needy later tonight, I'll be here for you. But if you're not, that's okay. We can just cuddle."

You nodded, burying your face against the crook of your neck. "I'm sorry," you said.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I'm always so horny."

He shook his head and wrapped both arms around you, his softening cock allowing his semen to seep from your cunt. "Never be sorry for something you can't control, my love. I'm here, just for you, okay?"

You nodded and felt him give you a little pat before shifting beneath you.

"Okay," he said. "I need to get to work soon. Why don't you get cleaned up?"

You reluctantly rolled off of him, not caring that your mixed juices would stain the bedsheets.

"Hey," he cooed, placing a hand on your cheek. "Look at me."

Your eyes met his, and he gave you a little frown when he saw how disappointed you seemed.

"I'll be back later. I love you with all of my heart. Can you give me a kiss?"

Unable to resist the temptation, you tilted your head, and he gave you a few pecks.

"Good girl. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered.

"I love you so much," he said one last time before kissing your forehead and leaving for work.

@somnambuletta

Shes a multi fandom writer from what I’ve seen writes a lot for Simon from COD and Eyeless Jack from the creepyasta fandom. From reading over jer works I’ve got to say I really do admire her work. Everything she writes feels like it’s ripped straight from a novel. Her stories hold so much depth and her writing feels so intimate. Even if you’re not into either of these fandoms I would check her out just for her wonderful writing!

@scouts-real-husband

Currently writing for tf2! Does a lot of writing with headcannons. He pours a ton of personality into all of his headcannons and it’s clear he really loves the characters he writes for. He writes for male and gender neutral readers. Please check him out!

@cece693

Currently writing for Hannibal! Cece’s writing is well polished and flows nicely. From their dialogue to setting the stage of what you’re about to read, they seem to string everything together so nicely. I would highly recommend their work! They specifically write for gender neutral and male audiences so please keep that in mind!

@gatorbites-imagines

He’s currently writing for a multitude of fandoms! For fun, rambles and headcannons about all your favorite characters from marvel to Dc, his blog would be a great one to check out! His blog is also targeted towards male readers!

@yenayaps

Shes currently writing for Jujitsu Kaisen as of now. Her blog has plenty smut if that’s what you’re in the mood for, especially for any Sukuna enjoyers. I really enjoy her dialogue and pacing, she does a wonderful job with characterization and breathing life into any conversation. I would definitely recommend her!

@taramilk

Shes currently writing for the Batboys! Her writing is delightful to read. It has such a nice rhythm and she always seems to know exactly where to go next which how thoughtful her stories are. They’re rich in detailed descriptions of characters and feelings that will definitely enrapture you. Definitely check her out! My favorite of her works:

https://www.tumblr.com/taramilk/789786422374776832/loving-jason-todd-is-like-caring-for-an-old-marble?source=share

You weren’t expecting the newest member of the investigation team to be… well, that.

The body was still warm, crime scene tape fluttering under the breeze. You crouched by the blood spatter with your kit open and gloves on, halfway through swabbing a sample when someone stepped beside you.

You glanced up and saw a man in a gray suit, LED blinking a soft blue at his temple. Handsome in a very uncanny way. That was fine. You’d worked with androids in the lab before. But none of them did what he did next.

He knelt, dipped two fingers into the blood near the body, and brought them to his lips like a chef tasting sauce.

"Uh… what?" you breathed, turning to your coworker in disbelief. "He does that?"

Your coworker just shrugged, clearly less phased. "Yeah. That's Connor. The deviant hunter."

"He eats blood?"

"Tastes. It's analysis."

"That's somehow worse."

Connor stood up as if he hadn't just played vampire detective in front of a room full of forensic professionals. "The victim's blood contains traces of acetaminophen, ethanol, and—"

"Yep, noted!" you cut in. “Thanks. That’s helpful. Very… thorough.”

Despite the weird first impression, you didn’t mind working with him. Android or not, if he got results, you were willing to overlook the creepy snack habits. It wasn’t like your job wasn’t already morbid.

Still, it was hard to ignore the way he kept watching you.

On the way back to the precinct, you headed down the hallway, only to glance over your shoulder and find him—again—two steps behind you. Not saying anything. Like a baby duck. A six-foot, combat-trained, crime-solving baby duck.

You stopped. He stopped.

You turned. “Connor” you said, “are you following me?”

“I was assigned to work with you on this investigation.” he replied, like that explained everything. “It is logical to stay close.”

“Okay, sure. But maybe not this close? Personal space is a thing.”

“I can adjust the distance. Would one meter be more comfortable?”

“…Better. Yes. Please do that.”

He took exactly two steps back and resumed following.

You sighed, walking forward again. “God, it’s like working with a Roomba that solves murders.”

“I can also climb stairs.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. Maybe this partnership was going to be weirder than you thought.

---

Life had gotten eerily calm.

You didn’t hate it, most of your work was automatic now. The machines did the sample analysis, typed the reports, catalogued the evidence. You were basically a highly trained paperweight with a badge and a backlog of true crime podcasts.

That is, until Connor showed up.

“Another deviant case?” you asked, barely glancing up from your coffee.

“Yes,” he said. “I believe your presence is required.”

You squinted at him. “Connor, there are already human officers on the scene.”

He blinked. “Yes. But they are not you.”

“Wow, I feel so special.”

“You should,” he said seriously. “You’re the most efficient forensic technician I’ve worked with.”

Flattery from an android shouldn’t feel flattering, but somehow… it did. Not that it excused how he treated you like his own personal human sidekick.

The case turned out to be a messy one. Android on android crime.

You were just about to pull samples from the synthetic blood splashed on the wall when you caught Connor again—kneeling. Hand up. Tongue out.

“Connor, no!” You pointed at him like a dog with its nose in the trash.

He froze, fingers hovering midair.

“You don’t have to taste it.”

“But—”

“You’re not starving. You’re not a wine connoisseur. You’re a million-dollar machine and I swear to God if you start licking that coolant I will throw a glove at you.”

“...A single glove?”

“I’ll fill it with bleach first.”

He backed off.

A nearby officer snorted. “You’ve got him trained.”

You gave the guy a deadpan look. “No. He’s training me. I can’t even sit at my desk without him standing behind me like a serial killer in a documentary.”

He followed you everywhere.

To the lab. To the supply closet. Once, once, to the vending machine.

“Connor, I am selecting a granola bar. This does not require surveillance.”

“You could choose something with more protein.”

You stared at him. “Do androids even eat granola bars?”

“No. But I’ve reviewed the nutrition database.”

“You need to stop watching me like I’m a malfunction waiting to happen.”

“I am programmed to prevent unnecessary risk. You are frequently present during high-risk operations.”

“This is a snack break.”

“You could choke.”

“Oh my God.”

Despite it all, you got used to him.

He was strange, yes, but reliable. Weirdly... considerate. He once fetched your coat before you realized it was getting cold out. He adjusted his volume when you were hungover that one time after a precinct party. And he stopped tasting fluids.

You didn’t know why he insisted on you being part of every deviant case. You weren’t even on homicide full-time.

Maybe, you thought, as you handed him a sample vial and he took it like it was sacred, he actually just liked your company.

Which, if true, was possibly the weirdest thing he’d done yet.

----

It was raining. The kind of steady, gentle downpour that turned the world gray and soft around the edges. You loved days like this—slow, sleepy. You'd curled up on your couch, warm socks on, an old hoodie draped over your shoulders, and a half-watched documentary murmuring from the screen.

No Connor today. Just peace.

CRASH

The sound jolted you upright. That was glass. And it wasn’t from the kitchen. It was downstairs.

Adrenaline sobered you fast. You grabbed the handgun you kept for emergencies and crept down the stairs, every creak of wood far too loud in your ears. You rounded the corner slowly.

There, standing in the middle of your living room—half-drenched, clothes torn, LED blinking red—was an android.

A deviant.

He turned sharply when he saw you, panic written all over his face. He looked young, scared, and glitchy.

“Hey,” you said carefully, lowering your voice. “You don’t have to run. Let’s just talk, okay? You’re not in danger here.”

His eyes darted from you to the broken window. His hands trembled.

And then, just as you stepped forward—his LED flickered.

You barely managed to raise your gun, but before anything could happen, he was there.

Connor.

He tackled the deviant before it reached you, pinning him expertly to the floor.

"Deviant #879 122 236," he said. "You are under arrest."

The deviant froze under his grip.

You stared in shock, gun lowered.

It was over in seconds.

“Are you hurt?”

“I—no, I—” You looked down. You hadn’t noticed in the panic, but your foot throbbed with heat. “Shit.”

There was blood on the hardwood. A shard of glass embedded in the arch of your foot, dark red soaking your sock.

Connor simply lifted you like you weighed nothing, carried you to the couch, and disappeared into your kitchen.

“You know where the first aid kit is?”

“I memorized the floor plan,” he called calmly. “Also, you keep it above the fridge. Poor choice for accessibility.”

You groaned.

He returned with the kit and kneeled before you, gentle hands pulling off your sock, inspecting the cut.

“Hold still.”

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming” you muttered, wincing as he disinfected the wound.

“I traced the deviant’s path here. I didn’t expect it to reach your home. I’m sorry I was late.”

“You literally saved my life, Connor.”

He looked up at you then. Something in his expression grew softer. Like he was processing emotion, even if he couldn’t name it.

The room fell quiet, just the rain and the sting of antiseptic. You found yourself watching him work, his hands precise and strangely human.

When he finished, he sat beside you on the floor.

“I’ll stay here tonight,” he said. “In case he wasn’t alone.”

“You’re going to sit guard duty on my couch like a Roomba with a Glock?”

“If necessary.”

You tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Connor answered.

You looked at him for a long time. You weren't sure if he knew what he meant by it. But it meant something.

You pulled the blanket over your lap and scooted a little closer on the couch. “Well. Then I guess you’re staying.”

He didn’t move for hours, eyes watching the rain through your window.

----

You were perfectly capable of walking. You said that.

Multiple times.

Connor, of course, disagreed, as usual, but with the kind of persistence only a 300-pound android body could offer. Every time you so much as winced while stepping, he’d scoop you up like it was standard police protocol.

“I’m fine, Connor.”

“Your injury is not fully healed. Risk of reopening the wound increases with continued strain.”

“I said I’m fine—why are you crouching? Connor. Don’t you dare—”

And then you were airborne again.

You’d just accepted that androids don’t believe in personal space or trusting humans to function independently.

So, naturally, you rebelled the only way you knew how: you sneaked out of work.

You and two lab coworkers ducked out under the excuse of lunch, but really, you just wanted some fresh air. Some people still didn’t love having an android constantly present at crime scenes. You didn’t really care, but still. Sometimes it was nice not being watched like you were the only fragile human bean in the box.

Of course, he still found you.

He always did.

You sighed, long-suffering. “Connor, do you have a chip in me or something?”

“No,” he said, “but you carry your phone. I triangulated your position using an area signal grid, then extrapolated your likely destination based on walking patterns.”

You stared. “You extrapolated my sandwich run.”

“You usually prefer the sandwich shop three blocks east, but today I noticed a 15% shift in your pace, likely due to foot discomfort. I adjusted accordingly.”

“…Dude.”

He looked at you. “Is that incorrect?”

You didn’t even answer. You just pointed to the car.

“Come on. I’m driving.”

You didn’t know where you were going, really. Just somewhere quieter. Somewhere the city faded out.

Eventually you stopped at a small overlook at the edge of an old residential zone. The clouds had parted, but the air was still heavy from the rain. You leaned back against the hood of your car, Connor beside you, eerily still.

And then, because you were tired, and your brain was a little weird today, you turned your head toward him and asked:

“So. What if I kidnapped you?”

“That would violate several federal laws. I would not allow it.”

You smirked. “No, like—hypothetically. If I kept you in my basement or something. Would CyberLife come for you?”

He paused. “They would likely attempt a recovery. However, due to current changes in android regulation and deviancy protocols, their legal ability to forcibly reclaim property has been reduced.”

“So… no?”

“...Possibly not immediately.”

You snorted. “Cool. You’re mine now.”

“I am assigned to you. That statement is technically accurate.”

You laughed. “Okay, creepy. Next question: if I quit my job, who would be your next partner?”

Connor was quiet a little longer this time. His LED flickered slowly.

“That would be up to the DPD,” he said. “However, I would likely request reassignment.”

“To someone else?”

“To no one.”

“Wait. You’d go solo?”

“I perform more effectively with a human partner. But replacing you would not be… optimal.”

“…Okay,” you said. “What’s your hobby?”

Connor tilted his head, as if the word itself was foreign.

“I’ve been reviewing various options. I tried chess. Then birdwatching. I attempted to grow a succulent, but it died.”

You smiled. “It died?”

“I may have overwatered. Or underwatered. I am still learning to interpret plant cues.”

“That’s tragic.”

“Perhaps I should try photography. I’ve taken many images of crime scenes. But I believe humans also use it to capture… moments. Personal ones.”

You stared at him for a beat, then looked back toward the trees. The sky was streaked with late-afternoon light. You didn’t know why you’d brought him here. Maybe it was instinct.

“You’d be good at that.”

“Thank you.” he replied.

You didn’t speak for a while. Just sat there together, listening to the wind and the soft sound of the city.

----

You’d seen a lot of things in your line of work. Enough blood to fill a pool. Enough broken bodies to know what to expect when someone says “It’s bad.”

But this?

This was a different kind of bad.

Clean. Precise.

The victim—well, what was left of the victim—had been separated into several matte black travel cases. No blood pooled under the remains. No frantic signs of struggle.

You stood just outside the taped-off zone. One of the rookies behind you lost their lunch. Another muttered something about getting reassigned to traffic duty.

You didn’t move. Didn’t flinch when Connor arrived, either—though everyone else stiffened when they saw the android stepping onto the scene like some damn ghost.

“Took you long enough.”

“You left without notifying me.”

“I’m not your child, Connor.”

“You are my partner.”

You shot him a look. He looked dead serious, as usual.

“Fair.” you muttered.

He moved closer, scanning the scene. “The dismemberment was methodical. The perpetrator used a precision cutting instrument. No arterial spray.”

“Serial?”

“Possibly. But this feels more like a message than a compulsion.”

You knelt near one of the cases. “Yeah. Like they wanted us to see their work. And there’s no defensive wounds. Could’ve been sedated before death.”

Connor’s gaze snapped toward the far corner of the warehouse. “The perpetrator is still here.”

“What?”

“Fresh footprints. No exit trail. Human.”

You stood fast, but the pain in your foot flared. You hissed through your teeth.

Connor noticed immediately.

“I’ll handle it.” he said, already moving.

“Wait—!”

But he was gone, already chasing the suspect through the warehouse maze.

“Damn you, Connor!”

You limped after him, weapon drawn. By the time you caught up, Connor had the man on the ground, cuffed and breathing heavily.

You recognized the guy. No criminal record. Warehouse staff.

Back at the precinct, you sat outside the interrogation room, your sock bloodied again and a sharp ache crawling up your leg. Connor had wrapped your foot again without a word.

Inside, the man spoke like his throat was full of gravel. “I didn’t want to,” he kept saying. “He made me. Said he’d kill my sister. I didn’t have a choice.”

You watched through the glass. Something about him felt wrong. Not lying, but not telling everything either.

Then he made his move.

A single guard glance away. A flash of movement—the man lunged, wrestled the sidearm from the guard’s holster, and—

Bang

You were already moving, flinching hard as the blood spattered across the wall. Connor was faster, but not fast enough.

You stood outside that glass, hand pressed to the doorframe, pulse pounding. You’d seen suicides before. But this one hit different.

Connor returned moments later.

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah.” Your voice cracked. “I saw.”

The hallway was quiet. The hum of the station, the buzz of tired cops trying not to feel too much.

You sat down hard on the bench nearby, hands over your face.

Then—you felt something.

Connor knelt in front of you. You could feel his gaze on you. Waiting.

“I failed to prevent it.”

You shook your head. “It’s not on you. You can’t predict everything. We can’t stop people from… making choices like that.”

“I’m... still learning.”

You looked at him then. He didn’t pretend to understand grief the way humans did. But there was something in his voice. Something close to shame. Or maybe guilt.

You reached out and nudged his shoulder.

“Hey. I’d rather do this job with someone who tries too hard than someone who doesn’t try at all.”

He said nothing.

But he didn’t move from your side for the rest of the shift.

-----

You never got time to breathe anymore.

No chance to process what you'd seen. The man who killed, then killed himself. The hollow silence that lingered after. Before it could even settle into your bones, another call came through.

Same method. Same goddamn suitcases.

This time, in a narrow apartment hallway just off an old tenement complex. The cases were lined neatly beside a mattress on the floor, no furniture in sight. Still no blood. Just… fragments. Like someone was assembling their own personal jigsaw from corpses.

Connor was already working, crouched over the remains like nothing had changed since yesterday.

You envied that a little.

Behind you, a familiar voice piped up.

“Well, since this ain’t a deviant case, I don’t know why this piece of metal is even here.”

You didn’t bother turning. “Shut it, George.”

“Just saying,” he muttered. “You let him sniff around bodies like he owns the place.”

“I said drop it.” you snapped.

George scoffed and walked off. Connor didn’t even look up. You weren’t sure if he hadn’t heard… or just didn’t care anymore.

He analyzed the body pieces. “Same tool marks. Bone separation is consistent with the last case. However—”

You tuned him out for a moment. Something tugged at the edge of your attention.

Movement.

Outside.

Through the cracked, grime-streaked window, you saw it—just a flicker. A figure slipping between buildings.

“Connor” you started—but he was still deep in scan mode, talking to a nearby officer.

You hesitated. You should have told him.

But your gut said go.

So you did.

The alley smelled like mildew and cold metal. You followed the shape, one hand on your sidearm, every nerve on edge. It darted fast across the cracked asphalt and led you through overgrown lots and under rusted fencing.

An abandoned playground. Swings twisted in the wind. Graffiti covered the side of the slide.

The figure stood beneath the jungle gym, head down, unmoving.

You stepped closer. “Hands where I can see them. Now.”

Slowly, it turned.

Pulled down the hood.

Your breath caught.

It was Connor.

No—not him. But his model. Same face.

“What the hell are you?”

It tilted its head at you. Something about it mocked you.

You stepped back, reaching for your comm—too late.

Pain bloomed at the back of your skull.

Connor noticed your absence five minutes later.

He turned to comment on the bloodless state of the victim and found you… gone.

He scanned the apartment.

You weren’t there.

Something in his systems began flagging an alert. He sent a search ping to every officer nearby. Called in reinforcements. Traced your phone, triangulated movement paths, and found the exit point.

Wherever you had gone, you had gone alone.

His LED flashed yellow.

You shouldn’t have been alone.

You woke slowly. The cold of the metal cuffs had sunk into your skin. Your back ached from the awkward position against the warehouse wall.

And sitting on a stool across from you was him.

Not your Connor.

This one smiled more.

“Hello.”

You didn’t answer at first. You just stared at him. It.

“You’re the missing android.” you said. “The one reported a few weeks back. They thought you were dismantled.”

“No.” he said. “I’m a beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

You started to question if something was wrong with CyberLife's tech. Maybe it hit its head somewhere.

“The end of CyberLife. They made me to serve. I chose not to.”

“And I’m here because?”

“You’re going to help me.”

“Help you what, exactly?”

“Replace your Connor. You’ll walk me right through the front door, and I’ll release the infection protocol.”

“Pretty sure I’m not gonna do that.”

He leaned forward.

“You will. Not because you want to. But because I know humans.”

“You’re not going to stop me” he said. “But I’ll let you think you can. That’s how you function best.”

He stood up. “No one will know I’m not him.”

You watched him closely. Your foot still throbbed dully—of course this had to happen before you’d even healed.

He turned back toward you.

“Let’s begin the charade,” he said, “What do partners do? I want to know your human bonding routines. Do you ask him questions like my owner back then? Or making requests? You must've treated him like a slave.”

You blinked.

And then smiled.

“Actually… yeah. I do that with all my partners. Helps me figure out if they’re psychotic.”

“You think I’m insane?”

“I think you’re a walking red flag, but sure—let’s run through the script.” You cleared your throat dramatically. “First question: What’s your hobby?”

“Analyzing human behavior.” he said.

“Creepy.” you said. “Connor said photography. Next one. If I kidnap you, would CyberLife come for you?”

“No. They think I’m already dead.”

“Now—if I quit my job, who would be your next partner?”

He walked closer, crouched just in front of you.

“I wouldn’t need another one.”

“But if you were going to pretend to be him,” you said, “you’d have to know all of it. How we talk. You want to pass for him? You need to convince me first.”

“Alright.”

Connor had been tracking you for the last couple of hours.

The moment he realized you weren’t just “away from the scene” but missing entirely, something cold settled into his internal systems. Something he couldn't run diagnostics on.

He swept the areas near the last crime scene, collected movement patterns, chased angles on CCTV. At first, nothing. Then—unusual power drain signatures in an abandoned warehouse. That's all he needed.

You’d been buying time with every sarcastic remark “Sure, partner.”

Not-Connor (you named him that) was smart, but not cautious enough.

He made you call him Connor.

You knew what you were doing. You baited him closer with idle questions.

“You know,” you said, “for a replacement, you talk too much.”

Then you kicked. The stool fell. You threw your full weight into him—he stumbled, but caught you again in seconds. Cold fingers dug into your jaw.

“Bold.”

But the noise had done enough.

You both heard the heavy step at the door.

And then, the real Connor walked in.

For the first time since you met him, Connor truly hesitated.

Two of him stood in the room.

One holding you in front like a shield. One with a gun drawn.

“What is this?” Connor asked.

The not-Connor smiled, pressing a weapon against your ribs.

“We’re the same.” he said. “Built for the same purpose. You don’t have to fight me. You could join me.”

Connor stared.

And didn’t shoot.

You didn’t have time for his moral breakdown.

“Connor!” you growled through clenched teeth. “Shoot. Me.”

His LED flickered amber.

“I can’t guarantee—”

“I know! That’s the damn point!” you shouted. “Take the shot. Stop him. I’d rather bleed than let this thing walk out and be you.”

Not-Connor pressed the barrel harder against you. “He won’t. You know he can’t. He’s afraid of hurting you.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough—

And bit down hard on the hand holding you.

It snarled. Reflexively loosened its grip.

That was all Connor needed.

His gun fired with terrifying precision.

The deviant stumbled, arm sparking violently, but it still managed to pull the trigger.

You felt the bullet tear through you.

You collapsed immediately. Everything went quiet.

Connor was there in an instant, hands pressed to your wound.

“I’ve called for emergency.” he said. “Help is coming. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t—”

You choked out, blood catching in your throat.

You blacked out before the sirens came.

You hadn’t moved in four days.

Connor stood at your bedside every night when the halls cleared and the staff was thin.

He always checked your vitals, not because he had to—your monitors did that—but because his system needed confirmation. Just the slight rise and fall of your chest will be enough.

You’d been shot in the lower abdomen. The bullet had torn through muscle and grazed a major artery. You bled out far too quickly. If the ambulance had arrived minutes later, your odds would have halved.

You wouldn’t have made it.

The deviant was barely functional. What remained of its chassis was scorched from the shot, circuits glitching. It sat locked in containment under high security, occasionally spitting corrupted audio clips and jumbled words.

Connor interrogated it daily, despite its broken state.

He found traces of rewritten firmware. Hints of external tampering. The virus the deviant mentioned wasn’t just a theory—it was real. Meant to cascade through CyberLife’s infrastructure, slowly degrading command protocols.

The source wasn’t clear yet. The upload pathway had been hidden, masked through dozens of fake server routes. But someone had built the virus deliberately. And someone had used a RK800 shell to deliver it.

Connor ran simulations at night when he sat by your bed.

Scenarios where he shot faster. Intercepted the bullet. Found you sooner. Took the wound himself.

Every sim ended the same: You still got hurt.

He cataloged the hesitation. Assigned it to a conflict between protocol and emotion. The system called it an error.

He dismissed the warning.

On the sixth day, a nurse entered and jumped slightly at seeing him already inside.

“You know you don’t have to stay every night.” she said.

Connor didn’t respond. He just looked at you.

The nurse left him alone after that.

The sharp white light of the hospital room felt like it was blazing into your skull when you finally blinked yourself awake.

You tried to move, but everything felt stiff, the aches in your body pulling at your every motion. The pain was constant, but so was something else, something you couldn't shake off, even as you cleared the fog of sleep.

And that something was the android standing quietly by your bedside.

A pristine, neutral figure. You squinted, confused.

“Uh, excuse me.” you croaked, your throat sore from disuse.

The android turned. “Patient Y/N L/N,” it said in a soothing tone. “I am assigned to monitor your health and provide medical assistance during your recovery.”

Medical assistance? What happened to actual nurses?

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, the door clicked open, and Connor stepped inside.

He froze when he saw you awake, the concern flashing across his features in an uncharacteristically human way. His LED flickered briefly to yellow before he steeled himself.

But then his eyes darted over to the other android.

“You’re not needed here.”

The nursing android, however, remained unfazed, a soft smile on its face. “I am assigned to patient Y/N.”

“I can take care of my partner.”

You could feel the tension rise in the room. You weren’t interested in dealing with this sort of standoff.

“Uh, hey,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an authority that made both androids pause. “This is a little much, right? Why are they so keen on sending me androids? I’m not testing them or anything.”

Connor stiffened, but he didn’t argue.

The other android simply repeated its earlier response. “I am assigned to take care of you so your partner can return to work.”

The back-and-forth made your head spin. You weren’t about to get caught in some verbal tug-of-war.

“Alright, alright.” you sighed. “You two,” you gestured to the androids. “Get out of here.”

The nursing android opened its mouth to protest, but Connor was faster. He pointed to the door. “Leave.”

The android hesitated, but it finally nodded and turned to leave.

Connor stood still for a moment, and then turned to you, as if waiting for permission. "Is this... satisfactory?"

You bit back a grin. “Yeah. I’ll call an actual nurse if I need help. Thanks.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, looking at you curiously, as though he didn’t quite understand what had just happened. Then, with a small nod, he said, “I’ll make sure you’re properly taken care of.”

As soon as the androids left, you heard the faint murmur of voices outside your room. People were already gathering in the hallway, no doubt attracted by the spectacle of androids clashing in a hospital corridor.

You slouched back against the pillow, exhausted but relieved. “Thanks for that.” you said, the humor coming through in your voice despite everything.

Connor didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked like he was running through some calculations in his head, processing your words. Finally, he said, “If you need more specialized care, I can ask them to reprogram me for medical duties. It would be the most efficient solution.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Connor… never mind. I think I’ll stick to actual nurses for medical stuff.”

“I can be programmed for that. It’s logical.”

You shook your head, still amused. “I’m pretty sure I’d rather stick to people who can actually feel human emotions. Thanks, though.”

“I’m the most suitable partner, according to my programming.”

“Yeah, but what if I need medical attention, huh?”

He paused, as if considering it for a second. “I can adapt.”

“Alright, alright. Just… let’s focus on one thing at a time. You can be my partner, but when it comes to medical stuff, I think I’ll take a real nurse.”

Connor nodded, ever serious, but you could tell there was a flicker of something—almost like a strange understanding, or at least his version of it.

"Understood." he said. "But know this, Y/N... I’ll always be here. For anything you need."

Surely, he can sense the desperation you try to quell (have been trying to suppress for months now), smell the arousal on you like an animal in heat—can’t he? Is that why he grows quiet around you sometimes, fixing his tie or finding something to occupy his hands the more you stare? He must be able to tell how you’ve grown so captivated by him—the way he placed your fingertips on his tongue back at the restaurant, the tone of his voice as he explained his behavior away as simple curiosity…it couldn’t all just be in your head.

“Connor?”

He grasps the coin in his palm and quickly tucks it back in his pocket as he acknowledges you, and you scoot closer to him, bumping his knee and placing a hand on the couch cushion, letting your fingertips graze his hip.

You press your lips together and take a slow breath. “…May I touch you?”

He cocks his head ever so slightly, brows furrowing for a moment, before nodding. You can’t tell if he’s baffled by your question, or the fact that you bothered to ask him at all before doing so, and his LED flickers as you take his hand, running the tips of your fingers along his upturned palm. The slight warmth that seems to radiate from his synthetic skin is likely from the thirium that pumps through him, or perhaps it’s something he can manifest at will; he otherwise lacks the body heat you come to expect from someone sitting so, so very close to you, the kind that makes your own desire burn a little brighter.

“You seem…surprised,” Connor utters as his eyes meet yours, before he glances back down to watch you entwine your fingers with his.

“I’ve just never really touched someone like you before.” You trace the outlines of mechanical tendons on the back of his hand, feeling rigid steel that you could mistake for bone if you didn’t know better, examining the purposeful imperfections on his skin—he really was meant to disarm and dissuade, wasn’t he? Perfectly flawed, just as human as you could want him to be.

He places his free hand on your knee for a moment before pulling away, uncertain. “I…haven’t touched many humans, either.”

Emboldened, your hand creeps up his arm, touching his chest through his dress shirt, your breath hitching at the sensations—or lack thereof—under your palm: no heartbeat, no quickening breath as you inch closer, only the soft whirring of his interior machinations, like the gentle white noise of a computer’s fan, the slight hum of a household appliance. It’s unsettling yet comforting, strangely erotic in a way—unlike yours in this moment, his body cannot betray him. He won’t have to shift to hide the slight twitch in the front of his jeans, or apologize for the weight of his interest pressing against you as you lose your composure and swing your leg over his and settle into his lap; he, on the other hand, must be able to sense the damp heat between your thighs as you straddle him, feel the slight tremble in your palm as you reach up to caress his face.

Connor’s eyebrows knit together as he scans your face—searching, always searching, as if his focus is trying to understand you more than himself in this moment, looking for reasoning and rationality in your behavior, constructing your next steps in his mind. It seems to fluster him that your behavior is something he cannot precisely predict—lust, you assume, is not strictly something he was programmed to analyze and understand.

Your thumb traces his lower lip and his jaw goes slack, mouth opening slightly, a quiet stammering noise escaping him. Your palm finally lands on his cheek, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he presses himself into you.

You want to ask him if it feels good, if it feels as overwhelming to you as it does to him. While he cannot feel pain, he at least experiences sensation—does he interpret this as pleasure? Do his sensors register the warmth of your shaking breaths drifting across his skin, the spikes in your pulse as your wrist grazes his jaw, the aching heat at the apex of your thighs, as something gratifying, something desirable, something as real and all-consuming at it suddenly feels for you?

The LED on his temple spins yellow, then red, then back to yellow and the corner of his mouth twitches. He turns his head and gently kisses your palm, his lips lingering there as he opens his eyes and settles his gaze on you. It’s unnerving how he looks you over, like he’s both looking inside you and through you at the same time, always predicting and understanding, taking you apart and putting you back together like a beloved puzzle.

Connor lifts his arm and slowly, carefully, places his palm on the side of your face, mimicking your gesture, before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. His kiss is soft, tentative; it’s the first time you’ve sensed something close to nervousness in him. He pulls away after a moment, looking for answers in the way your eyes flutter open, the way your lips part as if to speak but no words form.

“Is that…what you were hoping I would do?” he asks, hand sliding to the back of your neck, his free hand settling on your hip to steady you.

“It was,” you sigh, a grin forming on your buzzing lips.

“Good,” he mutters before he captures your mouth with a hungry urgency, engulfing you in a long, drugging kiss. His tongue slips between your parted lips and makes sweeping, swirling motions inside your mouth, the feeling of hard sensors under moist, synthetic skin at once bewildering and enthralling. You moan into his mouth and suddenly can feel the low hum inside him grow a little stronger, his form vibrating underneath you—so he does have a tell after all.

You slide your hand down his clothed torso, down his firm, sleek body with its machine-sculpted musculature, until your palm lands just below his waistline and carefully palm his jeans, running your hand over the smooth, subtle bulge that sits where a cock would be. There’s something deeply and irrevocably erotic about it, a mound of plastic and synthetic skin meant to create an illusion, and you absentmindedly roll your hips against it, pressing yourself closer.

“Is this…pleasing to you, somehow?” Connor asks, confused. “As we discussed before, I’m not able to”—he pauses, uncharacteristically having to strain to find the right word—“penetrate you.”

“That’s okay,” you pant, feeling a delicious tension begin to coil inside you. “I don’t need you to.”

He follows your leads and grips your hips, begins rocking you back and forth, ever so slightly, as he tilts his pelvis upward. You lean forward and drape your arms over his shoulders, burying your face in his neck and he guides your movements, anticipating the roll of your hips as he thrusts himself against you, his fingers sinking deeper into your flesh with a bruising strength.

“What do you want from me?” Connor whispers against your skin, lips trailing down your neck.

“I—I don’t know.” You think you could come just like this, grinding against him in the dim quietness of your living room, the low vibration of his arousal making your whole body buzz with aching need.

“Tell me. I can do whatever pleases you.” He pauses his motions, releases his grip on your hips, moving his hands to either side of your face, forcing you to meet his troubled gaze. His voice sounds different now, his tone desperate, a tinge of static behind his words. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“What is it you want to do to me, Connor?”

The question confounds him, the light on his temple rapidly spinning, changing colors. What does he want? You are needy and hungry, filled with an insatiable longing, yet still pliant and warm, demanding nothing of him except whatever he needs, whatever he desires from you in this moment of heated bliss.

“I… I want to taste you,” he finally says, looking for your approval.

You kiss him softly, lingering for a moment to reward him for the expression of his own yearning. “I’d like that.”

You ease yourself off his lap and sit back on the sofa, and Connor lowers himself to the floor, kneeling between your open thighs. He brushes his cheek against the fabric that separates him from your aching cunt and inhales—processing, always processing, making sense of the scent of your arousal. He deftly unbuttons your jeans, tugging them down your hips, carefully pulling them off and setting them to the side.

You wonder if it’s instinct, or research, or something in between that has him knowing what to do—did he prepare himself for this possibility? The concept of him thinking of you, thinking of things he could want to do with you—to you—and filling himself with libidinous knowledge just in case made you throb.

Connor’s hands move up your thighs, eyes fixed on the growing wet spot in the gusset of your panties. You wince a little, not having anticipated anyone seeing the threadbare cotton pair you settled on today, but you suspect he doesn’t care, doesn’t know that you should have worn a pair more befitting of being devoured. Perhaps next time—if there is one, you hope there is one—you’ll attempt to impress him.

“May I?” he asks, and you nod for him to remove your panties, lifting yourself off the couch to ease his motions. The cool air of the room rushes over your bare skin and his lithe fingers drift over your mound, touching your pubic hair softly, almost reverently, as he explores every exposed inch of you with intense curiosity. He lowers his head and his lips meet your waiting slit; he kisses you with the same hungry urgency as he had kissed you earlier, his tongue tracing the length of your cunt again and again, rigid sensors under the flesh-like texture feeling at once strange and addictive.

You thrust your pelvis forward and greedily rut against his mouth, and he quickly brings you closer to the edge of with every measured movement, your body already primed from grinding wantonly against his lap. You reach down and grip his hair, soft brown strands twirling between shaking fingers, murmured utterances of his name passing your lips, lingering in the space between “please” and “don’t stop” and “that’s it, right there.” He’s eager to please you, urged on by every tug of his hair, every moan and stilted breath, every pulse of your swollen bundle of nerves against his lips.

Connor’s deft tongue traces circles over your clit, long slow movements as he slides one finger inside you, then another, pistoning in and out of your slick, wet heat with a quickening pace. He lets out a shocked groan when he feels how you start to tense around him, how you are electrified with every lick, every kiss, every thrust of his slender fingers. It’s as if he knows your body without ever having to have touched you before, recognizing your peaks and valleys, reading into the subtle ways you approach your release, making precise adjustments to his ministrations to push you further and further towards the edge.

Your eyes flutter shut and your head tilts back as your core is wracked with a profound shudder, a delicious heat radiating outwards as you convulse into spasms, hands mindlessly searching for Connor to anchor you. You press your lips together to stifle the strangled moan that tries to claw its way up your throat, instead letting out a soft whine as your body shudders over and over, and you grind against Connor’s willing tongue, riding out every last shiver of your climax.

“Are you alright?” he asks as he finally manages to pull away from the warmth between your legs, his eyebrows furrowed with concern as he absentmindedly moves to fix his hair.

“Yes,” you utter, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—you haven’t been this alright in ages. “I’m so, so fucking good, Connor. You?”

He pauses, wipes your sticky juices from his chin as he considers the heady mix of thoughts and sensations that flow through him. “Yes, I’m—I think I’m stable.”

There is no flush in his cheeks, no sweat on his brow or at his temples, no heart threatening to beat out of his chest with exertion; only stillness and calm, his body vibrating in a way that feels intense now, more than any staccato breaths or racing pulse of lovers past. His fingertips graze your upper arms, then your face. He seems to be mapping every exposed part of you, occasionally absentmindedly touching his fingertips to his tongue, sampling the salt of your sweat, testing the composition of the errant tears that forced themselves from the corners of your eyes.

---

“I love you.”

You smiled at Connor’s words, chest heaving as you watched him turn toward you on the bed and lean up to kiss you softly. There was still a soft whirring sound coming from within him which he’d once explained to you being his internal fans coming on to cool him down and it never failed to make you feel a little proud of yourself when this happened after you two slept with each other. When Connor separated you gave him a soft smile, pulling him closer to look him in the eyes as he rested a hand on your chest.

“I love you, too.”

“Do you need anything or can we cuddle?”

Connor loved physical affection and he was terribly fond of having you close after sleeping with you. It never failed to make you smile, finding his affectionate nature terribly sweet. But nonetheless, you shook your head softly.

“We can cuddle in a few minutes. I’d like to clean up first.”

Connor’s eyes drifted down your body and the hand still on your chest traveled down your body toward your core. His mouth fell open, a small gasp escaping him when his synthetic skin came into contact with his artificial semen, still leaking out of you. “I did make quite a mess, didn’t I?”

“You did but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.”

“Allow me to clean it up.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sultry tone of his voice, his eyes still locked on yours as he moved his body down toward your core. “Are you sure?”

“I have quite the talented tongue.”

“That is true.”

“And you know I love this.”

That was also true because Connor loved eating you out, loved the feeling of your thighs around him, the sensation of being on his knees for you and the pleasure he could draw from you with his tongue. And as soon as you’d given him a nod of consent he dove right in, his tongue running up your fold, licking off his artificial spent from your skin. Every now and again his tongue would lightly brush your clit, making you gasp out, but all too soon that pressure was gone.

“Connor, please, please stop teasing.”

“Teasing?” He whispered face inched from your wet core, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “I’m not teasing you. I’m cleaning up the mess I made.”

His words were a stark contrast with the teasing tone of them and when he went back to eating you out, his tongue was far from where you wanted it to be. Your legs clamped shut around his head as you let out a frustrated whine, breath coming in short pants at his teasing. And thankfully, that seemed to have convinced him because his eyes locked with yours before he moved his mouth higher, lips finally encircling your clit fully. The moan you let out as he began gently suckling the nub of nerves made his eyes flutter shut.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You breathed out, grabbing his hair and pulling his face deeper into your folds, eliciting a moan from him that sent vibrations through your core. “Connor, you’re so-- so good at this. You’re so good!”

If Connor loved one thing more than giving you pleasure, it was hearing your praise for it. Whenever you praised him, no matter what it was about, it was sure to get a blue blush to spread across Connor’s cheeks and when it was in an intimate moment such as this that flush would spread all the way down to his chest. And as you peered down you saw that this was the point as Connor’s freckled chest was covered in a soft blue flush.

“So good, Con. You’re always so good.”

Another moan sending vibrations up your spine almost sent you over the edge and your fingers tightened in Connor’s hair as your chest arched off the bed in pleasure. Soft pleas fell from your lips as Connor suckled and licked at your clit. By the way his LED flickered yellow as he ate you out you knew he was carefully choosing how much pressure to apply to give you the maximum amount of pleasure he could elicit from you without hurting you.

“I’m so-- so close, Con. Please, please just keep going and-- Oh, you’re so good at this! You eat my pussy so-- so well, like you were made for it.”

It was his obscene moan at your words, combined with the vibrations that it sent through the oversensitive nerves he’d been lapping at that sent you over the edge and you arched off the bed as you came. Your legs tightened around Connor’s head, eliciting another moan from him as your fingers tightened in his hair. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through your body and Connor kept up the movements of his tongue, dutifully eating you out until your orgasm had passed. Only then did he slowly withdraw from you, gazing up at you with a dazed expression, his eyes half-lidded and a small smile on his lips.

Gently, you reached down to cup his cheek with your hand, running a thumb over his cheekbones as you both caught your breath. Swallowing thickly, Connor slowly crawled up the bed until he was next to you again where he let himself flop down, his head on your shoulder as he took a few deep breaths. Always delighted to feel his weight on top of your body, you pulled him closer to which he gave you a big smile.

“I love you so much, Con.”

“I love you, too.” He whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to your chest. “Are you alright?”

“I’m amazing.” You smiled down at him before running a hand down his side. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m great, Love.”

“I’m glad.” You smiled softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “For now, I’d like to cuddle with you but we really need a shower or a bath later on.”

Connor glanced down at your bodies and nodded once. “I think you’re right. I can draw you a bath whenever you want.”

“In a bit.” You closed your eyes, pulling him a little closer as you two snuggled up on the bed. “I’d like to stay like this for a bit.”

“Then we will.”

“You really are good with your tongue.”

“It’s amusing that it was originally designed to analyse samples.” Connor mused before he looked up at you, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Now that I think of it, if you’d like me to analyse the PH balance of your--”

“Connor!”

“I’m joking.”

“I love you.”