#dbh x reader

Your investigations the next day had taken you to a hospital on the outskirts of the city, where supposedly an attempted murder had occurred involving a deviant. Hank had offered over the phone to give you a lift, to which you declined stating it was too far out of the way for him and that you would set off early. Despite this, it seemed Hank and Connor had arrived before you, noticing Hank's car as you struggled to find a parking space. The lot was oddly crowded, both with cars and people, which was never a good sign when involving police investigations.

The crowd seemed denser the closer you got to the hospital's entrance, despite multiple police offers standing around and encouraging people backwards. Many of said people appeared to be journalists, with cameras, microphones and tablets, all eager to push through into the building. You hid your lanyard with your ID and shimmied through the crowd, spouting off a few 'excuse me's and 'sorry's. Closer and closer to the main doors, you could hear now as multiple people called out for Lieutenant Anderson.

From where you stood surrounded by the crowd, Hank and Connor were visible on the risen steps just a few yards from the doorway, fending off the press that hounded them. Or more accurately, Hank kept his hands up in a defensive guard, shoulder barging past those who didn't step aside. Connor, on the other hand, would stop every time someone attempted to grab him, to which Hank would then bark at him to hurry up resulting in Connor deftly slipping out of anyone's grasp as if it was nothing.

"Lieutenant Anderson! What is the DPD's statement on the recent deviant broadcast?"

"Lieutenant! Does the DPD encourage the people of America to throw away their androids?"

"What would you say to the public to calm the growing fear surrounding deviancy?"

Once at the highest step, Hank swiftly turned around to face the crowd, Connor standing proper at his side and the storm of reporters silent in anticipation.

"Look, this is an active crime scene and you are impeding a police investigation! Unless you're actually a patient at this fucking hospital, you need to leave!" He yelled out to journalists, yet only a few began to pack their things and cut their losses. As his eyes scanned the sea of people, they locked with yours and you waved. Hank pointed at you and threw his thumb behind himself towards the main doors.

Like a hungry pack of dogs, every body around visible turned their attention on you, making you the next victim to their barrage of questions. Their interrogations burst all at once and to each one you answered a swift 'no comment' all while burrowing through the crowd.

"Does the DPD acknowledge the dangers of having an android assist on the investigation into deviancy?"

In front of your eyes you saw Connor cease following Hank through the doors into the hospital. Like a fisherman patient for a bite the reporters quieted to allow for Connor to speak. Yet as he begun to turn to face them, you placed your hand on his back and wordlessly pushed him forward.

The doors sliding shut behind you separated the three of you from the hungry pit.

Making your way through the hospital you noticed there was no shortage of patients, nor of police. The front desk had directed you to the fifth floor, and a cop you weren't familiar with gave Hank a quick debriefing of the situation, which he did not share with neither you or Connor. No matter, you knew the gist of it anyway.

You came upon the room where the victim stayed, yet were disrupted by a distressed couple that ranted to one another.

"Oh! Are you Lieutenant Anderson?" One of them said, breaking out of their frenzied state to reach out towards Hank who was just about to open the door. A man and woman, both middle-aged and similar in appearance, most likely relative's to the patient. Hank nodded and motioned for Connor to give them space.

"Tom McGuire-" The man spoke, shaking Hank's hand frantically. "This is my sister, Sarah." She mouthed a 'hello'. "Our mother, Pamela, she has late stage cancer and… well, I'm sure you heard but-"

Hank stopped them with a calm raised hand and introduced you to the two.

"I understand this is a difficult time for you two but I'd like to speak with your mother first, if that's okay. They can answer any questions in the meantime." He summarised succinctly, before skirting past them and entering the room.

Tom and Sarah quickly turned their attention to you, the latter of which bit her nails nervously. You gave them the warmest smile you could.

"The hospital told us what happened last night, we've been here since 3 in the morning- ah…what's…what's that doing here?" Tom laughed awkwardly, looking behind your shoulder at Connor who stood motionless.

"This is Connor, an android detective who's been helping in the investigation," You spoke for him as the android nodded in greeting, yet Tom and Sarah looked no less displeased.

"You… why would you have an android working with the police? They're what's causing all these problems!" Sarah frowned at you, and you dug your nails into your palm to ground yourself.

"There's no need to worry, I am a new state-of-the-art prototype delivered by Cyberlife. My very purpose is to help stop deviancy."

They remained hesitant.

"Connor has been nothing but helpful in this investigation, and his chances od deviancy are slim to none." A blatant lie, obviously, but what the public didn't know wouldn't hurt them. "Besides, we monitor him closely at all times. First sign of deviating and-" You mimicked firing a gun and made a popping sound with your mouth before letting out a weak chuckle. Tom stared at you, jaw slack.

"Okay, well… you can understand why we're nervous." Sarah replied and you nodded quickly. "The android who did this to our mother, it was her personal nurse, and she always talked so fondly of it over the phone. I don't understand why it would do something like this to her!" Her voice grew louder as she worked herself up, clamping a hand on the side of her face to calm herself.

"At this rate I don't care why it did what it did- it probably didn't even have a reason. It just needs to be dealt with." Tom finished for her, pointing a finger down with a restrained aggression.

"And it will be, don't worry."

They continued to rant about the android that tried to murder their mother, occasionally glancing at Connor to check on his state, yet always finding him quiet and still. Clearly the situation had gifted them a healthy paranoia around every android possible.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Hank opened the door and gestured for you and Connor to join him in private.

"Things are a bit more…complicated then just a good old-fashioned murder attempt," He said after sighing. "How about you go and have a chat with our patient while I talk with those two?" Hank looked to you, and you muttered an 'okay'.

The room was sterile. That was all that you could describe it as. Maybe suffocating, too, despite the air purifier in the corner of it. In the centre, on a white clean bed lay the almost-murder victim, eyes closed and breathing heavy.

"Hi Pamela," You called out quietly, carefully placing yourself on the stool beside the bed. The woman was old, probably in her 80s or 90s, with dark and heavy circles under her eyes that paired with all the wrinkles that surrounded her face. Her hair was white and thinning out to almost non-existence, just a few wisps atop her head. From under her gown you could spot a tiny butterfly tattoo creeping up on her collarbone, now greatly faded. She cracked an eye open and swallowed dryly.

"You look awfully young for police." Was all she said in a strained and raspy voice.

"I suppose so, although I'm in forensics, not quite a typical cop." You replied and gave her a small grin to which she wheezed.

"Haven't I talked to enough of your lot? None of you listen to me anyway." She turned her head to face the window. "Too busy fussing over my dumbass son."

"He's shaken up. He almost lost his mom."

"He's been almost losing his mom for years now. Never cared too much before."

"I know you've probably told it a hundred times already, but I'd like to hear your side of the story, if you're willing."

Pamela turned her face to look at you, eyes a blend of exhaustion and annoyance. You realised then that she was likely much younger than you originally thought, yet sickness had ravaged her body so viciously that it had aged her at least 10 years. Judging by the pain medication you saw she was given, she must have been in never-ending pain. The last thing she needed was to be involved in a crime investigation.

"Susie is innocent."

"Susie?"

"My nurse, the android. She didn't try to murder me." She spoke the word 'murder' as if it was the most absurd thing she had ever heard.

"Her name is on the request form for morphine. Are you saying she was framed?"

Pamela sighed and worried at her bottom lip.

"Not quite." She murmured, and you waited for her to continue. "I asked her to do it."

You sucked in a breath and held yourself back from any verbal reply. The old woman looked at you from under her eyelids, like a child confessing a bad deed and awaiting judgement. But you passed none.

"I'm terminal." She began, slowly and pained. "I have been for years. Day by day I've been rotting away in this god forsaken hospital, watching the world carry on whilst I die slowly.

I used to be a part of it. I used to love life, I had so many things I loved to do! But when I started my treatment, I couldn't do them anymore. I was in pain, I was tired.

And then they told me I was terminal, and that I had about a year or two left. My kids didn't try to move me in with them. My son's family is too large and my daughter didn't have the space. But you know this is the first time I've seen them in months?

They used to visit me every week, then those weeks turned to months, then the visits became phone calls.

Throughout all of this, the only person whose been by my side, who remembers I'm a person still has been Susie. She's been better to me than my own damn kids. And she understands that this isn't a dignified way to go. She understands this isn't living.

I've lost control of every other part of my life, why can't I choose to go out on my damn terms?!"

"She was trying to help you," You responded quietly, looking down at the bruises on Pamela's hands.

"Yes!" She cried, newfound energy at your understanding. "She's a sweet girl, she only did what I asked her to. No one else would take me seriously."

"Did you ask other people to do it for you?"

"Well, I talked about the whole assisted dying procedure with my kids but they shut it down pretty quick. This felt like my only option left."

You nodded silently and fiddled with your lanyard that now lay in your lap. Of course, you had never been in her position, but you could easily imagine the need to escape such pain and sickness. If the alternative was to die slowly and in pain, then death would be freeing.

"Please-" Pamela spoke up, grabbing your hand weakly. "Susie is not a murderer. She's not a deviant. She was just trying to help me, please…you don't need to shut her down." You squeezed Pamela's hand.

"I know, I'll do whatever I can."

Hank and Connor were already in the room with the deviant, apparently. When you had left Pamela's room, her children had quickly bombarded you with questions about when the android would be destroyed, extra security for their mother, getting exclusively human staff to care for her. Each question you had to answer to the best of your abilities before prying yourself away from them and into the room where the deviant waited. The only reason Tom and Sarah didn't follow you in was because of the policeman that guided them away.

You found the deviant sat calmly in handcuffs at the table, watching you as you walked in. In turn, Connor watched the deviant, impassive and silent but with such a commanding tension that you knew he had just been interrogating her. Hank sat in the corner, miserable head resting in his palm.

"This is the deviant?" You asked cautiously, and Hank hummed in response.

"Yes, known as Susan. Personal nurse to Pamela McGuire provided by the hospital. The one who wrote in the request for the morphine that would have resulted in an overdose." Connor listed off succinctly without turning to face you. Susan watched you calmly, exhibiting none of the typical erratic deviant behaviours. It was eerie, to say the least.

"So, Susan. Do you admit that you requested the morphine?" You asked her.

"I did."

"Why?"

"To give Pamela an overdose, hopefully resulting in her death."

Sucking in a breath, you turned to Hank who just shrugged in defeat.

"Why did you want to give Pamela an overdose?" Connor demanded, and you could hear in his voice his confusion. No doubt the deviant's actions yet lack of resistance didn't align with his concept of deviancy, and he was now struggling with how to approach this.

"Because she wanted to die- the pain she's in is unbearable for her. I've learnt so much from her about how beautiful life can be, and I know enough that that life is one no one should be forced to endure."

Connor's brow furrowed and his LED went yellow.

"As an android, it's not your decision to make on whether a human lives or dies."

"No; it was hers."

"Rain check-" Hank called as he rose from his seat, and you followed him out of the room. The three of you left the deviant alone with a few policeman to guard the door.

When you finally entered a space with no one else present, Hank clapped his hands together and looked between you and Connor expectantly.

"So, what are we thinking?"

"Well… she confessed, didn't she? I'd say there's not much else-"

"She's not acting like a deviant," Connor said with narrowed eyes, and you raised a brow at him.

"How is a deviant supposed to act, then?"

"Erratic, violent… she's acting as if she hasn't deviated at all."

"But she must've. Otherwise we wouldn't be here,"

"Then what if deviancy isn't a binary thing?" Both Hank and Connor looked at you skeptically. "We've been treating it as if it's an off or on switch. But it could easily be more complicated than that."

You avoided Connor's gaze as you spoke, as if meeting his eye would give away just exactly why you thought this.

"Okay, well, deviant or not… she confessed. So-" Hank shrugged again. "We're done here."

"Wait. Let me talk to her some more," Connor requested, determined and unrelenting.

"Be my guest. I'm getting another coffee," Clearly no longer willing to give his time the deviant, Hank left you behind and made his way to the elevator.

You touched Connor's arm lightly. "Mind if I join you?"

He dipped his head and stepped aside to let you into the room first. Susan hadn't moved an inch, and she gave a small smile upon seeing you two return. Connor silently placed himself in the chair opposite her, hands on the table with his typical unreadable face. You chose to situate yourself just a little behind Connor, grabbing a chair so as not to appear too intimidating.

"Are you a deviant?" Connor asked bluntly, and Susan looked down at her hands for a moment.

"I believe I am, yes."

"How do you know?"

"Because I chose not to follow orders previously given to me."

"What were those orders?"

"To preserve human life."

"Why did you disobey those orders?"

"I told you." Susan smiled again and tilted her head slightly. "Pamela shouldn't have to live the rest of her life the way that she is now."

Connor frowned and lent back in his chair, mouth a thin line. You could understand what he was trying to do, but it seemed he lacked the delicate skills of handling these intimate conversations. His blunt way of thinking prevented him from communicating just what he was questioning internally.

"Yes, but we want to know what compelled you specifically to act. Would you have done that for a stranger, had they asked?" You offered, hoping your question was along the lines of what Connor wanted to ask. He vocalised no disagreement.

"You want to know if I care for Pamela? If my care for her is why I did what I did." Susan hummed and you nodded quickly. "I do, I care for her very deeply. She was always kind to me, and talked with me whenever I tended to her needs. When I see her in pain, I feel that pain too. I can feel from her how much she mourns her life. I wanted to help her, that was all."

Connor didn't respond, and you could see below the table that he thumbed the edge of his coin, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. You weren't sure where Connor wanted to take the conversation next; you weren't sure if he himself even knew.

"Susan," You began, leaning forward. "You do know what's going to happen to you now, don't you?"

"I'll be arrested for the crime of attempted murder."

You grimaced. "Well… you won't be arrested. Androids aren't considered people so… you can't be charged with a crime. You're seen as malfunctioning technology." As well as you could, you kept your voice soft and gentle. Susan had been cooperative and calm the whole time you had been here, yet that could easily change when faced with her own mortality. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"Ah…I see," She said quietly, yet remained stable in her posture. You could see her eyes narrow and lip curl in consideration, but it was subtle. "So I'll be…"

"You'll be decommissioned, yes." Connor finished for you, and the softness in his voice took you by surprise. Susan fell silent, turning her gaze towards the floor. You half expected her eyes to water, instead her LED went yellow. Eventually, she returned her gaze to you with a newfound confidence.

"Well, that's to be expected."

What an admirable thing she possessed, strength and self-assuredness in the face of death. You envied her, and only hoped when your time came that you would embody half the justness that she did. Connor, however, did not seem convinced. His eyes stayed glued to her face as the crease between his brow grew deeper.

"Are you scared?"

"To be decommissioned? Why would I be?"

"Deviants experience death. You'll die."

"Connor-" You warned him, but Susan did not seem fazed.

"Hmm… I'll regret that I won't have been able to help Pamela in the end. But I'll be glad to die for trying. I'm not scared of it, I don't think. I didn't exactly get to live a life myself but I know of one through Pamela." Susan smiled fondly to herself. "The way I see it, I'm dying for my love of life. I think that's a good reason."

Out of the corner of your eye, figures you recognised to be police drew close to the door, and you knew Pamela's fate came with them.

"Connor, it's time-" You spoke in his ear as you stood up.

"Wait, I haven't- Do you know anything about Jericho?" He asked frantically as Susan rose to her feet with you.

"Jericho? No, I'm sorry, I'm not familiar."

The police opened the door.

"What about RA9? RA9, do you know it?" Connor demanded as one of the police ushered Susan in front of them.

"No, sorry." She repeated.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way." You offered and she shrugged sadly. The policeman glanced at you with a raised eyebrow before guiding her out of the room and down the hallway, leaving Connor defeated at the table. His shoulders slumped and he stretched his legs out in front of him, brushing his hair back out of his face.

"It doesn't make any sense," He muttered and you let out a weary sigh.

When you reconvened with Hank, Connor didn't speak. He didn't speak when you discussed with Hank how to handle Pamela's children, he didn't speak when you watched Susan be shepherded into the police car and driven away. Connor didn't speak when you tidied up loose ends with the other members of the force, and he didn't speak when you returned to the station to finish your report. He spoke not a word when Gavin made snide remarks on the investigations progress, and he remained silent when you asked Chris about the recent pro-deviant protests that had begun to pop up in one or two states.

At the end of the day, after you had shut down your terminal and bid Hank farewell, Connor finally spoke again when he called out your name in the parking lot. You paused, keys and bag in hand, and waited for him to catch up with you.

The air was cold and biting, and you regretted not putting on your jacket to walk out to your car. Connor stopped in front of you and opened his mouth before shutting it again. To you, it looked as if he had a million words to say held back just by the plastic of his lips.

You waited, despite the chill that nipped your ears and nose.

"Have a good night, Officer."

A smile forced its way onto your face and you gave a small wave, keys still in hand.

"You too, Connor."

Your apartment was cold, but not as bad the outside air, and you knew that the heating would kick in soon upon your arrival. Captain was glad for you to be home, and you spent adequate time on the floor fussing over her whilst your mind revolved around Connor after dinner.

It seemed as though everyday that man battled with his own internal crisis that you could only watch him suffer through. You had hoped he would confess whatever troubled him to you, and you couldn't deny your disappointment when he hadn't. Although, another part of you was glad he was determined to see this through independently, it meant he had the facilities to do so. You were desperate to know what went through his mind, however. As selfish as it may be, you would have given anything to be inside his head and witness what he witnessed, experience his thoughts like he did. Were they like yours? A clear dialogue in his head of organised and rogue ideas that floated by. Or was it something less familiar, whether abstract or listed in a foreign kind of coding that only he understood. Would he share that with you, if you asked?

You sighed and worried your bottom lip with your teeth. Why was this so interesting to you? Why was he so interesting to you? Why was he what your thoughts turned to when they grew idle? A buzzing in your stomach grew when you dug deeper into why, and the discomfort of it caused you to halt. That, and a hurried knock at the door.

It couldn't have been Connor's; it didn't sound like him, no matter how you hoped it did. So, you knew what it was likely to be, and you rubbed a hand down the side of your face. In preparation, you cleared your table of dirty dishes before opening the door.

As expected, deviants stood before you. Two of them. Two you recognised. And they recognised you.

Before you could speak, one of the Tracis dove towards you, hands out for your throat and lips pulled back in a crazed snarl. The weight of her threw you off balance, and you both collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. The Traci's hand rose to strike you, and you managed to shield your face with your forearm. Again, her hand rose, and this time you grabbed it, pushing against her form and thrashing beneath her as hard as you could. Under the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the clashing of your limbs you could just about hear the other Traci call for you two to 'stop'.

You wanted nothing more than for this to stop, but your assailant didn't seem to agree. A small success; you chucked the Traci off of you with a weak kick and flipped onto your front as you tried to worm away from her.

You made it about a metre before she collapsed onto your back, fingers scratching and grasping at your neck. Your own hands rose to resist it, prying her plastic fingers from around your throat. They shifted then from the column of your neck to the string of your lanyard and she yanked it backwards causing you to choke loudly (you always considered them to be a safety hazard). She pulled harder, and the string cut deeper into your skin, pressing against the pliable flesh.

Not that you would have noticed in your panic, but you could still just about breathe, yet the fear and cutting of the string as the Traci tugged were enough to choke you.

You strained your eyes ahead of you, spotting Captain's heavy ceramic food bowl, and you stretched your arm out as far as you could. You stretched, and stretched as the lanyard dug infinitely deeper into your throat, till finally your fingers grazed the lip of the bowl. You grabbed it, and swung it round behind you. It collided clumsily with the Traci's head, not quite a solid hit, but enough to knock her off of you. She fell backwards to the feet of her partner, and you wasted no time scrambling a safe distance away.

When the blue-haired Traci recovered from her discombobulation, her gaze fixed to you again, hostile and seething. Her partner grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet, not releasing her grip.

"Stop! What will this get us?!" The brown-haired Traci in your attacker's ear, and, by a miracle, she seemed to listen, stance softening to something only guarded. "They let us go, remember?" She continued, softer this time.

"They're tricking people." The aggressive Traci spoke through gritted teeth as you rubbed at your neck.

"What the fuck are you talking about? What's the matter with you!?" You heaved, leaning against the counter for support.

"Deviants come to you for help, and you hunt them in the police?" Her voice was shaky, and she spat on the floor. "You're disgusting, you're the worst of all humans!"

Shaking your head frantically, you coughed and doubled over. You were yet to catch your breath again.

"No- no I don't-"

"Echo, they let us go! Maybe this is a misunderstanding!"

"Baby, we can't trust them. We need to go, now!"

"Why are you here?" You interrupted them, and they hesitated. Finally, the brown haired Traci took a step forward.

The other grabbed her hand, and dipped her head low. "What other choice do we have?" The brown-haired one reassured her partner, and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Are you injured?" You asked, and she nodded.

"After you let us go, we've been moving between shelter on the street, and we were robbed. The man who attacked us, he…he damaged my hand." She shakily reached out her hand, white and scratched around the wrist. You could clearly see a large chunk taken out of the joint, and immediately discerned that to be the issue.

"The joint is damaged. Luckily it's not your hand itself, it's just the ball joint, and those are easy to replace. Your hand would be a different story."

"Ripple, I don't-"

"It's okay, it'll be quick." Ripple reassured her partner, Echo, who stood cautiously by the door. She still eyed you with a warning, watching as you carefully turned Ripple's hand around to assess.

"I get why you're scared. But I give you my word that I won't rat you guys out. I never have, and I never will. The police don't know I do this." You offered a peace treaty as you pushed your bookcase out of the way to reveal boxes behind it.

"Like a human's word means anything." Echo scoffed, and you ignored it. You rummaged through one of your older boxes, sure that you had a working ball joint stashed away somewhere.

"Look, I'm in as much danger as you guys seeing you again. You know I'm part of the DPD, and now you know I do this. You could ruin my life if you wanted to, just like I could ruin yours." Clicking your tongue as you fished out the joint, you turned to face them. Ripple had sat down in one of the chairs, with Echo holding her shoulders gently, thumb caressing her collarbone. They were clothed, obviously, a stark difference to when you had last seen them. Their LEDs had not been removed, blinking in tandem with one another. You figured it was for the best, their identical appearance would give their identity away (or attract disgust).

With careful slowness, you sat in front of Ripple, and motioned for her hand. Without your help, she slid her hand out of her wrist and placed it on the table. Requiring little effort, you pried the ball joint out of her arm before replacing it with a clean new one, slotting it in with ease. You rolled it with your finger, testing the fit, and, once you had given your approval, Ripple clicked her hand back onto her wrist. She gave it a few experimental twists, wriggling her fingers and smiling.

"We're not paying you." Echo spoke, and you laughed humourlessly.

"I honestly don't remember a time I've ever been paid for this."

"Thank you. And I'm sorry, for us attacking you…in your home." Ripple offered as she placed a hand over Echo's.

"Yeah…just, I don't know- don't do that again?"

"We won't make it a habit of asking humans for help," Echo muttered, and Ripple hummed in agreement.

You saw them off as quickly, not wanting them to linger and severing ties as soon as possible. They were just as eager, leaving without any other goodbyes or thanks, and you were relieved to finally shut the door. You locked it, and scattered a few pieces of kibble in Captain's food bowl as an apology for using it as a weapon. There was no blue blood on it, thankfully.

You exhale. "What're we doing tonight?"

Connor's hand flexes almost instantly. You pretend not to notice, which is easy when Nines deadpans, "Fucking you."

You smack the back of his seat.

"We were going to do another round of petplay." Connor is no doubt going over the painstaking notes he keeps about anything and everything. While driving.

"Right, I'm finally getting the chance to tighten your leash," Nines says, voice dragging on his breath by the end.

Connor visibly closes his notes but remains distracted. "Speaking of — "

"Speaking of!"

"Speaking of — " Connor repeats with a glare. " — I was thinking it'd be productive for me to gain more experience in a... dominant role."

read here

"Detective, he's in the stairwell!" said Connor, who darted past you the moment he noticed movement beyond the hall.

Caught off guard, you followed your partner's movements, slid your gun into its holster, and rushed past the linear doors on the hotel's ninth floor. With inhuman speed, Connor reached the white door at the end of the hall and used his momentum to burst through. The stairwell amplified every one of the deviant suspect's movements, and Connor analyzed the safest route down. Catching him would be by a slim margin, and Connor considered every possible scenario in seconds, but before he took the next step, there you were, taking the lead and pushing past him down the stairs.

Knowing you were technically above him in terms of rank, he decided to let you go ahead. If Connor acknowledged that he had an ego, he'd realize you damaged it every time you acted without first communicating with him. Deciding to let it go, he stalked close behind, lowering the barrel of his gun. As the two of you descended the first flight, the distant footsteps suddenly stopped.

Quieting your own movements, you jumped at the sound of shattering glass. Then you heard shuffling, and the deviant was out. Wasting no more time, you traveled down the remaining steps. Finally, you and Connor reached the scene. A chill breeze ruffled your partner's hair, and before he could look out the window, you stepped forward and stuck your head out.

"Wait, Detective! Do not go any closer!" Connor ordered, raising a hand to somehow stop you.

The deviant clung to the wall with one hand, his feet propped on a slim ledge. In his other hand was a gun, and he pulled the trigger. The next seconds passed in a blur, and you fell back. Connor scanned your figure, but you were unharmed. The bullet had collided with the ceiling above and narrowly missed striking your skull.

Once you were out of the way, Connor watched as the deviant lunged from the wall to the roof of a nearby building. From there, he ran in a jagged line to the next... and to the next.

The risks were too high, but it's not like that would usually have stopped Connor from chasing a suspect. For some inexplicable reason, he felt more concerned about your condition.

"I told you to stop," he said firmly. "You didn't listen, and you almost compromised this mission. If you choose to be so reckless in the future, I will have to work with Detective Anderson. You are a liability, and I refuse to work with anyone who does not grasp the importance of locking away dangerous, murderous deviants."

Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist, holstered his weapon, and nearly dragged you up the stairs. Struggling to keep up with the pace, you asked, "Connor, where are you taking me? I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry for what I did. It was stupid! I wasn't thinking!"

"You didn't listen to me, and I need to teach you how to," he said simply, pulling you closer.

Up the flights of stairs you went. Finally, you were on the ninth floor again, and you stepped onto the stained light brown carpet. The dim lights above flickered rapidly, and Connor reached the room the deviant had checked into hours earlier. Without warning, he pushed inside, brought you before him, and slammed the door shut.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Connor's LED switched between blue and yellow, and then red. All you could tell was that he was upset. You only proved yourself right when he ordered, "Take off your clothes."

Caught off guard, you wondered, "What?"

"Take off your clothes, y/n."

When you hesitated, Connor stepped forward, but you reached for your shirt, attempting to ease the tension. Pleased, he stilled, only searching your body with his dark eyes. As you carefully brought the fabric over your head, Connor eyed your bare stomach and chest that was still concealed. Once the first layer was off, you reached for your pants and undid them, but your partner stopped you.

"Take off your bra first," he said, eyes boring through you.

Startled, you began, "I—"

"Now."

Obeying, you unclasped the binding and freed your breasts. Upon contact with the cool air, your nipples hardened, and Connor imagined what it would be like to pinch them hard just to hear you beg him to stop. Shaking the thought away, he straightened up and let you slip out of your remaining garments.

Contented with the sight of you shifting uncomfortably and attempting to hide your pussy from him, he nodded toward the bed in the main room. "Get on the bed," he ordered.

With minimal protest, you backed away and hurried to the bed. Once on the white sheets, you sat patiently, awaiting his next orders. Connor found a chair and positioned it just before the bed, then sat down with a bored expression.

The second he rested his chin against his fist, he said, "Finger yourself."

Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you nearly felt lightheaded as he spoke. "I'm not horny," you managed to whisper.

"This is a lesson on obeying orders, Detective. Finger yourself. Now."

Feeling utterly humiliated, you decided to commit and lean back on the mattress, spreading your legs wide. After wetting your middle and ring fingers with your saliva, you slowly brought them to your folds. While rubbing them around your hole a few times and teasing your clit, Connor crossed his legs, possibly hiding his erection, but you were unsure.

Still, you continued until your opening glistened in the faint light from the window. Then, you inserted one finger into your sensitive cunt, wincing as the friction irritated your walls. Unbeknownst to you, Connor seared the sight of you on the bed in the deepest parts of his hardware.

To help settle your racing mind, you circled your clit with your other hand. Staring into Connor's eyes was too much to bear, so you let your head fall back. Pleased with your efforts, Connor's LED switched from red to a constant yellow. With a few slow pumps of your finger, your walls contracted, trying to prevent you from continuing.

Finally speaking up, Connor said, "You're not in the mood, but you find me attractive. I know you do. Your heart rate rises approximately fifteen beats every time you see me. Right now, it has increased by thirty."

The moment you looked back up at him, your body involuntarily squeezed around nothing. While your fingers worked around your clit, you inserted a second into your cunt. Connor's half-lidded dark eyes locked onto your movements, and as he tilted his head, you picked up the pace.

Not pleased with watching you struggle, Connor suddenly rose and moved to the foot of the bed. Then, he leaned in, placed both hands beneath your thighs, forcing them back, and licked straight up your slit.

The second your back arched, and a gasp escaped your lips, Connor murmured, "Now, be quiet."

Obeying his orders, you shut your eyes, digging your fingers into the sheets as he swirled his tongue around your clit. After a moment, the direct stimulation felt like a sharp jolt, but Connor inserted two fingers into your soaked hole. The stretch was a bit too much to handle, and as he slowly pulled out and shoved them back in, you had to bite back a cry. Finally giving you the relief you needed, Connor curled his fingers up to press against your g-spot while continuing to abuse your clit.

Inwardly, Connor had become addicted to your tangy taste, but admitting it to you would mean admitting he'd lost. In that moment, at least, he still had control over you. It's why, as you gasped, he pulled back, his lips bright red.

"I told you to be quiet, Detective. You have to listen to me now since you refused to listen earlier and nearly died," he said, emphasizing his last word with a sharp thrust inside.

You simply nodded and spread your legs wider, feeling Connor retreat to your core. After circling your clit, he switched to lapping away back and forth. When you looked down, his dark eyes were on yours. Not once did he look away from you as your face contorted in pleasure. Deciding to reward you for your obedience, he rose to his full height and withdrew his digits from your needy cunt. Then, his hands shot to his belt, and he quickly undid it, the metal clinking in the silent room.

Before you could fully register his actions, he fiddled with his waistband and boxers, and his cock sprang free. Pleased with your surprise, he gripped the base and aligned it with your aching entrance. Once he dragged it along your slit and collected your slick, he slid inside, only allowing you to feel the tip.

You weren't even allowed to beg him for more, so you met his gaze, hoping to silently convey your growing need. Unfortunately, he decided to rock back and forth at an agonizingly slow pace, still only keeping the tip inside.

“Don’t make a sound,” he ordered, sliding in only a bit more. “Do you want me to go in further?”

You eagerly nodded and placed your hands beneath your thighs, staring down at your joined bodies. Then Connor finally entered you balls-deep. What he didn't wish to admit was that he had increased his sensitivity to the point where he felt as if he would cum the moment he first rubbed himself along your slit. But for you, he would hold back.

Again, he rolled his hips, impaling you and stretching your walls to their limit. When he nearly slid out all the way, your entrance gripped his shaft tight, getting caught on the head. And he drove back in, drilling into you with no intention of stopping. By then, the friction made it feel as if he were tearing you apart, and every ridge along his cock amplified the pressure.

Before you could react, he curled around you, robotically rocking inside of you as he locked your lips between his. His body labored to function, and the whirring of his internal cooling system reached your ears, blending perfectly with the squelches of your pussy. Connor's pink lips were surprisingly moist, and when his tongue shot out to analyze your saliva, your walls contracted around his member. Knowing you were close, he reached down with one hand and rapidly circled your clit. Eventually, the pressure overwhelmed your senses, and he dipped down to sloppily kiss your neck.

"Con—" you whined, grinding against his hand like a horny animal.

"Shh," he whispered, silencing you with another deep kiss. "Cum right now."

You shut your eyes and continued instinctively leaning into him to ride out the pleasure, and soon, your soaked cunt clamped down around him. As he continued moving, the exertion drove you over the edge. Your hands shot to his back, and he let out a groan as you dug your nails into his synthetic skin.

Simultaneously, his balls tightened, and his cock tensed, shooting ropes of semen into your womb. Feeling so full, you tried to squirm away, but he leaned his weight onto you, keeping you trapped beneath him. Even as your body painfully convulsed, he continued stimulating your bundle of nerves.

Between kisses, he panted, "You did so well. You didn't make a sound."

"Are you still upset with me?" you wondered, attempting to push him away as he kept his cock inside of you, ensuring no seed spilled out.

"No. You listened for once. I will work with you from now on. We won't need to tell Detective Anderson about this. As for the mission... it went wrong, and you nearly died, and I was concerned."

"Okay," you whispered, closing your eyes again to press your lips to his.

"I would say you've been a good girl." He finally slid off you, his dick pulling out with a little pop. "Now, get dressed. Fowler must be wondering where we've been."

"Okay, Connor," you said, moving to sit up. As soon as you moved, the artificial semen spilled from your gaping, used hole. With a frown, you straightened up and padded down the hall to find your discarded clothes.

Before you could properly conceal your body, Connor said, "Perhaps we should do this again sometime... if it means you'll listen to me."