Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
pairing: ruthless!connor x reader
summary: you use everything he’s taught you, every trick in the book, but he never taught you how to have a heart.
wc: 2.1k+
genre: angst, intensity, conflicted connor
Move. Push. Don’t stand still. In. Out. In. Out.
Your body moved with a vigor beyond its own. Whatever force, whatever pull that has kept you alive till now, refused to let you die, its fist seizing the string that held your livelihood with a remorseless fury. You will not die today, not as long as you have breath in your body. It whispered its determination in your ear as the thunder of your feet echoed annoyingly off the walls.
Except it wasn’t a force, more like a living entity. The apparition raining down its ferocity without sparing a drop of repentance, without losing a second of sleep at night, because the truth was, it didn’t sleep. Sleep was a mortal flaw for all living things, but it was not alive, it was a force of nature and nature never slept.
The soundwaves of your foot falls jumping into your ears made a cacophony of sound, enough that you were certain multiple hunters would begin their ravenous prowl any minute. What you were able to do was a miracle. A heavenly granted action of mercy as it saw your anguish, your pain, your agony and it could no longer bear hearing your groans and screams throughout the night.
You felt the same.
Breaking out of the cell was the easy part. Making it out of the fortress, on the other hand, would prove to be more challenging. It was a maze full of infinite proportions and mirages of every kind.
You would forfeit any chance of retaining mental fortitude before escaping and afterward, you were unlikely to recognize the monstrosity staring back at you. Your own name would sound like a like a language you were forbidden to understand.
But you kept running, sprinting, pushing. Hoping that your time and your desire to make it out alive would not dwindle as your body pumped liquid nitrous down your veins. It’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing, the only thing between life and something far grievous than death itself.
The voice of fate rang through the alabaster walls but your feet refused to wait any longer. They’ve known patience as much as they’ve known the ground. They readily denied its name with fervor. “You’re not getting anywhere little bird.”
Like hell. “There’s nowhere you can hide from me — no matter how hard you run those pretty little feet through the halls.”
A scream pounded on the back of your throat. Shut up, shut up, shut up.
Hope is a light brightest in the dark and you refused to let the howling gale burn this light out. It was what you were running for, what was keeping your livelihood alive.
It was what gave you faith that prompted you to throw yourself over a banister and down a story to the floor below without so much as a whimper.
Could the landing have been better, oh absolutely, but from the buzzing singing through your blood vessels didn’t let you dwell on your sloppy landing for too long. You had to move faster; you didn’t know when your storm of freedom would tear through the building and no force of any kind would keep you away from liberation.
A deadly sound yanked your ear back to your surroundings - the cocking of a gun. They’re closing in and they’ll spare you no expense.
Move. Push. Don’t stand still. In. Out. In. Out. Your breathing regulated itself as you slipped through another door as a piece of metal deflected off it. A metallic cling hurtled after you.
These men are faster than you, stronger than you, and know more about the facility than you will be familiar with, but you will not under any circumstances let them get the better of you.
The cadence of the words charging through your mind gave a steady beat to cling to, a tempo similar to the drum of your feet pounding down the stairs and through the exit door before the others could hope to pursue you.
You gave a sigh of relief, for waiting in front of you with a look of steel laced with a deadly poison was your force of nature, your hurricane, your tempest, here to save you, to deliver you from the evils of this institution. Of course, it was a scouting mission and you planned on getting captured, but the horrors of it all were far more critical than what you had ever dreamt it.
The candle of hope burned brightly, its renewed strength fueled by the man standing in front of you.
The prowess with which he stood was enough to make you shiver and foster the desire to get as far away as possible but you knew this tiger had been tamed. No lion would harm you today. You were a dove soaring above the chaos of the world and he was the wolf, hungry, voracious, insatiable - conquering life and death.
His obsidian-colored eyes scrutinized your appearance, his nose wrinkling at the sight of blood. The depth with which his eyes held was vastly infinite and in these boundless expanses, sympathy could not be salvaged. It was not feasible.
Out of breath and slightly dazed, you slurred out the phrase, “You’re here.”
With no inflection in his tone, he replied, “Where are they?”
Of course, his concern never surrounded you, didn’t pay attention to how many blood splatters reside on your grey jumpsuit, or how the bruises on your face marred your features, or how your wrists and arms were littered in cuts or how bloodshot and pallid your eyes and face were.
He never stopped to consider how human you were, as if the flaws you sustained could be revised and transfigured into something better, something superior, something elite.
Your face hardened like magma exposed to open air -- or in this case, the truth -- as you quickly recalled who you were speaking to. “Two minutes from opening that door.” You huffed around his figure, not pausing to see if his eyes trailed your movements. “I suggest we move.”
Your feet started down the hallway before he slipped out his gun and grasped your arm. “Stay behind me.” Orbs boring into yours, you were at the mercy of his will. His gaze kept you captive, held you prisoner -- although you weren’t sure if it was against your will. His hand left a trail of warmth down your exposed forearm as he moved you behind his fortress of strength.
In a fury of chaos and destruction, he managed to shoot five officers with three bullets and a defining “crack”. He moved like a dancer jumps around the stage; with grace, poise, and determination.
Easily sliding under his next opponent, his hand ripped their feet from under them, their heads smacking against the ground. A chop to the neck was enough to stun them and a bullet finished the job.
You tried to help, landing a jab or two when you could, but you were no match. No of skill, confidence, or aptitude. You were fragile and weak, he was inhuman and strong. In all aspects, you didn’t even possess the faculty to outdo him, he would always outdo you.
Watching the smooth precision of which his strikes were completed, it was no wonder he came back unscathed. He would never waste more energy than what was required and if he could take people down with a throat punch and a slamming hit to the head, then that’s what he would do.
Another five fell within exactly 20 blinks of your eye.
The fluidity of battle was similar to watching a ballerina pirouette — stunning and fast. He moved liked lightning and walked like thunder. He was every part of the storm, the wind, the rain, and the danger. He was a force of nature and nature never slept.
A click caught your attention. Looking towards it, you spotted a shooter, his gun level with Conor’s forehead. Planting your foot you ran. You swung. Your fist connected. A groan racked through the man. He caught your second swing. He turned you around. His gun was now pressed in your temple. His hand clamped around both your wrists which fit comfortable between his big warm paws.
“Move and she dies.” Your captor yelled over the noise of another body falling. Why couldn’t you listen to Connor? Why did you have to care so much? Why did you try to help? The overwhelming desire to keep him as far from death as possible overrode every logical idea you’ve had.
It would be your downfall.
The wolf paused, chest heaving, keeping his firearm aimed at a fatal artery near the neck. “What makes you believe I care if she lives or dies?” The monotone pitch of his voice was like a slap to the face. His gun moved slightly, aiming for the shoulder. Your heart fell to the floor. Connor, your lips uttered but no sound came out. Connor.
“You’ve torn through ten of my best soldiers in three minutes, I have a feeling you’d like her still breathing.” His grip on your hair tightened but you refused any sign of discomfort to rule your features. Instead, you locked your jaw, setting your teeth in place.
You knew better than to test the wolf but he didn’t. Something moved in those voids that we called eyes, rage, fury, and something warm, something touching, something that could only be considered a weakness.
Another flaw and another chance of failing a mission, another thing Connor and the division drilled into you. Connor deviated from the normal operating procedure, something you’ve never seen him do.
What’s wrong with him?
His eyes flickered to you before moving to the man's shoulder, his fingers curling around the trigger, flirting with the bullet in the chamber. A breath echoed through the room as you watched his eyes darken, slant, and move into focus.
“You’ve got five seconds to drop the gun. 5...4-”
Hot, sticky blood flew over the sides of your face and your arm as you collapsed to the ground with your now dead captor. Being pulled upright, Conor wrenched you off the ground. “I told you to stay behind me.” He muttered through clenched teeth.
“He was going to shoot you. Do you think I would have let you die?” You fired back, annoyed at his tone.
He didn’t answer.
The walls flew by as he dragged you along, roughly guiding you through the labyrinth of corridors and hallways that were beyond you in every sense. Not letting you have an opportunity to cry or freak out or numb yourself, you were already outside, waiting for your pick up. “Connor.”
The wolf was on the hunt and would not answer to his name, only determined on getting you to your safehouse. His eyes scoured the road for a black SUV. “Connor.”
“Connor.” His black eyes snapped to yours with irritation. You pushed anyway, trying to see a hint of, a fleck, a speck of remorse, of humanity. “You could have talked him down, why kill him?”
“He was going to kill you.” His answer was curt and final like his decisions. No room for argument or debate, unless you made some.
“And?”
He inhaled sharply and stepped noticeably closer, the front of your shoes almost touching. “Do you want to die?” His eyes were ablaze, the first indication that he felt anything, until now, you weren’t sure. “He would have killed you. Blood pouring out of you freely, no breath filling your lungs, no --” He took a breath looking away.
“It was you or him.” His voice as hard as steel.
You craned your neck, trying to get his attention. Finally, you put your hand on his sharp jaw, feeling the bone curve into the soft skin of your hand. Visibly startled, he locked his sights on you. “Why?” The words fell almost silently off your lips.
Stepping closer, his sights moved to your slightly parted lips and your warm, loving eyes and how you were open and vulnerable and -- he leaned down, his bottom lip centimeters from touching yours. It was if the universe conspired with you in this moment, making room for something that it knew was there, only waiting for it to be unleashed.
Suddenly, he jumped away, “No. No.” He whispered, eyes drawn to a close. He refused to unfasten the locks preventing from them from opening, preventing them from gazing back at you.
“Why? Did I do something wrong?” You rushed, but it was too late, the car pulled around the corner and Connor was already walking away, shoulders bent, head down and body language dejected.
There was no goodbye, no phrase of gratitude, no knight and shining armor speech given. Just a whisper of the future and a reminder of the past. As the door shut behind you, you sat there numb, paralyzed, frozen.
Fate did not play your hand and as you drove further away, the candle of hope sputtered before it died completely — never to come back to life.
His name sounds like a whisper from miles away. It sounds like a familiar sound spoken from underwater. He feels cold all over—in a way that even eternal death has never managed to make him feel. Something has been scraped away, taken by force, and its place that centuries-old hollowness remains.
“Connor,” the familiar voice repeats, with more urgency, with more carefully hidden despair. “Look at me, brother.”
He can’t. He wants to find the one who did this, he wants to tear Kamski to fucking shreds. Tear him apart till there is nothing left of that monster.
“Connor,” his name is a snarl, infused with authority and power only a King or Queen is capable of exhibiting.
His own teeth bare on instinct, on the promise of violence and blood—the only things either of them has ever known until you. As if Nines has any right to speak with him in that tone, demand his attention even though Connor is the older brother.
He can feel his brother's hand on the back of his neck, holding tightly, as he leans close, “We’ll find our Mate, brother. Listen to me. We will.”
Connor can hear him, and he agrees. As he sits there on the couch they left you sleeping peacefully on, shoulders slumped, their home in chaos and Bond in tatters, he agrees.
They will find you. Because they were going to shred this world to pieces otherwise.
A/N: Headcanons for Connor (both deviant & machine) I personally feel, as well as some ones for my writing. Wanted to work on something light while focusing on wips especially for the reader/follower poll. Have this for today’s drabble queue! I will do RK800-60 & Nines as well. But first - can I get an amen?!
TW: Language, Smut (I had to go there!)
Deviant!Connor
Following the revolution Connor most likely will be dealing with his newfound freedom and sense of self worth. While he is free from Cyberlife control it still does not alleviate him of doubts especially when it comes to how other androids view him.
Feels a sense of guilt for hunting so many of his people before deviating despite Markus trusting him after the fall of Jericho. He has a sense of obligation to offer support to the RK200 if it’s needed as a sort of personal repentance.
Attempts to blend into society better but still feels a bit shunned by humans and androids alike. This is a personal hurdle he must conquer.
Afraid of dying in the full sense but keeps these fluctuating emotions inside. Often needs to validate himself otherwise.
Fears being taken control of again even if he used Kamski’s emergency exit. Amanda is an internal nightmare to him now.
Obviously remains working in tandem with Hank at the DPD. He’s a prototype android detective who gets his skills put to use in an official capacity.
Remains close with Hank in a familial capacity. Android son confirmed. Stays with the lieutenant until finding his own place in society. This will take some equal laws being passed first.
Uses more colorful language at times. Hank has rubbed off on him.
“Fuck...shit.”
“What the fuck did you say, Connor?!”
Really wants his own dog....maybe two. Or three.
He’ll wind up stealing Sumo.
Finds various species of fish pleasant to study on down time at work. There hardly is any down time for him though.
Hank makes him have down time. He works too fucking much.
Hones skills in both the programming field he was originally built and his emotional responses.
While deviant he still struggles with what he’s feeling. It’s a learning process but the android gets better at it.
Surprisingly has gained more support from coworkers. This doesn’t include Gavin but as Hank says, “fuck Gavin.” Honestly, Gavin doesn’t work here anymore. Bye bitch.
Picks up the emotions of others with more clarity than his original programming. Deviancy allots him better understanding and heightens his skills in a way.
Still very adept at combat and will take out an entire group of thugs on a case if need be. Is a soft deviant boy who can go John Wick in two seconds flat.
Has a few decorated awards under his belt for breaking open some tough cases including a huge red ice ring.
Hank is fucking proud but won’t admit it. Connor isn’t as naive as he was though, he can tell:
“Why thank you, Lieutenant. I did take them out impeccably as you would say.”
“Since when do I say fucking impeccably?”
Relationships
Understanding all of these new emotions means coming to terms with other things he’s feeling. Friendships are a bit easier if stilted at the start.
Social programs aside, Connor finds a genuine appreciation of the people around him especially those who support him.
Hank is always his biggest supporter now...obviously.
Finding himself in the company of others because they genuinely want him there is awkward initially. Gradually he develops a natural affinity for this.
Connor in love...?
Love is new. It’s strange. It can make his entire brain whir. Honestly doesn’t know how to cope when experiencing the first threads of it in his system.
Is a soft boy ready to discover what it truly means. He witnessed this between Markus and North end of the revolution after all.
Finds himself capable of the same as it hits him all at once.
You make him overheat but in a pleasant way. Oh, is that genuine arousal?
He is highly advanced so of course he was designed with the proper parts. Their origin was for more nefarious means built for Cyberlife missions but now it hardly matters. He has total control over his body.
An awkward badass. I mean he can kill you with a lopsided smile and wink and also kill a whole room full of bad guys. What’s not to like?
Truly wants to experience this whole new side of humanity with you and no one else but you. Connor finds being in love an epiphany. He feels more human with it. He feels more human with you.
Confident when you express affection to him even if he is an android. Makes him feel even more accepted and sure of himself.
Eases into things until he can no longer metaphorically breathe. That’s when everything snaps and he knows.
This android is in love.
Machine!Connor
Completely opposite of his deviant persona, Connor as a machine does not feel emotion for anything let alone anyone who stands in his path. All about accomplishing his mission no matter the casualties. This includes any allies he obtained from the DPD during his deviant investigations.
Will throw Hank off a rooftop if it’ll get him one step closer.
You can’t kill him...androids don’t die.
Deviants should be eradicated because they’re a clear disease with a virus in their program. He sees this as neither mercy nor punishment. He sees it as a mission to obey for the greater good of humanity.
Follows the side of his creators just as he was programmed to do. However, has no qualms taking out any human who stands in his way. Will mercilessly kill an entire squadron of soldiers if need be without batting an eye.
Only the mission matters... He only answers to Cyberlife.
Not adverse to torture or intimidation. Any tactic will do.
Any sort of software instability towards deviancy is readily pushed down until he does something unbearably ruthless to gain back his purpose of programming.
Machine Connor will not allow Cyberlife to deactivate him after completing his mission.
Amanda has no power over him in that regard. He is his own power.
Will slaughter anyone at the tower who tries to apprehend him for destruction.
While not a push to deviancy, Connor feels his time is not finished. Everything Cyberlife programmed to do he accomplished successfully. Discarding him is their greatest mistake.
He will destroy any supposed superior model before taking his place. No. This does NOT make him deviant.
Unstoppable killing machine? Definitely makes him that.
Relationships
Machine Connor uses connections to benefit him. If it will help the mission he will be whatever you want him to be.
This includes gaining favor with other humans around him. The friendlier he seems the better. Will fake emotions if need be. Hank throws this in his face later during this particular route so it’s natural a machine!Connor would do this around anyone he meets.
Love? I don’t think so. Any love you think he can possess is all a fabrication. If you believe a ruthless machine Connor actually cares then you’d be dead wrong. He cares for nothing, nobody but completing his mission and doing what he was designed to do no questions asked.
However, this does not prevent him using it against you. If you want to follow your weak human emotions and fall in love with a cold machine so be it. He will use and discard you like tissue paper breaking your weak humanity in half along the way.
As an RK800 built to accomplish dangerous missions and outfitted with clever negotiator skills, it makes sense he will have some high end upgrades. If seduction is required he will make use out of his advanced protocols and parts.
After using you he will leave you to perish if you try to stop him afterwards. Romance is not part of the equation.
Sex is an instrument he perfectly mimics as he mimics emotions and friendliness.
If you somehow start to spread the virus of deviancy in his system, Connor will correct it by any means. He will snuff you out if it comes down to it.
On the other hand if you do somehow by a miracle stick to him with your human virus he may deviate. It would have to be a big build up even then because most times it will not happen. He will choose the mission over you every time.
You are a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no fairy tale romance here but the foolish one conjured in your head.
Smut!Connor
Deviant
Connor is all about falling into his emotions. Becoming deviant makes the android want to experience everything that drives this humanity in his system. What better way than to finally share this intimacy with you?
Everything is full, passionate and just for the two of you. No one else is in existence while the two of you are together.
While it takes him a bit to understand the full meaning behind this act it stirs his synthetic heart. It’s obvious how much he wants to share a sole space with you. Being apart of your existence only makes his bloom further in the middle of sex.
He gets off on you tugging his hair. Clawing his back is another turn on as it makes him feel dominant.
As a negotiator android this is good for his programming origins but also his newly found ego. He loves that you want to grip onto him and the tighter it is the better.
Can be slow and methodical if you’re looking for a long night.
However, can be quick and rough if you ask him. There’s still that ruthless core he deviated from. He can easily tap into his more aggressive nature. It’s whatever you want him to be that particular time.
Cautious with you during rougher sex. Connor is aware of his strength and hurting you is never something he would do. This sweet boy would never forgive himself.
Likes to be the dominant partner but doesn’t mind lying back while you take over the reins.
Is all about foreplay especially with his tongue. You thought thirium licking was bad? Connor uses his tongue like a pro and will lap up every last drop between your legs to satisfy his own need. To him you taste indescribable and he wants more of that each time.
Scratch his synthetic skin, use your teeth against his epidermis to mark him as yours just as he marks you as his. While his healing component will ultimately take away any abrasions, Connor enjoys seeing them littering his body before they fade.
Same goes with hickies. He’s a master of placing them in secret places so others cannot see. That doesn’t stop him being a sneaky boy at times. Right on your throat? Just one? How about one on each side?
Loves to hear his name slip quietly from your lips while fucking you softly. Really gets going when you start yelling for him to pound you harder. He obliges...obviously.
Connor’s reactions in the moment are quieter. Groans, deep gasps and utterances of your name as he places kisses all over your face.
Let’s get this straight. This boy likes to kiss. No, he loves to kiss while going at it. As much as he loves having sex, he loves the closeness just as much. It changes things for him. They’re all good changes.
And when you ask to see him without his skin? Oh lord. Does this boy melt from your acceptance. He becomes super vulnerable about it but trusts you like no one else.
Timid having sex without the synthetic epidermis but eases into it after a few times. Genuinely surprised you enjoy it so much. Connor assumed it might be uncomfortable for you.
Actually, you personally love this android’s dick no matter what form it’s in. Whispering that in his ear dangles him on the verge of shutdown. It also gets him to throw you down fast and fuck your brains out for a change of pace. He’s that adaptable for your pleasure needs.
Either way sex with this sweet deviant boy is satisfyingly good.
Machine
Tenderness? It isn’t here.
Seduction programming can be utilized if you push him. He isn’t merciful. He will fuck you as hard as you want as long as you want. Don’t expect it to make him love you.
Pushing his buttons is not a good idea. Falling in love with him is even worse. Machine!Connor will take you out of frustration, asserting his dominance against a weakling who thinks they can get away spreading deviancy in his system.
Raw and animalistic.
Expect a palette of bruises/abrasions over your skin from sucking, biting and finger digging.
Nail marks are a thing. There’s no holding back.
Always dominant. Don’t even question it. Control is a kink to him if he could readily have one. But he doesn’t. He’s a straight up machine.
Will toss your body onto whatever surface is available. Comfortable or not he doesn’t care. Why should he when he’s a machine?
Wants to hear you beg. It means he has you where he wants you. Weakness is the best way to manipulate.
Fucking you from behind is a preferred option. It gives him total authority over your feeble human state.
Will bend you over the table in the interrogation room and fuck you without a care to who watches from the observation room.
Likes to impale fingers inside you and work them until tears collect in your eyes. He will sample the salty liquid on the tip of his tongue claiming another piece of you until he consumes all that’s left.
Never watches his strength.
Most times you wind up sore but he sees that as punishment for trying to turn him away from the mission. After all, he only does what you ask and you did ask for this.
Try to cuddle up and kiss him sweetly it won’t go very well.
Likes to bite your lips until they’re a swollen mess.
Machine Connor will purposely edge your orgasm and leave you whimpering for release. If he is not merciful to those he hunts why should he be merciful to you?
If you attempt to make more of this ‘arrangement’ he will end it right then and there. First, he’ll give you one last vengeful fucking to destroy whatever love you conjured for yourself is left.
If you manage to make him deviate well his routine won’t change much.
The only difference is that he will begin kissing you more during.
He might listen to what you want more but don’t expect a complete 180 overnight
Most likely he will not deviate so it’s pretty much futile to think he’ll love you. Just enjoy the rough fuck from him before he completes his mission because guaranteed they’ll be hardly anything of you left...
Summary: You, a detective and Connor’s partner, step between ruthless!Connor and an injured North and force him to make a choice
Warnings: minor suggestive themes (it’s literally just kissing... for now?), machine/ruthless!Connor, bit angsty, (let me know if you think I missed something!)
((Could be continued or expanded on if anyone wants that!))
---
“Connor, please don’t,” You begged, holding your ground firmly between the deviant hunter and his prey. “She doesn’t deserve this. Let her go.”
“Step aside, detective.” He was cold, but the LED on his temple shone yellow and his finger was hovering away from the trigger. Sounds of gunfire echoed in the distance. “I always accomplish my mission. Do not mistake my programmed kindness for empathy. I have told you before, I do not share your sentimental attachment to our bond. Move, or I will shoot.”
“Please, Connor. Please. For me. I don’t think you want to hurt me.” You said as you took a timid step forwards, hands raised. Unarmed, human, his friend - would Connor be able to maintain that ruthlessness he was feared for when his own partner begged him to stop? You were almost certain that he wouldn’t. Almost.
Behind you North shuffled back, thirium seeping from the wound in her leg. Simon had been right to trust this human after all.
“Your friendship is nothing more than a tool in my mission, Y/N. This is your final warning. Get out of the way, or I will shoot you.” Connor narrowed his dark eyes, his hair ruffling gently in the wind as his finger did finally find the trigger. He looked impossibly soft under the flickering lampost light for something so cruel and violent.
But you couldn’t give up on him. You could not believe he was empty inside, you had seen a warmth in him, a light. You had seen his smile when he pet Sumo, his anger when Gavin harassed him, frustration when the mission wasn’t progressing. There was more than a soulless machine behind those brown eyes and that perfect uniform.
You stepped closer again, broken glass cracking loudly under your boots, so close that the nozzle of the gun pressed against your chest. Right over your heart. You could feel the cold metal through the thin material of your blouse. If Connor fired now there was no chance of survival. You weren’t sure you would want to survive if he did shoot, and that scared you to the core.
Connor took a sharp breath in, and you felt the hesitant tremble in his hand as it shook through the gun. He met your gaze and you saw a flicker of vulnerability; he wasn’t ready to face this, to acknowledge his burgeoning humanity. He was scared.
“Connor,” You whispered, reaching out to brush your fingertips across the back of his hand as he gripped the gun. The coldness of his synthetic skin under your touch served as a stark reminder of his machine status.
Connor grimaced, but didn’t move. From this angle, the shadows fell hauntingly and a foreign monster dared you to run away with its downwards blank glare. His reply was ice as his mask of indifference tried to reclaim those handsome features that Cyberlife designed for his integration, “You should stop saying my name like that.”
But you had seen him now and you knew you could reach him. You couldn’t let him disappear into that facade for the hundredth time. You smiled gently, the cuts on your face stinging horribly.
Connor’s eyes widened and eyebrows rose when the last of the fear left your face as a calm fell over you, all while you looked up at him with softness only he received.
“Connor, please?”
Your final plea jolted through Connor. His LED flashed a violent red and he swore, hissing angrily as he knocked your hand aside and tore the gun away to shoved it into his holster.
Your heart soared. Connor was more than a killer machine, more than the tool he insisted he was. He could have killed you but he-
He-
He was kissing you. Roughly. Too roughly.
It was nothing like you had imagined it would be, and you certainly had imagined it; the moment Connor would finally break and kiss you. But there were no soft declarations, no warm sunny evening or quiet rainy morning, no mission victory.
There was only conflict and conquering - the reality of an entity like Connor. Your magical fairytale ending melted away with each harsh move of his lips.
He grabbed your left wrist in a painful grip and bent it behind your back with a deadly strength, the synthetic fingernails of his other hand scraping desperately over your scalp as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and gathered you to him with a cold fury. His body was hard against your softness; you were at constant opposition and perhaps, you thought, that was why you just couldn’t get enough.
Each spike and tingle of pain he pushed onto you was a claim, a reminder of his inhuman power. Like a warning, a red flag you definitely should have heeded months and months ago.
Connor moved against you as if he was trying to devour your soul, cool lips hungry and insistent as he took and took and took until the rest of the world crumbled, all its fire turned to smoke under the avalanche that was RK800.
“You’ve done it now,” He growled against your bruising lips with a heated breath, “You wanted this - me, to care. You’ll never be rid of me, Y/N. You’re all through my code and I won’t stop until I’m running through your viens, until every piece of you is mine.”
Overwhelmed as he took your breath away with a scorching kiss that would rival the surface of the sun, you managed to wave to North with the hand pinned behind your back as Connor let himself get lost in you.
The deviant took the cue, hauling herself up to stumble far away. Guilt would eat at her. She had seen men behave like that before, too many times and each she desperately wished she could forget.
Connor was going to destroy you.
----
AN: I have been thinking about posting some of my DBH writing for ages and I finally did! If you enjoyed this then please let know because I am terrified to post it. If anyone wants more or wants to make requests etc please do! I have a lot of other short pieces written and I’m working on some longer more narrative DBH wips, so they’re there if anyone wants them <3 Thank you so much for reading
(also sorry if this is lowkey dark, I promise I can write fluff too)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
One critical hit is enough to take away a man’s life. Easy. Connor is fully aware of that, as he has witnessed countless dead bodies fallen to the ground, silently lying near his feet.
No exception. You are weak and defenceless as well.
However, you have him. Nobody can hurt you as long as he is by your side. Trigger of the gun in his hand is pulled way before threats approach to you. What do you have to fear when you have death itself wrapping his arms around you softly?
Nothing.
Then why do you cry?
Tears roll down your cheeks nonstop.
His LED light flashes red.
Destroy. The first thought comes to his mind. What causes your distress must be destroyed. Sadly, not everything can be exterminated by his bare hands, or a deadly rifle. It takes some time for him to understand.
“Don’t worry,” you mumble, trying hard to catch your breath, “I’m just... stressed out.”
An ugly crier, you call yourself. Another stupid weakness of human beings, you name your enemy.
It is more than that, isn’t it? You tremble — You collapse — You suffer. Stubborn little human, why don’t you tell him the truth? Pretending to be strong is totally useless because all the signs and symptoms you show contradict what you said. Pathetic perfectionist, why do you have to push yourself to the edge?
“It is not your fault, Con.”
The fact that he is unable to protect you from emotional pain fills him with anger. RK800 models, after all, are not made for comfort. But you have to remember, you have death itself wrapping his arms around you, tightly.
Wiping away your tear stains, he reassures you with a burning kiss on your cold lips. You feel his grip tightening on your waist.
summary: connor forgets himself as he defends and protects his wounded s/o, resulting in his need to reconcile with the frightened reader.
warnings: angst, violence, wounds, fluff // word count: 2164 // for @deviantramblings ‘s 500 challenge! (prompt: shield.) // alt title: 28 stab wounds
it first felt like a punch.
your body curled inward toward the attacker, and everything slowed. his wide eyes, green and speckled with hazel, glared at you intently, thick eyebrows in a harsh furrow. you felt alien, like all sense had been forgotten in the world – the only thing that existed was the ghost of the impact, the wildness in the fugitive’s eyes.
then it felt like a tingle. spreading, shooting, in all directions from your abdomen, down your legs and up your chest and leaving you trembling. moving slowly, so slowly – everything was confusing, it felt like you had missed something – you looked down, down at the sight of a brown handle protruding from your side. you’d never forget the sound of the wet, slick rustle of when the man pulled the knife out of you, metal sliding through blood and skin and muscle.
and then it felt like fire. it was not the sear of a burn against your skin, but the roil of heat inside your stomach, foreign and growing and overwhelming. you took in the events as they unfolded, but did not comprehend their meaning, did not understand what was happening. a strangled cry tore from your throat, shuddering gasps – blood gleamed on your hands, highlighted in an unnatural sheen in the shadowy neon light. your shirt stuck to your skin, blood trickled over your fingers.
you hadn’t heard connor’s shout, didn’t feel the wind tug at your jacket. you only stood there, even as the attacker turned away, even when droplets of blood started dotting the ground like little spots of rain. you weren’t even looking at your wound – only at the spot where the man had stood before you seconds ago, where his body had appeared so suddenly and the jerk of his arm was so incomprehensibly quick.
connor froze, but only for a moment. he had been on the other side of the rooftop, following a trail of potential clues, while you were right there in the middle of the clearing. hank had been behind all the boxes stacked around it – that’s where they must have been hiding. he was already moving before the fugitive had pulled the knife out of you, and seeing that hank had tackled him to the ground, his only priority now was you.
his hands immediately snaked around your waist to place pressure on your wound, covering your own. a sharp inhale told him of the subsequent pain, but it was necessary – one of your hands still dangled at your side, and you were still hunched over, barely having registered his arrival. the wind whipped through his hair as he looked down at you, uttering your name again and again, brows knitted and jaw set in worry. you looked lost; it seemed as if your mind was only distantly aware of the pain, your teeth gritted but eyes clouded with confusion. system alerts blurred his vision with warnings for both you and him – his thirium pump was working dangerously hard, his own stress levels rising fast, and while your wound wasn’t fatal yet, he still needed to analyse your blood for potential infection–
movement in his peripheral forced him to shift focus. hank was groaning on the ground, and the fugitive had taken his gun. the man, clothed in a heavy, ratty grey coat, levelled the weapon towards you and connor. he detected the man’s shaking hand, analysed his agitation – it was highly likely that he was going to pull that trigger. the light caught the bloody knife in his other hand, red still oozing down the blade, the blade which had left you shuddering in his arms; connor felt something shift within him, deep and irrevocable. “keep pressure on the wound,” he instructed in a low voice, doubtful of your comprehension but sight already set on the dishevelled man.
it was only when connor released you when you noted his presence, when reality started to feel a little closer to being within reach. he moved in front of you, and over his shoulder you saw the weapon gleam in the man’s outstretched arm. the alarm in you remained subdued, however, as your focus stayed on connor – something was different in the way he moved. the man stepped forward, and connor, ever quick, moved backward, his own arm ushering you behind him as he made himself your shield. he’d sacrifice every body, every model of himself they stored in the warehouses of cyberlife to keep you safe, for it made no difference to him – his mind was a kind of immortal.
“put the gun down,” connor demanded, allowing that ever-creeping urge to finish the mission at whatever cost to consume him, to govern him. the man only set his stance. “i won’t say it again!” he yelled, the roughness startling you; he had never raised his voice in your presence before. “put the gun down.”
and then he moved, both men moved – the gunshot echoed in the air but they did not pause. connor rushed the fugitive, gripping his wrist to force the dropping of the weapon. it clattered to the ground, got kicked away in the scuffle – connor was twisting the man’s arm behind him but then the fugitive kicked, bringing connor down to his knees. when he looked up, his expression was blank – stoic, robotic. it did not shift when you met his eyes, cold and veiled, it did not shift when he twisted around to bring the man down to the floor next to him before he could run away. it was not even set in determination or concentration – there was only a hollowness. each blow connor dealt to the man’s face seemed to reverberate inside you, your shoulders jerking with each impact, with each crunch of bone or plastic. connor did not stop even as the man was groaning beneath him, connor didn’t even utter a sound. all you could do was stare, stare at the sheer brutality of connor’s fists.
the man rolled out from underneath him, and both were on their feet again. blood ran from the fugitive’s nose, and several cuts lined his face. he was limping across the ground, tripping over forgotten beer cans, moving towards the edge. the gun glinted in his hand, but his stumbling told of concussion, of an inability to shoot. his movements were pathetic, really, when connor was advancing with such predatory intent. he was as rigid as ever, precise and elegant in his movements – fearfully perfect. the profile of his face was cloaked in shadow when he lifted his own gun from his belt, herding the man to the ledge. there was no fence.
as you watched connor level the gun toward the man, reason seemed to divorce you totally. the veil of surrealism, which had never quite cleared in the first place, grew thicker with each stride connor took.
the final gunshot of the night was lost in the howl of the helicopter above, in the rush of the wind. in a morbid and almost graceful way, the man tipped backward, further and further over the edge until there was no ground beneath him and he fell, soundless. connor only straightened his tie.
after dropping the gun, connor began moving towards you. you were shaking now. you did not want to meet his eyes again – confusion had succumbed to irrationality, and all you could think about was connor’s face when he all but pummelled that man, when he shot him right between the eyes, all accurate and precise. and the pain–
you staggered to the first solid surface you could find, your back slithering against it until you were on the floor. everything faded from reality, everything except the heaviness in your head, the slide of blood between your fingers. the stain on your white shirt looked black in the dim evening.
finally, finally connor could return to you, take care of the next threat. when he knelt in front of you, you were breathing heavily, knees tucked against your chest and head swaying with delirium. your blood loss had escalated, and from his analysis of the depth of the laceration, there was still enough time before it could become fatal. heaving a sigh of relief, he moved to touch your shoulder.
before he could, you flinched away, meeting his gaze with fierce eyes, if only for a moment. he pulled back, unsure – he knew you were in pain, but there was something else in your eyes that he did not usually see associated with physical injury. though, he supposed that he would never be able to fully understand what pain felt like – the closest thing he could consider, he thought, would be the emotion of fear. never breaking eye-contact, he figured that the peculiarity in your stare must be due to the lingering surprise from the stabbing.
slowly, he loosened his tie, searching your eyes but failing to capture them. “i’m going to apply a tourniquet,” he said, but stopped short when your head shook slightly at his words. “it’s going to be okay,” he assured, reaching to cup your cheek.
but then you grimaced at his touch, tears escaping as you squeezed your eyes shut tight with a whimper. worry crossed his features again, and his hand fell from your face. your name tumbled from his lips in a soft whisper, raised in a question. you were making yourself as small as possible, as if you were cornered.
your eyes roamed over his kneeling body, lingering. oh. the abrasions on his hands were not healing, and the whiteness beneath was showing amidst small protrusions of wires and circuits. his receptors alerted him to the drying blood on his face, splattered across the bridge of his nose. you weren’t cowering from pain – you were cowering from him. the realisation hit like a blow to the chest; his whole body stopped, the beat of his thirium pump drowned out all other sounds – hank calling an ambulance, calling the station; the helicopter readying to land. intellectually, connor knew that you were not yourself right now, you were in shock. everything was heightened for you, adrenaline interpreting everything through only two options: fight or flight. this he all knew, read in yellow alerts popping up in his vision, but he couldn’t help the feeling of a constricted throat, the claws of guilt and shame creeping down his back. god – if he wasn’t going to lose you physically, he was going to lose you emotionally.
desperation gripped him. all he wanted to do was hold you, but each time you tried to shift away, it felt like an error was seizing his system. he had never seen such viciousness in your eyes. it broke his heart – the person he loved, the one he’d do anything for, was afraid of him. it had never happened before; connor had never seen you direct fear at him – you were never given a reason to.
“i’m sorry,” he spoke, close enough for you to hear him amidst the whir of the helicopter, “i needed to protect you, but i wish you hadn’t seen that.” your face was still coloured with fear, with confusion, but at least you were holding his gaze. connor glanced at your wound, your white-knuckled grip. his tie lay limp in his hands. “please, let me help you.”
your expression didn’t soften, but it didn’t darken, either. so connor risked it – he leaned over you, gently manoeuvring his tie into a make-shift bandage for your wound. gently, he pried your hand away, sympathising when you heaved a low groan. your breath was hot against his neck as he tied a knot, taking care to not hurt you more than necessary. “i’d do anything to shield you,” he whispered into your hair, relief cooling his system and wiping away all the warning notifications as your hands covered his. “i’d take on every danger to protect you.”
reality still felt too thick and unreal to swim through, but connor’s words were there, right by your ear. you knew he meant what he said, and that’s what frightened you – he’d do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant losing himself, in more ways than one. carefully, his hands held your face, thumbs wiping away stray tears.
in front of you was not a creation of ruthlessness, in front of you was not a hunter, but a man who looked beside himself, pleading and sincere and longing for his lover. “you mean everything to me,” connor promised, gentle and soft and adoring – familiar. you were not scared anymore.
he placed a tender, hesitant kiss on your forehead. he picked you up, the distant sounds of officers and paramedics becoming more coherent with each step. connor was your protector, your defender, shield for both your body and soul. the intensity was frightening, but as he carried you back into the light, you knew – knew that you would do the exact same for him.
