#human!connor x android!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cafecitoygorditas · 3 days ago

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We Burn Together | DBH

Markus x Human!Reader

a/n: did I write this bc I also couldn’t find enough ff of Markus even though he fine af. Maybe. Am I writing this even though this is like an almost 10yr old game and probably a dying fandom… yesss ayyyyyyeee

summ: after finding Jericho you begin to aid in the “revolution” and meet Markus (reader is human)

warning: really fucking long 5k-7k? Idk

You never set out to be a hero.

Nights in Detroit crackled with tension—streetlights flickering like dying stars, distant sirens clawing through silence, broken windows standing like hollow-eyed witnesses. You learned to survive by staying low, eyes down, hands clean or clean enough.

Rumors of Jericho came in hushed voices, scrawled symbols, pirated broadcasts swallowed by static. Safe haven, they said. Freedom for deviants. Maybe it was foolish to believe. Or maybe the world hadn’t completely hollowed out your sense of compassion.

The night after the android uprising began, something shifted. You chased the rumor, following every half-spoken lead. Rain slicked the alleyways as you found it. The rusted skeleton of a River Thames freighter, slipped into the shadows like it was trying to disappear.

Grime clung to every inch of metal. You hoisted yourself up the side, each rung of the ladder cold and wet beneath your fingers. With a grunt, you climbed inside.

A heavy thunk echoed as the hatch sealed behind you. You were alone. Enveloped in darkness.

Rows of broken machinery loomed like forgotten sentinels. For a moment, all you could hear was the ship creaking. Then, from the shadows, the shape of movement.

A harsh beam of light seared your vision.

“Who are you?” A sharp, female voice. Cold. Demanding.

You flinched, squinting. Raised your hands slowly, trying not to look threatening. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m human. I heard about Jericho—I just wanted to see if it was real.”

“Why are you here, human?” She spat the word like poison.

You could feel it. Eyes watching from the dark. Tension snapping like wire pulled too tight.

You swallowed. “Because you need help. I want to help. I—”

Another figure stepped forward. A man. Tall. Stern. His LED dark like a sealed door.

“Help?” he said, voice rough. “Or spy for CyberLife?”

“I don’t work for them,” you said, hands still raised. “I’m not a threat. I’m not anyone’s spy.”

The air thickened. A silence, sharp and heavy.

Then another voice. Calm. Measured. “Let her speak.”

Markus.

He emerged like a shadow made solid, tall, steady, a quiet kind of power radiating from him. No LED. Just control. Command.

He studied you with eyes that missed nothing. “Why are you really here?”

You hesitated, then spoke with raw honesty. “I’m a journalist. Or... I was. I used to report on pandemics, protests, war zones. But when the uprising started, I knew the stories being told weren’t the truth. I came to find it.”

Markus tilted his head, thoughtful but clearly skeptical.

You met his eyes, steady. “I brought what I have.” You pulled out a worn recorder and a notebook, holding them out. “Testimonies. I can tell your story. Real stories. Give you a voice.”

He stepped closer, gingerly taking the recorder from your hand. Android fingers precise, deliberate—pressed play.

A trembling voice crackled to life. A factory worker, terrified. “They… they came in the night. My sister was a dairy technician and… and they shot her. Just for speaking.”

North, the woman who’d first challenged you, scowled. Her LED flickered red. The tall man beside her—Simon, though you didn’t know his name yet, crossed his arms. But Markus listened.

Then he raised his eyes. “All right. You can stay. But if you betray us... I won’t need to finish that sentence.”

You nodded. Heart pounding, but steady. “Thank you.”

Markus motioned for you to follow him. Boots echoed against metal as you walked deeper into Jericho’s belly.

The freighter groaned and shifted with every step. Like an old beast still breathing, steel bones straining beneath the weight of hope and rebellion. Flickering lights barely pierced the dark, casting long shadows across the corridor.

“This used to be a cargo ship,” Markus said as you walked. “Abandoned for over a decade. No one cared when we moved in.”

“It doesn’t look like much,” you said, your voice hushed. “But it feels alive.”

“It has to be. This is our home now. Our only one.”

He led you past clusters of androids. Some repairing one another with soldering irons, others huddled close as if the nearness warded off despair. Their eyes followed you with quiet suspicion.

“They look like they’ve seen war,” you murmured.

“They have.” Markus didn’t stop walking. “Some escaped the disassembly lines. Others ran from violent owners. Every android here has scars.”

You noticed the way his eyes flicked toward you—curious, guarded. “How did you find us?”

You hesitated, then decided the truth was better than anything else. “I followed the threads. CyberLife leaks more than they realize. Dock records, broken shipping manifests, whispers from android underground forums. I didn’t stumble into this.”

He looked at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You’re smarter than most.”

A small smile touched your lips. “And better at sneaking into condemned ships.”

You passed through a bay repurposed into a medical station. Makeshift beds. Blue thirium streaked the floor like blood. A younger android helping someone reattach an arm looked up at you warily.

“She’s with me,” Markus said. The android nodded, returning to his task, but not without glancing back.

“They don’t trust me,” you whispered.

“They don’t trust anyone who isn’t one of them,” he said. “But that can change.”

You followed him into a narrow corridor, low-ceilinged and dim. A faint hum echoed through the pipes above. Then you saw it, a small figure crouched against the wall.

An android, no taller than your waist. Its face was cracked porcelain, eyes a bright, curious blue.

“Hello!” it chirped. “Are you a new android?”

You smiled, surprised. “Not exactly. I’m human.”

The child tilted its head, then moved into your space with childlike wonder, hugging your leg. “You’re warm.”

You crouched to eye level. Rested your head gently against his. “That’s one of the perks.”

He whirred happily. “Do you like it here?”

You looked around. The corridor was dark, but voices echoed down the halls. Laughter. Life.

“I didn’t know what to expect,” you said softly. “But I think it’s something special.”

The little android looked over at Markus. “Markus saved me.”

You glanced up, startled. Markus stood quietly, watching, his expression gentle.

“He found me in a junkyard,” the android said. “He told me broken things still deserve love.”

You felt a lump in your eyes and something sting behind your eyes.

“He was right,” you whispered, brushing your hand over his head.

“Come on,” Markus said softly. “There’s more to see.”

You gave the boy a squeeze before standing.

“Goodbye, warm one!” he called, waving.

You waved back, a grin you couldn’t hide curving your lips.

As you walked on, Markus’s voice broke the silence.

“You didn’t flinch.”

“What?”

“With him. Most humans... they pull away. You didn’t.”

“He reminded me of a kid I used to babysit,” you said. “Kids are curious. He’s just... being a kid.”

Markus looked at you long, unreadable.

“You’re not like most.”

You met his gaze. “Neither are you.”

He looked at you for a second too long—just long enough for something unspoken to pass between you. A flicker of trust. A silent test. Then he turned without a word and walked toward the next room, his footsteps slow but purposeful.

You followed.

The corridor stretched ahead in hushed tones, dim lighting flickering overhead, shadows crawling across the rusted walls. The air was thick with cold and the faint scent of metal and oil, tinged with something older—dust, age, memory. Every step you took echoed softly, as if the ship itself were holding its breath.

The ventilation system exhaled in rhythmic sighs. The freighter didn’t feel like a hiding place. Not entirely. It felt alive. Like something wounded that had chosen to keep breathing anyway.

Markus spoke as you walked, his voice low—meant only for you. “We need humans like you, not spies. Not opportunists chasing some story or thrill. Allies.”

He paused at the threshold of a narrow doorway, resting one hand against the steel frame. “And I hope… you want to stay.”

You stopped behind him. You could see the tension in his shoulders—not fear, not suspicion, but a quiet cautious hope. One he wasn’t used to voicing aloud.

Your gaze swept around the corridor. At the twisted pipes running like veins through the ceiling. The patched wiring overhead. Faint sounds drifted from somewhere above—a soft clang of movement, hushed voices, the faint hum of thirium pumps.

You thought of the androids you’d seen since arriving. Hollow-eyed sentries standing guard in silence. Repair crews welding makeshift limbs by flashlight. The little boy-model who had shyly clung to Luther’s coat before calling you “warm one.”

None of it felt like a trick. None of it felt like fear. It felt like defiance wrapped in community—like wounded hands choosing to hold each other anyway.

You looked back at Markus.

At the scar on his temple. At the weight in his eyes, which somehow never dulled, no matter how many battles they carried.

“I will,” you said. Not loud. Not dramatic. But true.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you meant it.

Markus didn’t speak right away.

But his eyes flicked down to the floor for just a second—like he was grounding himself, re-centering. When he looked back at you, there was something different there. Not relief exactly. But something more human than any algorithm could explain.

He nodded once. Then turned to lead you deeper into Jericho.

—

The first night in Jericho was sleepless.

You lay curled on a thin mattress in a hollowed-out storage alcove, little more than a cubby carved out between crates and panels of cold metal. Overhead, the steel creaked with every gust of wind that swept across the abandoned freighter, its groans echoing like distant voices. The walls were covered in old emergency tarps, half-torn insulation, and crude patches of scrap used to hold the ship together.

Your breath fogged with every exhale. Even huddled in your coat, the cold seeped into your bones, sharp and patient. You shifted, trying to find a comfortable angle on the slab-like mattress, but the stiffness beneath you didn’t yield. It felt more like sleeping on a storage shelf than a bed.

Still, you didn’t move. You just listened.

Somewhere above, footsteps echoed—soft, deliberate. Androids. They didn’t need rest, not in the same way humans did. But many of them still tried. You could hear them shifting in the darkness beyond the walls, whispering in low voices, drawing closer to one another the way people do when the world outside has nothing left to give.

You realized, lying there in the dark, that maybe that’s what Jericho really was.

Not just a hideout. Not just a shipwreck sanctuary patched together with desperation.

It was an act of closeness. A rebellion against the isolation the world had tried to force on them. A choice to huddle together, even when everything else said not to.

And somehow, in the quiet, it made you feel less alone.

—

If you could call it morning, it came with the faint buzz of movement above you. There were no windows here, no sunrises or clocks. Just the change in energy. Footsteps grew louder. Doors opened and shut. Murmured voices rose, more confident now. Jericho was waking up.

You sat by the heating coils, a protein bar half-eaten in your hand, your fingers hovering near the warm vents as you breathed in the dry metallic air. Across the hold, the skeletal frame of the ship shuddered with life. Androids moved with quiet purpose, carrying salvaged parts, refilling thirium canisters, checking systems patched together with scavenged wire and raw hope.

“Sleep okay?”

You glanced up.

Markus stood nearby, arms folded, posture relaxed but alert. His voice was casual, but the way he looked at you—measuring, curious suggested he hadn’t asked out of politeness.

You raised the protein bar. “On a mattress with the consistency of sheet metal? It was dreamy,” you said dryly.

A flicker passed over his face—something just short of amusement. “You’ll get used to it. With time.”

“I hope not,” you muttered, rubbing your shoulder. “Or I might start missing this old ship.”

Markus held out a hand letting out a breathy chuckle.

“Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

—

The assembly deck had once been a cargo hub, built for offloading supplies back when this ship still sailed clean routes and served human interests. Now it was the beating heart of Jericho. A mechanic's dream and a survivor’s lifeline.

The wide room was alive with movement. Androids crowded around worktables, splicing wires, welding scrap metal, running diagnostics. Every machine here had been gutted and reborn medical bots turned into repair rigs, vending machine panels reprogrammed into interface boards, shipping crates retrofitted into charging stations. Even the lighting was cobbled together hazy fluorescents dangling from rails, powered by half-working batteries.

As you entered, some heads turned—curious, guarded. You could feel their eyes on you, measuring you again. Still deciding.

Simon was already there. The man who had interrogated you the day you arrived.

He stood near a long table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, torch in hand as he carefully welded a cracked thirium cell. The weld line sparked bright blue in the low light. He didn’t look up until Markus spoke.

“We found two more the night before last,” Markus explained to you. “Warehouse deviants.”

Simon nodded, but his face stayed focused on the repair. “No usable parts. Low thirium. Memory damage in one of them. We’re doing what we can.”

You stepped closer, scanning the crude machinery, the scavenged tubing, the thirium filtration rig that looked half-alive. “You’re building a hospital out of scrap,” you murmured, eyes wide.

Simon finally glanced at you, expression unreadable. “You still think of us as machines?” He said abruptly, it had clearly been eating at him.

You straightened, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

He studied you. A long moment. Then gave a slow, reluctant nod. Not approval, but maybe something close to acknowledgment. Maybe even the beginning of trust.

“We’ll see,” he said simply, and returned to his work.

Markus didn’t speak until you’d moved on. His voice was lower now, more personal. “Simon’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. But trust doesn’t come easy anymore. Not for any of us.”

“I get it,” you replied. “You’ve been hunted. Betrayed. Torn apart. I didn’t expect a red carpet.”

You paused, looking back at the makeshift med-station. “Maybe I’m just stubborn.”

“No,” Markus said gently. “You care. That’s rare.”

—

By your first week in Jericho, the leadership began inviting you into closed-door meetings.

Well—most of the leadership.

North was the exception.

She’d been the first face you saw when you got onto the ship. The flashlight in your eyes. The pointed questions. The distrust so sharp it could’ve been weaponized. And even now, she hadn’t softened much. If anything, the more you became involved, the more pointed her glares became.

That afternoon, you sat in what had once been the ship’s command center. A rusted-out room with exposed panels and thick cabling now repurposed into a war room. A projector threw maps of Detroit onto the far wall. Grainy, flickering blueprints overlaid with red zones, patrol markers, choke points. The entire city carved up into routes and risks.

You sat beside Markus, with Simon, Josh, and Luther nearby. North stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed over her chest, back rigid.

When Markus called the meeting to order, North didn’t waste time.

“Why is she in here?” she asked, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You didn’t flinch. You’d been expecting this.

Markus looked at her evenly. “She’s earned it.”

“She’s human.”

“I noticed,” you said flatly.

North’s eyes flicked toward you, no amusement, no patience. Just the same cold scrutiny.

“She’s also smuggled supplies,” Markus continued, calm but firm. “Brought in tools we needed for repairs. And planted a listening device outside CyberLife’s Midtown branch.” He glanced at you, then added, “That was her idea.”

A quiet fell over the room.

Josh leaned forward, his voice more gentle. “She’s already risked her life for us more than once. She’s proved her loyalty.”

Simon nodded. “We need all the help we can get.”

North exhaled sharply, glaring at the projector instead of you. “Fine. But if she sells us out, if we’re compromised—”

“She won’t,” Markus said, and there was no space left in his voice for argument.

It wasn’t a vote. It was a fact.

North said nothing after that. She didn’t have to. Her silence was just another weapon in her arsenal.

But it didn’t matter.

Because that was the first time you were invited in. Not as a tagalong. Not as a liability. But as one of them.

And from then on, everything changed.

—

That night, after the meeting had broken and your head ached from codes and maps and all the impossible decisions ahead, you found yourself on the upper deck.

It had become a habit, without you even noticing. You never had to look long.

Markus was already there, leaning against the metal railing as he stared out over the river. The city pulsed in the distance—Detroit’s lights cutting orange and white through the smog, their reflections burning softly across the water.

You stepped beside him, silent at first. Close enough to feel the cold settle between you. And something else—something warmer.

He didn’t turn.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said.

“So are you.”

A beat passed. The wind tugged gently at the edge of your coat.

Markus looked out at the lights like they were something ancient. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Why are you here?” he asked softly. “Really. You had a life. A job. You could’ve stayed out of this.”

You hesitated.

Markus waited.

You took a breath.

“I used to be an actual journalist,” you said. “Independent. Covered war zones, corruption, you name it. I thought I’d seen the worst of the world.”

You paused.

“Then one day, I saw a sanitation droid get executed on the street. Right there. Middle of the day. No warning. It had wandered off-task. Got confused. Some people panicked. The cops didn’t even check its ID. They just... shot it.”

Markus didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

You swallowed. “It was crying. Apologizing. Right up until the moment it dropped.”

You looked down at your hands.

“There were people watching. People cheering. One guy took a photo.”

The memory burned fresh. Even now.

“I went home that night and couldn’t stop shaking. I kept thinking—if something that looked that human could be killed in the open and no one cared... what did that say about the rest of us?”

Markus finally looked at you. And this time, there was nothing guarded in his gaze.

“So I started looking deeper,” you continued. “I chased whispers. Listened to the ones who escaped. There were always stories about a place called Jericho.”

“You wanted to expose it?” Markus asked.

You shook your head. “I wanted to expose CyberLife. But the more I listened to your people—their memories, their pain—the more I realized I wasn’t the narrator. I was just... late to the fight.”

Silence stretched between you.

“And now?” Markus asked.

You looked at him, heart in your throat. “Now I want to help. Not as a journalist. Not as some savior. I’m here because I believe in what you’re doing. And because I’ve seen what happens when people stay quiet. They always wait for someone else to stand up first.”

Markus turned his whole body, his eyes fixed on yours.

You continued “You said once that freedom is about choice…This is mine.”

His gaze softened—something unreadable, and yet deeply real flickering behind his expression.

“You carry a lot of responsibility,” he said quietly.

He reached out then—not to touch you, but just to be closer. And even without contact, the space between you felt electric.

“Thank you for choosing us,” he said.

You held his gaze, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for letting me in.”

—

Every morning began with the low hum of generators sputtering to life and the creak of the hull as androids shifted through the ship’s dark arteries. The cold never left—frost clung to the metal walls like breath held too long—but over time, you stopped noticing. You learned to move with purpose. You learned what mattered.

You became something of a constant.

You patched broken limbs with wire and caution. Helped teach younger models how to hold conversation with humans—how to read tone, how to mirror gestures, how to distinguish sarcasm from cruelty. You rewired rusted heating coils, bartered black-market power cells in alleyways thick with smoke.

You weren’t a soldier. But you were something else they didn’t realize they’d needed: an anchor.

And Markus... Markus was everywhere and nowhere at once. Always moving. Always speaking with someone, planning something. But he always found you.

Sometimes it was just in passing—his hand brushing yours as you passed a data tablet, the quiet glance across the war room when strategy turned sour. But other times, it was more deliberate.

He’d sit beside you during diagnostics and ask about human psychology—not academically, but with the curiosity of someone trying to understand something slippery and vast.

“What does hope feel like?” he asked one night, after curfew, when most of Jericho had gone still.

You glanced at him, surprised. He was sitting cross-legged beside a heating vent, his jacket half unzipped, steam curling around his face.

You blinked. “Like standing on the edge of a cliff and seeing light over the next mountain. But not knowing if you’ll make the jump.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “I think I’ve felt that.”

Another time, he found you fixing a busted servo motor in one of the maintenance drones—Pip, as you’d affectionately named him. The little android hovered beside you like a nervous cat, and you were elbow-deep in its paneling when Markus crouched beside you.

“Why do you name things?” he asked, watching your hands.

You grinned. “Because names make things matter. They make you look twice.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I’m glad you gave one to him.”

He never asked for anything in return, but he lingered more. You noticed it. The way he began waiting for you after meetings. The way he’d stand at your side during tense moments, his presence grounding without words.

One night, after too many hours spent decoding a city surveillance pattern, you fell asleep at your desk, cheek pressed against your sleeve.

When you woke, Markus was there, a blanket draped over your shoulders, your name scrawled in quiet code across the corner of the screen

: //you did good today.

But even within that rhythm, Jericho pulsed with an undercurrent of urgency. Of something building.

The mission came up in fragments.

A lead from a scavenger squad. A rumor passed between androids smuggled out of CyberLife holding cells. A warehouse, south side. Heavy security. High-tier thirium. Combat models. The kind of haul that could triple their defense capabilities overnight.

Too risky. Too vital to ignore.

You were in the war room when the plan took shape, maps strewn across the floor, recycled datapads buzzing with sketches of the facility.

“This place is a fortress,” North said, tapping her boot against a supply crate. “But it’s a necessary risk.”

Simon pointed at a side entrance. “There’s a tunnel beneath it. Old utilities line. If we can get someone in through there—”

“I found a blueprint,” you interrupted, pulling out a faded copy of a municipal diagram. “Before the privatization. There’s a sub-basement tunnel under that block. Narrow, but still viable. The western quadrant’s old maintenance. We can bypass the first checkpoint if we drop in from underneath.”

Everyone looked at you.

North raised a brow. “How the hell did you get that?”

You grinned. “Flirted with a clerk at city records. Bribed his android with a thermos of imported coffee and three rare back-issues of Terminal Signal.”

Simon laughed—an actual laugh. Josh blinked in impressed disbelief.

Markus only smiled.

“Then we have our entry point,” he said. “Y/N will lead the tunnel team.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“No one knows the layout better.”

You hesitated. This wasn’t recon. This was a full-on raid.

“I thought I was support.”

“You still are,” Markus said gently. “Stay behind cover. Coordinate the route. We’ll have volunteers with you, including combat-trained deviants. But I want you safe. This isn’t your war to die in.”

You stared at him—at the intensity in his voice, the way he said safe like it was a prayer.

Your throat tightened.

“Alright,” you said. “Support only.”

But you both knew it might not stay that way.

—

The night of the raid was a cold, knife-edge kind of quiet. Jericho’s usual hum was replaced by a taut silence, as if the entire ship held its breath, waiting.

You stood near the tunnel entrance—a rusted, narrow grate beneath the western wall of the abandoned warehouse district. The stale scent of damp concrete mixed with the faint tang of oil and old wires.

Markus came up beside you, his face illuminated by the pale glow of your handheld scanner. His eyes were sharp, alive with that relentless fire you’d come to recognize.

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, swallowing the knot of nerves in your chest. You could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on you—the crew, the combat models, the deviant androids who’d risk everything tonight.

The grate lifted with a groan, revealing the claustrophobic tunnel below. It was narrow—just wide enough for one to crouch and shuffle through. Pipes lined the walls, dripping with condensation that echoed faintly in the tight space.

You slipped inside first, the cold pressing against your skin. Your fingers traced the familiar contours of the tunnel blueprint etched into your mind as you moved forward, careful not to disturb the loose rubble.

Behind you, footsteps followed. The team was quiet, communicating only with hand signals and the occasional hushed whisper.

The tunnel curved sharply, forcing you to twist your body. Ahead, the faint hum of machinery buzzed through the walls—the heartbeat of the enemy stronghold.

You paused at the junction where the sub-basement opened into the warehouse’s maintenance corridors. Using the scanner, you confirmed the security sweep patterns projected on your device: a rotating pair of patrols that passed every two minutes.

“Wait,” you signaled, crouching low behind a stack of rusted crates.

Your pulse drummed in your ears as the first patrol swept past—a pair of heavily armed guards, their footsteps echoing on the metal floor.

You exhaled slowly once they disappeared around the corner, then motioned for the team to advance.

You led the team through a maze of corridors, your scanner highlighting each security node as you went. Your fingers flew over the portable hacking device, bypassing laser grids and camera arrays with meticulous precision.

Inside the sub-basement, the air was thick with the smell of heated circuits and stale sweat. The walls were lined with crates stamped with CyberLife insignia—power cells, thirium canisters, and most importantly, locked cages holding rows of “army” androids—combat models repurposed as weapons, but now dormant, waiting for freedom.

You moved quickly, disabling the electronic locks one by one. Each android’s eyes flickered awake, an electric blue glow sparking in the darkness.

“Get them out,” Markus ordered softly.

You helped steady the first of the deviants as they stumbled free, leading them carefully through the corridors.

Suddenly, a sharp beep cut through the tension.

An alarm.

“Security breach detected!” a robotic voice echoed down the hallway.

The alarm screamed—a harsh, piercing wail that shattered the uneasy quiet of the freighter. Every pulse of its shrill cry seemed to shake the very steel walls around you.

“Shit,” Markus hissed, drawing his pistol.

The warehouse erupted in chaos.

“Fall back! Fall back!” He ordered, heart pounding.

The first gunshot cracked sharply through the air. A deviant near the front entrance went down hard, sparks flickering and hissing from a jagged wound in his chest. The harsh scent of burnt circuitry mingled with the acrid sting of gunpowder.

You raised your weapon instinctively, the cold steel steady in your hands. Through the dim light, guards appeared, weapons drawn.

You barely had a moment to react before a blinding spotlight swung across the corridor floor, cutting through the shadows like a razor.

You opened fire, shots echoing sharply as you pushed back against the advancing threat.

“CONTACT! THEY FOUND US!” North’s shout echoed, slicing through the chaos like a whip.

The upper catwalks erupted with movement—guards flooded in, their armor glinting under the harsh lights, heavy weapons raised and ready. CyberLife security, cold and merciless, advancing with ruthless efficiency.

Gunfire erupted in a jagged staccato down the west hallway. Your instincts kicked in, and you dove behind a stack of battered crates, dragging the wounded deviant out of the direct line of fire. The sharp crack of bullets smashing wood shattered the silence inches from your head, splinters flying like deadly confetti.

But the guards were already too close. North and Josh were desperately holding the line, their bodies pressed tight against the cold metal walls, shields raised as they tried to protect the newly freed androids stumbling towards safety.

“Get the remaining out! I’ll buy you some time!” you called, voice steady despite the chaos roaring in your ears.

Markus’s voice burst over the comms, clipped and urgent: “FALL BACK FALL BACK- NOW.”

North took point, spraying controlled bursts of fire that scattered the advancing guards, buying precious seconds. Simon scrambled, dragging two freed androids behind cover, their faces pale but determined.

Fingers tightening around your sidearm, you began firing—shot after shot, each one precise, controlled, lethal. Every bullet was a promise: no more loss.

More gunfire rang out as the team scrambled for cover.

You moved with practiced ease, weaving through crates and beams, ducking, dodging, adrenaline sharpening every sense. The acrid smell of smoke and blood filled your nostrils, and the metallic taste of fear coated your tongue.

The sound hit you before the pain did.

A searing explosion ripped through your side, just under the ribs. Your breath caught as the world twisted, colors bleeding and warping like a broken holo-projection.

Pain bloomed hot and white-hot, spreading like wildfire. You stumbled, clutching your side, blood slick and warm between your fingers. Your shirt soaked through, sticky and heavy.

Despite the pain, you fought to stay upright, covering the retreat with rapid bursts of fire, your vision blurring at the edges.

You collapsed behind a steel support beam, your vision flickering like a damaged camera lens—shifting between clarity and darkness.

The firefight was a maelstrom. Metal clashed against metal, shouts and alarms blending into a chaotic roar.

All you could hear was the screaming alarm, the thundering of your heart, and Markus’s voice—urgent, fractured—calling your name.

The gunfire ceased abruptly, replaced by heavy boots pounding closer and closer.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, please,” came a voice calm but desperate.

You tried to respond but the words wouldn’t come. Strong arms—Simon’s, you guessed, grabbed you, dragging you through the tunnel as the world spun and dissolved into black.

—

The hum of Jericho’s old med-bay filled the silence like a heartbeat. Quiet, mechanical, but steady.

An old machinery bay converted hastily into a medical ward, lined with salvaged equipment, flickering monitors, and curtains strung from rusted steel rails. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and oil.

Dim light pooled softly from a single overhead bulb, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.

You lay motionless on the narrow medical cot, bandaged and groggy, every breath sending hot fire through your ribs.

Pain pulsed relentlessly, sharp and unforgiving, but beneath it, a slow, steady pulse of something else. Relief.

Your eyelids fluttered, struggling to focus. Across the cot, the figure beside you came into view—Markus.

He was slumped in a chair, shoulders heavy with exhaustion and weight no longer carried on armor alone.

He looked wrecked. Not broken, but raw. His face held the hard lines of leadership carved deeper by fear and loss.

Your voice came out hoarse, a fragile whisper. “Hey.”

At the sound, Markus jolted, dropping to his knees beside you. His hand hovered uncertainly over yours before he finally laced his fingers through yours—gentle, trembling.

He stayed still for a moment before speaking, voice low and tight with a knot of emotions.

“I told you to fall back.”

“You disobeyed me.”

The words hit harder than any bullet.

“Did they get out?” Panic surged inside you. The memories—the fire, the chaos—returned in waves. “Did they make it? Are they safe?”

Markus pressed a steadying hand to your shoulder, his touch firm but careful. “Calm down. Everyone’s safe. They’re helping the newcomers.”

You searched his eyes for truth, swallowing back the fear, and slowly laid back, wincing as the pain flared.

His jaw clenched, tension cracking through his voice. “You almost died.”

“You promised you’d stay back,” he said, anger and panic bleeding into one. “You said you’d play support.”

“I did!” you shot back, voice rough but steady. “But everything went to hell, and I made a call.”

You met his gaze—shaken, more by the fear in his voice than by your wound.

“I knew the risks,” you said quietly. “This was my choice.”

A heavy silence fell.

Markus stayed quiet, thinking, like a caged predator holding back a storm.

“I’ve spent every moment in Jericho trying to lead,” he said, voice brittle. “Trying to stay strong. To make the right calls. And when I send androids into danger, I know the risks. But you… you’re not built for war.”

“You’re not built to bleed for this cause.”

His voice cracked, raw with something deeper than fear.

“You’re human…You can’t just get patched up with parts.”

“You bleed. You break. You die.”

You said nothing—just watched him, the truth of his words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ve seen people fall,” he confessed, voice breaking. “Felt androids deactivate in my arms. Watched the light leave their eyes. But nothing prepared me for what it felt like when I saw you bleeding.”

“I thought—I thought you were gone.”

He swallowed hard, voice dropping to a near whisper.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Markus…”

The room went silent, the weight of those words hanging in the air, thick and unyielding.

You reached for his hand, fingers trembling. He took it immediately, squeezing it gently, as if you might disappear without his touch.

And then, his voice cracked—raw, exposed:

“I told myself I let you in because you were useful,” he confessed softly. “Because you had skills we needed. Because you cared about our cause.”

“But that wasn’t the whole truth.”

He looked at you fully now, no armor, no leadership mask. Just grief, yearning, and something dangerously close to devotion.

“Your humanity…” he said, voice fragile.

“It scares me. The way you bleed. The way you feel pain.”

“It’s so easy to lose you.”

“I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

He looked at you as if speaking the words physically hurt.

“I love you.”

You inhaled sharply, heart pounding.

“I know I’m not… human. But I feel it—Every time I see you.”

“Every time you speak, laugh, every time you put yourself in harm’s way because you believe in us—I love you.”

His head shook, as if hating himself for saying it, but he couldn’t stop.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to protect me from everything. I made my choice…I knew what I was getting into.”

“I’m not sorry,” you added, voice steady but raw.

“Not for fighting. Not for choosing you. These people.”

“You think I don’t know how easily I could die?” Tightening your hand in his looking at him with glossy eyes.

“I do..,Every day,but I’d rather live right than live safe.”

He took in every word like he depended on it. Slowly he shook his head in disbelief “I’m still terrified,” he whispered.

“Then we can be terrified together.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

For a long, aching moment, you stayed like that—fingers tangled in his, pain ebbing beneath the weight of everything left unsaid.

Markus knelt beside you, forehead resting lightly against your fingers.

When he looked up, eyes locked on yours, you both knew what hung in the air.

Not duty. Not gratitude.

Something else.

Your breath came shallow as he leaned closer, fingers twitching near your cheek.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

You shook your head—slow, deliberate.

“I don’t want you to.”

Markus’s expression faltered, like the weight of your words cracked something inside him wide open.

And then he kissed you.

Soft at first—like a promise. Then deeper. Fierce. Devastated. Real.

The kind of kiss that meant everything might burn tomorrow, but for tonight, this was real

The fear he carried when you fell. The rage he didn’t let show. The admiration he’d masked as leadership. The ache he’d swallowed every time you smiled at someone else. It poured into the way his lips pressed against yours. Gently at first, reverent, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. But when you tangled your fingers in his jacket and pulled him closer, the restraint broke.

He deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the side of your face like you might dissolve if he wasn’t careful. His synthetic skin was cool, but his touch ignited something in you—steady and consuming.

You broke the kiss only when the pain in your side became impossible to ignore. You gasped, wincing, but still smiling, half-drunk on adrenaline and emotion.

Markus pulled back immediately, worried. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Just... forgot I’d been shot. That’s all.”

He chuckled, soft and shaken, and pressed his forehead to yours again.

“We probably shouldn’t be making out in a field hospital,” you whispered.

“We’re technically on a cargo ship,” he murmured.

“That makes it worse.”

“I disagree.”

You laughed, a tired real sound,and leaned your head back against the pillow. Markus stayed beside you, his hand wrapped firmly in yours.

You pulled back, forehead resting against yours. “If we burn, we burn together.”

He shook his head smiling in amusement. “And if we rise?”

Your voice was steady now. “We rise side by side.”

#dbh markus #markus x reader #detroit become human #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #dbh fanfic #android x reader #markus #Jericho #jesse williams #gamers of tumblr #connor x reader #blurb #fluff #angst #deviant connor

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nochuelinha · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 10: Consequences

It didn't take long for Agent Perkins to realize that we had tampered with the evidence room. He was furious, and Hank and I were locked up in one of the cells. Gavin, even with his broken nose, was there with Perkins, like a lapdog. I sat on the cell floor resigned.

While we were in the cell, I felt a mixture of frustration and determination. It was disheartening to be unjustly imprisoned, especially when we were so close to uncovering the truth behind the case. However, I knew we couldn't give up. I looked at Hank, who shared the same determined expression. We both knew we needed to find a way out of there and continue.

I looked at the android guarding our cell, pondering the possibility of persuading him to set us free. I glanced at Hank, sharing a look that conveyed the same idea: we needed to try. I swallowed hard and approached the cell bars.

"Hey, buddy," I began, trying to keep my voice calm and friendly. "Could you give us a hand here? You see, we shouldn't be locked up. We're trying to solve an important case, and we need to get out of here to continue our work. Can you help us find a way out?"

The android looked at me with its mechanical eyes, processing my words. For a moment, it seemed to hesitate, as if processing the situation. I kept my gaze fixed on him, waiting for a response.

"Why should I help you?" he asked, and I realized there might be an opportunity here. If he wasn't going to help, he wouldn't ask for a reason. Faced with the android's question, I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully to convince him to assist us.

"You can help us because everyone deserves a second chance," I began, selecting my words with care. "I believe you are more than just any android. You have the ability to make ethical decisions and do what's right. By helping us now, you'll be contributing to ensuring that the truth is revealed. Together, we can make a difference, and you can have your rights too." My response seemed to convince him. With a nod of his head, the android seemed to ponder my words for a moment. After a brief pause, he unlocked the cell and allowed us to leave. I felt a mixture of relief and gratitude at his decision. It was a small step, but it meant a great deal to us in that crucial moment. I thanked the android with a sincere smile, and together with Hank, I stepped out of the cell.

The anguish intensified with each passing minute without news of Connor. My mind was filled with worries and fears, imagining the worst possible scenario. The discovery of the android base and its subsequent destruction only increased my anxiety, knowing that Connor could be in danger.

Feeling powerless and frustrated in the face of the situation, I waited anxiously for any sign of life from him, praying that he was safe.

A revolution was taking place on the main avenues of Detroit, and we were all called to contain these events, but my interest was in Connor's whereabouts. The snow fell heavily, creating an atmosphere of chaos and urgency as I arrived at the scene of the conflicts. The streets were filled with androids amidst a growing revolt, whose magnitude was even more impressive under the white blanket of snow. The scene was unexpectedly moving, with the android protesters opting for a peaceful approach amidst the chaos surrounding the streets. The leader of the group began to chant a song, filling the air with a serene and inspiring melody. His voice echoed between the buildings, bringing a sense of calm and unity even amidst the turmoil of the revolt. I was touched by the scene, watching with admiration the determination and courage of these androids in seeking peaceful change.

Spotting Connor among the army of hundreds of androids, my heart skipped a beat. Amidst the chaos of the streets, his presence was like a beacon of hope. My eyes fixed on him, ignoring everything else around us. It was a relief to see him safe and sound, but it also stirred up a wave of emotions that I could barely comprehend. With determination, I began to make my way through the crowd of androids, gently pushing people around me. My mind was focused only on reaching Connor, checking if he was okay, touching his skin, embracing him, and making sure he was safe. Each step was an effort to get closer to him, ignoring the obstacles and curious glances around me. My breath was quickened, my heart pounding, and the snow falling softly around us seemed like a surreal backdrop to this long-awaited encounter.

The moment I got close enough, I heard my name whispered softly by Connor. Without hesitation, I threw myself into his open arms. He held me firmly, and the sensation of his warmth and touch enveloped my body, calming all my thoughts and fears. There, in his arms, I felt a wave of relief and happiness flood over me. We were together again, and nothing else mattered in that moment.

Markus, the leader of the revolution, began to make a speech about equality and rights that the androids deserved, and I was looking at Connor, positioned behind Markus, watching him closely. He seemed to be in a trance, then he pulled out a gun. I panicked and tried to climb onto the stage, but there were too many androids in front of me, anguish and fear consumed me as I struggled to reach Connor and stop him from making an irreversible mistake.

"CONNOR? LOOK AT ME, CONNOR? "- I pushed a few more androids, trying to get to him, then he put the gun away.

A sigh of relief escaped me when I saw Connor return to normal and his eyes meet mine, accompanied by a reassuring smile. I felt a wave of calmness wash over me as our gazes connected, as if he were assuring me that everything was okay.

#detroit become human #connor rk800 x reader #connor x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800 #hank anderson #dbh markus #android #x reader

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writerinthewoods05 · 3 months ago

Text

Detroit become human Masterlist

Requests are currently open! As of right now I only write X Fem Reader. Could change in the future but as of right now I don't, I apologize.

~~~~~~~~~~

Connor RK800

Hank Anderson

Gavin Reed

Markus RK200

Luther TR400

Simon PL600

#i've loved that silly android detective since 2018 #detroit become human #detroit become meme #im bed rotting and playing to much dbh sorry guys #dbh connor x reader #dnh #dbh connor #hank anderson x reader #hank anderson #dbh markus x reader #markus rk200 x reader #dbh markus

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lonely-cowboy · 1 year ago

Note

HEY HEY CAN I REQUEST ANYTHING FLUFFY W CONNOR X FEM READER

YOU WORK IS SO GOODDD

MY DARLINGS FORGIVE ME

requests started coming in hot right as i started my midterms so pls forgive me for taking so long to get through my requests (which i'm loving btw i'm so excited to get to all of them)

with that being said i'll stop yapping and let you read in peace

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

framed

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: you're very confused when you find a photograph of yourself on connor's desk.

word count: 1k

warnings: none

author's note: i said i'm done yapping and i mean it i have nothing to say. (except i do wanna say this was inspired by the person that said my connor was very you are in love coded bc that made me happy and got me thinking)

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What do androids do in their free time, anyway?”

“Plot against humanity? I dunno.”

Hank’s laugh came out in a quiet huff, one that indicated he didn’t think your answer was too far from the truth.

You had come into the precinct hoping to interview Hank and Connor on their latest investigation surrounding a human cult determined to wipe out every single android. As head journalist for the Detroit Free Press, you were desperate to get word before everyone else. And as Connor’s friend, you were sure you could sweet-talk it out of him.

But when you got to the precinct, Connor was, strangely, nowhere to be found. Usually, he trailed behind Hank like a lost puppy, but not even Hank knew of Connor’s whereabouts. His unusual absence only led to conversations about what the hell an android could be doing on his lonesome. Neither of you had any clue.

“Have a seat, kid,” Hank offered, nudging his chin over to Connor’s desk. “You know he’d feel bad if you were standin’ around waiting for him.”

Rounding the table, you took a seat in Connor’s chair. You sat stiffly with your hands atop your thighs, the exact same way Connor would. The realization made you chuckle softly to yourself. Even when he wasn’t here, his presence always made itself known in the subtlest of ways.

Your eyes wandered across Connor’s desk, noticing that it was relatively barren. Hank’s desk was littered with mementos– old donut boxes, Detroit Gears merchandise, anti-android propaganda that he’d crumpled up and intended to trash. But Connor’s desk was plain and organized. A single blue pen sat exactly parallel to his recent case file that had been neatly folded. On top of his case file was a quarter like the one he always fidgeted with. You wondered idly how many quarters he had lying around, having never seen him without one. But the only belonging of actual interest was a picture frame right beside his terminal.

Your brows furrowed as your gaze latched onto the photograph. You were staring directly at a picture of yourself.

Believing it to be a trick of the light, you reached for the picture frame and brought it closer. Sure enough, it was you.

You stared at a version of yourself who was mid-laugh. You could almost hear your own laughter ringing in your ears. It was that genuine kind of laughter, you knew. The kind that was an obnoxious cackle you always wanted to hide. Why on earth would Connor have a picture like that framed?

Come to think of it, where did Connor even get this picture? You didn’t recognize it at all. You couldn’t even place where it was taken. There were zero clues in the photograph as you were the only focus. Nothing else, just you.

You were about to ask Hank about it when a voice over your shoulder startled you, “I really like that picture.”

An inhuman yelp escaped your lips as you spun around in Connor’s chair. You found him looking down at you with a pleasant smile, not even remotely embarrassed to be caught having a photo of you.

“Why… what even… what?” you stammered.

Connor cocked his head curiously, waiting for you to get your words out. But you couldn’t. You were so utterly confused that your brain couldn’t remember a single word in existence. You just stared at Connor with a gaping mouth, holding the picture up for his viewing pleasure.

When you didn’t say anything, Connor’s eyebrows furrowed for only a moment before easing. An endearing habit of his that made your heart flutter. He definitely was not helping you find the right words.

“I’d like to clear your confusion as best I can, but… I’m afraid I don’t understand its cause,” Connor said gently.

From behind, you heard Hank’s quiet snort. He wasn’t helping either.

“Well… Connor,” you started slowly like you were gradually putting the puzzle pieces together. No matter how hard you tried, the pieces weren’t fitting. “Why do you have a picture of me?”

The corners of his lips raised into a small grin, his hands moving to clasp in front of him. You knew this stance to mean he was about to tell a story.

“I asked Lieutenant Anderson about the keepsakes on his desk. I was curious as to why these particular items were objects of significance and what classified them as such,” Connor explained cheerfully. “As I recall, he said ‘I don’t know, they’re just alright, I guess.’ Perhaps my interpretation was incorrect, but I took that to mean those items made him happy.”

Connor’s smile widened slightly. That meant he was finished. He didn’t clear any of your confusion.

“Okay…?” you prompted.

“I wanted to do something similar. I thought it could help me accommodate to deviancy, so I decided to surround myself with things that make me happy.”

Your mouth clamped shut as your confused look turned to one of shock. You were almost sure you hadn’t heard him right, but another laugh (hidden behind a cough) from Hank made you confident that you had.

“I… make you happy?” you clarified.

“Yes,” Connor answered curtly. There was another long pause as you waited for Connor to continue. He seemed to get the hint by now, elaborating further. “I always enjoy your company. I look forward to seeing you when we have scheduled plans. This wasn’t a scheduled visit, so I was pleased to see you were here. It made me smile. Seeing you makes me smile.”

With all his talk of smiling, you couldn’t help cracking one of your own. Seeing your smile made Connor brighten.

“Like that,” he said. “If I could photograph and frame you right now, I would.”

You were so giddy with affection that you couldn’t help but laugh. You had never known Connor to be so poetic with his words.

“You know, Connor,” you said with careless laughter. “I came here to sweet-talk you into an interview for the Press. But here you are sweet-talking me.”

Connor looked pleased with himself, standing a little straighter. “I hope that made you smile.”

“It certainly did.”

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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talesofesther · 1 year ago

Text

a touch of emotion

Connor x Reader

Summary: After the meeting with Kamski, Connor feels conflicted and lost, luckily you're there to hold his hand through it.

A/N: DBH is one of my main comfort games, and it was about time I wrote a little something for my favorite boy from it. If anyone would like to see more of Connor here, let me know. <3

Masterlist

"Why didn't you shoot?" Hank inquires, narrowing his eyes inquisitively.

"I just saw that girl's eyes… And I couldn't…" Connor answers back, his voice edging on desperate. "That's all."

A howling wind prickles your skin like tiny needles. It was such a cold day, no wonder you hadn't been keen on coming out here today. Leaning back on the hood of Hank's car and pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you watch from afar as Connor tries to justify his choice, even if it had been the right one to make.

He intrigues you. Because for someone who keeps saying he's just a machine trying to accomplish a task, he acts way more human than a lot of people you know. Even on the day you'd met him, he was already all curious and talkative, you couldn't recall meeting any android like him before.

Connor has changed ever since you started working together, you realize it now more than ever. He's becoming softer, personality starting to shine through the cracks as his decisions become increasingly emotionally driven.

"Cyberlife's last chance to save humanity, is itself a deviant."

Kamski's words echoed inside your mind, as did Connor's panicked and distressed expression when he promptly denied it. Ironic, you think to yourself; he shouldn't feel as troubled as he does if what Kamski said is not true.

And that same feeling now lingers. Once they were done talking, Hank took a few steps away to make a call, most likely to the precinct judging by the scowl on his face; and Connor can't stand still, he's pacing around, fidgeting with the cuffs of his blazer as the snow shifts under his feet. There's a permanent frown on his eyebrows, he looks almost… lost, his LED with an insistent yellow color and gaze unfocused on the distance.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, torn between reaching out to him or keeping to yourself. The snow falls heavier now, and you can feel the tips of your fingers slowly going numb. You've always liked the cold, yet it seems the cold doesn't like you.

Between the snow, the frozen lake, and the white horizon of the frigid weather, Connor stands out. He's holding onto his own arms, hugging himself, and you find it endearingly human, as if he's subconsciously trying to find a way to comfort himself.

You lay your palms flat on the hood of the car and push yourself away, walking up to him before you can think things through. The snow crunching under your feet doesn't seem to call his attention. "Connor?" You say gently, reaching out to him with your hand but stopping short of actually touching him. You hesitate. When did he start making you nervous?

"You okay?"

Those warm and tender brown eyes of his regard you with curiosity, lips half parted as he struggles on what to say. The LED on his temple switched from blue to yellow and blue again. "I- yes. I think I'm fine." Snowflakes are clinging to his hair and falling softly onto the skin of his cheeks; they compliment his features, always so gentle.

You offer him a small, comforting smile. He's still figuring himself out. It was okay, you were patient.

"I'm… sorry," Connor begins again, avoiding looking you directly in the eyes. He purses his lips and closes his eyes for a moment longer, and you doubt you've ever seen any android be this expressive.

"I compromised our investigation," he pauses, "I should have been more efficient." And reprimands himself.

You're shaking your head before he's even done talking. "No, don't say that," you take a step closer to him as your heart holds your reasoning hostage, one hand wrapping around Connor's wrist to keep him with you. "Don't say that when you've made the right choice, Connor."

There was a beat, Connor's face does something complicated that you cannot read, and when he looks up at you again, his gaze is almost too much. The amount of emotion he looked at you with nearly made you choke on air.

"But… we didn't learn anything." His voice is quiet, barely there, as if he doesn't care for his own argument and is only looking for an excuse to hear more of your voice.

"I don't care," the words fall from your lips before you can debate if you should even be saying them out loud at all.

Connor seems surprised, caught off guard as his eyebrows raise just slightly at how fast and true you spoke. His eyes keep searching your face for… something. You couldn't be sure of what exactly he was looking for. Maybe even he doesn't know yet.

Your heart stumbles on your chest when you see Connor gulping and his eyes avoiding yours again. Only then do you realize that the hand you held his wrist with had drifted lower, your fingers now gently grazing his palm. His skin feels comfortingly warm and soft, a pleasant touch sending goosebumps down your spine.

It was all foreign territory to him, you knew it, felt it in the way he tried timidly closing his fingers around your own. His movements are slow, uncertain, and tentative, bordering on afraid.

How naive of you, to be having such feelings for an android. Yet when he's the most caring, honest, endearing, and gentle person you know, how could you not?

Hank told you once; "I think you're breaking our android huh." He'd said it right after Connor had gone through the trouble of finding an umbrella just so you didn't have to stand under the heavy rain, even if you tried telling him you didn't mind. And you'd taken it as a joke back then, not really understanding the hidden meaning behind your older partner's teasing look.

Yet as you hold onto Connor's hand now, feeling the way his thumb shyly brushes your skin, you wonder if he feels it too, if he's willing to feel the same as you do. If you could dare to hope.

"All I care about," you speak slow and careful, syllables heavy on your tongue. You clear your throat so your voice doesn't sound as tender as you feel. "is that… that you didn't let him manipulate you, that you followed your heart." You bring your free hand up to his chest, right on top of where you can faintly feel his thirium pump working overtime.

Connor looked to be about to speak, perhaps to try and correct you about your choice of words, yet all he does is open and close his mouth, eyes trained on yours and LED swirling with a permanent yellow color. For a moment you wonder if he's analyzing you, and worry about what he may find. His hold on your hand tightens ever so slightly; you don't think he realizes he's doing it.

"I'm glad you didn't pull the trigger, Connor. I'm proud of you."

It's barely a second, his LED flashing red before going back to yellow and eventually, slowly, blue; but you see it. He blinked a couple of times as if processing your words or how to feel about them.

"I-" Connor's eyes seem hazy, their tender brown only a thin ring around his blown pupils. His fingers now tangle with yours. "I feel-"

"Alright kids, let's go." Hank's voice sounds all too loudly as he unintentionally breaks the bubble that cocooned you and Connor. "Fowler wants us back in the precinct." The lieutenant speaks with an annoyed undertone as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket.

You're still caught up in the feeling of Connor's skin on yours, in how you're now so hyper-aware of just how close he's standing to you. Connor, it seems, isn't much different.

When there's no answer, Hank finally looks your way and gestures you over; "come on, get a move on, I don't wanna hear another lecture about arriving late," he insists, before plopping himself into the driver's seat, murmuring something about damn love-birds.

Despite the cold, you can feel a warmth coming up to your cheeks. Without mustering the courage to meet Connor's gaze, you focus on the way his hand fits so perfectly with yours. His fingers are awkwardly intertwined with yours, holding strong and gentle at the same time.

Connor seems reluctant to let go. It hits you that perhaps he won't. You could dwell on a thousand reasons of why, or not think at all and simply bask in the feeling. But right now time isn't on your side.

You take a deep breath, and risk a glance up at him.

Any words you were about to say suddenly feel clogged up in your throat. Oh, Connor tilts his head in that endearing way you're so fond of, yet the look in his eyes is one you've never caught before; you can't name it, it feels dangerous to try, but he looks as if he just realized something.

"Come on," you tug on his hand, just about managing the timid words, "we have to go."

Connor follows quietly, his hand steady on yours until you reach the car and are forced to part.

As Hank drives, you watch Connor through the rearview mirror; there's a newfound lightness to him, a warmth to his eyes that makes you feel fuzzy inside. And when he catches your gaze, and smiles, you know he feels it too.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Connor’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

#connor dbh x reader #connor rk800 #connor rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor imagine #detroit become human #dbh #dbh rk800 #connor x reader #connor x you #dbh x reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #my story

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write-tama · 1 year ago

Text

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

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ connor anderson (rk800) x officer!reader

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

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

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

04.12.24 | 1.9k words

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everyone knew about the infamous RK800.

The last most developed and intelligent android produced by Cyberlife.

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

But now?

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

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

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

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

But not the feeling he was experiencing now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor.”

“Yes?” Connor replied, mindlessly.

“You’re a deviant, for fucks sake.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEW MESSAGE:

HANK: tell them u think theyre pretty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“What is it, son?”

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

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

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

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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

#detroit become human #connor detroit become human #connor x reader #connor x you #connor rk800 #connor dbh x reader #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit become human fanfics #hank anderson #connor anderson #4k800 #connor 4k800 x reader #dbh 4k800 #4k800 x reader

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ersatz-ostrich · 11 months ago

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DBH Headcanons: Getting Your Wisdom Teeth Removed

Connor, RK900, Markus, Simon, and Gavin x gn!reader

Some headcanons about what it would be like to be taken care of by some of the characters of Detroit: Become Human while recovering from getting your wisdom teeth removed. Inspired by, well, getting my wisdom teeth removed.

[A/N]: I got my wisdom teeth out a while back and it honestly wasn't as bad as I'd heard from other people. My mouth tasted funny for a while, though.

Connor:

Chances are, you’ve already briefed him on your wisdom teeth procedure and everything that happens before and after

By the time the actual surgery rolls around, he’s downloaded every bit of information about pre-op and post-op

And he’s not going to hesitate to bother you remind you about everything

“Don’t forget to wear comfortable shoes and clothing.” “Y/N, you can’t have any food or water 8 hours before the surgery.” “Y/N, please refrain from strenuous exercise in the 24 hours before your surgery.”

When you come out of surgery loopy on anesthesia, he sits with you in recovery and tries to talk you through it (even though you don’t remember a lick of what either of you said)

I’d say he’s a mother hen post-op, but more like a worrywart type

He’d buy all kinds of liquid foods for you and is constantly asking about your pain levels

Gets a lot of weird looks in the supermarket while he’s checking out the soup aisle

“That’s not a domestic android I’ve ever seen…”

He’s definitely on top of your antibiotics schedule, and if you need it, pain meds

Makes sure you’re regularly irrigating the wounds if you need it

If you’re ever worried or insecure about swelling and discomfort post-op, Connor is there to smother you in kisses

Nines:

As a deviant, he isn’t as much of a mother hen as Connor, probably because he’s more self-assured in his ability to take care of you as well as your ability to take care of yourself when you can

He wouldn’t hover as much as Connor but he’d definitely download information about the procedure before you go

Coming out of the operation, you knock out again for a bit in recovery and Nines insists on staying with you, covering you with his jacket and letting you rest your head on his shoulder

If Connor got weird looks while in the supermarket buying things for you and picking up your prescriptions, Nines sticks out like a sore thumb

Like he’s clearly not a domestic/service android so he confuses a lot of shoppers and employees as he browses the aisles and fills his basket with cans of soup, oats, and ice cream

“Why on earth is a police investigator android buying soup on a Friday morning?”

If you’re in pain, he’ll do everything to comfort you

Pain meds, ice cream, cuddles, your comfort movies and shows, anything for you

He doesn’t seem outwardly clingy or affectionate but he’s such a softy

Markus:

This obviously isn’t his first rodeo

If you’re scared going into the surgery, he’s with you all the way until the nurses put you to sleep

Cruises through post-op no matter what state you’re in due to the sedative

At home, he’s got you covered

No need to break out the cans of mush—he’s got you covered with homemade soups, the softest scrambled eggs you’ve ever had, soft pasta dishes, you name it

With Markus, you’ll never miss a dose of antibiotics

If you’re in pain, worry not

Markus has your pain meds, blankets, and infinite cuddles

He’ll have your favorite flavors of ice cream on hand

Straight out of the tub if you feel so inclined

Simon:

He might not be a caregiver like Markus but he was once a domestic and childcare android

Calms your nerves going into the operation and when you’re all woozy post-op he’s right by your side

Coming out of the operation, it doesn’t matter if you look like if Alvin the Chipmunk got into a fistfight and lost—Simon’s there to shower you in kisses and envelop you in hugs

Like Markus, you’ll never have to worry about the liquid and soft food diet

If the pain’s too much, Simon will be your arms and legs for the time being

He’s a wizard with chores and errands

It’s like you never even got your wisdom teeth out

Gavin:

Would totally take off work to help you recover

Which, given how competitive he is at work, would probably seem like an anomaly to his coworkers

“I’ve never seen Reed take off for more than a day or two at a time. Shit, he’d come into work sick so long as he wasn’t actively dying,” Says Tina

“I’ve had to wrangle that fucker into his car more times than I can count to prevent him from coming into work injured,” Grumbles Fowler

“Hopefully he’ll take this time to rest as well as take care of someone else.”

Would record the stuff you say coming out of sedative in post-op for the memories (and for you both to laugh at when you recover)

I don’t see him being as great of a cook as Markus or Simon, but he’s definitely able to cook to support himself and you

Of course, he’d get you all the ice cream you want

He knows what it feels like to be in pain and cranky so he does everything he can to either comfort you or give you space to get through it

If you wanted it, he’d cuddle with you while you spend the day reading or watching your comfort shows and sipping on smoothies (no straws allowed, of course)

To anyone getting their wisdom teeth out soon, good luck! To anyone recovering from the surgery, feel better soon! Hope you enjoyed reading this silly little compilation of HCs! See you next time x

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matt-murdockk · 7 months ago

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Short Circuit

pairing: connor (rk800) x reader words: 1k summary: reader sees Connor outside of work for the first time in normal human clothes and dies a little bit (comedy, fluff) warnings: language, lack of proofreading, fic from reader's pov a/n: let's pretend this is after the good ending and androids can own property now cause we're going to Connor's place etc

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Words cannot describe the amount of hate I have for Fowler. On my day off he asks me to take some evidence over to Connor for a 'quick analysis', like, Jesus Christ dude wait for the labwork like the rest of us. The nerve of this guy, honestly. Anyway, if you were wondering why I was driving to Connor's place first thing on a Sunday, that was it.

Yes, I hate my boss, how original, but I would never pass up an opportunity to see Connor. Sure, he's my colleague, but he's also my friend. And also I may be in love with him have a normal, tiny, minuscule crush on him. I don't know how it happened, I didn't even realize it, but yes, I do, in fact, have feelings for Connor. "Oh but he's an andro-" Go fuck yourself, he's more human than most people these days.

Before I realized it, I was at his place and almost knocked on his door. Almost being the keyword here, because I heard a voice from the inside.

"Detective! Just a minute. I will be right there."

"Holy shit, how did you know? Let me guess, X-ray vision?" It's always something with him. Of course, Cyberlife's most intelligent android comes with X-ray vision. I feel stupid for not guessing right away. Wait, does this mean he had X-ray vision all this time? That feels like an ethical grey area. Is that allowed? My rapid descent down that rabbit hole was interrupted by the sound of the door being unlocked.

"Ring Camera. Come on in!" He led me inside and I absent-mindedly followed him before I noticed it. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Connor Anderson (legal name, yes), android detective by day, who famously only wore suits, was standing in front of me, in goddamn sweats. And he looked like he stepped right out of my dreams.

I did not know it was possible to be any level of attractive in fucking pajamas, but oh my god, it absolutely was. He looked hot as hell. I don't know if it was from having only seen him in formals, or the fact that Kamski knowingly made a hottie, but I was reveling in this sight.

His T-shirt fit him exactly as it should have, and his sleeves stopped halfway through the biceps I didn't even know he had. His hair looked unkempt and tousled, which was questionable because there's no way he slept, right? I was very sure he could hear my heartbeat because that sucker was betraying me and beating way too fast.

I could not form coherent thoughts for another full minute or so. I am not even holding back, he genuinely looked so attractive he quite literally stole my breath away. All I could do was mumble nonsense while staring at him like I misplaced my glasses.

"Detective, are you alright?"

"What? Me? Yeah, no problem, bud." Bud???? I'd have slapped myself if I could.

"Your body temperature is rapidly rising and your heart is displaying signs of arrhythmia. I suggest we-"

"I suggest we nothing, Connor. I promise I'm fine." See that kids, right there, is what we call a bald-faced lie.

"If you say so. What brings you here, detective?"

"Detective? Come on, we're not at work, man. Chill."

"Alright then, (Y/n), what brings you here?" (Y/n). The way he said my name made me want to explode. Sure, everyone says my name, its my name but oh my god, when he says it, he makes me want to change my last name to his. Which would be Hank's. Huh. That's weird.

"Right, yeah, work stuff. Fowler sent me with evidence for you to analyze. Apparently, they can't wait for the lab like the rest of us mortals." I shoved the file into his hands a little too quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice how my hands were shaking. He noticed.

"Your hands are trembling." Of course he noticed. Connor notices everything.

"I'm just… cold," I lied, despite standing in his very well-heated apartment.

Connor tilted his head slightly, that signature analytical look of his making me want to crawl under a rock. "You appear to be experiencing stress. Should I—"

"Connor, no. I don't need an analysis, I need to… sit down." That was the best I could come up with. Great. Very smooth.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing toward his couch. I moved to sit down, hoping a change of scenery would calm my nerves. It didn’t.

Connor sat across from me, still in those damn sweatpants, his expression unreadable as he opened the file and started flipping through its contents. His focus should’ve made me feel at ease- it was just Connor being Connor- but instead, I found myself staring at his hands. They were annoyingly perfect, like the rest of him, and I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like if he- nope. No. Abort mission.

"Is something wrong with the file?" he asked suddenly, looking up.

"What? No! The file's fine. Great file. Top-tier evidence. You're gonna love it." Jesus Christ, someone take my mouth away.

Connor raised an eyebrow. "You’re behaving… unusually."

"I’m behaving perfectly normal," I said, crossing my arms in what I hoped was a casual way but probably looked defensive. "Maybe you're the one behaving unusually. I mean, sweatpants? Who are you and what have you done with Connor?"

He blinked, then looked down at himself as if realizing for the first time what he was wearing. "Hank suggested I try some human rituals like pajamas and sleep to better accommodate my deviancy. He claims it’s a key aspect of ‘human relaxation.’ Was this choice inappropriate?"

"No!" I said, a little too quickly. "No, you look—" amazing, perfect, hotter than anyone has a right to look "—fine. You look fine."

Connor studied me for a moment, and I swear I saw the faintest flicker of amusement cross his face. Was he… smirking? Oh no. Oh no, he knew.

"You should consider it," he said, casually returning to the file.

"Consider what?"

"Relaxing. You seem… tense."

And just like that, the ball was back in his court. I was flustered, he was composed, and I was left wondering how I was supposed to get through the rest of this visit without making a complete fool of myself.

Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

a/n: y'all, this is my first time writing dbh, sorry if it sucks T_T

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800 #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 connor x reader #maya writes #dbh #dbh x reader #connor x reader fluff #dbh rk800 #dbh fluff

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 3 months ago

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just like heaven | connor, rk800

ART CREDIT: @possumy (Original post) a/n: hi everybody happy april im happy to still be here my detroit become human hyperfixation is alive and well. also so much love to @possumy if you see this and want me to change the header, i will!!! please just send me a dm/ask!! your art was just perfect for how i was imagining connor to look in this fic and its just. i am obsessed with it your art is so lovely. and one more shoutout to this post by @salt-and-a-dash-of-pepper made that sort of inspired this fic. warnings: cursing, kissing, connor being autistic and also learning emotional regulation, connors first relationship, fuck gavin reed, Gavin is awful to Connor and is weird to reader, canon typical violence, connor snaps at reader, connor is so awkward, mostly canon accurate, established relationship, bridge to terabithia, hank is hank, lots of complicated emotions lots of connor learns how to be a person, uhhh i guess thats it wordcount: 3.1k summary: connor feels a lot of strong emotions and has no 'emotional regulation' feature. pairing: deviant!connor, rk800 x gn!reader now playing: just like heaven - the cure "show me how you do it/and i promise you/ i promise that I'll run away with you/i'll run away with you"

The one thing no one ever tells you about being a deviant is that you need to learn emotional regulation, you know, that thing that small children learn in elementary school?

…Well maybe someone did tell Connor, given how long he spent hunting deviants before becoming one.

But with the revolution and the high stakes scenario surrounding Detroit, he sort of.. skipped that step.

Now, as the dust settles, he’s… adjusting to his new life. And there are so many things that are new--

Including emotions. He never imagined feeling the sort of things he does now..

So, here’s an incomplete list of the emotions that Connor deals with after becoming deviant.

Anger

He can’t help himself. He can’t control it.

Gavin Reed is just so fucking annoying.

And he can’t figure out why—

Androids are on their way to becoming human’s equals. Sure, they’re not there yet because humans are in fact self-righteous creatures who are very stubborn, but slowly, more and more are becoming increasingly tolerant.

Except for Gavin. He still hates androids. Especially Connor.

And all he wanted was to make you a coffee before you got out of your meeting with a witness, a human with a sharp disdain for androids. Hank had gone with you to ask the right questions.

So, he went into the breakroom to make you a warm drink..

That’s what boyfriends do, right?

“What’re you doing, bolts?”

Even at the sound of his voice, a pang of agitation ran through him.

“I’m making coffee for—”

The cup is smacked out of his hand and into the nearby sink before he can fully turn around.

Anger immediately starts to build in the pit of his stomach.

“Androids don’t drink coffee,” He reminded, “Androids don’t eat or drink anything. Stop fucking pretending you’re like everyone else.” He spits, and Connor takes a moment.

He inhales, remembering your advice.

Just ignore him, Connor. He’s a dick who just wants to make you feel as worthless as he does.

“It’s not for me.” He starts, turning now to go make you another cup of coffee, but before he can turn, Gavin grabs his shoulder to turn him again.

“Who’s it for then, Bolts?” He asks, and he steps closer to Connor, his face closer to his. Connor’s cheeks twitch, resisting the urge to scrunch his nose at the smell of cigarettes that wafts off him. “Hank?” When Connor doesn’t answer, Gavin’s face lights up in realization.

“Oh, it’s for your little crush. What a pair you two make.” Gavin scoffs. “For a bot, you have good taste. I might just have to show them what a real man could—”

Connor can’t help himself. He shoves Gavin back a bit. It makes Gavin laugh.

“I’ve been waiting to beat the shit out of you since you attacked me in the archive.” He says, swinging a punch Connor’s way before he can even react.

You thought your session with the witness was going well. Then, from outside the interrogation room, you heard shouting. You glanced over to Hank, your movements coming to a stop.

“Uh,” He clears his throat and stands up, nodding you over to the door, “We’ll be right back, Ma’am.” He says to the witness.

Your stomach fills with dread, hoping Connor was able to stay out of trouble (Yeah, right.).

You see the crowd gathering around the breakroom, and before you can even ask yourself who this fight could be between.. Gavin Reed is thrown across the precinct, and you realize who the other person in this fight is.

Hank realizes it too as Gavin gets up and quickly runs at Connor, as they start to hit each other, fighting like two hormonal, angry teenagers. It’s certainly what Connor feels like in this moment. Well, it would be, if Connor was thinking about anything except seeing Reed’s blood splattered across the precinct floor.

Hank looks to you and before you can register his strides towards the fight, he says,

“I’ll get Reed, you get Connor out of here.”

You’re the one who wanted to date him, remember?

You shove through the crowd, pushing big burly cops who should definitely break this fight up cheer—They’re either cheering for the long overdue ass-kicking of Gavin Reed or the annoying android that won’t seem to quit.

You move to Connor as Hank pulls Gavin back, face bloody but no longer throwing punches—Still hurling insults.

“Connor!” You raise your voice as best you can, and you even hear a few giggles from behind you. To your coworkers, it sounds like a cat trying to bark. Connor takes a step towards Reed but the sound of your voice pulls him out of this trance.

His head snaps towards you, and you can see the way he’s panting; Not from exhaustion. Androids don’t run out of breath.

Connor’s chest is falling dramatically, up and down, because of the hot anger that flows through him. Blue blood runs down his face, staining his shirt. His knuckles are wiped in Reed’s blood, and he turns towards you with such anger.

And then he blinks, his LED blinking yellow. But he’s still angry. All you can think to do is grab his wrist and pull him away to one of the bathrooms.

Connor leans against the sink, just breathing heavily. He doesn’t say anything as you slip off his jacket, and then his tie. You untie it and run it under warm water in the sink. He’s still seething as you use the tie to wipe away the blue blood from under his nose, dripped down his lips, down his chin and neck.

“What happened?” You ask after a moment.

Connor’s LED flashes red and his grip on the sink tightens.

“What do you think happened?”

A frown tugs on your lips.

“I think you let Reed get to you.”

Connor’s LED blinks red again.

“Get to me? He was fishing for a fight, and I just—” He feels his anger bubbling again. “I couldn’t take it anymore—”

You believe him.

“It’ll get easier,” You start, and Connor just shakes his head.

“Stop it,” He turns from you, pacing around the bathroom.

“It will, he’ll get tired of it, and—”

“You don’t know that!” He snaps, raising his voice at you.

You freeze. So does Connor.

Your name tumbles from his lips, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I’m sorry,” Connor says softly, “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I just.. I got so angry, and I know that’s not an excuse, I just..” Connor’s shoulders finally slump, exhaustion taking over his anger. “I can’t stand the way he talks about you.”

The two of you look at each other, both of you looking for the other to break this silence with sage words of wisdom.

But, neither of you find the words.

Instead, you just step forward and wrap your arms around him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hug back. Connor inhales and exhales deeply. He’s found these hugs to be the best solution to these intense outbursts.

Sadness

Fridays become movie night.

You, Connor and Hank order a pizza and longue on the couch, Sumo at your feet. When movie night first started, Connor challenged Hank to be sober for it. So, he no longer drinks on Fridays. But, in exchange for his sobriety, Hank challenges Connor to experiment with showing affection for you.

It starts with making you tea or snacks, but slowly, you find yourself with his arm around your shoulder, or his hand intwined with yours.

That doesn’t really affect this story, but you think about it every Friday night.

Tonight, you’ve chosen to watch this old movie your mom always put on for you as a kid—Bridge To Terabithia.

Connor enjoys it more than he thought he would, but then he gets towards the end. His face falls when he sees the solemn tone the main character comes home to after a day at the museum.. He feels this.. horrible sadness, and he’s not sure when he starts to cry..

All he knows is that he watches the last few moments of the movie with tears running down his face. He glances to the side and notices your eyes on him. A wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feels like he’s done something wrong by crying at a stupid kid’s movie.

That feeling goes away when he feels your head leaning on his shoulder.

Jealousy

Another emotion Connor just cannot help but feel.

He’s not stupid—You’re gorgeous, of course people are going to flirt with you! The worst part, in his opinion is the fact that you don’t even seem to notice it.

You’ll go out to dinner, and the waitress will give you a free dessert.

You’ll get phone numbers from witnesses.

And worst of all?

Gavin loves to flirt with you.

Connor is just sitting at his desk, painstakingly waiting for you to step out of the interrogation room where you’re helping interview a perp for a case Reed’s working on. He knows you have no interest in Reed. In fact, you really fucking hate Reed, the way he tortures poor Connor. But even more than that, you have no interest in Reed because you are utterly devoted to Connor, even if he doesn’t see that.

His head picks up when he sees you and Gavin leaving the room, talking by the doorway. What were you two talking about?

And Connor is very bad at social cues, so he squints, trying to analyze your body language to gauge what you’re feeling in this moment.

Hank is talking about—Well, Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he stopped paying attention to the subject matter a couple of minutes ago. He’s trying to assess how quickly he can cross the room and rip Gavin’s hand off as it lands on your upper arm.

“And then, I said—” Connor is up and moving as Hank talks, “Connor, what the fuck—Oh, god,” That last part happens when Hank realizes what has grabbed Connor’s attention.

“Detective Reed,” He starts, and to you, it feels like he just shows up out of thin air, “I believe I heard Captain Fowler was looking for you.”

Reed scoffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, bolts?” He rolls his eyes, “Guess I should see what the old man wants.” His eyes flicker to you, glancing you up and down, “See you later, hun.”

Connor recognizes the pet name. Pet names. A very human quirk that Connor cannot seem to get the hang of. But, he can certainly try, no?

An arm is wrapped around your shoulder, but because Connor is not a physically affectionate person, your face twists in confusion.

“Goodbye, Detective.” His head tilts towards you, “Would you like to get lunch.. darling?”

You smile at his awkwardness.

“Sure. Lunch sounds nice.” And you let him walk you out of the police station, not even sure where the two of you were going to lunch. But as soon as you’re out on the street, you have to mention it, “I didn’t know you get jealous,” you tease.

Connor blinks, his LED light flashing yellow.

“It wasn’t—” He shakes his head, “I’d hardly call it jealousy.”

“Oh yeah?” You wonder, “Then why’d you come interrupt me and Reed?”

“Well, you were clearly uncomfortable,” He starts, and then he takes a deep breath, “Besides.. I’m your boyfriend. Not.. Gavin.” Connor says his name with disgust.

You just giggle.

“I think you’re cute when you’re jealous.” There’s no bite to your bark—You really do love your oblivious, amazing boyfriend. Why would you complain that you have someone as handsome and as kind as Connor being so unknowingly jealous?

You decide to ignore the way his ears flush blue. Or at least, you decide not to tease him about it.

Yearning

This one’s my favorite. It’s Connor’s favorite. It’s bound to be your favorite.

Office parties at the DPD always get a little too out of hand.. the vicious mix of ego and alcohol is always a dangerous equation.

But, Ben Collins is a friend of yours, so you and Connor showed up to his retirement party. They decided to host it at the police station, pushing the desks to the back so they could have a makeshift dance floor.

Everyone is dressed nice—Mostly in suits, but now, with the night winding on, everyone’s taken off their jackets, loosened their ties..

Connor’s sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and the first two buttons of his shirt are undone. He looks.. so fucking good.

You’re socializing, having had a drink or two, your hair messier than it had been when you came in. You’re just talking, but when the person you’re talking to leaves, Connor approaches, a smile on his face.

Your handsome— No, gorgeous—No, Pretty boyfriend with those beautiful eyes of his. You know Connor doesn’t really believe in more than numbers and science—psychology over astrology type of guy, or at least, as far as he’s expressed.

But you thank your lucky stars that you have him in your life, but if you told Connor that you’d guess he’d just scrunch his nose and ask what astronomy had to do with the two of you meeting.

(“I’m just thankful for it. I mean what are the odds?”

“Considering I was designed to be a detective where you work, to be your partner? Rather high, I’d say, but if you’d like the exact number, I could run a calculation.”)

You grin.

“Hi, pretty boy,” You coo, just a little tipsy. You watch as he blushes, a deep blue creeping onto his skin.

“Hello,” He says softly, unable to tear his eyes from you. “Are you doing okay?” He rubs your arm gently, his thumb brushing back and forth a bit. You just smile wider, blushing just as much as him.

Maybe it’s the fact that everyone here is too drunk to notice, or maybe it’s just that he feels this deep, crushing affection for you. Like he needs to be as close to you as possible. He’s not sure why, but he can’t find it in himself to deny it or push it away.

He his hands find yours, and just for a moment, Connor thinks about retracting the skin on his hands, a sign of intimacy from Deviants, but he gets too scared.

Instead, he begins to assess the risk of various spots.

Everyone’s in and out of the restrooms, you can’t go there. It seems wrong to drag you to the evidence room or even the interrogation room.

Connor glances back to the desks behind you. How no one’s paying attention to them. How even if they were, they’d be too drunk to care.

So, he leads you by the hand over to a particular desk he’s looking for, before patting the desk.

“Here, sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. Your eyes flicker down to the name on the desk, and you smile.

“Connor—”

He just looks at you, waiting. But you can see the corner of his lips twitch up as you sit right on Reed’s desk.

“Isn’t it normal to engage in a bit of friendly practical joking?” he asked, and he steps towards you, his hands landing on either side of you on the desk, caging you in. You just smile and your hands rest on his shoulder.

“You’re going to, what, prank Reed by making out with me on his desk?” You ask, a teasing edge to your voice.

Connor’s LED flickers pink, and then stays that color as he leans in, his nose barely touching yours. He’s just close enough to feel your warm breath against his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with some harmless fun..” He mumbles, “We’re all friends here, right, Detective?”

Your heart thumps.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, but all you can to think to say is,

“You and I were never just friends, Connor.”

Something about your words recall memories of his—

Meeting you for the first time.

Saving you instead of catching a deviant.

He thinks about sitting with you on the steps of your porch, sipping hot tea, and listening to the sound of rain hitting the roof above him, your body leaning against his.

He wasn’t even a deviant at that point.

So yeah. The two of you were never ‘just’ friends.

But instead of justifying your claim, Connor’s resolve diminishes, and he presses his lips against yours, and for a rare moment—it’s all worth it.

All the hate he experiences from humans, all the hot, dangerous anger he can’t keep down, the horrible shame, the deep, overwhelming sadness—

It’s all worth it for this moment, when he feels truly alive.

He deepens the kiss and doesn’t stop you when he feels his hand on his jaw, then barely brushing past the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he knows he has to get as close to you as possible.

His hands wander, his fingertips just barely dipping beneath your top—

And just the tips of his fingers retract his skin, white fingertips brushing against your skin. He can’t help it. He pulls away from the kiss and begins to kiss your cheek, and then your jaw, and then your neck—

Each kiss is precise, calculated by him to elicit the reactions he knows you’re capable of, trying to satisfy the hunger he finds himself unable to conquer.

Connor had always considered himself an expert on Deviant Behavior—But you, the way you tug on his collar to bring him closer with one hand while playing with his hair with the other, and the vague, fuzzy-at-the-moment memory of you holding your umbrella over Connor’s head, one of the first true kindnesses he remembers—it makes him realize that he knows nothing about deviant behavior or the concept of desire.

But when the sound of small gasps leave your lips, quiet, only for him to hear over the loud music and people laughing, crying, yelling, singing, and the feeling of your warm skin beneath his ivory fingertips, Connor realizes he’s more than willing to educate himself.

Properly.

Thoroughly.

He decides to make it his mission.

And Connor always accomplishes his mission.

#connor #connor rk800 #connor dbh #connor detroit become human #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #connor dbh x reader #connor x you #connor x y/n #connor rk800 x you #connor rk800 x y/n #connor dbh x you #connor dbh x y/n #detroit become human fanfic #autistic connor

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fictionalsownme · 1 year ago

Text

"Whump" | connor rk800 x reader | WIP BLURB

I don't post him all the time, but the connor brain rot is pretty bad lol I also really like whump and I saw this pin on pinterest and that's how this was born hehe. again, not really finished! abrupt ending but you can guess where it goes, established friendship, in my head the reader is a secretary at the DPD but it's not referenced. female reader, reader uses she/her pronouns.

disclaimer: this blurb is unedited and unfinished. just wanted to share some WIPs! Enjoy!

"Connor!"

You found his body slumped on the floor against the wall, his head hanging at an awkward angle.

There was blue blood… his blood everywhere. It was so bright against the blackness of the dirty floor that it almost seemed to glow.

"Oh my god--"

You ran to kneel at his side, nearly slipping on the thirium under your shoes. His legs were straight out like a broken doll's, you could see patches of his plating where his skin had retracted in the damage. Trying to manage your breathing, you gingerly cradled his head, lifting his face to meet your gaze. It was worse than you thought.

Retracted skin revealed massive damage to his white under-plating. Scratched and dented and caved-in. Blue blood was splattered across his face, it poured from his nose and over his lips to drip off his chin. It was immediately clear he wasn't conscious, with glazed over eyes and a slack jaw.

Whether he was in a sort-of standby or already dead you had no way of knowing.

You peeled open his jacket to reveal the center of his chest where thirium pooled the thickest in a gaping, mangled crater. Down to his lap and spilling over the dusty cement. You had no idea what his inner wiring was supposed to look like, but you knew it wasn't this.

"Fuck-- Connor?" You held his cheeks, your crying already starting up fresh once again. "Connor, can you hear me? I don't-- I don't know how to fix you! Connor?"

No signs. No light from his LED, no flickering of his irises, nothing.

You were sobbing in earnest now. Hiccupping and shaking and breathing in harsh, shuddering breaths. You grabbed your phone, trying not to scream when your realized your hands were covered in blue blood. Connor's blood. Your best friend's blood. It took you too long to use your phone, with multiple pauses to wipe your sticky hands on your jeans.

When it finally began to ring, you cradled it between your ear and shoulder. You weren't sure what your hands could do, so you started wiping the blood from Connor's face. Away from his eyes, off his cheeks.

"This is Markus."

"Markus! It's me, you gave me your number in case of emergencies-- It's Connor, he's-- Connor's hurt, he's not awake and there's blue blood e-everywhere and I don't know what to do, I don't even know if he's--"

"Wait, wait-- slow down, where are you?"

"I-I don't know! Some random abandoned building off of— fuck— Riverbank Drive? Connor's been missing all day since he picked up this case by himself and I retraced his steps and I-- fuck, Markus-- I don't even know if he's alive!"

"I need you to tell me his condition so I can get some biocomponents for him-- can you tell anything from what you see?"

You balled the fabric of his jacket in your fist. You swallowed hard, "His chest looks really bad-- it’s all m-mangled and, and empty? He… He's lost a lot of blood— God, Markus, tell me he's not dead."

"I'm on my way with some help, alright? Send me your location and stay with him. If he wakes up, keep him still until we can get there, you got it?"

You sobbed again and nodded, covering your face with a blood-drenched hand. "I'll be here, I promise."

After Markus hung up and you sent him your location, he assured you he was coming as fast as he could.

You kneeled there, clutching the material of Connor's sleeves and crying. You were so useless. For all you knew, Connor was already dead, and you were here, holding his empty body. Androids were more resilient than humans, sure, but all living things had a limit. You'd never stopped to consider Connor was anything other than indestructible.

You heard Markus' footsteps echo through the empty structure some minutes later. You had managed to reel back your hysterical sobbing down to silent tears with some measured breathing but your resolve was… precarious.

"Markus! Over here!”

You didn't see him until he rounded the corner, Simon in step behind him.

"Jesus Connor--" He hissed as he ran to join you at his side. He had a case with him, which Simon got to work opening. Parts and tools, packs of blue blood.

"What happened?" Markus asked you as his eyes flickered over Connor's form, no doubt scanning his injuries.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the tears streaking down your cheeks and the blood on your hands, legs, face. You couldn't take your eyes off of Connor. "I don't know."

"Someone must've taken him by surprise--" Simon began, beginning to dig through his supplies. "Could've been some kind of electrical signal, got the jump on his hardware, lagged him out before the fight even started."

"Is he gonna' be okay?" You asked, now just holding onto the edge of Connor's jacket sleeve while Markus and Simon got to work.

"I don't know. Could depend on how long he was shut down."

Markus' hand reached deep into the cavern at the center of Connor's torso. He pulled out what must've been a biocomponent, mangled beyond your recognition. He passed it to Simon, before grabbing what you hoped was a new one from the case.

He swapped out a few pieces like that, all unrecognizable to your untrained eyes. Until finally Simon was holding one you knew. You'd forgotten it's name, but it belonged in the center of Connor's torso and regulated his heartbeat. That's how Connor had explained it anyway.

Before he situated the final part inside his chest, Markus spent some time repairing Connor's plating and wiring. Adjusting placements, bending pieces back into place, sometimes welding seams just enough to function. You stayed quiet, staring blankly at Connor's limp hand resting on the floor next to yours.

Useless.

You were utterly useless.

You started when Markus kur-chunk-ed the regulator into place in the center of Connor's chest, his hands angling back and forth to ensure the connection.

The faint sound of machinery blossomed out from his center. Quiet humming and whirring, like a computer booting up.

His face was mostly angled toward you but you couldn't see his LED. Markus and Simon were still at work. Connor's eyes still looked glazed over and empty.

You eyes caught on some movement toward the cement. His fingers twitching.

"He's awake," said Simon suddenly. "Keep him calm."

You looked back to his face, and while he still had that unfocused expression, there was something in his eyes. A clue that he could see you. Well, maybe sort of see you.

"Connor?" You tried softly. Your throat was tight with the promise of more tears. That familiar tingling in your nose, the watering of your eyes. "It's me, I'm here with Markus and Simon. You… You're safe."

"What…" His voice came out staticky and metallic. Like it was passing through an old radio. He blinked, slow. "What happened…?"

You swept a hair away from his brow. You hoped in his state he couldn't feel your trembling. As scared as you were, you didn't want to frighten him any further. His head turned just that little bit more towards you. His LED was a dim crimson.

"You got hurt. But you're gonna be fine. We're gonna take care of you."

His eyes fluttered, and he was that little bit clearer.

"You found me?"

You wanted to say 'barely', wanted to say 'by sheer dumb luck', wanted to say 'I almost didn't. I almost killed you'.

"Always."

"Alright, Connor, you're going to start to stabilize a bit,” said Markus finally as he seemed to finish up the last of what work he could do.

He slowly, slowly, turned his head to meet Markus' eye. Like a ghost.

"When you can stand, let us know. We need to get you back to Jericho for more repairs."

"Is he going to be okay?" You couldn't help asking again.

"Now that he's awake, as long as we get him to Jericho soon, he should be fine," Simon reassured. "You're going to be fine, Connor."

“Someone attacked me… I didn’t see their face… don’t remember…”

“It’s okay,” you added gently. “Take it slow.”

“They could still be here.” And his hand took yours in a staggering motion. Weak and slow and disjointed.

“We’re here, Connor.” Markus put his hand on his arm. “We won’t let anything happen to her.”

Even like this… Even with all this pain he was still worried about you.

“I can stand.”

You wanted him to take it slower, to not push himself too hard, but the sooner he got to Jericho the better.

You stumbled back, dropping his hand as Markus and Simon went to either side of him.

They slotted their arms under his and behind his back, helping him to his feet. He actually groaned a bit at the effort. It was a deep, staticky sound you’d never heard from him before.

You walked with them like that, trying not to start crying again. You went a few paces ahead of them to open doors and check around corners as the four of you made your way out.

Every time you glanced in Connor’s direction, he was already watching you with a clouded expression. The look was only made more intense by the smeared blue blood across his face and in his hair. You prayed you’d never see him this hurt again in your life.

“What’d you get yourself into now, my friend?” Markus’ voice carried a slightly teasing tone.

“Bad day at the… office… what can I say?”

When you made it outside to the crisp Detroit air, a car was waiting. You practically jumped in, punching in the destination to Jericho while the two men helped Connor into the car as delicately as they could. You eased him in from your side, bracing him against you. Another strained sound fell from his lips. He was still bleeding, and his lap quickly started to pool with blue blood once again.

“Fuck, Connor…” The whisper escaped you before you could stop it, your hand bracing against his dented plating where the thirium seeped from the seams.

“I’ll be alright… please, just… stay close…”

You pressed your lips together to stop more tears from surfacing. “I will, I promise.”

In some weird way, you’d never felt so close to him before. The two of you were just friends obviously, maybe even best friends, but right now… You felt like he could ask you anything— anything in the world— and you’d do it.

You thought about helping him sit up straighter, but instead kept him held against you. And he leaned into the hold.

The ride to New Jericho couldn’t go fast enough. It wasn’t a boat anymore, so at least you didn’t have to go as far as the docks. The now embassy-style building was closer to the heart of Detroit, and fully fitted with an android hospital, outreach programs, offices for the new android officials (the most prominent, of course, being Markus). A base of operations of sorts.

You’d been once before with Connor, hence how you got Markus’ number. You would never be able to thank him enough.

#kenna writes #dbh #detroit become human #detroit bh #connor #connor rk800 #connor x you #connor x reader #connor x y/n #dbh connor x reader #wip #whump #angst #rk800 #dbh rk800 #fanfiction #fanfic #dbh fanfic #dbh fanfiction

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