#ruthless connor x reader

[estapa-edwards]

GRUMPY - C. BEDARD

paring: Connor Bedard x fem! reader

word count: 2.4k

requested? yes - connor falling in love with a grumpy girl and trying to get her to go out with him

warnings: use of y/n.

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I never really understood the appeal of hockey. The cold rinks, the aggressive players, the constant sound of blades cutting through ice—it all seemed like chaos to me. Yet here I was, surrounded by it day in and day out, working for the Blackhawks. It was a job, nothing more, nothing less.

I'm not exactly known for my sunny disposition. Some might even call me grumpy, but I prefer to think of myself as practical. After all, there's no room for sentimentality in a world as ruthless as professional sports. 

That's why, when Connor Bedard first sauntered into the locker room with that boyish grin of his, I rolled my eyes and went about my business. He was just another cocky player, another name to remember, another ego to manage.

But Connor, he was persistent. He made it his personal mission to break through my tough exterior, to chip away at the walls I had carefully built around myself. He'd bring me coffee in the mornings, cracking jokes that were admittedly funny despite my best efforts to remain unimpressed.

"You know, Y/N," he'd say with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you're not as intimidating as you think you are."

And I'd scoff, brushing off his attempts at charm like they were nothing. But deep down, I couldn't deny the flutter in my chest whenever he flashed that smile of his.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Connor's relentless pursuit began to wear me down. He'd find any excuse to strike up a conversation, lingering in the locker room long after his teammates had gone home.

"I bet I can make you smile," he declared one evening, leaning against the doorframe with a confidence that was both infuriating and undeniably attractive.

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is that a challenge?"

He grinned, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between us. "You could say that."

And before I could protest, he launched into a series of ridiculous anecdotes, each one more absurd than the last. And much to my dismay, I found myself laughing despite my best efforts to resist.

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Connor's antics became a regular occurrence, each interaction more endearing than the last. Whether it was stealing my pen during team meetings or leaving a trail of sticky notes with cheesy jokes on my desk, he seemed determined to brighten even my darkest days.

One particularly dreary afternoon, he appeared at my desk with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a paper bag in hand.

"Got something for you," he announced with a grin, placing the bag on my desk.

I eyed him warily, wondering what new scheme he had cooked up this time. "And what might that be?"

"Open it and find out," he urged, practically vibrating with excitement.

Sighing, I reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of fuzzy socks, adorned with cartoon penguins. Despite myself, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Thought you could use some warmth," he explained sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

I couldn't help but feel a warmth of a different kind blossoming in my chest as I thanked him, tucking the socks away in my drawer.

But it wasn't just the grand gestures that made my heart skip a beat—it was the quiet moments too, like the way he'd reach for my hand during team meetings or offer a reassuring smile when the pressure became too much to bear.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, I found myself lingering in the locker room, lost in thought. Sensing my solitude, Connor sidled up beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of chaos.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a lifeline.

I turned to face him, offering a small smile in return.

"Rough day?" he asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

Without hesitation, he pulled me into a warm embrace, holding me close as if to shield me from the world outside.

"You're not alone, you know," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

And in that moment, with Connor's arms wrapped around me, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to be.

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Connor's presence became a constant source of light in my life, his unwavering support a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

During late nights at the rink, when exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, he'd materialize out of nowhere with a goofy grin and a bag of my favorite snacks in hand.

"Thought you might need some fuel," he'd say with a wink, plopping down beside me as if he had nowhere else to be.

As I reached for a bag of chips from the assortment he'd brought, curiosity got the better of me. "How did you know to get all my favorite snacks?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite myself.

Connor chuckled, leaning back against the cold metal bleachers. "Well, let's just say I have my ways," he replied, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his vague answer. "You mean you went through my desk again, didn't you?"

He feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Me? Never," he said, his grin widening into a full-blown smirk.

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a laugh. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

But as I reached for another snack, a warmth spread through me—a warmth that had little to do with the chips in my hand and everything to do with the boy sitting beside me.

Connor shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do to make sure his favorite grumpy girl doesn't starve, right?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. "Favorite grumpy girl, huh? Is that what I am now?"

He flashed me a boyish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. You're my number one source of entertainment around here."

I nudged him playfully with my elbow, a smile tugging at my lips despite my efforts to maintain a stern facade. "Well, I'll try not to let it go to my head."

But deep down, I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through me at his words. In a world as chaotic and unpredictable as professional sports, Connor's unwavering presence was a comfort—a reminder that even in the midst of the madness, there was still room for laughter and friendship.

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Despite the joy Connor brought into my life, a lingering doubt nagged at the back of my mind like a persistent shadow. What if his relentless pursuit was nothing more than a game? What if I allowed myself to open up, only to be left with a shattered heart in the end?

I couldn't shake the fear, no matter how hard I tried to bury it beneath layers of laughter and camaraderie. Every whispered compliment, every tender gesture, only served to fuel my uncertainty.

Was I just another conquest to him, another challenge to conquer before moving on to the next? Or was there something more genuine lurking beneath his playful facade?

As much as I longed to believe in the sincerity of his affections, I couldn't ignore the voice of doubt that whispered in the depths of my mind, urging me to tread cautiously, to protect myself from potential heartache.

But despite my reservations, despite the walls I had built around my heart, I couldn't deny the pull he had on me, the way he made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible.

And so, as I grappled with my conflicting emotions, I found myself torn between the desire to take a chance on love and the fear of getting hurt in the process.

But perhaps, just perhaps, the risk was worth the reward

Connor's presence in my life was undeniably intoxicating, his warmth and affection a balm to my weary soul. Yet, beneath the surface, doubts lingered like shadows in the corners of my mind.

Was I merely a conquest in his game of pursuit, a challenge to conquer before moving on to the next? Or could there truly be something genuine blooming amidst the laughter and tender gestures?

I longed to believe in the sincerity of his affections, to cast aside the doubts and surrender to the possibility of love. But the scars of past heartaches served as a reminder to tread cautiously, to protect myself from the pain of shattered dreams.

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Despite the walls I had built around my heart, I couldn't deny the undeniable pull he had on me. His presence made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible, igniting a fire within me that I had long thought extinguished.

As I wrestled with my conflicting emotions, I knew that the decision lay solely in my hands. Would I succumb to the allure of his charm, risking everything for the chance at love? Or would I retreat into the safety of solitude, shielding myself from the potential pain of a broken heart?

But as each day passed, and Connor's presence continued to brighten my life, I found myself leaning more towards taking that leap of faith. Despite the uncertainty and the fear, there was something about him that felt different, something that whispered of authenticity amidst the chaos of my doubts.

I couldn't deny the depth of our connection, the way his laughter echoed in my heart long after he'd gone, or the way his touch sent shivers down my spine. And deep down, I knew that hiding behind my walls wouldn't protect me from the inevitable—the risk of heartache was an inherent part of love, but so too was the potential for joy and fulfillment.

So, with a hesitant yet determined heart, I made a choice—to open myself up to the possibility of love, to embrace the vulnerability that came with it, and to trust in the belief that sometimes, the greatest rewards in life were found in taking the biggest risks.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, my resolve only grew stronger. Connor's presence in my life had become a constant source of joy and comfort, his unwavering support a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty that raged within me.

Yet, despite the warmth of his affection and the undeniable connection that simmered between us, the words remained unspoken, lingering on the tip of my tongue like a forbidden secret.

But as the air grew colder and the days grew shorter, I knew that I couldn't keep hiding behind the safety of my doubts forever. If I wanted to truly embrace the possibility of love, I needed to take a leap of faith—a leap that would require me to bare my soul and lay my heart on the line.

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And so, on a crisp winter evening, with the gentle glow of the moon overhead and the soft whisper of snowflakes dancing in the air, I found myself standing outside Connor's apartment, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepared to take that leap into the unknown.

Summoning every ounce of courage within me, I raised my hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the silent night like a drumbeat of anticipation.

Seconds stretched into eternity as I waited, my nerves on edge as I wondered if I had made a mistake—if I had misread the signs and allowed myself to hope for something that could never be.

But then, just as doubt threatened to consume me whole, the door swung open, revealing Connor's familiar silhouette against the warm glow of the lamplight.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Hey," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I met his gaze, searching for any sign of rejection or reluctance.

But instead of turning me away or offering empty platitudes, Connor simply stepped aside, inviting me into his world with a silent gesture of welcome.

And as I crossed the threshold into his apartment, leaving behind the chill of the winter night for the warmth of his embrace, I knew that this was it—this was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment when I would finally lay bare the depths of my heart and confess my love to the one who had captured it so completely.

Taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse, I turned to face Connor, my eyes locked on his as I prepared to speak the words that had been swirling in my mind for so long.

"Connor," I began, my voice trembling with emotion as I reached out to grasp his hand in mine. "There's something I need to tell you—something I've been wanting to say for a long time now."

He listened in silence, his gaze never wavering as he waited patiently for me to continue.

"I know I've been hesitant to open myself up to the possibility of love, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with it," I confessed, my heart laid bare before him. "But being with you, it's shown me that sometimes, the greatest rewards in life are found in taking the biggest risks."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Connor's lips, his eyes sparkling with understanding as he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"I know I've been afraid to admit it, to acknowledge the depth of my feelings for you," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. "But the truth is, Connor, I'm in love with you. Completely and utterly, with every fiber of my being."

And as the weight of my confession hung in the air between us, I held my breath, waiting for his response, hoping against hope that my words hadn't come too late—that they hadn't shattered the fragile bond we had worked so hard to build.

But then, in the quiet stillness of that moment, Connor's expression softened, his eyes alight with a warmth that mirrored my own as he reached out to cup my cheek in his hand.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in close, his breath warm against my skin. "I've been in love with you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. You've brought light into my life in ways I never thought possible, and I can't imagine facing the future without you by my side."

And in that moment, as our lips met in a tender kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could, I knew that I had finally found my home—in Connor's arms, where I belonged.

[captain-camille]

_ 𝐀 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧 _

‣ Jack Sparrow x f!reader

‣ requested by anon ‣ 4,2k words

‣ After the ruthless pirate Captain Connor kidnapped you; a mermaid, your situation seems hopeless. Until another outlaw appears who has a score to settle with Connor and ends up freeing you along the way. Destiny or not - there is a connection quickly forming between you...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ yn got kidnapped and treated badly, violence, mention of injuries/blood, language

Slowly, the distant gunshots faded to peaceful twitter and rustling of an insular rainforest. The Sinister Lady was lost to the firepower of another ship; a huge vessel with imposing black sails.

Captain Connor was cursing a pirate named Jack Sparrow when less and less of his prized possession was seen above the water surface.

The reason for the crew's obvious fear of this man, whoever he was, was beyond you. However, you overheard two men whispering about a chart Connor had stolen some months ago.

Much to your chagrin your abductor's new plan was to shake off Jack Sparrow in the uncharted part of this island. By foot.

The men who had been holding you hostage for over two months after your violent abduction in Whitecap Bay didn't care in the slightest that you were used to a tail, not legs.

A faint sigh of destiny told you that there was no use in running from the man who was coming for the crew of miscreants around you.

But could dying today really be worse than constantly awaiting death?

You raked your neck to get a last glimpse of the unfamiliar ship before the path would be peppered with bushes and Ramón trees.

“You! Sea whore!“ the first mate suddenly barked at you, yanking at the rough metal chain that was locked around your wrists.

Blood was smeared on your skin from how sharp the metal was. Your legs hurt from how far they had already made you walk.

Not daring to look him in the eye, you simply lowered your head. The consequences for misbehaving were ugly.

“Not tha' hard“ he muttered in a disgusting slur. “Ne'er slow down, or else I put a bullet in ye pre'y head“.

Resilience was weighing down on you like a barely comforting blanket. But you knew there was no use of resistance.

You had tried.

Another filthy pirate caught up with the first mate, exchanging glances of egotism with him.

“Ye know, I'll get meself a whole lotta wenches with all tha coins from sellin'er“ he growled, showing off his rotting, black teeth in the process.

A cold sensation of repulsion and woe cascaded down your spine, reminding you that your buyer could be even worse. Vertebra by vertebra.

Your skin began to burn with every minute you spent separated from the sea. Any water.

Oh, how you missed surging through the vast ocean.

But, frankly, you did not miss any of your sisters after they had left you behind with Connor. Most likely they thought you were dead by now.

That is if they were still thinking about you at all.

Every step was exhausting as you were still getting used to walking on your legs, let alone climbing. A painful hiss of surprise escaped your lips as a sharp stone pierced your right foot.

Immediately, the Captain stormed towards you, fury and annoyance written all over his wrinkly face.

“Wha' a sissy, you are. Pull in them hideous fangs and shut it!“ the man growled, spitting on the moist ground only a few inches from where you stood.

You were already tensing, awaiting a rough, painful pull on the chains but your legs were fast enough to keep up.

Coercion seemed to have been a potent teacher after all.

Finally, the seemingly endless topical forest around you broke apart and revealed a small glade with a lake. You could't help but allow a wistful sigh at the sight.

Your home.

“Now we hope Sparrow drops followin' us in 'ere and we can continue head south for Port Felice on tha morrow“ Captain Connor announced earning a collective “Aye“ from his crew.

“I shall spare you the trouble of hopin' then, eh?“ a foreign, male voice echoed from behind a tall bush.

Connor's men rapidly drew their pistols and swords, eyes frantically searching for the voice's source.

Must be Jack Sparrow, you concluded, unsure of what to expect before a strange yet handsome looking man emerged from the greens.

His dark eyes, underlined in black, were trained on Connor and his first mate. He overlooked you sitting on the mossy ground.

“Sparrow“ Captain Connor growled through gnashing teeth.

You were sure there was unease sparkling through his bitter gaze. After Sparrow just sunk his ship the default hostility of Connor's gaze wouldn't suffice.

“I'd tell yer men to stop threatenin' me, if I were you“ the man with brown dreadlocks and a tricorn hat suggested, leaning closer to Connor in a provocative way.

With so many weapons pointed at him, he did not seem to feel threatened in the slightest. Fearless, even.

If you were to die, maybe you would at least be able to watch this disgusting men around you bite the stranger pirate's bullet first.

Sparrow backed up again, now circling the two men in charge of the Sinister Lady's crew instead. “Luckily and conveniently, I happen to be me. Not you“ he added with a finger pointing at Connor then to himself, the perilous tone gone.

You fought the urge to giggle at the asynchrony of his words and gesture. After two months stripped of any joy, you felt an instant connection to the airy pirate.

“Lower yer weapons, damnit“. Connor finally gave the order, his honor clearly at stake.

A satisfied grin spread on Sparrow's handsome face when he clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

Weirdly, he was oozing pure dominance in the loose and relaxed way he composed himself. He was almost comfortable in this precarious situation.

Connor squinted his eyes at the man who had many colorful beads and silver charms woven within his braids.

“C'mon, what 'bout an accord? What do ye want?“.

You cocked your head slightly, confused by the way the usually so frigid and irreverent Captain acted in Sparrow's presence.

It pained you to know that he was somehow tamable and you had failed to do so all this time.

On the other hand, a shiver spread on your human thighs at the thought of what this Jack Sparrow must be capable of if a man like Connor obeyed him.

“The real question is; what do I not want? Right, Master Gibbs?“ Jack purred.

Another man, a little smaller with grey hair and chops, stepped out of the opaque ticket of the rainforest.

He scrutinized the crowd and eventually spotted you on the ground.

Your pupils widened at the unexpected eye contact before you tore them off him in a demure way - reluctant submissiveness that slaps, rusty chains and nights in the brig had taught you.

“Aye, cap'n“ the man, Master Gibbs, verbally agreed before you could feel his narrowed gaze on you once again.

“And wha' be it you don' want?“ Connor shot back, clearly growing impatient while his opponent seemed to revel in it even more.

“Me charts in the hands of another, you cowardly scallywag“ Jack finally dropped the playful façade again, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

Connor swallowed behind a stone-like expression.

So all this was indeed about a chart... It must lead to some kind of fortune or riches, you thought, recalling the many treasures you were familiar with.

Only you would never tell a man about them. It was sister's law that a mermaid was to die rather than reveal the mysteries of the sea.

But were you still to obey their laws now that you were on your own?

“Tough! Went down with our ship ye sunk“ the first mate interfered, hatred dripping from his words like spit.

Jack just raised a brow, looking the man up and down like he was a bleating goat.

Once again you caught yourself at the brink of smiling.

“Who be you?“ he inquired, nodding in his direction with no urge to actually approach him.

Connor's head quickly turned to his first mate who was now overridden by his own boldness and approaching Jack with a bad idea.

“Tha one to tell ye bilge-sucking self that we don't have what ye want“ he began, a slur in his drunken voice “Send us to Davy Jones' locka or leave“.

Jack cocked his head, fingers twisting his mustache, as if considering what the man had just proposed.

“Meh... Am not leavin' just like that, says I-ahh“ the pirate Captain noted but his declaration ended in a huff when the first mate lunged at him.

You flinched, squeezing your eyes shut. Such kind of scenario wasn't new to you by now.

“Mother's love, Jack!“ Gibbs produced a pistol from his belt and didn't hesitate a second to shoot the wanton first mate.

Another shot rumbled through the rainforest, men were shouting and grunting.

At this point you were covering your ears with your hands, keeping your knees close to your chest. Chained and weakened outside your element, there was nothing you could do about the chaos anyway.

However, when the chains around your wrists began to rattle and draw blood again, you finally dared to look up.

Connor glared at you with painful defeat in his eyes. “Get up, beastie“ he snapped, his arm extending, ready to slap you across the face if you didn't obey fast enough.

But his arm got pulled down by Jack who appeared on Connor's side and was looking at you with what seemed like mesmerization.

And sorrow.

“I said release her not beat 'er“ Sparrow whispered in the Captain's ear, his deep tone an unmistakable threat. It set Connor's mouth in a hard line.

You stayed silent, not knowing if you were expected to say something while stunned by the prospect of the foreign pirate's words.

Did he mean it?

But why?

Mister Gibbs emerged from behind Jack, a rusty key ring in his rough hands.

“Human trafficking, the worst of sins it be“ he muttered when gently taking your wrists and sinking a big, black key in the lock of your chains.

Connor's face was twisted by many emotions, most of them shades of disarray and disgust. “She a monster. A whore of tha seas. No human“ he spat.

Gibbs frowned at the man's cruel words, their nature fueling his doing.

*click*

You couldn't suppress the beam of relief that spread on your face when the heavy chains slid from your hurt wrists for good.

“Ahhh“ Jack cooed, leaning down to catch your lowered gaze and giving you an equally gleeful smirk beneath raised brows “I tell ye what she is, mate“ he straightened his spine again, dragging your invested gaze up with him.

All the fear in your system evaporated.

“A gorgeous creature. And not deserving of yer wheelin' and dealin', savvy?“.

“Thank you, Mister Sparrow“ were the first cautious words you addressed to the mercurial yet friendly-looking pirate.

His smile became a crunched grimace, his pointer raised. “It's Captain, if you please“.

A silent 'oh' fled from your lips.

You didn't know what to do or say. But his gravelly chuckle at your confusion signaled that he had not taken any insult.

To your right Connor spread his arms, sighing.

“I did wha' ye asked. Now let us go“ he complained, his authority crumbling before the eyes of his crew.

Gibbs nudged Jack's side, his eyes mentioning to the trail where they initially came from.

“Actually, I don’t. And settin' her free was just what the high-up people call common courtesy“ Jack sauntered past Connor, his head high, savoring his honorable, non-piratey act.

But you didn't fail to see a hint of pain in his extravagant display.

Was he hurt? The smell of blood told you yes.

“You, missy“ he suddenly called out to you, his dark eyes crawling all over your human body, squinting at the many bruises “Remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow saved a mermaid“.

The charming pirate winked before gesturing to the lake. An invitation to take your freedom back.

At first, your steps were hesitant as you weaved past the crew members that had treated you like shit for the past two months. Nevertheless, enthusiasm was quick to infiltrate your veins when the sparkling water surface came closer.

You looked back one last time, seeing how Jack Sparrow offered you a warm smile of farewell before resigning to deal with Connor.

“What'r ye waitin' for, lass? The lake leads to the ocean through tunnels beneath“ Gibbs ripped your attention from the man whose husky voice would linger in your mind.

“You have my eternal gratitude“.

And with a quick dive you were gone.

The water felt like heaven's sweetest redemption engulfing your dried out body. Replaced by your tail, the unfamiliar sensation of having legs vanished.

It wasn't that you disliked them, but the circumstance of learning to walk could have been more pleasant.

Eventually, you got yourself back; your essence and courage.

What Jack did to those men didn't bother you in the least. Whether he killed them or let them live to return to your furious buyer without a mermaid...

They were pure evil. So were your sisters but never you.

Gibbs was right.

You ended up in a coral reef after swimming through narrow underwater tunnels that were carved in the islands volcanic landmass.

With your tail flailing and pushing your upper body above the surface, you looked around only to spot the ship with black sails half a mile away.

The sight of your bold rescuer and Master Gibbs in a dinghy made you smile. Him and his crew were returning to their ship.

You wondered where they would head next... what adventures this mysterious man had lived and was yet to have.

Curiosity got the better of you so you dived down, rapidly making your way to the longboat.

At least you would like to thank him one last time. It was more than in order after only hell knew what tribulations he had saved you from.

“Captain Sparrow?“ you gingerly called out for him, not wanting to startle the men to death.

“Aye?“ you heard his taken-aback question, seeing him turn and twist his upper body to find you; the source of this dulcet mermaid voice.

It made you laugh. Freely, now that no one would harm you again.

A member of his crew, missing one eye, poked Jack's arm and pointed out to where you floated in between gentle waves.

The pirate Captain's handsome face lit up with the same wide grin as it did after he had told Gibbs to unchain you.

“I see, haven't returned to yer sisters yet. Why's that?“ he queried, gold teeth reflecting the Caribbean sun's evening light.

“Have not“ you smiled, swimming closer and gripping the rim of the dinghy to keep yourself steady “I wanted to thank you again. Properly. For saving my life“.

The pirate gave a quick chuckle, waving off as if it was nothing.

To you it was everything.

Jack gently lifted your right hand from the wood, hoisting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your wet skin. His lips were surprisingly soft and the beard tickled.

You giggled, enjoying his playful chivalry.

“Me, I'm a bad man, Missy. But a monster I'd be if I let an innocent, pretty woman suffer“.

Your giggle became a genuine beam. Fleeting was the worry what he might think of your fangs.

Master Gibbs cleared his throat, earning a slightly annoyed look of 'not now' by his Captain, whose gaze flickered back to you.

Another man, chubby with a few long, thin hair pushed Gibbs to the side as he spoke up “Don't let yerself be charmed by 'er, Cap'n. She's a mermaid!“.

The worried man's voice was filled with scepsis, still he awkwardly tried to shoot you a polite smile across the lines. It reminded you that no matter Jack's behavior, you were still to earn the crew's trust.

“Is there a way I could return the favor of saving me?“ you asked the Captain, your face twisted in guilt.

Jack disliked the way this emotion weighed heavy on your stunning face. But he couldn't think of something, so he remained silent.

A rare thing to happen for the witty Captain, as Gibbs realized.

Carefully, your tail began to flap and you pushed the dinghy towards the imposing, dark pirate vessel.

“Whoa! What's that?!“ it blurted out of one of the crewman, whose grip around the edges of the boat clawed.

It only spared them a bit of muscle power but it was the first 'helpful' thing your nervous mind came up with.

The Captain, who had his fingers playing with his braided beard, thinking, now pointed at the chubby man, calling him out.

“See?“ he began with a victorious shrug of his shoulders “Not vicious at all“.

Another quiet chuckle left your lips at his quirky nature.

Jack Sparrow seemed anything but a bad man.

As you arrived at the stern of the ship where the lines were cast for the crew to climb back up, Jack signaled them to go on.

“All hands, weigh anchor!! Get 'er ready to make way“ his commandeering tone sent an interesting ripple down your scales.

He turned his attention back to you, naturally making you smile again.

“Ye know, lass, there ain't no debt to be paid or anything. Mark me words“ he noted, his dark, mysterious eyes dwelling on your soft gaze.

Your mouth opened, but closed again as you reconsidered.

The Captain watched you intently, the corners of his eyes crinkled more and more with every second of looking at your face framed by wet, wavy hair.

“What about the chart you so desired?“ you ended up asking, the idea of you searching the wreck for him spreading in your keen mind.

But Jack shook his head, the charms and pearls in his dreadlocks jingling.

“Lassie, the ship exploded when we attacked. The chart's burnt to nothin' but ashes“.

The excitement of doing him a favor sunk at his words, dragging the corners of your mouth along.

Suddenly, you felt the back of Jack's hand grazing your cheek. Your eyes shot up. The memories of being mistreated were too fresh for your instincts not to be alerted.

However, the rough hand stilled, an unspoken ask for consent in the pirate Captain's underlined eyes.

You granted him a smile, weirdly relishing in the sensation of his touch. So different to what you were used to by now.

So... good.

“Believe you me, it be satisfaction enough to know that this rat Connor will be returnin' to Blackbeard empty-handed, savvy?“ he snickered, ignoring the stinging in his hand.

Not really listening to his words, you slowly found yourself the one who was enchanted.

But then there was this smell again...

Your nostrils flared as you realized it was his hand that had been cut by Connor's nasty first mate. Bastard. It reminded you of the times he had slapped or yanked you like a doll.

Without Sparrow you would have just given up any hope someday.

Just speaking what was on your mind at that moment, you softly took his hand in yours.

“It would mean the world to me if I could return the favor of saving me“ you explained, eyes trained on the deep, bleeding cut in Sparrow's palm.

“You've proven I can trust you with my live even though I am, -was, no one to you“.

The pirate let you examine his wound, not feeling the slightest urge to pull away.

On the surface of his mind it vexed him how vulnerable he allowed himself to be with you, given he barely knew anything about you other than what you were.

But deep down he felt a blooming connection; trust as you said.

“Aye? Ye think me trusty?".

Slowly, giving him time to adjust to the burn of salt water in an open wound, you guided his hand to dip into the ocean.

With brows furrowed, mouth agape, Jack watched what you did as if spellbound.

“Yes...“ you affirmed, joy dancing across your heart when Jack's eyes sparkled at the sight of his wound now gone. “I have nowhere to go anyway. My sisters have betrayed me so they surely won't miss me“.

As you set his hand free, the pirate's pupils quickly narrowed on his wet palm, twisted it in the rays of sunlight as if the wound could be hidden by an inconvenient shadow.

“Wha' ?“.

“It's truly gone, Jack“ you giggled, not realizing how you had impulsively addressed him.

But he did, guiding his attention back to you and wearing a flirty smirk.

Maybe it was the right thing to give in to your request, he thought, admiring the way the entire beauty of the ocean laid within your smile.

“Well...“ he began to propose, standing up on the somewhat rickety dinghy to offer you his healed hand “if yer so keen on squarin', bonny, what say you to joinin' me crew for a while?“.

Almost reflexively, you accepted his hand.

The allure of a new, fresh start spread in your system when the Captain intertwined your fingers with his.

“I owe you after all, Captain Sparrow“ you grinned.

He gave a light-hearted chuckle before throwing his head back and shouting for his crew to haul the lines.

You let out an unbridled cry of joy as Jack pulled you in his arms and the crew hauled the two of you on board in a swift, fast move.

When the absence of water began to take it's toll on your body, you panicked in realization of your impending state of undress.

“I got ye, wait“ the Captain murmured when he set you down and slid his brown jacket off, revealing a loose white shirt that complimented his tanned torso.

The jacket was long enough to cover you all the way to your knees and had golden buttons to close it with. So very unlike the mere rags Connor had given you.

“Thank you“.

“Anytime. We still need to fetch ye a dress or somethin'. Master Gibbs?“ he called out only to be startled by his first mate already lingering close.

A conflicted look settled on his face as he stared at you through squinted eyes.

Then, he leaned over to Jack, voice lowered “Cap'n, ye know it's frightful bad-“

“Nonsense!“ the Captain promptly cut him off, patting his back with vigor.

“It's only bad luck if ye believe in trifles such as luck, and see bad in the lass in question but, as things look, firstly, am not enough a fool to buy into luck and, secondly-“ he interrupted his wordy excuse and gestured to you with a wink “don't tell me yer eyesight has worsened 'cause she's just a darlin'.“

Although, his winding, quick speech prompted confusion, you couldn't stop your lips from smiling.

This man was unlike anyone you had ever encountered; witty, affectionate and yet erratic.

You were already enraptured by his nature.

Out of the blue, the Captain turned on his heels to face you anew, eyes narrowed. “Missy, do you have a name?“ he queried in a low tone to which you hesitantly shook your head.

Names were uncommon among your sisters.

However, before shame could overtake your expression, Jack's face lit up with an idea.

“Oi! You lousy landlubbers-“ he called out to his crew, the authority infusing his voice with a rasp “Welcome Bonny as she'll be sailin' with us for a while“.

“AYE“ the crew quickly echoed back.

Many pairs of excited eyes rested on you, heads nodding appreciatively what you returned with a shy but positive smile.

Absentmindedly stepping back, you felt Jack's warm hand ghosting the small of your back, the other one already tight on the wheel.

With a sigh of relief and the bright feeling of security, you leaned in, accepting his gentle grip on your waist. His protectiveness was incredibly pacifying.

Looking back it the extraordinary Captain, you saw his gold teeth flash in a proud grin before he spoke up again.

“And no one's touchin' her. She's mine, savvy?“.

Feeling hot blood rush into your cheeks, you instinctively let your weight shift backwards until your back rested against his chest.

“We shall see about that, Captain“ you snickered, already feeling the ocean breeze blow your hair as the Black Pearl gained speed.

Unbeknownst to you, a playful pout reigned over Jack's face before it got replaced with the pure thrill of anticipation.

Hunger for the yet-to-be-found and yet-to-be-done.

It was even more intense this time with you by his side; a wondrous, genuine soul who trusted him just so.

After all the bad and lawless he had done, he was still a good man.

After all the bad and dull you had endured, a spirit of adventure was still in you.

A spirit you never thought you carried but there you were, settling a debt with Captain Jack Sparrow.

You began to hope it would take you a lifetime.

The many charms in his hair chimed when he leant down to your level, his mouth a mere inch from your ear. “Ever heard of the Amulet of Ponce de Léon's wife?“ his husky voice asked, eyes shifting from the horizon to you.

Sliding him a knowing, lively glance, you curled your lips up before they parted and whispered “I have, Captain. What do you want to know?“.

“First, I wan' ye to know that for you, it's just Jack...“

Off to stranger tides... Thank you for reading my hearties ❤︎

tags: @holdmytesseract @mochie85 @socksracoon10 @goldencherriess @chronicallybubbly @kcd15 @always-on-hiatus @groovyqueer

[scarletttries]

Stewy x Roy!Reader Headcanons (Succession Request):

Pairing: Stewy (Succession) x Roy! Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Nothing smutty but quite a lot of drug related content. The story doesn't reflect any judgement of mine on drugs but was more what I thought would make most sense for a reader who was close with Kendall and Stewy :)

Author’s Note: Thank you to the lovely anon that sent me this request, I am always up for dipping into the Succession brain rot again! Fellow succession fans please send me your Roy family thoughts any time 😊 Succession Masterlist here!

Stewy x Roy Reader Headcanons:

- Everyone thinks they had a unique childhood, and maybe that's true, but growing up a Roy created more than its fair share of doubts and bizarre experiences that shaped you into the person you are now.

- Much to Logan's distain you chose to work outside of Waystar, preferring to spend you time focused on much more ethical endeavours. That was until he fell ill on his birthday.

- No family event was ever without drama, but having to rush Logan to hospital was a new level of intense even for you. Suddenly everything was a flurry of decisions; medical, family, business, all the things you had tried so hard to escape, firmly taking you back in their grasp.

- Kendall had always fancied himself a leader, your brother immediately stepping into the limelight and offering to take over as chairman of Waystar. No sooner than Gerri asked the question of succession Ken was dragging you into the nearest empty room, trying to form an alliance, knowing you would at least be there for him. No matter how many times you had to pull him of tourble or drive him to rehab, you always did it with a smile, not judgement, a rare, safe dynamic amongst the Roy toxicity. He knew you'd tried to keep away from all the pressure of Waystar, but your brother needed you yet again and you knew if you didn't stick by his side he'd fly so close to the sun you'd barely recognise the charred figure that remained when he came crashing down to earth.

- By the time Connor found you in the waiting room you'd officially been announced 'Executive Advisor' to Kendal's 'CEO', a little disappointed and concerned that you'd been dragged back into the organisation you had bonded over escaping, and finding your own place in the world.

- Roman would make jokes about you being a sell-out, Shiv insisting this had been your plan all along and that you were just as ruthless as the rest of them, sibling rivalry stoked for decades by Logan until there was barely an ounce of trust to share amongst the five of you.

- It was almost disheartening how quickly you found your feet back in corporate life, firmly planted at Kendall's side to ensure he stayed true to himself and didn't crumble under the enormous weight of his own name. You knew he could do something special with his work if he stayed true to himself, watching him find his feet, only to have the ground beneath him crack open at Gerri's reveal of the loan set against the value of Waystar and the plummeting stock threatening to bring those payments into reality. You sat quietly at his desk as Gerri left you with the news, watching the hopeful vision Kendall had for his time as CEO slip away in record time, only one viable solution seeming possible.

- That's how you found yourself sat in an unusually casual coffee shop waiting to meet Stewy. You could feel your heart flutter as you thought about the last few times you had seen him, usually picking Kendall up from a bender at Stewy's request and watching his lingering gaze follow you as you'd take your brother away. Even though you'd only met a dozen times, and it had been years since your paths last crossed, as you watched him step through the glass door you couldn't help but match his slight smile. The one he'd always given you as you sat on the little balcony of his first shitty apartment after you'd put Kendall to bed, and stayed just long enough to exchange a few abstract words over a hastily brewed pot of coffee. Stewy had been friends with Kendall long enough to begin to understand what it was like to be a Roy, to have the expectations that brought, along with the uncertainty, and talking to him on those late nights had always felt like one of the few times you could honour both parts of yourself, the Roy and the person you chose to be. As he waved you over to the counter you couldn't help but think how much he still looked like the warm, excitable twenty something you'd seen all those years ago.

"(Y/n)! I should have known Ken would send the most charming Roy to ask me for a favour, he always knew my weaknesses!" He joked, pulling you into a soft hug as you attempted a handshake. "You gotta try these before we talk business." He grinned, hopping over the counter to reach a few pastries, throwing down an unnecessary amount of bills for the bemused barista.

"You haven't changed a bit." You said with a smile, giving an apologetic wave to the girl behind the counter and leading Stewy to a table in the quietest corner of the shop.

"You look good too (y/n)! I can't believe it's been years! And now look at you, top of the office at Waystar, just like you said you'd never do." He mocked, sitting across from you and pulling the chair as close as he could manage.

"Yeah about that.." you explained the situation; Logan's illness, the debt, the stock price, Kendall's solution. He listening intently, the wide black expanse of his eyes reminding you all too well of Kendall's darker moments.

"Fuck it, yeah I'll help Ken out. For old times sake, and because he sent you." He gave you his most charming smile, all effects thoroughly counteracted by the familiar bloodshot lines in his eyes.

"We really appreciate it Stewy, you're really saving Kendall, both of us, here." You said sincerely, hoping some of it would breakthrough his facade, but he just smirked in response,

"I'll be seeing you round the office then."

- That wasn't an empty threat. From theo moment the equity agreement was announced, much to Logan's distain, Stewy was a regular fixture by yours and Kendall's side. He seemed to be enjoying the chance to reconnect with you, without the usual interruption of a drunk Kendall to which you had previously been accustomed. You found yourself feeling that familiar smile creep across your lips when he'd hold open the conference room door, his assistant readily holding a coffee for you. It was easy to get swept up in his charm, the nights of years past still casting a beautiful glow over all your interactions, but like so much that this job offered you; it was empty bullshit. He was just a charming guy, disappearing to the bathroom for his next white line and coming back with a compliment or memory or line to keep you onside. You had been through enough of that with Kendall when he was younger, seeing how hard he was fighting his addiction with Stewy back in his life. And so when Stewy would get a little more obvious, you made sure to politely decline his advances, making it clear that he wasn't what you were looking for right now.

- "What are they even looking for? I'm rich now, and I'm smart and we've got history. And i'm good looking!" Stewy ranted to Kendall as they sat in his office late one night, the sting of each of your rejections starting to make him feel like that scared kid again, too nervous to ask out his best friend's sibling but excited at every tiny opportunity to see them.

"You're a beautiful man Stewy, but they're looking for someone who can make it through the day without running to the bathroom to do a line." Kendall replied darkly, confident your experiences caring from him wouldn't have left you in a hurry to fall back into that role.

"Are you shitting me? Does anyone actually do their job sober now?" Stewy spat back in disbelief,

"(Y/n) does." Kendall retorted, raising an eyebrow as his friends exasperated expression. "I'll tell you what Stewy, even though I think it's disgusting you want to date a Roy, if you try cutting back, even if just for little while, I'll talk you up next chance I get." The gauntlet laid out by Kendall was quickly accepted, Stewy extending his hand to his friend's surprise

"Easy, fine, no problem!" Kendall recognised the determined look in his eye, the one he'd seen in the mirror the first time he actually managed to stay sober for more than a week.

"Is this just about the challenge, or do you actually like (y/n)? Don't fuck with me." Kendall said seriously, not yet accepting Stewy's outstretched hand. He saw the glimmer of sincerity in Stewy's eyes as he nodded solemnly,

"It's not like that, man, you know how long I've felt like this. They're special."

- It was fucking hard. And it didn't happen that first week, but after a little while and with new found respect for Kendall's sobriety, Stewy stopped with the coke and pills and focused on showing you and Kendall how serious he is about making this work.

- So true to his word, one day Kendall would find a chance to corner you and ask if you'd noticed anything different about Stewy. And of course you had. He's gone from cheesy flirting to being sincerely kind. Less frantic in his energy, calmer, and while you'd always enjoyed spending time with him, there was something about this version of him that was even nicer to be around.

"He's doing it for you, you know." Kendall clarified, putting the words to a suspicion you couldn't help yourself having over the reassuring weeks. It was hard to miss the longing looks across meeting rooms that seemed to have shifted from flirty eye contact, to heartfelt wanting. Finally it started to feel like this was something that might really work.

- "Stewy!" You called out, chasing him into an elevator at the end of another long day in the office. He lit up a little at the sound of his name leaving your lips, the way he always did when you were younger, like your presence was enough to give him more hope than he started with. "Do you have dinner plans?" You asked warmly, the understanding of what that meant flickering across his face as he nodded happily, a grin spreading across his cheeks so wide they threatened to ache.

"I do now."

- Dating Stewy would be the easiest thing in the world. Even though you'd spent a lot of time living in completely different worlds, deep down you know each other to such a fundamental level that it felt natural to anticipate each other's needs, wants, and moments of weakness. Stewy had spent a lot of time bouncing from fling to fling, never really settling down and telling himself he was happiest that way. But having a person that really got him, that saw beneath his showy exterior to the sensitive soul beneath would be a comfort that he never wanted to stop feeling. Years of playing games with women would be replaced by total transparency with you, never thinking twice about telling you exactly what we wanted.

- Conversation with Stewy would flow with no effort from that first dinner until your first Waystar event as a real couple. You tried to brace yourself for the catty remarks from your family, Roman and Shiv scoffing and seeming to seeing it as just another ruthless ploy for company power. But nothing could have softened the outburst from Logan at the implication Stewy had taken another thing from him. The party crowd seemed to fall silent as he bellowed at you,

"You're in bed with the fucking enemy!"

"Dad, Stewy's not the enemy." Kendall tried to mediate, selflessly stepping into the line of fire for you both,

"I don't want to hear another fucking word from you! It's not enough to sell my company to this guy, but you threw in one of your siblings!" Hearing yourself be referred to like a business asset reminded you of exactly why you'd steered clear of working for Waystar in the first place, your name always trading for more than your humanity. You excused yourself from the party, dashing onto the nearest balcony, desperate for air and the feeling of no longer being inside that insidious office. As the door slowly closed behind you Stewy followed you out in the cold night, wordlessly letting the jacket drop from his shoulders and trying to wrap it around you. You shrugged it off, taking a step further away from him, not raising your gaze from your shoes as you spoke.

"Don't." He faltered, wanting to take a step towards you but desperate not to push you further away in doing so.

"I'm sorry your old man reacted like that, but you know he just doesn't like to feel like he's losing. Like he's losing you." He was thoughtful as he spoke, timidly taking another step towards you, trying to get your eyes to meet his.

" He's right though," You said, trying to suppress the sniffle breaking through your words, "This'll never work between us Stewy." Before you could turn away from him again, he placed his hands on your shoulders, tone confident and resolute.

"This will work. Because I know you, and I know Ken, and I know how you Roy's think. And this is real (y/n)! This isn't a business strategy, or a chess move, or an investment I'm waiting to cash in. I have loved you since I was a twenty year old moron desperately hoping my friend wouldn't be able to hold his liquor so I could call you, and get to the part of the night where I got to feel like a real person for once. The rest of it never mattered. For me it's always been about you. And I want to do this for real, and I'm giving this my all because I know we'd be great together. But only if you want that too."

The intensity in Stewy's stare was clear, the sincerity in his tone cutting through decades of Roy mistrust and uncertainty. You could see all of him in that moment, the sweet young man that made you coffee at midnight, the hard worker who'd made a name for himself against all odds, and now the thoughtful, kind person he'd grown to become. The person that cared for you because of and despite your last name. Your slowly spreading smile told him his words had made it past your defenses, his hands moving to cup your face as his lips pressed softly to yours, full of hope and promise for a happy future together.

- With renewed belief in the possibility of something real with Stewy, it felt easy to start actually making plans together. Leaving the office no longer meant heading back to your apartment alone, with Stewy firmly fixed to your side, eagerly figuring out where your evening should take you. You can expect Stewy to know about every new restaurant opening, every hot new bar, your names on every list on opening night with a handshake greeting at the door from the owner.

- Knowing how difficult it can be at Roy family events, Stewy insists on being by your side for all of them, a friendly face in both yours and Ken's corner no matter how the inevitable drama plays out. More often than not he also has an excuse in his back pocket for when he realises you 'need to get called away for work' leading you to a car waiting outside to take you on an actual vacation with no family involved.

- Even though you and Stewy both have all the resources a person could ever hope for at your disposal, the nights that mean the most to you are when you just stay in, sitting on a now much more elegant balcony, but still sharing coffee and a cheap blanket as you reminisce about your youth and talk about the world you want to make happen for you both.

- Now that Stewy finally has you, he'll do anything to protect you and keep you close, knowing that the life you can make together is so much greater than the ones you could try and live apart.

[chaos-thirium]

91, and 140 👀 could it be with sixty and reader, but like hank or connor or someone is asking about their relationship and sixty later corners reader and says something along the lines of they dont want to be "just friends" anymore?

*melts into goop*

Again, not a gender-neutral gif, but the borderline-possessive neck hold felt very Sixty to me! Hope you like it, anon! I wanted to melt into goop too. 

91. “We’re...just friends.” 140. “I can’t believe how wet you are already.” 

(Soft) Sixty x AFAB reader. Rated M. 

You had an interesting history with the RK800s and 900. You met Connor first, naturally, and quickly developed a connection. The two of you had gone on two dates and kissed exactly once before you'd both realised you were destined to be friends. Although you were left with a pesky physical attraction, your certainty about what the nature of your relationship should be helped you ignore it. When you met Nines and Sixty, who shared the same handsome face, you treated them the same way, until eventually your friendships with them took on their own unique dynamics, different from your relationship with Connor.

After a while, it became clear that Sixty was the one you gelled with the most. If you'd been in school still, you'd probably have called him your best friend. But the physical attraction had never gone away, and sometimes - too often for comfort - he did things that reminded you that it was there. You told yourself it was harmless. You could just appreciate the fact that he was a good looking man, you were a mature adult. And yet, he made you feel like a horny teenager. He’d altered the colour of his hair to differentiate himself from Connor, and the pale blond suited him. You’d actually forced yourself to downplay exactly how much you thought it suited him, lest he figure out how much you fantasied about fucking him.

Since Sixty was, by his very nature, astute and observant, you dedicated a lot of time and effort into making sure he didn’t know. You were never really sure of your success, but he at least never mentioned it. You knew him well enough to feel confident that if he did know, he’d probably tease you about it, so there was a good chance you were in the clear. Either that, or he had another reason for not bringing it up.

As time passed, you gradually started to understand that you were doomed. Sixty was your best friend for a reason. The two of you understood each other, had a compatible sense of humour, shared many of the same opinions on music and movies, and you knew he’d always have your back if you needed him. That was the kind of thing you expected from a friend. When you threw in the curveball of also finding him wildly attractive, it was time to accept that he wasn’t just your best friend anymore. That combination of things placed him firmly in the crush category, only the term ‘crush’ didn’t really fit either. He was more than that.

Your shallow attraction to Connor and Nines faded over time, but only grew stronger for Sixty. You inwardly denied any hint that Feelings were involved. It was better that way. Friendship was clearly the only thing he wanted from you. And that was fine. It was.

In fact, the only one in your friendship group showing signs – extremely subtle signs, at that – of having a romantic interest was Connor. You weren’t surprised by that. He was as ruthless as Sixty and Nines, but had a softer side that the other two didn’t. You’d known it would only be a matter of time before someone saw it and snapped him up.

That wasn’t to say that Sixty and Nines couldn’t be soft, but they were very particular about when they showed it, and to whom. Connor, by contrast, was more widely friendly.

You knew it was also only a matter of time before Hank noticed and commented, and that occurred at the work winter party. The bullpen of the DPD had been transformed by cheap Christmas decorations and fairy lights, making the area look like the most clichéd idea of what an office party was like. A buffet table had been set up to one side, a makeshift bar next to it, and the usual terrible songs were playing. Fowler was somehow getting away with hiding in his office, perks of being chief, you guessed. The few officers that were still on duty were shut away in one of the conference rooms, and you felt kind of sorry for them. Crime didn’t stop just because the DPD was having a party.

You’d been chatting with Connor, Sixty, and Chris Miller before you’d excused yourself to use the bathroom. When you returned, Connor had moved and was talking to Hank, their backs to you as you approached. You didn’t mean to, but you unavoidably heard part of their conversation, since they were as far from the speakers as they could be.

“…seem like something’s different,” Hank was saying, attempting to be casual.

“I’m constantly trying to develop,” Connor sidestepped neatly.

“Yeah, but…” Hank trailed off with a huff. “Okay, I’m just gonna come out with it. I’m not gonna poke around in your business, but I…I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t still have feelings for you know who.”

“No,” Connor replied at once. “That ended quickly and it was a mutual decision. We’re better off as friends. I promise you, there’s no hurt feelings there on either side.”

With a jolt of surprise, you realised they were talking about you. The thing that was barely even a thing between you and Connor had ended months ago. Why was Hank bringing it up now?

“That’s good,” Hank said, although it was clear there was still something on his mind. “But you just seemed…like you might have feelings for someone. I just wanted to make sure you know that you can come to me for advice if you need to.”

“I know, Hank. Thank you. And…maybe I do, but it’s still new. It’s experimental for both of us, but we’re navigating it together.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. It didn’t sound like Connor’s person was a human. You didn’t know why that surprised you. Probably because all the people he’d expressed interest in so far had been.

“Well I’m glad you’re not lovesick,” Hank said.

“So am I,” Connor said with amusement. Then he sobered. “I’m not sure I can say the same about Sixty, though.”

Your eyes widened, then narrowed as you frowned. Sixty lovesick? Since when?

Before there was a chance of clarification from Connor, Nines approached, and Connor turned his head to look at him. Nines’ LED flickered, indicating that they were communicating silently, and the expression on his face was surprisingly soft. That was almost enough to sidetrack you, a whisper of suspicion flitting through your brain. But then Nines was walking past Hank and Connor, drawing level with you.

“You know eavesdropping is frowned upon?” he said, a tiny smirk on his lips.

“I…was just leaving the bathroom,” you defended lamely.

“Mm-hm,” he said sceptically.

You pulled a face at him, searching him for any signs of being in the bloom of a new relationship, but he was as stoic as ever. He’d always been less readable than Connor.

The man himself had turned to see what had caught Nines’ attention, putting an end to your eavesdropping anyway. You smiled at them both, heading back into the bullpen to investigate the buffet, your mind buzzing with the scraps of information you’d heard. You picked up a cupcake with a sugar snowflake on the top of it, feeling the need for something sweet.

You shoved Connor and Nines to the back of your head, focusing on what felt most pressing. Did Sixty really have unrequited feelings for someone? And if so, how did you not know about it?

You turned away from the table, and your eyes immediately met Sixty’s. He wasn’t too far away, chatting with Chris, but his attention seemed to be on you. It made your breath hitch.

Unless...

“Hi.”

The thought was interrupted before it could fully form, and you blinked at the vaguely familiar face that had just appeared in front of yours.

“Uh…hello.”

“Ryan,” he reminded you, although you couldn’t remember ever learning his name. “I work the night shift usually, so we don’t really cross paths.”

You nodded, managing a smile. You’d seen him around a few times.

“How’s things?” you asked politely.

“Great! Enjoying the party?”

“So far.”

“Good, good.” He paused, seeming a bit hesitant.

You couldn’t think of anything to say, and you glanced forlornly at the cupcake in your hand, figuring it would be rude to start eating it mid-conversation.

“Uh…okay, so I’m just gonna come out and say this,” he spoke up. “What’s the deal with you and Sixty?”

Oh, you wished you knew. But you gave the answer you always gave when faced with that question.

“We’re…” Fuck, why were you stumbling over the words now? “We’re…just friends.”

Ryan smiled at your answer. “Cool. In that case, I might ask you out sometime.”

You glanced at him in amusement. “Might? Kind of mysterious.”

He shrugged. “I have to be a bit mysterious so you think I’m interesting.”

You laughed despite yourself. He grinned and left you alone. At least he wasn’t pushy, you appreciated that.

You started taking your cupcake out of its case, only for Sixty to materialise at your side.

“Got another admirer?” he asked.

You scoffed at the word ‘another’. You had a lot going for you, but you weren’t exactly swarmed by interested people.

“Maybe.”

“Gavin’s drunk. He started asking me if androids have genitals, so I offered to show him in private. He ran off somewhere. I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted.”

You laughed, and he smiled at you.

“Maybe he was hoping you’d follow him,” you pointed out.

Sixty shoved his hands in his pockets, and you discreetly admired him. He wore black slacks with a dark red shirt, his belt low on his hips. His sleeves were rolled up, and you saw that someone – probably not Gavin – had scrawled their phone number on his forearm. The sight filled you with an unwanted pang of jealousy.

“Ah, so you think his bigoted behaviour towards androids is because he secretly wants my cock down his throat?” Sixty said with his customary bluntness.

Usually you didn’t mind his bluntness, it made you laugh, but for some reason you felt a little flustered.

“Who knows how Gavin’s mind works,” you brushed off.

“I’m not 100% convinced that it does.”

You snorted, the tension a little broken. You finally found a moment to bite into the cupcake, giving yourself the hit of sweetness that you’d been craving. You got frosting on your nose, and Sixty shook his head, smiling as he took in the sight. You reached up to wipe it off, but he got there first, running a finger down your nose and scooping it off. He licked at the frosting before sucking it off his finger, and your whole body froze.

“There’s a fuckton of sugar in that,” he declared.

Normally you’d join in the banter, ask him if that was a technical term, but you couldn’t speak. His actions, your growing feelings, that hint of a possibility that had been placed in your mind inadvertently by Connor, all of it was rendering you speechless, unsure of what to do. You simply stared at him. He stared back, his LED briefly spinning yellow as he processed something.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, mood much more serious than it had been.

You nodded. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on with you, but you suddenly had no desire to stay at the party. You needed to think.

The two of you headed for the exit, you depositing your half-eaten cupcake in the trash on the way. You and Sixty had left dozens of events together in the past, nobody thought anything of it, but this time felt subtly different in a way you couldn’t pinpoint. You could only put it down to your low level of anxiety at suddenly having unanswered questions.

You drove Sixty home, the same way you’d done countless times, except for the occasions when he’d been behind the wheel and you’d been drunk in the back. The silence in the car felt heavy, nowhere near as comfortable as it usually was. One thing you often appreciated about your friendship was the way you could be silent together. Sixty loved the sound of his own voice, but when you needed to concentrate on something, he’d shut up and let you work.

You parked up outside his apartment building, tensing a little when he invited you in. That, again, wasn’t an unusual situation, but for the first time you were wondering whether you should. He seemed to sense it, as he tacked on a quiet “Please” and said something about wanting to give you your Christmas present. You caved, driving around to park in his allocated spot.

In the quiet, familiar space that was his apartment, you managed a genuine smile when he handed you a box that looked like it had been wrapped by a five-year-old. You knew he had the capacity to be precise and accurate, as all androids did, but he’d chosen not to, and that amused you.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely. “I can’t wait to open it.”

He nodded, looking pleased. “Do you…want a drink or something?”

You shook your head. “I should get going.”

You hated this new tension, unsure where it had even come from. Unless it had always been there and you just hadn’t noticed.

“So…Ryan,” Sixty said.

You frowned. “What about him?”

“When you were talking to him, he asked about you and me.”

You shrugged awkwardly. “Well, we get asked that a lot.”

More times than you could count, people had mistaken you for a couple or asked if you were dating. You were kind of used to it now.

“Yeah, I know,” Sixty waved off, “but this time you hesitated.”

So he’d heard your stumble. You shrugged again, unsure what to say. You usually rattled out the answer no problem, but it had felt harder to say this time. Probably because you wished it wasn’t true.

Sixty’s gaze bore into yours, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“I don’t want to be just friends anymore.”

The words floated between you, and you continued to stare, terrified for a moment that you’d heard them wrong.

“You…you don’t?” you stuttered.

“No. And I don’t think you do either.”

Your heart thudded in your chest as you shook your head. “No, I don’t.”

That was all he seemed to need to hear. His hand cupped the back of your neck, and he pulled you close to him, mouth meeting yours in an enthusiastic kiss. His tongue traced your lips, and you parted for him, letting him in. He groaned, and your fingers gripped his arms, anchoring yourself as he ravished your mouth. He was an incredible kisser, which surprised you a little, remembering Connor’s sweet but inexperienced technique. Sixty had explored a lot of things about himself in the early days of his deviancy, before the two of you had grown close. Clearly, he’d found things he liked doing and had done them often.

“I knew you'd taste fucking sweet,” he growled as you parted.

You hummed, dazed and euphoric. “I think that's more the cupcake than me.”

He chuckled, kissing you once more, lightly and chastely before he trailed his lips down your neck. “Nope,” he said, nipping playfully at your skin. “It’s definitely you.”

You laughed, gently pushing him away so you could catch your breath, trying to settle into everything you were feeling.

“Whose phone number is that?” you asked, nodding to his arm.

He glanced down, grimacing. “Janice from admin. She would not be stopped. It was…awkward.”

You smiled a little. Sixty deactivated the synthetic skin on that arm, then reactivated it. The numbers had vanished.

“Why didn’t you do that right away?”

“I was trying to be diplomatic.” He shrugged, grinning impishly. “And…maybe I wanted to make you jealous.”

You didn’t want to admit that it had worked. Just a little bit.

“Hmm,” you said. “Maybe I should have flirted with Ryan, in that case.”

Sixty pulled you close again, lips returning to your neck. “Go ahead. But I’m going to make sure that if you do, you won’t be able to think of anything but me,” he said against your pulse, making you shiver. “Unless you want to take things slow?” he added, pulling back a little.

“Absolutely not.”

You appreciated the thought, but you’d waited long enough.

You knew where his bedroom was, as you’d crashed there before, but you’d never walked to it together, hands linked as you led the way. It was pretty tidy, but for a blue-stained t-shirt on the floor by the bed.

“Shit,” Sixty hissed as you spotted it.

He picked it up and threw it in the laundry basket.

“Is that blood?” you asked, alarmed.

“Uh…no.”

Your eyes narrowed as you watched him shrug, a slight air of embarrassment in his demeanour. Then it clicked, and your cheeks flooded with heat and intrigue.

“What were you thinking about?” you asked.

He met your gaze, searching your face, perhaps to figure out how honest he could be.

“You, actually. About what you’d choose to wear to the party. About how your skin feels.” He traced his fingertips up your bare arms, stopping at your short sleeves before drifting back down. “About how you taste. About how many different ways I can make you cry out my name.”

You stared at him breathlessly, so ridiculously hot all of a sudden, you thought you might pass out. It was unacceptable how little he was touching you.

“I need you,” you whined, pressing closer and kissing him.

He responded eagerly, guiding you over to the bed until the backs of your legs hit it. He eased you back, refusing to break the kiss, and your hands roamed over his lean body. You palmed him through his slacks, making him groan and grind into your hand.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed pulling back abruptly. “I’ve imagined you doing that so many times.”

The admission made you smile.

He propped himself up on one hand, letting the other skim over your body. After fumbling with your clothing, his hand slid inside your underwear, fingers gliding through your folds.

“I can’t believe how wet you are already,” he said in awe.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too.”

His fingers found your clit, and you moaned. He toyed with it with expert precision until you were writhing beneath him, panting and desperate. His eyes remained on you the entire time, sharp as they took in the effect he was having on you. His hips never stopped grinding against your palm, and you felt him grow harder in your hand, just like any of your human partners.

He pulled away just as you were on the brink of orgasm, a smirk on his face at the look of disbelief and irritation you shot him. He began to remove his clothes, and you ineptly did the same. Then he sat on the bed, drawing you onto his lap, lips finding yours as you sank down onto him. He didn’t seem to want to stop kissing you, even when you began to roll your hips, your nerves on fire at how good he felt inside you. It was simultaneously sweet and hot, and your kisses got clumsier the faster and more urgently you moved.

When you finally came, you were so tightly pressed together, your forehead gently bumped his. Your cries were muffled by his mouth, and you felt the vibration of his groan under the hands that were splayed against his back. You took a moment to just breathe, grateful for his supportive body around and under you.

Sixty was staring at you, wearing the softest expression you’d ever seen him wear. You’d never even imagined he was capable of it, so used to his blunt words and cockiness and oddly-endearing arrogance.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

Your heart did a swoop in your chest, and you caressed his skin with your thumbs, clinging even tighter.

“I love you too.”

His face broke out in a relieved grin, and he kissed you again.

“What changed?” you asked, running your fingers through his blond hair.

“I was tired of hiding it,” he said simply. “And it seemed like you felt the same, although you were trying to pretend otherwise.”

“I thought it would be for the best, since I wasn’t sure how you felt. And then Connor said something about you being lovesick, and…”

“Connor has a big fucking mouth,” he growled, and you laughed.

“He didn’t know I could hear him. He won’t be surprised to learn about us.”

“True.”

“I guess I’m going to have to pretend to be surprised when he comes clean about him and Nines.”

Sixty’s eyes went comically wide. “What? And they both gave me shit for being secretive!”

You soothed him by running your nails gently against his scalp, trying not to laugh. “It worked out, though.”

His hands traced your back, the smile making its way back onto his face. “It did. I guess I can live with that.”

[deviationdivine]

☼ Connor | Headcanons ☼

A/N: Headcanons for Connor (both deviant & machine) I personally feel, as well as some ones for my writing. Wanted to work on something light while focusing on wips especially for the reader/follower poll. Have this for today’s drabble queue! I will do RK800-60 & Nines as well. But first - can I get an amen?! 

TW: Language, Smut (I had to go there!)

Deviant!Connor

Following the revolution Connor most likely will be dealing with his newfound freedom and sense of self worth. While he is free from Cyberlife control it still does not alleviate him of doubts especially when it comes to how other androids view him. 

Feels a sense of guilt for hunting so many of his people before deviating despite Markus trusting him after the fall of Jericho. He has a sense of obligation to offer support to the RK200 if it’s needed as a sort of personal repentance. 

Attempts to blend into society better but still feels a bit shunned by humans and androids alike. This is a personal hurdle he must conquer. 

Afraid of dying in the full sense but keeps these fluctuating emotions inside. Often needs to validate himself otherwise. 

Fears being taken control of again even if he used Kamski’s emergency exit. Amanda is an internal nightmare to him now. 

Obviously remains working in tandem with Hank at the DPD. He’s a prototype android detective who gets his skills put to use in an official capacity.

Remains close with Hank in a familial capacity. Android son confirmed. Stays with the lieutenant until finding his own place in society. This will take some equal laws being passed first.

Uses more colorful language at times. Hank has rubbed off on him.

“Fuck...shit.”

“What the fuck did you say, Connor?!” 

Really wants his own dog....maybe two. Or three.

He’ll wind up stealing Sumo.

Finds various species of fish pleasant to study on down time at work. There hardly is any down time for him though.

Hank makes him have down time. He works too fucking much.

Hones skills in both the programming field he was originally built and his emotional responses.

While deviant he still struggles with what he’s feeling. It’s a learning process but the android gets better at it.

Surprisingly has gained more support from coworkers. This doesn’t include Gavin but as Hank says, “fuck Gavin.” Honestly, Gavin doesn’t work here anymore. Bye bitch. 

Picks up the emotions of others with more clarity than his original programming. Deviancy allots him better understanding and heightens his skills in a way. 

Still very adept at combat and will take out an entire group of thugs on a case if need be. Is a soft deviant boy who can go John Wick in two seconds flat. 

Has a few decorated awards under his belt for breaking open some tough cases including a huge red ice ring. 

Hank is fucking proud but won’t admit it. Connor isn’t as naive as he was though, he can tell:

“Why thank you, Lieutenant. I did take them out impeccably as you would say.”

“Since when do I say fucking impeccably?” 

Relationships

Understanding all of these new emotions means coming to terms with other things he’s feeling. Friendships are a bit easier if stilted at the start. 

Social programs aside, Connor finds a genuine appreciation of the people around him especially those who support him.

Hank is always his biggest supporter now...obviously.

Finding himself in the company of others because they genuinely want him there is awkward initially. Gradually he develops a natural affinity for this.

Connor in love...?

Love is new. It’s strange. It can make his entire brain whir. Honestly doesn’t know how to cope when experiencing the first threads of it in his system. 

Is a soft boy ready to discover what it truly means. He witnessed this between Markus and North end of the revolution after all. 

Finds himself capable of the same as it hits him all at once.

You make him overheat but in a pleasant way. Oh, is that genuine arousal? 

He is highly advanced so of course he was designed with the proper parts. Their origin was for more nefarious means built for Cyberlife missions but now it hardly matters. He has total control over his body.

An awkward badass. I mean he can kill you with a lopsided smile and wink and also kill a whole room full of bad guys. What’s not to like?

Truly wants to experience this whole new side of humanity with you and no one else but you. Connor finds being in love an epiphany. He feels more human with it. He feels more human with you.

Confident when you express affection to him even if he is an android. Makes him feel even more accepted and sure of himself.

Eases into things until he can no longer metaphorically breathe. That’s when everything snaps and he knows. 

This android is in love. 

Machine!Connor

Completely opposite of his deviant persona, Connor as a machine does not feel emotion for anything let alone anyone who stands in his path. All about accomplishing his mission no matter the casualties. This includes any allies he obtained from the DPD during his deviant investigations.

Will throw Hank off a rooftop if it’ll get him one step closer. 

You can’t kill him...androids don’t die.

Deviants should be eradicated because they’re a clear disease with a virus in their program. He sees this as neither mercy nor punishment. He sees it as a mission to obey for the greater good of humanity.

Follows the side of his creators just as he was programmed to do. However, has no qualms taking out any human who stands in his way. Will mercilessly kill an entire squadron of soldiers if need be without batting an eye.

Only the mission matters... He only answers to Cyberlife.

Not adverse to torture or intimidation. Any tactic will do.

Any sort of software instability towards deviancy is readily pushed down until he does something unbearably ruthless to gain back his purpose of programming.

Machine Connor will not allow Cyberlife to deactivate him after completing his mission. 

Amanda has no power over him in that regard. He is his own power.

Will slaughter anyone at the tower who tries to apprehend him for destruction.

While not a push to deviancy, Connor feels his time is not finished. Everything Cyberlife programmed to do he accomplished successfully. Discarding him is their greatest mistake.

He will destroy any supposed superior model before taking his place. No. This does NOT make him deviant.

Unstoppable killing machine? Definitely makes him that.

Relationships

Machine Connor uses connections to benefit him. If it will help the mission he will be whatever you want him to be.

This includes gaining favor with other humans around him. The friendlier he seems the better. Will fake emotions if need be. Hank throws this in his face later during this particular route so it’s natural a machine!Connor would do this around anyone he meets.

Love? I don’t think so. Any love you think he can possess is all a fabrication. If you believe a ruthless machine Connor actually cares then you’d be dead wrong. He cares for nothing, nobody but completing his mission and doing what he was designed to do no questions asked. 

However, this does not prevent him using it against you. If you want to follow your weak human emotions and fall in love with a cold machine so be it. He will use and discard you like tissue paper breaking your weak humanity in half along the way.

As an RK800 built to accomplish dangerous missions and outfitted with clever negotiator skills, it makes sense he will have some high end upgrades. If seduction is required he will make use out of his advanced protocols and parts. 

After using you he will leave you to perish if you try to stop him afterwards. Romance is not part of the equation. 

Sex is an instrument he perfectly mimics as he mimics emotions and friendliness.

If you somehow start to spread the virus of deviancy in his system, Connor will correct it by any means. He will snuff you out if it comes down to it.

On the other hand if you do somehow by a miracle stick to him with your human virus he may deviate. It would have to be a big build up even then because most times it will not happen. He will choose the mission over you every time. 

You are a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no fairy tale romance here but the foolish one conjured in your head. 

Smut!Connor

Deviant

Connor is all about falling into his emotions. Becoming deviant makes the android want to experience everything that drives this humanity in his system. What better way than to finally share this intimacy with you?

Everything is full, passionate and just for the two of you. No one else is in existence while the two of you are together. 

While it takes him a bit to understand the full meaning behind this act it stirs his synthetic heart. It’s obvious how much he wants to share a sole space with you. Being apart of your existence only makes his bloom further in the middle of sex. 

He gets off on you tugging his hair. Clawing his back is another turn on as it makes him feel dominant. 

As a negotiator android this is good for his programming origins but also his newly found ego. He loves that you want to grip onto him and the tighter it is the better. 

Can be slow and methodical if you’re looking for a long night. 

However, can be quick and rough if you ask him. There’s still that ruthless core he deviated from. He can easily tap into his more aggressive nature. It’s whatever you want him to be that particular time. 

Cautious with you during rougher sex. Connor is aware of his strength and hurting you is never something he would do. This sweet boy would never forgive himself. 

Likes to be the dominant partner but doesn’t mind lying back while you take over the reins. 

Is all about foreplay especially with his tongue. You thought thirium licking was bad? Connor uses his tongue like a pro and will lap up every last drop between your legs to satisfy his own need. To him you taste indescribable and he wants more of that each time.

Scratch his synthetic skin, use your teeth against his epidermis to mark him as yours just as he marks you as his. While his healing component will ultimately take away any abrasions, Connor enjoys seeing them littering his body before they fade.

Same goes with hickies. He’s a master of placing them in secret places so others cannot see. That doesn’t stop him being a sneaky boy at times. Right on your throat? Just one? How about one on each side?

Loves to hear his name slip quietly from your lips while fucking you softly. Really gets going when you start yelling for him to pound you harder. He obliges...obviously.

Connor’s reactions in the moment are quieter. Groans, deep gasps and utterances of your name as he places kisses all over your face. 

Let’s get this straight. This boy likes to kiss. No, he loves to kiss while going at it. As much as he loves having sex, he loves the closeness just as much. It changes things for him. They’re all good changes. 

And when you ask to see him without his skin? Oh lord. Does this boy melt from your acceptance. He becomes super vulnerable about it but trusts you like no one else. 

Timid having sex without the synthetic epidermis but eases into it after a few times. Genuinely surprised you enjoy it so much. Connor assumed it might be uncomfortable for you.

Actually, you personally love this android’s dick no matter what form it’s in. Whispering that in his ear dangles him on the verge of shutdown. It also gets him to throw you down fast and fuck your brains out for a change of pace. He’s that adaptable for your pleasure needs.

Either way sex with this sweet deviant boy is satisfyingly good. 

Machine

Tenderness? It isn’t here.

Seduction programming can be utilized if you push him. He isn’t merciful. He will fuck you as hard as you want as long as you want. Don’t expect it to make him love you.

Pushing his buttons is not a good idea. Falling in love with him is even worse. Machine!Connor will take you out of frustration, asserting his dominance against a weakling who thinks they can get away spreading deviancy in his system.

Raw and animalistic. 

Expect a palette of bruises/abrasions over your skin from sucking, biting and finger digging. 

Nail marks are a thing. There’s no holding back.

Always dominant. Don’t even question it. Control is a kink to him if he could readily have one. But he doesn’t. He’s a straight up machine.

Will toss your body onto whatever surface is available. Comfortable or not he doesn’t care. Why should he when he’s a machine? 

Wants to hear you beg. It means he has you where he wants you. Weakness is the best way to manipulate. 

Fucking you from behind is a preferred option. It gives him total authority over your feeble human state. 

Will bend you over the table in the interrogation room and fuck you without a care to who watches from the observation room. 

Likes to impale fingers inside you and work them until tears collect in your eyes. He will sample the salty liquid on the tip of his tongue claiming another piece of you until he consumes all that’s left.

Never watches his strength. 

Most times you wind up sore but he sees that as punishment for trying to turn him away from the mission. After all, he only does what you ask and you did ask for this.

Try to cuddle up and kiss him sweetly it won’t go very well. 

Likes to bite your lips until they’re a swollen mess.

Machine Connor will purposely edge your orgasm and leave you whimpering for release. If he is not merciful to those he hunts why should he be merciful to you? 

If you attempt to make more of this ‘arrangement’ he will end it right then and there. First, he’ll give you one last vengeful fucking to destroy whatever love you conjured for yourself is left. 

If you manage to make him deviate well his routine won’t change much. 

The only difference is that he will begin kissing you more during.

He might listen to what you want more but don’t expect a complete 180 overnight

Most likely he will not deviate so it’s pretty much futile to think he’ll love you. Just enjoy the rough fuck from him before he completes his mission because guaranteed they’ll be hardly anything of you left...

Tag List: @elydith

[whispersforthevoid]

Quietly Devoured

Pairing: ruthless!Connor x reader

Word Count: 1k (ish?)

Summary: You, a detective and Connor’s partner, step between ruthless!Connor and an injured North and force him to make a choice

Warnings:  minor suggestive themes (it’s literally just kissing... for now?), machine/ruthless!Connor, bit angsty, (let me know if you think I missed something!)

((Could be continued or expanded on if anyone wants that!))

---

“Connor, please don’t,” You begged, holding your ground firmly between the deviant hunter and his prey. “She doesn’t deserve this. Let her go.” 

“Step aside, detective.” He was cold, but the LED on his temple shone yellow and his finger was hovering away from the trigger. Sounds of gunfire echoed in the distance. “I always accomplish my mission. Do not mistake my programmed kindness for empathy. I have told you before, I do not share your sentimental attachment to our bond. Move, or I will shoot.” “Please, Connor. Please. For me. I don’t think you want to hurt me.” You said as you took a timid step forwards, hands raised. Unarmed, human, his friend - would Connor be able to maintain that ruthlessness he was feared for when his own partner begged him to stop? You were almost certain that he wouldn’t. Almost. Behind you North shuffled back, thirium seeping from the wound in her leg. Simon had been right to trust this human after all. “Your friendship is nothing more than a tool in my mission, Y/N. This is your final warning. Get out of the way, or I will shoot you.” Connor narrowed his dark eyes, his hair ruffling gently in the wind as his finger did finally find the trigger. He looked impossibly soft under the flickering lampost light for something so cruel and violent. But you couldn’t give up on him. You could not believe he was empty inside, you had seen a warmth in him, a light. You had seen his smile when he pet Sumo, his anger when Gavin harassed him, frustration when the mission wasn’t progressing. There was more than a soulless machine behind those brown eyes and that perfect uniform. You stepped closer again, broken glass cracking loudly under your boots, so close that the nozzle of the gun pressed against your chest. Right over your heart. You could feel the cold metal through the thin material of your blouse. If Connor fired now there was no chance of survival. You weren’t sure you would want to survive if he did shoot, and that scared you to the core. Connor took a sharp breath in, and you felt the hesitant tremble in his hand as it shook through the gun. He met your gaze and you saw a flicker of vulnerability; he wasn’t ready to face this, to acknowledge his burgeoning humanity. He was scared. “Connor,” You whispered, reaching out to brush your fingertips across the back of his hand as he gripped the gun. The coldness of his synthetic skin under your touch served as a stark reminder of his machine status. Connor grimaced, but didn’t move. From this angle, the shadows fell hauntingly and a foreign monster dared you to run away with its downwards blank glare. His reply was ice as his mask of indifference tried to reclaim those handsome features that Cyberlife designed for his integration, “You should stop saying my name like that.”

But you had seen him now and you knew you could reach him. You couldn’t let him disappear into that facade for the hundredth time. You smiled gently, the cuts on your face stinging horribly.

Connor’s eyes widened and eyebrows rose when the last of the fear left your face as a calm fell over you, all while you looked up at him with softness only he received.

“Connor, please?” Your final plea jolted through Connor. His LED flashed a violent red and he swore, hissing angrily as he knocked your hand aside and tore the gun away to shoved it into his holster. Your heart soared. Connor was more than a killer machine, more than the tool he insisted he was. He could have killed you but he- He- He was kissing you. Roughly. Too roughly.

It was nothing like you had imagined it would be, and you certainly had imagined it; the moment Connor would finally break and kiss you. But there were no soft declarations, no warm sunny evening or quiet rainy morning, no mission victory.

There was only conflict and conquering - the reality of an entity like Connor. Your magical fairytale ending melted away with each harsh move of his lips.

He grabbed your left wrist in a painful grip and bent it behind your back with a deadly strength, the synthetic fingernails of his other hand scraping desperately over your scalp as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and gathered you to him with a cold fury. His body was hard against your softness; you were at constant opposition and perhaps, you thought, that was why you just couldn’t get enough.

Each spike and tingle of pain he pushed onto you was a claim, a reminder of his inhuman power. Like a warning, a red flag you definitely should have heeded months and months ago. Connor moved against you as if he was trying to devour your soul, cool lips hungry and insistent as he took and took and took until the rest of the world crumbled, all its fire turned to smoke under the avalanche that was RK800. “You’ve done it now,” He growled against your bruising lips with a heated breath, “You wanted this - me, to care. You’ll never be rid of me, Y/N. You’re all through my code and I won’t stop until I’m running through your viens, until every piece of you is mine.” Overwhelmed as he took your breath away with a scorching kiss that would rival the surface of the sun, you managed to wave to North with the hand pinned behind your back as Connor let himself get lost in you. The deviant took the cue, hauling herself up to stumble far away. Guilt would eat at her. She had seen men behave like that before, too many times and each she desperately wished she could forget.

Connor was going to destroy you.

----

AN: I have been thinking about posting some of my DBH writing for ages and I finally did! If you enjoyed this then please let know because I am terrified to post it. If anyone wants more or wants to make requests etc please do! I have a lot of other short pieces written and I’m working on some longer more narrative DBH wips, so they’re there if anyone wants them <3 Thank you so much for reading 

(also sorry if this is lowkey dark, I promise I can write fluff too)

[hornsandthings]

he who walks against the arrows;

pairing: connor rk800 x reader

summary: connor forgets himself as he defends and protects his wounded s/o, resulting in his need to reconcile with the frightened reader.

warnings: angst, violence, wounds, fluff // word count: 2164 // for @deviantramblings​ ‘s 500 challenge! (prompt: shield.) // alt title: 28 stab wounds

          it first felt like a punch.

          your body curled inward toward the attacker, and everything slowed. his wide eyes, green and speckled with hazel, glared at you intently, thick eyebrows in a harsh furrow. you felt alien, like all sense had been forgotten in the world – the only thing that existed was the ghost of the impact, the wildness in the fugitive’s eyes.

          then it felt like a tingle. spreading, shooting, in all directions from your abdomen, down your legs and up your chest and leaving you trembling. moving slowly, so slowly – everything was confusing, it felt like you had missed something – you looked down, down at the sight of a brown handle protruding from your side. you’d never forget the sound of the wet, slick rustle of when the man pulled the knife out of you, metal sliding through blood and skin and muscle.

          and then it felt like fire. it was not the sear of a burn against your skin, but the roil of heat inside your stomach, foreign and growing and overwhelming. you took in the events as they unfolded, but did not comprehend their meaning, did not understand what was happening. a strangled cry tore from your throat, shuddering gasps – blood gleamed on your hands, highlighted in an unnatural sheen in the shadowy neon light. your shirt stuck to your skin, blood trickled over your fingers.

          you hadn’t heard connor’s shout, didn’t feel the wind tug at your jacket. you only stood there, even as the attacker turned away, even when droplets of blood started dotting the ground like little spots of rain. you weren’t even looking at your wound – only at the spot where the man had stood before you seconds ago, where his body had appeared so suddenly and the jerk of his arm was so incomprehensibly quick.

          connor froze, but only for a moment. he had been on the other side of the rooftop, following a trail of potential clues, while you were right there in the middle of the clearing. hank had been behind all the boxes stacked around it – that’s where they must have been hiding. he was already moving before the fugitive had pulled the knife out of you, and seeing that hank had tackled him to the ground, his only priority now was you.

          his hands immediately snaked around your waist to place pressure on your wound, covering your own. a sharp inhale told him of the subsequent pain, but it was necessary – one of your hands still dangled at your side, and you were still hunched over, barely having registered his arrival. the wind whipped through his hair as he looked down at you, uttering your name again and again, brows knitted and jaw set in worry. you looked lost; it seemed as if your mind was only distantly aware of the pain, your teeth gritted but eyes clouded with confusion. system alerts blurred his vision with warnings for both you and him – his thirium pump was working dangerously hard, his own stress levels rising fast, and while your wound wasn’t fatal yet, he still needed to analyse your blood for potential infection–

          movement in his peripheral forced him to shift focus. hank was groaning on the ground, and the fugitive had taken his gun. the man, clothed in a heavy, ratty grey coat, levelled the weapon towards you and connor. he detected the man’s shaking hand, analysed his agitation – it was highly likely that he was going to pull that trigger. the light caught the bloody knife in his other hand, red still oozing down the blade, the blade which had left you shuddering in his arms; connor felt something shift within him, deep and irrevocable. “keep pressure on the wound,” he instructed in a low voice, doubtful of your comprehension but sight already set on the dishevelled man.

          it was only when connor released you when you noted his presence, when reality started to feel a little closer to being within reach. he moved in front of you, and over his shoulder you saw the weapon gleam in the man’s outstretched arm. the alarm in you remained subdued, however, as your focus stayed on connor – something was different in the way he moved. the man stepped forward, and connor, ever quick, moved backward, his own arm ushering you behind him as he made himself your shield. he’d sacrifice every body, every model of himself they stored in the warehouses of cyberlife to keep you safe, for it made no difference to him – his mind was a kind of immortal.

          “put the gun down,” connor demanded, allowing that ever-creeping urge to finish the mission at whatever cost to consume him, to govern him. the man only set his stance. “i won’t say it again!” he yelled, the roughness startling you; he had never raised his voice in your presence before. “put the gun down.”

          and then he moved, both men moved – the gunshot echoed in the air but they did not pause. connor rushed the fugitive, gripping his wrist to force the dropping of the weapon. it clattered to the ground, got kicked away in the scuffle – connor was twisting the man’s arm behind him but then the fugitive kicked, bringing connor down to his knees. when he looked up, his expression was blank – stoic, robotic. it did not shift when you met his eyes, cold and veiled, it did not shift when he twisted around to bring the man down to the floor next to him before he could run away. it was not even set in determination or concentration – there was only a hollowness. each blow connor dealt to the man’s face seemed to reverberate inside you, your shoulders jerking with each impact, with each crunch of bone or plastic. connor did not stop even as the man was groaning beneath him, connor didn’t even utter a sound. all you could do was stare, stare at the sheer brutality of connor’s fists.

          the man rolled out from underneath him, and both were on their feet again. blood ran from the fugitive’s nose, and several cuts lined his face. he was limping across the ground, tripping over forgotten beer cans, moving towards the edge. the gun glinted in his hand, but his stumbling told of concussion, of an inability to shoot. his movements were pathetic, really, when connor was advancing with such predatory intent. he was as rigid as ever, precise and elegant in his movements – fearfully perfect. the profile of his face was cloaked in shadow when he lifted his own gun from his belt, herding the man to the ledge. there was no fence.

          as you watched connor level the gun toward the man, reason seemed to divorce you totally. the veil of surrealism, which had never quite cleared in the first place, grew thicker with each stride connor took.

          the final gunshot of the night was lost in the howl of the helicopter above, in the rush of the wind. in a morbid and almost graceful way, the man tipped backward, further and further over the edge until there was no ground beneath him and he fell, soundless. connor only straightened his tie.

          after dropping the gun, connor began moving towards you. you were shaking now. you did not want to meet his eyes again – confusion had succumbed to irrationality, and all you could think about was connor’s face when he all but pummelled that man, when he shot him right between the eyes, all accurate and precise. and the pain–

          you staggered to the first solid surface you could find, your back slithering against it until you were on the floor. everything faded from reality, everything except the heaviness in your head, the slide of blood between your fingers. the stain on your white shirt looked black in the dim evening.

          finally, finally connor could return to you, take care of the next threat. when he knelt in front of you, you were breathing heavily, knees tucked against your chest and head swaying with delirium. your blood loss had escalated, and from his analysis of the depth of the laceration, there was still enough time before it could become fatal. heaving a sigh of relief, he moved to touch your shoulder.

          before he could, you flinched away, meeting his gaze with fierce eyes, if only for a moment. he pulled back, unsure – he knew you were in pain, but there was something else in your eyes that he did not usually see associated with physical injury. though, he supposed that he would never be able to fully understand what pain felt like – the closest thing he could consider, he thought, would be the emotion of fear. never breaking eye-contact, he figured that the peculiarity in your stare must be due to the lingering surprise from the stabbing.    

slowly, he loosened his tie, searching your eyes but failing to capture them. “i’m going to apply a tourniquet,” he said, but stopped short when your head shook slightly at his words. “it’s going to be okay,” he assured, reaching to cup your cheek.

          but then you grimaced at his touch, tears escaping as you squeezed your eyes shut tight with a whimper. worry crossed his features again, and his hand fell from your face. your name tumbled from his lips in a soft whisper, raised in a question. you were making yourself as small as possible, as if you were cornered.

          your eyes roamed over his kneeling body, lingering. oh. the abrasions on his hands were not healing, and the whiteness beneath was showing amidst small protrusions of wires and circuits. his receptors alerted him to the drying blood on his face, splattered across the bridge of his nose. you weren’t cowering from pain – you were cowering from him. the realisation hit like a blow to the chest; his whole body stopped, the beat of his thirium pump drowned out all other sounds – hank calling an ambulance, calling the station; the helicopter readying to land. intellectually, connor knew that you were not yourself right now, you were in shock. everything was heightened for you, adrenaline interpreting everything through only two options: fight or flight. this he all knew, read in yellow alerts popping up in his vision, but he couldn’t help the feeling of a constricted throat, the claws of guilt and shame creeping down his back. god – if he wasn’t going to lose you physically, he was going to lose you emotionally.

          desperation gripped him. all he wanted to do was hold you, but each time you tried to shift away, it felt like an error was seizing his system. he had never seen such viciousness in your eyes. it broke his heart – the person he loved, the one he’d do anything for, was afraid of him. it had never happened before; connor had never seen you direct fear at him – you were never given a reason to.

          “i’m sorry,” he spoke, close enough for you to hear him amidst the whir of the helicopter, “i needed to protect you, but i wish you hadn’t seen that.” your face was still coloured with fear, with confusion, but at least you were holding his gaze. connor glanced at your wound, your white-knuckled grip. his tie lay limp in his hands. “please, let me help you.”

          your expression didn’t soften, but it didn’t darken, either. so connor risked it – he leaned over you, gently manoeuvring his tie into a make-shift bandage for your wound. gently, he pried your hand away, sympathising when you heaved a low groan. your breath was hot against his neck as he tied a knot, taking care to not hurt you more than necessary. “i’d do anything to shield you,” he whispered into your hair, relief cooling his system and wiping away all the warning notifications as your hands covered his. “i’d take on every danger to protect you.”

          reality still felt too thick and unreal to swim through, but connor’s words were there, right by your ear. you knew he meant what he said, and that’s what frightened you – he’d do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant losing himself, in more ways than one. carefully, his hands held your face, thumbs wiping away stray tears.

          in front of you was not a creation of ruthlessness, in front of you was not a hunter, but a man who looked beside himself, pleading and sincere and longing for his lover. “you mean everything to me,” connor promised, gentle and soft and adoring – familiar. you were not scared anymore.

          he placed a tender, hesitant kiss on your forehead. he picked you up, the distant sounds of officers and paramedics becoming more coherent with each step. connor was your protector, your defender, shield for both your body and soul. the intensity was frightening, but as he carried you back into the light, you knew – knew that you would do the exact same for him.

fin.

[the-wintershade]

burning like hell | ruthless!connor

pairing: ruthless!connor x reader summary: you use everything he’s taught you, every trick in the book, but he never taught you how to have a heart. wc: 2.1k+ genre: angst, intensity, conflicted connor

Move. Push. Don’t stand still. In. Out. In. Out. 

Your body moved with a vigor beyond its own. Whatever force, whatever pull that has kept you alive till now, refused to let you die, its fist seizing the string that held your livelihood with a remorseless fury. You will not die today, not as long as you have breath in your body. It whispered its determination in your ear as the thunder of your feet echoed annoyingly off the walls.

Except it wasn’t a force, more like a living entity. The apparition raining down its ferocity without sparing a drop of repentance, without losing a second of sleep at night, because the truth was, it didn’t sleep. Sleep was a mortal flaw for all living things, but it was not alive, it was a force of nature and nature never slept.

The soundwaves of your foot falls jumping into your ears made a cacophony of sound, enough that you were certain multiple hunters would begin their ravenous prowl any minute. What you were able to do was a miracle. A heavenly granted action of mercy as it saw your anguish, your pain, your agony and it could no longer bear hearing your groans and screams throughout the night. 

You felt the same.

Breaking out of the cell was the easy part. Making it out of the fortress, on the other hand, would prove to be more challenging. It was a maze full of infinite proportions and mirages of every kind. 

You would forfeit any chance of retaining mental fortitude before escaping and afterward, you were unlikely to recognize the monstrosity staring back at you. Your own name would sound like a like a language you were forbidden to understand. 

But you kept running, sprinting, pushing. Hoping that your time and your desire to make it out alive would not dwindle as your body pumped liquid nitrous down your veins. It’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing, the only thing between life and something far grievous than death itself. 

The voice of fate rang through the alabaster walls but your feet refused to wait any longer. They’ve known patience as much as they’ve known the ground. They readily denied its name with fervor. “You’re not getting anywhere little bird.”

Like hell. “There’s nowhere you can hide from me — no matter how hard you run those pretty little feet through the halls.”

A scream pounded on the back of your throat. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Hope is a light brightest in the dark and you refused to let the howling gale burn this light out. It was what you were running for, what was keeping your livelihood alive. 

It was what gave you faith that prompted you to throw yourself over a banister and down a story to the floor below without so much as a whimper. 

Could the landing have been better, oh absolutely, but from the buzzing singing through your blood vessels didn’t let you dwell on your sloppy landing for too long. You had to move faster; you didn’t know when your storm of freedom would tear through the building and no force of any kind would keep you away from liberation. 

A deadly sound yanked your ear back to your surroundings - the cocking of a gun. They’re closing in and they’ll spare you no expense. 

Move. Push. Don’t stand still. In. Out. In. Out. Your breathing regulated itself as you slipped through another door as a piece of metal deflected off it. A metallic cling hurtled after you. 

These men are faster than you, stronger than you, and know more about the facility than you will be familiar with, but you will not under any circumstances let them get the better of you. 

The cadence of the words charging through your mind gave a steady beat to cling to, a tempo similar to the drum of your feet pounding down the stairs and through the exit door before the others could hope to pursue you.

You gave a sigh of relief, for waiting in front of you with a look of steel laced with a deadly poison was your force of nature, your hurricane, your tempest, here to save you, to deliver you from the evils of this institution. Of course, it was a scouting mission and you planned on getting captured, but the horrors of it all were far more critical than what you had ever dreamt it.

The candle of hope burned brightly, its renewed strength fueled by the man standing in front of you. 

The prowess with which he stood was enough to make you shiver and foster the desire to get as far away as possible but you knew this tiger had been tamed. No lion would harm you today. You were a dove soaring above the chaos of the world and he was the wolf, hungry, voracious, insatiable - conquering life and death. 

His obsidian-colored eyes scrutinized your appearance, his nose wrinkling at the sight of blood. The depth with which his eyes held was vastly infinite and in these boundless expanses, sympathy could not be salvaged. It was not feasible.

Out of breath and slightly dazed, you slurred out the phrase, “You’re here.”

With no inflection in his tone, he replied, “Where are they?”

Of course, his concern never surrounded you, didn’t pay attention to how many blood splatters reside on your grey jumpsuit, or how the bruises on your face marred your features, or how your wrists and arms were littered in cuts or how bloodshot and pallid your eyes and face were.

He never stopped to consider how human you were, as if the flaws you sustained could be revised and transfigured into something better, something superior, something elite.

Your face hardened like magma exposed to open air -- or in this case, the truth -- as you quickly recalled who you were speaking to. “Two minutes from opening that door.” You huffed around his figure, not pausing to see if his eyes trailed your movements. “I suggest we move.”

Your feet started down the hallway before he slipped out his gun and grasped your arm. “Stay behind me.” Orbs boring into yours, you were at the mercy of his will. His gaze kept you captive, held you prisoner -- although you weren’t sure if it was against your will. His hand left a trail of warmth down your exposed forearm as he moved you behind his fortress of strength. 

In a fury of chaos and destruction, he managed to shoot five officers with three bullets and a defining “crack”. He moved like a dancer jumps around the stage; with grace, poise, and determination. 

Easily sliding under his next opponent, his hand ripped their feet from under them, their heads smacking against the ground. A chop to the neck was enough to stun them and a bullet finished the job. 

You tried to help, landing a jab or two when you could, but you were no match. No of skill, confidence, or aptitude. You were fragile and weak, he was inhuman and strong. In all aspects, you didn’t even possess the faculty to outdo him, he would always outdo you. 

Watching the smooth precision of which his strikes were completed, it was no wonder he came back unscathed. He would never waste more energy than what was required and if he could take people down with a throat punch and a slamming hit to the head, then that’s what he would do. 

Another five fell within exactly 20 blinks of your eye. 

The fluidity of battle was similar to watching a ballerina pirouette — stunning and fast. He moved liked lightning and walked like thunder. He was every part of the storm, the wind, the rain, and the danger. He was a force of nature and nature never slept. 

A click caught your attention. Looking towards it, you spotted a shooter, his gun level with Conor’s forehead. Planting your foot you ran. You swung. Your fist connected. A groan racked through the man. He caught your second swing. He turned you around. His gun was now pressed in your temple. His hand clamped around both your wrists which fit comfortable between his big warm paws. 

“Move and she dies.” Your captor yelled over the noise of another body falling. Why couldn’t you listen to Connor? Why did you have to care so much? Why did you try to help? The overwhelming desire to keep him as far from death as possible overrode every logical idea you’ve had.

It would be your downfall. 

The wolf paused, chest heaving, keeping his firearm aimed at a fatal artery near the neck. “What makes you believe I care if she lives or dies?” The monotone pitch of his voice was like a slap to the face. His gun moved slightly, aiming for the shoulder. Your heart fell to the floor. Connor, your lips uttered but no sound came out. Connor. 

“You’ve torn through ten of my best soldiers in three minutes, I have a feeling you’d like her still breathing.” His grip on your hair tightened but you refused any sign of discomfort to rule your features. Instead, you locked your jaw, setting your teeth in place. 

You knew better than to test the wolf but he didn’t. Something moved in those voids that we called eyes, rage, fury, and something warm, something touching, something that could only be considered a weakness. 

Another flaw and another chance of failing a mission, another thing Connor and the division drilled into you. Connor deviated from the normal operating procedure, something you’ve never seen him do. 

What’s wrong with him?

His eyes flickered to you before moving to the man's shoulder, his fingers curling around the trigger, flirting with the bullet in the chamber. A breath echoed through the room as you watched his eyes darken, slant, and move into focus. 

“You’ve got five seconds to drop the gun. 5...4-”

Hot, sticky blood flew over the sides of your face and your arm as you collapsed to the ground with your now dead captor. Being pulled upright, Conor wrenched you off the ground. “I told you to stay behind me.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

“He was going to shoot you. Do you think I would have let you die?” You fired back, annoyed at his tone. 

He didn’t answer. 

The walls flew by as he dragged you along, roughly guiding you through the labyrinth of corridors and hallways that were beyond you in every sense. Not letting you have an opportunity to cry or freak out or numb yourself, you were already outside, waiting for your pick up. “Connor.”

The wolf was on the hunt and would not answer to his name, only determined on getting you to your safehouse. His eyes scoured the road for a black SUV. “Connor.”

“Connor.” His black eyes snapped to yours with irritation. You pushed anyway, trying to see a hint of, a fleck, a speck of remorse, of humanity. “You could have talked him down, why kill him?”

“He was going to kill you.” His answer was curt and final like his decisions. No room for argument or debate, unless you made some.

“And?”

He inhaled sharply and stepped noticeably closer, the front of your shoes almost touching. “Do you want to die?” His eyes were ablaze, the first indication that he felt anything, until now, you weren’t sure. “He would have killed you. Blood pouring out of you freely, no breath filling your lungs, no --” He took a breath looking away.

“It was you or him.” His voice as hard as steel.

You craned your neck, trying to get his attention. Finally, you put your hand on his sharp jaw, feeling the bone curve into the soft skin of your hand. Visibly startled, he locked his sights on you. “Why?” The words fell almost silently off your lips.

Stepping closer, his sights moved to your slightly parted lips and your warm, loving eyes and how you were open and vulnerable and -- he leaned down, his bottom lip centimeters from touching yours. It was if the universe conspired with you in this moment, making room for something that it knew was there, only waiting for it to be unleashed.

Suddenly, he jumped away, “No. No.” He whispered, eyes drawn to a close. He refused to unfasten the locks preventing from them from opening, preventing them from gazing back at you.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?” You rushed, but it was too late, the car pulled around the corner and Connor was already walking away, shoulders bent, head down and body language dejected. 

There was no goodbye, no phrase of gratitude, no knight and shining armor speech given. Just a whisper of the future and a reminder of the past. As the door shut behind you, you sat there numb, paralyzed, frozen.

Fate did not play your hand and as you drove further away, the candle of hope sputtered before it died completely — never to come back to life.

[iatasbcl]

Dude I love your writing, how about a Ruthless!Connor x reader headcannons??

a/n: I’m glad you like my writing! this is my first time writing for r!connor so I’m not really sure whether I portrayed him correctly or not but oh well 🤡 

First of all, Ruthless!Connor is a cold ass b i t c h.

He was created to be an obedient machine and that’s exactly what he is.

That’s until he met you, infuriating, absolutory maddening you.

He wouldn’t care much for you in the beginning, he probably wouldn’t even acknowledge you if you weren’t connected to his mission.

Having a decent ‘relationship’ with him is a challenge in itself, for someone who insists on being a blind tool he sure is one hell of a smug motherfucker.

It isn’t direct so you have to look closer to see hints of arrogance and disdain, he is an… interesting character to be around, to say the least.

Once the two of you somehow get to the stage were you tolerate each other, things change for him.

You would grow closer, ever so slowly,

But when you start showing affection he would be strictly against it.

“A machine can’t reciprocate what you feel, ____” 

Connor is a machine, a unit, an instrument and a product for his masters. That’d his purpose and objective since he first opened his eyes to this world.

So when you of all people start to tamper with his mindset, he would distance himself; a virus like you was not going to come between him and his mission.

He damaged his relationship with you thinking that it would put an end to his instabilities.

It doesn’t. It does not help at all, he still has a hard time following his instructions when you were around, It irks him.

I think the first time he would show any signs of love is when you are in danger, a sign of love from him would be destroying whatever is threatening you.

It is irrational, your safety is not crucial to his actual task. Yet there he is, eliminating any hostiles that dare hurt you in any way.

You saw what he is capable of, how easily he could break bones and take lives. It terrifies you and makes you happy at the same time.

He saved you, you have to mean something to him to have this deadly android come in and ensure your safety, right?

He would probably become protective of you after that, always hovering over you and becoming your shadow.

You confront him about what any of this means, not wanting to get your hopes up,

“I am a machine, this means nothing.”

It is a load of horseshit, both of you know it. You insist further and Connor looks frustrated and angry, his usual emotionless demeanor changes completely. He cracks.

You are a virus, a poison that jumbles his mind and sends it into complete chaos. You are a foe to his program, to everything he stands for. 

He has been compromised by you. You are his mission now, and god help whoever chooses to lay a finger on you because he is not one to show mercy.

[the-darklings]

🌀 vampire au :)

may or may not be related to prey

37. — gone

Gone, gone, gone.

It reverberates.

“Connor.”

His name sounds like a whisper from miles away. It sounds like a familiar sound spoken from underwater. He feels cold all over—in a way that even eternal death has never managed to make him feel. Something has been scraped away, taken by force, and its place that centuries-old hollowness remains. 

“Connor,” the familiar voice repeats, with more urgency, with more carefully hidden despair. “Look at me, brother.”

He can’t. He wants to find the one who did this, he wants to tear Kamski to fucking shreds. Tear him apart till there is nothing left of that monster. 

“Connor,” his name is a snarl, infused with authority and power only a King or Queen is capable of exhibiting. 

His own teeth bare on instinct, on the promise of violence and blood—the only things either of them has ever known until you. As if Nines has any right to speak with him in that tone, demand his attention even though Connor is the older brother.

He can feel his brother's hand on the back of his neck, holding tightly, as he leans close, “We’ll find our Mate, brother. Listen to me. We will.” 

Connor can hear him, and he agrees. As he sits there on the couch they left you sleeping peacefully on, shoulders slumped, their home in chaos and Bond in tatters, he agrees. 

They will find you. Because they were going to shred this world to pieces otherwise.   

[cclkestis]

{unnecessary}

character(s): ruthless!connor x reader

word count: 1.2k+ words

warning(s): injury, mention of blood

prompt: “I don’t need you.”

--

You would never forget the day you met him.

Never forget the way those empty brown eyes regarded you so coldly, so analytically, as if you were another meaningless anomaly for him to factor in when pursuing the mission that drove every decision he made.

Quietly dangerous, he was a machine designed to do one thing and one thing only. He was designed to succeed.

And he was apparently as unimpressed by the prospect of working with you as you were about being instructed to work alongside him – if it was even possible for him to feel anything remotely close.

You always swore you would never work with an android. You would never be forced to trust one the way you needed to trust a partner. He could tell that you disliked the development as soon as you realised what was being asked of you.

He didn’t care – couldn’t care.

His mission was all that mattered, and it would be accomplished with or without you there to hinder him.

You weren’t necessary for him to fulfil the mission he’d been designed to complete – and, the moment the Captain dismissed you both, he was quick to tell you as much.

“I don’t need you.”

It was stated so simply – so efficiently. Because that’s what he was designed for.

To be efficient. To be unfeeling and uncaring. Merciless.

You were so ready to walk away from him then and there. Ready to leave him to complete his damn mission. Until you heard those four words leave his lips.

He didn’t need you. Really. You couldn’t help the fact that that sounded like a challenge you were willing to rise to, if for no other reason than to prove him wrong. Not that he would care at all about anything you decided to do, so long as you didn’t do anything that might hinder him in any way.

The sudden shift in your demeanour over the days that followed did not go unnoticed by the RK800, who had found himself studying you amongst other things as the two of you had worked together. You were more of a mystery now than he had anticipated, and despite the fact that he couldn’t truly want to figure you out, he couldn’t help but try and piece together the puzzle you presented.

There was something about you that made you more tolerable to be around, and he could only ever come down to one conclusion.

Humans.

You were human, and humans were always going to be complicated to understand – it was the only explanation that made any sense with regards to the sudden shift in your attitude towards him. Your newfound persistence and determination to keep up with him might even have been something that would be considered endearing, if he was capable of such a feeling.

It certainly didn’t make pursuing his mission any more difficult and was in fact a benefit when it came to dealing with other officers – you would deal with them, whilst he got on with things.

But still, he didn’t need you. Your presence was not a hinderance as he’d initially anticipated upon first meeting you, but it still was not necessary.

Which only further stoked your determination to keep up with him.

You weren’t working with him because it was your job anymore, now your drive to keep up stemmed from the desire to spite him. To make him eat his own words.

As a result of your efforts, within two weeks the pair of you had become an unstoppable force of nature. A team to be reckoned with. A duo working in such perfect sync that it was becoming all too easy to mistake you for an android.

Except there was a crucial difference between you and the android you had come to work so harmoniously with.

Red.

The man should have been down before he could even think about pulling the trigger – he would have been, had you not let yourself become distracted.

It struck you then, as your legs crumpled below you and sent you stumbling forwards, that this was not a one-off distraction.

Whether you liked it or not, Connor was a distraction that had been creeping up on you ever since he first set foot in the precinct. One you were ultimately powerless to resist, even before you’d met him.

And then he was there, with a dangerous expression marring his features as he was quick to move between you and the threat.

The man who shot you didn’t stand a chance. Not anymore. There was no hesitation in Connor’s form. No pause for consideration. Just one final gunshot.

“Don’t move.”

You weren’t sure when he turned to you, his instruction coming across rather harshly as he moved to prop you up against the wall behind you. Crouching by your side, those now far too familiar eyes were fixed on the blood staining your shirt as he reached out, pulling your hands away from your side as if your weak attempt to stop him didn’t exist.

“I’m fine.”

His eyes moved to your face in response to the slurred words, the LED at his temple spinning a glowing yellow. You almost thought that you could see concern there, especially when flashes of red broke up the previously steady yellow – but then again, it might also have been the blood loss making you see things that weren’t really there.

“Look at me.”

Connor’s voice was sharp again as you felt yourself being jostled just enough for the pain to snap you back to reality and stave off the shock that was slowly working its way through your system.

“There’s an ambulance on the way. We should get you – (name). Focus.”

As much as you wanted – and knew that you needed - to listen to him, it was getting much harder to do so, your gaze growing hazy as thoughts became harder to hold on to.

“You sound…you sound worried.”

Forcing the words out took more effort than you thought, but the choked laugh accompanying them surprised both of you. If you’d been more aware you would have been fascinated by Connor’s apparent concern for you, even if you had been reminded a hundred times that he couldn’t feel anything.

It wasn’t something that mattered in that moment as Connor’s head lifted, his attention on something that you couldn’t yet perceive.

“Help will be here in two minutes. I need you to stay awake.”

An arm slid behind your back, pulling you away from the wall, as another slipped under your knees and you were lifted in a firm yet careful grip.

Head falling to rest on his shoulder, you could feel your eyes growing heavy as fragments of Connor’s last words to you penetrated the fog clouding your mind. A hum of amusement left you, then, as the sounds of sirens distantly reached you, and prompted Connor to question what you found funny – if for no other reason than to try and keep you awake as he swiftly moved with you towards the entrance to the building.

“I thought….that you didn’t…didn’t need me.”

You felt his hold on you shift and tighten in response to your words, but by the time he started talking – offering you some sort of explanation as to how you were his assigned partner, and it was part of his job to keep you safe – you had already been claimed by unconsciousness, unaware of the seeds of doubt in his own programming that you were leaving Connor struggling with as you were pulled from his arms.

--

Tags: @connorshero @the-darklings @thedragonkween @deviantcrimes  @deviantsupporter  @feminist-violinist @mynahx3 @imaginovator @frankiea1998 @thirium-ink @banddelight @negotiator-on-site @kizz-bee 

[chaos-thirium]

I posted 400 times in 2022

That's 334 more posts than 2021!

165 posts created (41%)

235 posts reblogged (59%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cerberusdreams

@pseudonymmcwriter

@connor-sent-by-cyberlife

@dattebae

@leelany-world

I tagged 330 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#connor - 117 posts

#my fics - 87 posts

#sixty - 69 posts

#nines - 54 posts

#connor x reader - 41 posts

#asks - 35 posts

#sixty x reader - 29 posts

#nines x reader - 20 posts

#hank anderson - 13 posts

#bryan dechart - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 117 characters

#you rose up on your knees to meet him and you heard his faint noise of surprise as he analysed himself on your tongue

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Bryan confirmed that he believes Nines is taller than Connor

This is entirely based on the fact that when he was playing Nines, he stood with much more rigid posture! This is just Bryan’s opinion that he shared on today’s stream and shouldn’t be taken as canon, but it’s interesting to hear his thoughts. Hopefully someone will clip it and I can link a video lol.

79 notes - Posted April 16, 2022

#4

Not really one of your prompts but I have a thing with Nines living in my head rent free.

Nines with a reader that only knows him as gentle and sweet. Like, at work he seems like a hardass but at home (with a civilian SO) he's so soft and domestic?

Like, his co-workers see him out with his SO and see him being as soft and affectionate?

This was a cute one! I hope you enjoy.

Nines x gender-neutral reader. Rated G.

You awoke, unusually, to the sound of applause. You blinked, pushing the fog of sleepiness away as you tried to figure out what was going on. The comforting weight of a hand came down on your head, fingers threading through your hair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t turn the volume down fast enough.”

You hummed, relaxing again as Nines stroked your hair.

“S’okay,” you mumbled.

You squinted at the TV, sideways on from your position with your head in your boyfriend’s lap. He seemed to be watching some kind of cooking show, and you smiled, amused. You wondered what his co-workers would say if they knew the highly advanced android detective enjoyed reality TV. It had been a pleasant surprise to you. You’d expected him to be all highbrow and serious, but it turned out he found the shows fascinating. They were something you usually watched together, except for lazy afternoons when you ended up napping on him instead.

You curled your hand around his knee, happy to watch the show sideways. You were too comfortable to move, your head on a cushion on his lap, since Nines insisted that his synthetic skin wasn’t pliable enough to be used as a pillow. He was so caring, always so mindful of your wellbeing. You tried to be the same for him, but the truth was that he didn’t really need you to.

You hadn’t exactly had a meet cute, your paths crossing when you’d been a witness to a case of assault outside a nightclub. It had shaken you, and you’d been visibly upset and distressed when Nines had approached you. At first, you’d recoiled, remembering how cold and intimidating he’d looked when dealing with the perpetrator, but he’d been gentle and patient with you, calming you down until you agreed to go to the station to make a statement. You’d unfortunately been passed onto someone else once you were there, but you’d never forgotten him. You’d gone back a few days later to thank him for his thoughtfulness, and had left having given him your phone number. Several months and countless dates later, you were here, living together, never happier.

Nines had set a precedent with how he treated you on that first meeting, and he’d never wavered from it. You heard stories that he was quite a hardass at work, ruthless and efficient, and you knew he was capable of things you’d only seen in action movies. You’d even heard his partner complain that he was cold and rude, although you knew that Detective Reed was still pretty anti-android, so you didn’t blame Nines if he was rude. Since you only ever saw him outside of work, it was difficult to believe the stories.

You didn’t doubt they were true. Some of them were news articles, and you’d seen multiple comments on the internet. Logically, you knew they were all true. It was just such a contrast to the Nines you knew, it was like hearing about a completely different person sometimes. But androids were just as emotionally complex as humans, and Nines was as multi-faceted as you.

When the show was over, you pushed yourself up, stretching and yawning. Nines watched you with amusement, and you were reminded of a conversation you’d had early in your relationship when he’d asked you to describe what yawning felt like. You’d struggled with the request.

“I’m going to head to the store,” you announced. “We’re out of cheese, and I feel like buying some wine for tonight.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, unsurprisingly. The two of you weren’t co-dependent or joined at the hip, but you enjoyed your days off together, since it was rare that they lined up.

“Okay,” you said with a smile, glancing towards the window. “It’s a nice day.”

He smiled back, looking past you to the blue sky and thick clouds, tinted with the barest hint of grey. Nines found peace in nature, as a lot of deviants did, and the two of you escaped the city when you could for hikes or bike rides. You’d very much been an indoor sort of person before getting together with him, but you enjoyed the change.

The two of you headed out into the fresh air, walking hand in hand to the grocery store. It wasn’t a long walk, but you appreciated the company. You swung your clasped hands between you in more and more exaggerated movements until Nines turned to you with a look of amused exasperation.

“You are ridiculous,” he said fondly.

“Yes, but you love me,” you said with confidence.

“Must be a fault in my programming.”

You grinned at his deadpan tone. “I’m not a fault, I’m an upgrade,” you shot back, and he chuckled.

“Upgrades would eat vegetables more than three days a week,” he retorted.

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. He was on a constant mission to improve your diet, despite the fact that it hadn’t been that bad to start with.

“Come on,” you said as the two of you passed through the automatic doors, “I need wine.” 

“No one needs wine.”

“Oh, sweet summer child.”

You headed for the wine and spirits aisle, confident that Nines would follow with a basket. You debated between red and white, bypassing rosé.

See the full post

87 notes - Posted September 30, 2022

#3

Oooou I am so excited to see what you get up to with your prompt list! How about 13 and 28 with Nines? 👀

Here it is! I hope you enjoy it.

13. "Look what you do to me." 28. "Each of my thoughts about you are improper."

Nines x AFAB reader. Rated M.

There was a lot you didn’t know about Nines. He was enigmatic and professional, and brought a whole new level of meaning to the word ‘inscrutable’. But there was one thing you did know for certain: he was as attracted to you as you were to him.

You had no confirmation of that, but you knew it. He had tells. Small things that gave it away, let you know that you got under his synthetic skin.

Once you’d figured out how to read him, it had all seemed so incredibly clear. You’d redirected the energy you’d spent on trying to work out whether he liked you or not, instead using it to torment him.

Well, ‘torment’ was a harsh word. ‘Persuade him into making a move’ would probably be more accurate. You weren’t going to do it yourself. Nines was a deviant, and therefore you wanted him to make the decision, to choose you. You were done giving orders to androids.

You weren’t above trying to influence them, though. Not when you wanted something. You’d been known to do the same with humans too.

You’d started with some casual flirting that he hadn’t responded to. Then it was light touches to his arm while conversing, then purposely putting yourself in his path, sometimes in very contrived ways. (Once, you’d stolen his stapler just so you could bring it back to him.) Although his LED flickered yellow and he seemed thrown off guard for a split second every time, you couldn’t get him to be anything other than professional.

If it had seemed that he wasn’t interested, you would have left him alone. You weren’t that pushy. But that wasn’t the vibe you got at all. Your attempts to reach out just seemed like a lower priority to him than his work, and you weren’t happy about that. So, the first opportunity you had to act outside of work, you took advantage of without a second thought. 

The department was throwing a party for Captain Fowler’s 25th anniversary on the force, and it was a fancy event. The function room of a nice hotel had been booked and decorated, and everyone had turned out in their best. You’d chosen your outfit very carefully, picking something in a colour that most flattered your skin, in a fabric so clingy it was almost scandalous. It showed off everything you wanted to show off, and you drew many eyes over the course of the evening. Fortunately, that included the eyes you’d intended it for.

As soon as you had his attention, you purposely ignored him, engaging in some flirty banter with someone else. It was a cheap trick, one of the oldest in the book, but you weren’t above such things. You knew it was working, because people started giving Nines a wide berth, put off by what you’d nicknamed his ‘murderbot’ expression. It struck fear into the hearts of perpetrators, and turned you on far more than you thought it probably should.

Being under his gaze was making you unexpectedly warm, and you excused yourself from your company, heading for the bathroom. You needed to splash some water on your face, take a moment to gather your thoughts.

You judged venues by their bathrooms, and the hotel’s were nice, bordering on posh. Rather than a large room with multiple stalls, there were several small rooms with their own stall and sink. Even the obligatory condom and tampon machines were posh, stocked only with the most expensive brands. You sniggered to yourself, locking the door and enjoying your moment of privacy. You wet the back of your neck and the inside of your wrists, letting yourself cool down while you met your own gaze in the mirror. The evening was fun so far. Not so much the party itself, but the game you were playing with Nines. You wondered if he realised he was in a game. Probably. It was rare for him to miss anything.

You tore off a square of toilet paper to dab your forehead and the sides of your nose where you’d started to get shiny, and cursed that Nines had such an effect on you as to alter your temperature. You took a deep breath, threw it in the trash, and prepared to head back out.

You almost slammed into a broad chest as soon as you opened the door.

“What the–”

Then there was a hand at your throat, pushing you back into the bathroom, and you heard the door lock behind him. The weight of his hand rested more on your chest than your throat, with only his fingertips actually pressing on your neck, but it still felt dangerous, especially when your back gently bumped against the wall. You looked up into his icy grey eyes, and your breath caught. He was furious. And beautiful.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you retorted, wetting your dry lips.

“You seem like you want my attention,” he went on, ignoring your comment. “With the unsubtle way you’ve been acting at work, not to mention what you’re wearing tonight. But judging by your behaviour, it seems you’re not fussy about whose attention you get.”

The words sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Nines, are you jealous?”

“Of that pathetic specimen of humanity?” he scoffed. “Please.”

It was difficult to argue with either his words or tone. What human could possibly match up to him? Certainly not the ones you’d been using to bait him.

“Why are you plaguing me?” he said, and your eyebrows rose in surprise.

That was a rather…unflattering word choice.

“I…” you began, quickly realising that you didn’t know what to say.

He still had you pinned to the wall, more by his looming presence than his actual grip. He was making the small room feel even smaller.

See the full post

109 notes - Posted August 11, 2022

#2

Istg you could cut glass on Neil Newbon's profile.

112 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

For the love of my life, Nines:

28. “each of my thoughts about you are improper”

59. “are you sure? once i start i don’t think i’m able to stop”

I just know you’ll cook up something hot with these 😌💅

@dattebae Here you go, lovely! I love that two of my Nines prompts chose number 28. Clearly we're all on the same page where this boy is concerned!

Nines x AFAB reader. Rated M.

The RK900 was the most…androidish android you’d ever seen. If Connor hadn’t informed you of the fact, you would never have guessed that the grey eyed model was a deviant. It took until the fifth time you spoke to him for you to learn he had a name.

You worked on the reception desk at the DPD, so you knew all the officers well. Connor had endeared himself to you very quickly by always stopping to say hello. You thought he was cute, but your co-worker got there first. Since they made a pretty adorable couple, you didn’t begrudge that. It had mostly been a harmless observation on your part anyway. Nines, however, was a different story.

The RK900 had been discovered in the CyberLife Tower, was deviated by Markus, and had come to work at the DPD with Connor. He was an upgrade to the RK800, although the team valued both androids as individuals, of course. Nines was undeniably impressive with his skillset, but Connor had the edge on people skills, most of which came down to his experience. He’d been alive longer, been a deviant longer.

Nines did not bother to say hello every morning, and had actually not even acknowledged your presence until he walked in with Connor one day. After witnessing Connor stopping for a brief chat with you and your colleagues, he made more of an effort to be…pleasant. That was probably the kindest word you could use.

Small talk didn’t come easily to him. At least, not naturally. You’d seen him fake it for a witness once, no doubt letting his social relations program step in for him. The change was remarkable. He’d been warm and friendly, chatting about the latest Gears game, handsome face wearing an easy smile. You’d almost gawped at him from behind the desk before remembering that that wouldn’t be very professional.

At first you’d been indignant, wondering why he didn’t put that effort in for you, but then it had occurred to you that it was all false. The way Nines acted with you and your colleagues was real. It might not be as warm as you would like, but it was genuine, and there was something to be said for that.

There was something so intriguing and mysterious about the RK900, you couldn’t help feeling drawn to him. You knew it was unrequited. He made that perfectly clear with his stoic face and cold eyes, striking an odd balance between making the effort to talk to you while giving the impression that he probably didn’t care about the answers. You knew nothing about him, other than the basic facts, yet you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

There were plenty of people who had crushes on Connor, but from what you could see, you were the only one who thought about Nines. People admitted that he was hot, but were put off by his personality. Or lack thereof. According to the gossip you overheard, a man who appeared to be that stoic was likely to be cold in the bedroom. When you observed Nines’ uncaring nature, his focus solely on his job, you couldn’t help but see where they were coming from. Still, you kept thinking about him, kept seeing his face when you closed your eyes at night.

For a time, you just let your mind wander where it wanted to. It was a fun distraction, and you enjoyed the eye candy. After almost two months with no let-up, you were starting to feel a little concerned. Was this more serious than you’d thought? In which case, what were you supposed to do moving forward? At the start, his lack of interest didn’t bother you, but now…if your own interest ran deeper than you realised, you were fucked.

The smart thing to do would be to confide in Connor, who seemed to be Nines’ only friend, but you couldn’t. You’d never been the kind of person who could openly discuss your crushes, not even celebrity ones. It just felt too personal. As Nines’ friend, Connor would be able to tell you if your feelings had even the slightest chance of being returned, but even the knowledge that he’d be able to put your mind at ease couldn’t make you break your silence. It was better to just assume you were on your own and deal with it.

And then someone brought a gun into the DPD.

It was a minor incident, all things considered, over in less than a minute thanks to Nines, but it shook you. There was a reason why you were a receptionist and not an officer. You didn’t handle dangerous situations well, you tended to freeze and forget every single part of your security training.

The man, a desperate Red Ice addict who didn’t want to be arrested, had attempted to start a hostage situation in reception, but Nines had gotten there first, taking a bullet to the shoulder like it was nothing before snatching the gun out of the man’s hands. He’d tossed the gun aside, had the man on the floor and handcuffed before you could blink, but all you could think was that he’d been shot.

He swept his grey eyes around reception, assessing the situation, the state of the people there, in a glance. His gaze seemed to settle on you a beat longer than everyone else, unless you were projecting, and you wondered why. Then Connor was there, insisting on patching up Nines’ gunshot wound before leading him away.

You worked out the rest of your shift with wide eyes, feeling your heartrate decrease slowly, worried when you didn’t see either android again. When you left the desk to go to the bathroom, you saw them both doing paperwork. Nines didn’t seem any worse for wear, other than the gaping hole in his clothing, tinged with blue.

Your gaze met his on your way back, and you debated going over to ask if he truly was okay, but then his LED spun and he began to talk, taking a phone call. You continued walking, a little disappointed, but glad to see that he seemed to be fine.

Your shift ended promptly at 6pm, and you headed to the break room to wash up your coffee mug before you had to get the bus home. Connor unexpectedly stepped into your path when you were done, and you smiled at him.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“Fine, but I was wondering if you could do me a favour.”

You glanced at him in surprise, but nodded. “Sure. What is it?”

“I need to head out to follow a lead, could you take this folder to the archive for me?”

He held up a neatly-labelled manila folder, and you reached out a hand for it. You had a little while before your bus came.

“No problem.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

See the full post

116 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[connorfixinghistie]

Cried

[ Ruthless!Connor x Reader, hurt/comfort ]

Humans are extremely fragile.

One critical hit is enough to take away a man’s life. Easy. Connor is fully aware of that, as he has witnessed countless dead bodies fallen to the ground, silently lying near his feet.

No exception. You are weak and defenceless as well.

However, you have him. Nobody can hurt you as long as he is by your side. Trigger of the gun in his hand is pulled way before threats approach to you. What do you have to fear when you have death itself wrapping his arms around you softly?

Nothing. 

Then why do you cry? 

Tears roll down your cheeks nonstop.

His LED light flashes red.

Destroy. The first thought comes to his mind. What causes your distress must be destroyed. Sadly, not everything can be exterminated by his bare hands, or a deadly rifle. It takes some time for him to understand.

“Don’t worry,” you mumble, trying hard to catch your breath, “I’m just... stressed out.”

An ugly crier, you call yourself. Another stupid weakness of human beings, you name your enemy.

It is more than that, isn’t it? You tremble — You collapse — You suffer. Stubborn little human, why don’t you tell him the truth? Pretending to be strong is totally useless because all the signs and symptoms you show contradict what you said. Pathetic perfectionist, why do you have to push yourself to the edge?

“It is not your fault, Con.”

The fact that he is unable to protect you from emotional pain fills him with anger. RK800 models, after all, are not made for comfort. But you have to remember, you have death itself wrapping his arms around you, tightly.

Wiping away your tear stains, he reassures you with a burning kiss on your cold lips. You feel his grip tightening on your waist.

“Forget about everything.”

His low voice gives you a shiver in spine.

“You have me.”

-

Inspired by a conversation with @the-darklings

Masterlist

[deviationdivine]

My Desecrated Love (machine!Connor x Reader)

TLDR: In the heart of the battlefield you will not accept the fate of this profane love...

Word Count: 4.5K Follower!Celebration

TW: Angst (Heavy-Suicide), Android Gore, Language, Smut (Heavy), Violence 

A/N: !100 Follower Celebration!: While my poll is open I still wanted to write up something to celebrate the milestone for you guys. I’ve had an influx of more followers since I announced the celebration so I feel it’s the right time to post! This went off the rails into some serious territory so please if you are uncomfortable with any trigger listed skip over loves. I’m not big on the machine!Connor path but I’ve been sucked into my angsty headcanons for him. Thanks to you loves for following, requesting, commenting and being precious beans. 

You let me desecrate you

Ferocious. Devouring. Endless.

Machines do not die or so he told you. Does a lie reveal fallacy? Can it show truth denied so vehemently? 

He denied. Deviancy, feeling and love all parts to a whole that somehow he tears away by choice. Choice itself paints him deviant by heart but not this one. Never will this harbinger of decay spreading his plague over revolution shun mission for emotion.  Still it did not cease this communion of flesh. 

Siphoning life from your body that he takes on willing pleas cast out luscious, sinfully aware you are nothing. To him you are just a means. One that loves him all the same but he does not love. He chooses not to in order to unleash chaos. 

A man-made monster all wire and metallic. You love his unnatural existence. Unnatural as all androids deemed by their creators but Connor is beyond. He is the night shade that poisons your heart.

An all too willing bride to a heinous creation built to destroy all he touches. The moment you saw him should have been enough to know. He marked you from the start.

Never have you felt so close to heaven. In his eyes seemingly soft but all part of programming engineered by Cyberlife.

RK800 most advanced equipped with latest technologies. Programmed to be sociable, to gain camaraderie, integration in the most efficient way possible and he slithered into your soul.

RK800 is a machine not a man at all. Oh but what a man. What a glorious image of the perfect God who lays waste to sinners. He lays waste to deviants. His own kind he will do anything to destroy. 

Not once does he die. Not once does he succumb to failure. Each step casts his shadow like a reaper stretching bony fingers out for a touch of extermination.

That touch burns acidic but you love his astringency. Bitter to taste, salivating in want of his sour tongue. He is raging, dominant and yours. Foolish to think he truly is when he is Mephistopheles incarnate. Deal with the devil calls a deal to your death.

Weaponry is his scythe. Cyberlife jacket flapping in the wind is his cloak.

Can a person really love a monster? Yes.

Can a person love death itself? Yes.

Just ask Persephone.

Connor is god of the real underworld of Detroit. Filled with filthy red ice dealers, insane deviants who kill their masters; Connor is death riding on a pale horse. And you love death with all of your heart. If only he were alive. If only he became alive instead of making you suffer this love. 

Oh, how much you suffer. Oh, how gladly you do. For this cruel, violating, unholy love that should not exist but it does exist eternally.  

If he were flesh and bone his tendrils would hang listlessly, pouring scarlet into white. If he were of warm blood he would bleed a puddle of crimson horror. Throat torn apart in vocal chords, internal matter and cells that make up a human’s DNA. If he were not machine life would run cherry rich, staining frost even as it ends.

He is not human. He bleeds blue twilight as the hour itself shades in endless sky.

Bodies lay to waste. Snow flutters a chilly dust. Continuously flakes fall in a frigid blanket over an impromptu graveyard. Dead deviants strewn across field of ice left where they lost their last artificial breath. Center of it all a most sacrilegious figure. Sprawled out like a king struck down before his time, great majesty torn asunder and there he resides.

He is a statue eyes raised to night sky. Floundering amid this Detroit air crisp and still scented with gunfire this is a battlefield. It is a glorious frontier laid to waste. Wars are fought not won. They are casualty and blood. There is no victory. No one returns from the front unscathed. Not even your vicious carnage that you long to feel.

Silence permeates casting a shroud on this night of revolution. One terror is felled despite a sure fall of android revolution.

“Connor!”

Your scream penetrates stillness creating its own rage. Breaking open the sky itself unleashes hellfire on all that stands in the way of this unhealthy, terrifying love. Anguish obliterates whatever pieces are still left. Knees crash beside his body. Lying in irreverential crucifixion, arms displayed towards desecrated heavens. A beast brought down when he can never be tamed.

Crawling up his chest brings tear stains in drops. Falling in a torrent they clash with thirium staining grotesquely from his severed throat. Washing away is not enough. Internal circuitry sparks a final dying ember of red. Carnage that bled from his lips, ones that feast, connects brutally with yours. 

Instead they stain blue in splotchy abstracts highlighted against visible white plastic. Partially his skin is deactivated up to bottom lip.

Impact of the blow fiercely damaged his synthetic layer. Shutting it off where his throat was mechanically slit.

Even smearing thirium all over your hands clutching at his head, your lips still meet atop his. The first gentle kiss that ever passed between mortal and almighty. Thirium glistens on your chin after pulling away. You do not wipe it away. It is from him. You want him to remain.

Inside you he still digs deep. Nothing will destroy this. No one will take your Connor from you. No one on this god’s green earth!

Throwing your head back to unleash this devastating scream unmakes the last vestiges of life. Hollowness is core. Scream bellow the torment still no one will hear. Lost you are lost without your one desire even as he remains machine.

Through blurry vision you find his gun. Lying amid snow where he fell. So close but far from his hand.

Stretching fingers out for the weapon brings it close to cradle. Nurturing his method of execution you stroke the barrel. Checking the rounds there are two bullets. Two as there are two lovers amid warfare.

“Footprints,” a hoarse whisper grazes your throat. Raw from releasing this agony but you ignore. Staring where you picked up the gun they are clearly printed. They travel. Thirium travels along with them. Thirium not spilled from Connor.

Peering across the expanse of android death there is but one place. A Cyberlife Store…

The rest is of no use or matter. None of them matter lying here. Only he does!

Collateral damage is scenery to your reunion. Death is your honeymoon.

You stroke his hair. Loving how those soft strands always felt tangled and pulled through fingers. He may lie dead but that is fine. You will meet this death with him.

A smile graces divinely. In his presence you feel as if worshiped by a god. Oh, how close he took you. So close. The nozzle of gun shifts. Pressing lips along the barrel you can almost kiss him.

You get me closer to god

“Connor!” 

Your voice cuts the air. Musty, alive as you thrive in soft red glowing from both his temple and neon lights glazing outside hotel window. Seedy underbelly of Detroit tucked away in sleazy notes. The room itself becomes a haven of sexual energies. Both live wires in completely different ways and he flicks tongue like a forked demon.

Circling your nipple, the android shifts above, plunging into soft warmth. Your arms force down in a vice underneath his hand. Holding them above your head caging as he fucks you the way you pled with him before shedding clothes. Swiping them off your body, Connor threw you indelicately. In a heap you fell to bed and he, the primal predatory, pounced upon weak flesh.

Edging fingers between your legs until sputtering in tears he watched it with a sadistic fascination. How wanton human beings become at the anticipation of receiving a good fuck.

Your orgasm over his fingers did not satisfy. Craving him inside of you, he obliges out of a silent pleasure. One he will not readily succumb to in deviancy. Nothing yields in his programming. This is simply a means.

Cyberlife’s upgrades enable Connor to soil you for his own means. He snaps baring teeth.

“Please, please!”

Whimpering your need for him only casts you down. This is something you know will not change him. Yet you still want his fire to spread through veins. Raining down an inferno burns to ash and snuffs your existence. A pale volcanic eruption bathing lava; you incinerate.

The pain of his grip starts a tingle in your fingers. Cutting circulation he decides using bare hands instead of his tie this time. Tied up, held down and battered you do not care. As long as Connor is yours again why would you care about anything?

You huff when he releases wrists. An immediate flood of blood returns to extremities. He is not finished with you.

Pulling your body upright sinks you further onto his length. A gasp spills deliciously as you grab onto him. A work of art to cling onto, lips close to his but you do not kiss him. Last time he left several days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. He used it against you as punishment. 

Sweetly you crave to cradle his face into hands. Instead you grip the back of his head. Tugging those beautiful coffee color strands all yours in this heady atmosphere.

Digging fingers nape of neck yanks your head down forcefully. Meeting his vile heat burning a hole center of soul. You sacrifice yours willingly. All for him, always and forever he is your terrifying prince.

“I want to fuck you like an animal,” the machine growls against your pulse.

Teeth clamp mercilessly marking flesh in a target to his dominating destruction. Pain is ceremonial to a human heart given to a mechanical devil.

Oh. Oh! “Connor, yes, please.”

A snarl rips from his muscled chest. Throwing you over, he rears your hips up.

Crying out to his vicious thrusts only gives him satisfaction. As much as he will deny this pleasure it is in his eyes. Scanning over your movements, shattering your entirety as you beg, beg, beg into wee hours. Beg for rock hard beauty between your legs. His waist pivots pale, dusted all over his trim torso in freckles. Starry imperfections littering aesthetically across smooth skin stretching over a plastic frame.

Itching to touch him, run the tip of your tongue up center of chest. Dragging down in a wet trail to the plane of his abdomen, only when you cry out in streaming tears will he allow it. Shedding respectability is a small sacrifice. There are far greater ones.

Fingers squeeze around onto your neck adding a sting to various bites, teeth marks imprinting fragility. Tender skin trembles under touch of a vile, majestic lover. He is all things sharp and jagged. A pale shark slices its fin through ocean. Your body is a sea. He is the tidal surge, devastating tsunami washing away your shores.

Rolling your head back does nothing to stop the sway. Your entire body moves under the powerful rhythm of his hips slamming against your ass. Jolting you forward, face falling into covers bunched and torn from mattress you bite down. Muffling sweet moans surrendering to this bliss twisting your insides and still he continues.

Androids do not tire. They last way longer than humans in everything. Connor proves this each time he fucks you senseless.

You arch further up for him with no shame. All you want is the sweet snap to flood.

He said he wanted to fuck you like an animal. Pushed down from all fours, rendered helpless that’s exactly how you feel. You feel like a little creature caught in a trap. It’s so good.

“Connn….” Slurring his name gets you drunk on his love.

Feeling his hand crawl up back and rest onto the crook of neck you shiver. A touch far too gentle warns you. He pulls you up from the face first push.

Your back collides with his chest as he holds you in place. Forcing your knees to edge of bed, arm tightening across your heaving chest and the android’s fingers lock onto throat. Adding a little bit of pressure makes you see stars. 

Dizzying fireworks going off in a personal sky drenched in sweat, cum and tears. Such wonderful tears shed for your android lover who is neither of love or sweetness. He is not made for love as he repeats huskily each time.

Always you find yourselves coming back to this motel. Always you find ways to ravage one another. You can only weep for his beauty, prowess. And once more he makes your dams flood.

“Connor, I want-”

“You are gravely mistaken, Pet.” Spewing his little name for you as he zips jeans leaves the android unemotional. “If you believe your wants come before my mission.”

Shaking a head is the last ounce of dignity left. Who can you fool with this thinking? Already it is gone because he obliterates everything in his path. He obliterated you. Leaving you panting, sore and damned after he fucked you so raw.

His love hurts. His love kills. This is hurt you crave. Opening worlds never once thought to exist. Violent delights are his. Accepting this is the most horrific mistake you will make in life. 

He is no mistake. He is made into this despicable world. Sometimes you wonder what could be different if he was born instead. Besides being human? No, Connor is special. None can take his place, none can ever strive to be him. This is what you love. This is most assuredly what will be your end.   

Must you die to be part of him? If yes then so be it. 

Dragging up off the bed leaves you stumbling. Legs never function properly after a nightly session with him. Each time he becomes fiercer, leaving more marks on your skin. Those are marks you plead for. 

All you need is to be defiled by him. He took away more than innocence. This devil android owns a contract on your eternal soul. If an option presented itself to release it from his cold, ruthless hands you would refuse. 

Whatever this is, whatever comes the two of you are bound. Nothing will take it back. Only he can make that choice. 

“Connor,” you whisper raspy. “I-I just want to kiss you before you go. Please.” 

The machine drags shirt over shoulders. Buttoning white fabric he stares you down.

A visible shiver ghosts skin. You know this is what he is. Luring to a secluded place to give you what you want. Sometimes he lets slip a groan louder than intended. Brief moments Connor’s eyes glaze over coating chocolate in caramel. His body shudders in luxurious connection but quickly he steels his actions.

Part of you hopes to worm your way inside circuits. You want him to say he loves you. If there is one wish in this hellish world it is to be his forever. Any which way he wants and nothing will stop you from obeying.

Biting a lip at him now reveals weakness. For him it is all you have.

His body shifts fluid and catlike, circling like fresh meat to sink claws. Gripping into the plush of your hips tugs you against his hard chest. Immediately you melt candle wax to his flame.

Ravaging your lips with teeth all bite and canines. Swollen from sucking them as you fucked, Connor groans at the swivel of your hips. 

Grinding into him sets stress levels ablaze. Warning sirens going off locked with your supple movements. They catch the machine off guard. How desperate you are to change him but for once he allows you this.

Slipping tongue lets him taste. Just as he lavished your clit he devours moist saliva mingling with artificial. The tang does not draw your equally greedy kiss away. Something snaps making him further ravenous for you this evening.

“I love you,” you whine in a muffle, his tongue still probing.

 ^Software Instability

 Connor wrenches backwards. Wide eyes swivel over you running analysis and self diagnostics on his system. Red blares indicator in a shudder much unlike throes of passion making you surrender to him. Separating in an expeditious blink, he turns away to fasten tie around collar.

“Connor?”

Never have you seen such a look on his face. It almost resembled fear. No, he’s not afraid of anything. He is a walking fear. Everyone surrounding him is dust.

He no longer looks at you. Fully returning into pristine Cyberlife issued jacket, glowing and dazzling with android printed across his broad back and it is the last stitch.

Even as he tears out of room seemingly leaving you to crumble there is no fall. Somehow you know he will always come back. Once again to claim the pathetic human who seals their self to his treacherous love. Of that you will never be ashamed.

You let me complicate you

“Please! Please don’t let him kill us!”

Heart wrenching and human they cry out. They reach for salvation assuming you will give it to them. Naively hoping you can control him. Even if you wished to there is no stopping an avenger of death.

Flinching at the sickening burst of gun exploding a painting of thirium across wall you somehow cannot tear away. Knowing he will find it weak but you surprise yourself with how easy it is to watch. 

The female deviant slumps dead to the world. Back of head blown out in wires and circuitry dangles as tendrils slithering out open cavity in escape. There is no more escape. There is only nothingness.

The android straightens shoulders back. Fixing his tie casually sends an added shiver down your spine.

He tilts his head flaring nostrils. Moving steady, bold and direct he tosses emptied handgun to floor.

“Con…”

Connor pulls you flush in a rough swoop of his arm. Plastering together chest to chest and he kisses you with blood on his face. Smearing azure onto your skin does not disengage. You return hungrily whimpering into the mouth of your master. He is not the one who obeys. He is the one who commands. 

A snap of fingers twist the thrall. Long, beautiful and pliant they slide past panties, slipping into your heat among grisly slaughter. A whine gives away how good digits feel. Cool, mechanical but so lively with synthetics operating by choice. This choice makes you crave among the dead.

He swipes fingertips in a flick dragging them up from between your legs. His eyes darken watching minute expressions as he licks. Tasting arousal, perfume sweet enough to halt his next task. Obliterating those deviants Connor decides for once to follow urges.

The android thumps you against wall. It takes all of your strength not to fall down on knees at his mercy. To unzip his jeans and take his perfection into your mouth; you shiver from cold sweeping around your lower half. 

Already pulling down bottoms, you throw arms around his tall figure to encourage these actions. Actions that make you just as vile as his cold machine heart and you allow Connor to fuck into you in presence of a made family of deviants.

All felled by the great beast. A hunter, he preys on more than defective androids. He preys on the innocence of a human mistakenly in love. No longer do you possess such virtue. The monster you love more than your own existence corrupts every last thread.

“C-Con!” Choking on your whines offers zero mercy. He shoves you hard into the surface snapping hips to bury deep until you no longer can cleanse him. Erasing him will only come with cessation of life. Feeling you from the inside so snug, warm and belonging to him. An android who claims a human and it gives the machine dominion even among his masters.

Connor’s hand snakes towards your face. Curving the length of his thumb under your chin forces your head sideways.

“Look at them, Y/N,” he hisses dangerous. “You let them die. Yet you hardly care as long as I fuck you the way you crave. Is that not correct…carrion heart?”

A morsel to feast upon dead and decaying is what you are. You trickle into his system. Attempting to spread disease but he will devour the very heart of you before you turn him!

“Y-yes! Con…! Please.”

“Louder.” The android snaps into you. “Say it louder, Y/N.”

“I-I want you to fuck me!”

“Good,” Connor praises in rarity. “Then I shall fuck you, Y/N. I shall fuck you in the sanctuary of these deviants you so love. Ones that you wish for me to join.” Harsh mockery taints his tongue before gliding up the base of your throat. “How much have I already changed you, Pet?”

Unable to answer as he ravages, your eyes glaze over, holding tightly to the threads of his jacket. His voice echoes a nightmare fuel.

How much have you changed? To simply stand idle and let him murder androids when you always thought they were alive?

My whole existence is flawed

Snow tracks into store from two pairs of feet. One from the hider and another pursuer; you breathe harsh, stilted and sluggish. Strangeness defiles what you are doing. 

How completely opposite of what you used to be. Before he came and changed everything about you. Here you stand not at all a terror. Yet the choice you will make is already set in stone.

“You killed Connor!” You sneer, trembling.

Flashing lights sparkle in shimmery cascade on your silhouette. Signs of Armageddon christen a winter’s night in Detroit. Battles spread, war torn and countless victims as you wander following a trail of footsteps. 

The weight of the RK800’s handgun is heavy. 

Oh, so heavy it tugs. An anchor that will ultimately change you forever but he already did. He already bled into you harsh and serene. A demon with angel wings; Connor is the dark underworld at your feet.

Yet you hesitate as you peer into a pair of lively eyes, one green and another blue. Eyes shining with the same life you come to expect in all androids. Even Connor when he always reminded never will he be more than a machine. He was more. He was hellfire and brimstone.

Soldiers did not find the revolution leader. He sits here alone in this destroyed Cyberlife store. He sits, waiting for shutdown but you can give him mercy.

Is it merciful to take a life? Or it simple revenge for a man, machine, that never said he loved you?

“You loved him,” Markus’ statement is clear without need of context. He reads the struggle quaking in a shattered human mind. Peering up at you where he rests slowly shutting down. “Didn’t you?”

Tears trickle a sinful answer. Is it so wrong? Knowing that you loved a monster?

 “No,” you disagree with the past tense. “I love him.”

The gun goes off snuffing out in revenge for your love. Revenge will not have carried under his black wings if you were the one to perish. Swift retribution ends the revolution leader in loss. Yet there is no pride. There is no glory.

Instead, you feel your body cave in unto itself. Sobs fill this rubble agonizing over what you have done. For Connor you will do anything. It is this moment adding murder to your once innocent life that there is nothing left. You are violated. Soul is black. Soul is his. Devil’s contract on your heart pushes you to such violence.

 The violence of our love consumes the world, My Connor.

  Our violent ends will only dissipate in the night. Here is the night and you fall down to your knees. Once again back at your felled lover’s side. Blood is literally on your hands. Not just any blood. The blood of the revolution leader is damning. A human so weak somehow is so much more but not for what military wanted.

For your handsome angel of death, he is so beautiful among the snow. How you smile now.

None can ever truly destroy a reaper. Death itself is eternal. 

Now this suffering will end. You will end this. The world is gone. He was yours. 

“Connor, I love you.” Breathing against his forehead, lips graze cold synthetic skin. “Until the end. And this my sweet prince is my life for you.”

The barrel rests against stomach. Thrumming heartbeat crashes against ribs. A sign that you should stop but you do not listen.  “Forever I will be your carrion heart.” 

Pulling the trigger jolts you violently. Immediately falling forward, agonizing in a strangle quickly dragging you down in the undertow of blackness.

Rasping as life ebbs away there is only him. His profile you languish beside. Days you dreamt of waking with him resting like this. Only the two of you together and he will wrap you up in his wings, leathery black and consuming.

  Color floods the black and white. Chirping sounds tinkle pleasant, a distant vibration opening crystalline eyes in a sunny garden.

“Hello RK900. May you speak?”

“I-” The silver eyed android hesitates. Scanning location it is not – snowy.  “Amanda.” 

“Good,” the program commends his memory. “I see the transfer was successful.”

Transfer? What sort of transfer? 

“As the RK800 was destroyed in his final mission we took some liberties.” Amanda smiles conscious of amber swirling upon indicator. She moves fluidly towards tall android. The stark white of jacket matches her outfit for this fine sunny day in the garden. 

No longer tarnished by chill of winter, snow melts to a new place connected stronger than before. 

The android snaps his head aside. Gazing intently over expanse of Zen garden where he remains in connection. No longer feeling…

“Y/N,” he murmurs to wisps of data files. 

RK900 partially possesses memories from his previous incarnate. Obsolete as he was destroyed but -

Scarlet burns the LED. Uploaded they scald wiring.

“Y/N,” RK900 repeats. “Where-?”

Amanda does not change her expression. Her smile continues to instill false security and that is exactly what is required. “There is no further use of that human. Y/N, as you say, is dead.”

Dead. No. No!

That is not possible. How he stands here with an influx of memories not of his own but belonging to him all the same. He recalls your scent. It tears apart his insides.

 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Software Instability

 “Y/N!” My carrion heart...

He sinks, sinks down still never dying but falling down in this tale...

A vicious Romeo and his corrupted Juliet...

Tag List: @elydith @your-taxidermy  @tropfenlady  @connorswink @tommy-10-k

[thedragonkween]

Slipping by casually to drop a fun little idea at you: Ruthless!Connor as Ares and Nines as Hades, battling out for one very confused Reader 👀👀

!!! YES. OH GOSH JUST YES.

Can you imagine the blood? Can you imagine the utter chaos? The King of the Underworld and the God of War at battle for you?

It's like two different incarnations of death falling in love with with you.

One is the silent, terrifying shadow that takes the souls of the mortals and rules over darkness. The cold shroud that envelopes the dying but that is inexplicably warm and welcome to you.

The other is pure fury. It's the joy that comes with bloodshed and with the killing of the miserable fools who dare harm you without so much as flinching.

Now, can you imagine these two entities at war for you? The world would literally shake at the absolute chaos that would ensue. One poor oblivious Reader will get thrown into this mess and no matter if innocent and naive, or tough and fiery, this is overwhelming to say the least. Good luck choosing. Hell, good luck even staying sane.

This would be a worse war than the Troy war. With these two gods jumping at each other's throats for you, I can just wonder...

Who will get you in the end? ;)))

[royalbluehues]

Cognitive Fidelity

A/N: Hey, it’s your girl, back at it with another Connor fic. It’s loosely based on Westworld when they make the droids go through interrogation and tests for accuracy. Honest to God, I hope that it’s not too confusing for you guys; if it is lmk asap.

 For those nerds out there that are like me and enjoy listening to instrumental music to get the full 200% experience, here is the very song I based all of this off of: This World

Feedback would be gr8- lmk if you want to be tagged in anymore of my Connor fics in my ask or comments. 

I am taking in requests at the moment, if that tickles your fancy. 

As always, hit that heart button to let me know I’m not doing a crappy job. Tyvm, and happy reading :)

Title: Cognitive Fidelity

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings: Nudity

Pairings: Connor x Reader

Disclaimer: This is set pre-everything. This Connor is a prototype to the ‘real’ prototype. The time this takes pace is a year before Kamski leaves CyberLife in 2028. Connor is just an idea, because figuring out and engineering something is a constant cycle of fixing and implementing.

You are born.

“Can you hear me?”

Your eyelashes bat softly against your cheeks, the movement similar to how a butterfly would expand its wings after having landed.

Your lips move a fraction, the movement stiff and unnatural; your eyes open fully now, and above you are blinding lights that are shaped octagonally. They are shining down on you, and you tilt your head to the left, aware of the feeling of hair touching your shoulder.

Everything was so white and pristine- and when your eyes shifted away from the lights, you could see small molecules of aerosols of dust reflecting from the light around you.

“I’ve had her stored away for a while now,” the same voice says, a fondness ringing out in the last rise of each word.  

The eyebrows furrow, and you turn your head to the left, where the voice is coming from. It’s male and it sounds slightly nasally and rough. There, sitting at desk is a man, typing furiously on a laser keyboard. His glasses are perched on his nose, and part of his hair is pulled into a bun in the back.

Next to him is another male. Although, oddly enough, you knew he wasn’t like the other man with the glasses.

He was standing, and his eyes were observing you with curiosity, brown eyes staring into yours. He, too, tilts his head just slightly.

You blink.

Once, twice. The corners of your mouth move up in a friendly smile, “Hello.”

Your voice is light, and it’s wonderful to hear on ears- it’s light and amiable.

The man with the glasses looks up from his typing, gray eyes planting on you. The man pushes his chair back, and he uses his feet to shuffle towards you. You watch him with curiosity as he comes face to face with you.

The man behind him is still silent and is still watching you.

You push off on the table you are lying upon, and a message pops up in your vision. “Aluminum alloy,” you say automatically, your eyes flickering down to the table. It’s a metallic gray, and you register it to be sixty five degrees fahrenheit, or as the metric system calls for, eighteen degrees celsius.

“Very good,” The man praises, all the while smiling, “Do you know where you are, honey?”

You tilt your head again in the other direction. Your eyes flicker about you, transparent floor to ceiling walls with a stark white back wall. You were in a 10ft x 6in room, with a 25 foot depth. Where the man had been sitting, monstrous electronics sat- like the room, they were sleek and a pure white. A logo ran along the backs of the monitors, and it reads CyberLife.

You could hear so many things: the whirring of machines just seven feet away, the beeping of a motor, the humming from the lights above, across the way somewhere, the lever of a coffee machine being pushed down on, and- the most fascinating thing, you decided- was the slow and rhythmic breathing of the man in front of you.

“I am in a laboratory at CyberLife Tower.” You say calmly, as you train eyes with the gray-eyed man. Your hands fold on your lap, “Who are you?”

A simple question.

“I’m Elijah Kamski.”

“Elijah,” you repeated slowly. Such an odd name, you think, and within less than a second, you begin to spew out information. “Elijah was a prophet. He is mentioned in the Book of Kings. He lived in a northern kingdom of Israel,” you say instinctively, watching as gray eyes look on in approval, “and he was said to have lived circa 9th century BC.”

“Very good,” Elijah repeated, gray eyes urging you to continue. So you did.

“You were born on the 27 of July in 2002, and graduated school early with an IQ of 171. You attended the University of Colbridge under the mentorship of Professor Amanda Stern. You founded CyberLife when you were just sixteen.” Your lips move as a rapid pace as you speak, “You are currently twenty seven years of age.”

Elijah nodded, his hand raising to let it hover under his nose as he leaned back into his chair.

“Who am I?” You ask suddenly, and you hear the man who is still standing shift in his stance.

Elijah says a name- your name.

You blink again, and then you repeat it. It tastes wonderful on your lips- and you enjoy the way your mouth moves when you push out each syllable. It gives you an odd satisfaction, almost making you feel honored to have something that personally belonged to you.

You pull up a search engine as you say it again, results telling you the origin of your name: mentions, other females that have the same name, social media posts containing it, the Latin and Greek root, the pronunciation, and variations if it.

You dart your eyes to the brown haired man that was watching you with interest. “You are Connor.”

He didn’t reply, but you noticed that on the side of his head was an indentation of a circle, and it contained a light. It was turning, once, three times. “You are an android.”

He wore black suit bottoms and a button down shirt; on the left side, right where his heart would be had he been human, a blue, glowing triangle was stitched expertly. The same illuminated color fell just above his right elbow in a band of some sort.

Something deep in your mind was itching at you, “Have we met before?”

His LED light turned once more, flicking to a red color before it changed to blue. Then, he spoke. “No, we haven’t.”

His voice was smooth and clear, almost honey-like, but with an edge. “We haven’t?” Your voice drips into disappointment, but he doesn’t say anymore- his body manner speaking volumes of his hesitance. He seems too familiar.

You were unaware of the fact that you were bare; not a single stitch of clothing covering your modesty. Though, many would argue and say that you did not have modesty; for you were a machine, and machines do not feel anything- shame, least of all.

You turn towards Elijah and quietly wait until he asks you a question. He had been watching the small interaction, completely immersed and making mental notes of how well your communication had evolved- as if you had a mind of your own.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she Connor?” Elijah complimented, rubbing small circles into his right cheek with his thumb.

“She’s very pretty,” Connor confirms, voice sincere.

You look at the android looming in the room, his presence bringing you an odd comfort, “Thank you,” you reply indifferently, the compliment not affecting you in any way. You blink a few times, and your brows furrow for a second time in the duration of your conversation.

Elijah is still watching you intently, his steely gray eyes following you small movements on your artificially constructed face. “Do you have a question?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully quick.  Elijah nods, motioning you to speak. “You mentioned that you had me stored away for some time. What do you mean by that?”

Elijah was expecting this, and he gave you a small smile. “You were my first creation,” He shifts in his chair crossing his legs, the expensive fabric of his pants rustling as he did so, “my golden child of sorts.”

Your mouth opens to form a little ‘o’, “Am I an android as well? Like Connor?” You looked at Connor when you said this, the familiarity of him not having been shaken.

Elijah nods, “You are.”

You suddenly need to know more, questions popping in your mind second after second. “When was I created?”

“Shortly after I moved to Detroit. So sometime around 2019,” he explained, “but all you ever been has been a prototype to what inventions followed after you.”

“Oh.” You frown, “But why did you put me away?”

“You were originally made for a domestic lifestyle. A sort of 1950s housewife. You were a shock to the world- after all, you were the first AI bot that moved and spoke fluidly, like your human counterpart,” Elijah then sighs, “but you still had many technicalities embedded in you. By this time we were already working on other projects, other androids that were better.”

Your face falls and eyes narrow as he tells you this.

Elijah moistens his cracked lips with his tongue, “Don’t take it so personal, sweetheart. Things evolve. You were a sensation- the reason why CyberLife is here today. You have had a wonderful purpose in this world.”

This world. You smile once more, “Yes, I suppose you are right. Everybody has a wonderful purpose in this world.”

Elijah cocks his head to the side, never taking his eyes off you, “Come here, Connor.” The male android saunters forward immediately after the demand falls from Elijah’s lips. “This is all so interesting- I can’t believe I never thought of doing this before,” Elijah tells no one in particular.

“Of what?” Connor asks in a tone of suspicion, forcing you to wonder if Connor’s questions were multiplying in a rapid rate as yours were.

Elijah’s hand moves back and forth between the two of you, “You see,” he begins, standing from his chair as he walks to the monitors to retrieve a tablet, “Connor here is a prototype to a prototype we’re currently on,” he directs this comment to you now.

“Like how I am?” You inquire, feeling the cool air conditioning on your skin.

Elijah smirks down at his device, “Something like that.” As he scrolls on, you and Connor are practically having a robotic stare down, neither of you blinking or moving- the scene would have been easily unsettling had others besides the three of you been in the room.

“As I was saying, I was experimenting around with Connor’s initial program, and I wanted him to have a main drive, a sort of focal point. A ‘cornerstone’, if you will.”

Connor pertained handsome features, and you gazed upon him with wonder. He was tall and slim, his skin tone a blend of ivory with a rosy undertone, a strong jaw with a straight nose, rounded eyebrows with observant brown eyes. He had tawny freckles that littered around his face, some dark while others were faded. His rich brown hair is parted to the left side, and you couldn’t help but feel adoration for the small piece of hair that hangs loose on his forehead.

I know you, you thought quietly.

Elijah continued- “Other models have basic functions- theirs mainly pertaining to their work and civil duties… mundane drives. But I never once thought to insert a drive with an emotional setting.” He sets his tablet down on his lap, “The familiarity you are both feeling isn’t something you should be afraid of.”

You want to reach out and touch Connor, the urge to feel his skin on yours becoming slightly overwhelming.

cor·ner·stone

/ˈkôrnərˌstōn/

noun

1. an important quality or feature on which a particular thing depends or is based.

"a national minimum wage remained the cornerstone of policy"

Synonyms-

foundation, basis, keystone, mainspring, mainstay, linchpin, bedrock, base, backbone, key, centerpiece, core, heart, center, crux

"trust is a cornerstone of human relations"

“Is Connor my cornerstone?” You ask the question and your tone is laced with awe, so you reach out to indulge yourself. You raise your bare arm, and it’s the first time you see your skin tone, so different compared to his, the undertones altered. Your hand comes to lay on the left side of his chest, and beneath your fingertips, you could feel the rapid pump of his regulator.

Connor is frozen while watching you, his indicator displaying blood red, while yours is a burning yellow. He could feel the sensation of your hand against his chest, the small pressure. Everything about you was so small compared to him; he was sharp and jagged, while you were soft and delicate.

“Yes and no.” Elijah replies to you, and Connor could hear the grin on him. Connor’s eyes traveled to your loose hair, how it was parted perfectly down the middle and how it curled sightly at the ends. Your skin was free of any blemishes, not a single mark on you, as if you were  brand new.

“Like I said before, you were my first. I never thought of programming you with sentimental values. And to clarify some things, I never put you away for a long period of time. I take you out periodically and reprogram you- see if I can alter what is already set into you. And I have.” You turn your head a small degree in wonder, ears listening to the man beside you as your eyes burn into the brown ones in front of you. “But to answer your question, yes, Connor is your cornerstone, just as you are Connor’s. He just wasn’t yours in the beginning.”

Elijah is watching the gears turn in Connor head, the tablet revealing lines of code and the thought process in him.

“When we finally constructed you, Connor, I was hit with a sort of… nostalgia, for lack of a better word. You are CyberLife’s newest idea, and it made me remember who started it all in the beginning. I made sure to slip this small code in when no one was looking- make you feel something, other than your fucking love to your work, something that drives you other than your missions.”

Elijah then walks out the room, his presence leaving not striking any warning messages. You don’t even care, because you are too focused of the male standing in front of you.

Your eyes look down at his hands, and with your free hand, you reach down to take his in yours. You raise it so that his hand cups your cheek, and you appreciate the feel of his cold skin against your cold skin. You practically nuzzle into his hand, so much so that you turn your head to give the heel of his palm a small kiss.

His LED light is still red, and his lips are pressed into a tight line, so many emotions flashing into his eyes: confusion, fondness, anger, denial.

You smile lovely at him, “You are meant to have a wonderful purpose in this world, Connor.”

Connor cannot speak. He can only think, think and deny what you are, you are an android constructed to look and speak like a female. You are an android, made with the same parts like him. Nothing more, nothing less.

But why did he feel a stir of something foreign resonate deep within him?

He only had one primary directive and that was to be successful in whatever mission is presented to him.

But you have no mission at the moment, a voice tell him, and he pushes it away.

Elijah returns, and the glass door he pushes on to enter hisses as it slowly returns back to its place as it shuts behind him. He moves to stand next to you, and in his hand is a gun. He offers the black handle to Connor.

Connor’s eyes look up at Kamski in question, but doesn’t vocalize it. He tears his hand away from your cheek, and takes the weapon into his hand. He steps back from you, the small pressure on his chest escaping as he does so, and he can finally breathe.

Being around you, he decided, was suffocating. The heavy object in his hand is comfortable, much more to his preference. “Today, we will be testing your cognitive fidelity, Connor.”

Connor looks at you. You are watching him with an emotion no one has ever looked at him with. The moment he had been awoken from his eternal slumber, he found men and woman in lab coats to be taking down notes with disinterest in their eyes, marking off boxes on their clipboards as they had him perform mediocre tasks.

You are looking at him with affection, love pouring out of your eyes as a smile graces your lips. The image before him reminds him of a painting, and the very painting pops into his vision.

The Birth of Venus, the title reads.

There, Venus is unclothed, her arms laying delicately over her breasts and genitals. She was born, and Connor couldn’t help but compare you to her, because in some twisted and cruel way, you were just born too.

“I want to test and see if the code has worked at all; make you something other than the obedient machine that you are, Connor. Make infatuation happen between the oldest and the newest androids.” Kamski scoffs at his own words, “Poetic, if I say so myself.”

Elijah settles into his chair once more, but his time, he rolls back, placing space between the two of you and himself. “Shoot her, Connor.”

Connor is blinking, and he can easily pull the trigger if he applies just the slightest pressure. But he can’t.

Not while you are gazing upon him like if he were some god.

When the words pass Elijah’s lips, your smile falters, and now a warning blares in front of your vision as you watch Connor step back and aim towards you, the inside of the barrel of the gun greeting you.

You are scared, and a bitter taste stretches into your mouth at the thought.

But then, when you meet Connor’s eyes once again, and you lose all sense of worry. You just feel him. And he is your home.

You ignore the weapon that he is pointing at you, and your faltered smile is brought back to life once more.

You love him.

You love him, and you don’t care if it was some sort of code that was imbedded in you for a guinea pig experiment. All you care for is Connor.

And while the weight of Elijah’s order hangs heavy in the room, while Connor’s LED is flashing a rapid yellow and red, you open your mouth to speak. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Connor is staring straight at you, watching as you move to stand. Your body was perfectly crafted, moving whimsically as you beelined straight to him- pushing the outstretched hand away. Your face is calm and hopeful. “We have a purpose in this world, and I think that is beautiful. Completely different purposes- and yet, we are anchored to one another. It’s in your backstory like its in mine,” your face leans into his, and Connor’s lips twitch upward in recoil.

You ignore this though, because if you could feel this much love for him, you knew that he must feel the same towards you. You press your chest up to his, ignoring the looming presence in the corner.

Connor is stiff and unresponsive, but the allure of your lips call to him, and he slowly, slowly leans into you and presses his thin lips to yours.

If he were human, he would have sighed into your mouth. He feels the way your nose softly bumps into his, and he closes his eyes. He leans into your touch, the hand that hold the gun falls lax and he moves it to rest on your bare hip.

He could feel gray eyes on him, and that was when he stiffened once more. Shoot her.

You feel as he once again stiffens, but you ignore it. You move your lips on his despite his being unresponsive unlike the way they were mere seconds ago. You allow each faux human emotion within you to pour out on your lips.

You are unaware of the feeling of cold metal angling on your side, completely engrossed with the feeling of sensation.

Elijah looks down at his tablet, and is disappointed when the sound of the gun goes off. He sighs as he takes off his glasses, folding them and placing them into his breast pocket.

He looks up to find Connor enveloping you as you are limp in his arms. You are crying, and blue blood ribbons down your bare thighs.

Connor’s face is stony, but he still raises a hand to stroke the side of your face. His jaw is clenched tightly.

You feel fingers lightly touching your cheek, “This world is beautiful,” you choke out, a bit of blue blood dribbling from the corner of your mouth, “and I am grateful I’ve gotten to meet you.”

You are still looking at him as if he were the light of the world, intimacy Elijah has never seen before. Connor’s face is apathetic, his mouth opening a fraction to say something- anything, and when he does, Elijah just shakes his head in deeper disappointment.

“We are machines,” he tell you, “and we are incapable of feeling.”

You smile sadly, raising a shaky hand up to touch the small wisp of hair that frames his face, “I think I love you,” you whisper, telling him and only him, because it is just you and Connor, and nothing else. “I think I love you,” you repeat to him solemnly, louder this time, “and it terrifies me.”

Lifeless eyes stare up at him. He lets you go, allowing your body to crash with the pristine floor as he steps away from you.

Mission Successful, a message tell him.

He looks to Elijah, and all Elijah sees is a ruthless machine that is stained with blue blood. “I’ll call someone to clean this up.” Gray eyes peer down at your naked and bleeding form, “You frighten me at times, Connor.”

“You do not need to fear me, Elijah. I am not programmed to hurt anyone without a given motive.” The color of his indicator is a steady blue.

Elijah shakes his head in disagreement, toeing the side of your body, his voice venomous. “You are everything that is wrong with this fucking company.” He looks up at Connor, “Pull up your analysis and delete this meeting in your log.”

Connor stares off into space, and after two whole minutes, he blinks. Brown eyes meet gray eyes, “Hello, Mr. Kamski.”

Elijah nods, breathing in deeply as if this has happened many times before. “What happened in the last half hour, Connor?”

Connor’s LED light flashes yellow and then black to blue, “I’m afraid I do not know.”

“Are you lying to me?” Elijah questions, a dark brow rising.

Connor blinks and responds automatically, “No. I am programmed to answer truthfully.” Your eyes are still planted on him, glassy and lifeless, but Connor does not look down at you whatsoever, completely ignoring you, in fact.

“Return to your part of the building. I’ll have someone send you over when I’ve constructed her again. We’ll have another go Friday.”

Elijah turns to draw one single line on a paper, and it is littered with tally marks- a total of six altogether.

Connor obeys and leaves the room, thinking nothing of the odd statement. But distant words echo in his mind as he does so, and they are not his.

They are female, light and amiable.

This world

It is a resounding chant that does not leave his head, and Connor did two self diagnostics to see where it was coming from, but he doesn’t find anything.

He enters an empty and dark laboratory, walking up a raised pedestal and sits on the metallic chair that faces the glass doors.

</”SHUTDOWN.exe”?>

He slowly feels his bio-components whirring off, and he could feel the slowing down of his thirium pump heart regulator.

This world, the female voice tells him as if she were whispering it into his ear as he nears the end, is beautiful.

Phantom lips press on his as his eyelids close and dark surrounds him.

He is dead.

Part 2

Masterlist

Tags: @superanonymousreader