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staticl0ve · 2 years

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The Pig and the Fox - Chap 1 - Connor x AFAB!Reader

Pairings: Connor/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Read it Here Chapters: [ Chap 1 ] [ Ch 2 ] [ Ch. 3 ] [ Ch. 4 ] [ Ch. 5 ] / 6 Words: 3.3k Warnings: implied drug use (supporting character), so much swearing, reader does wear feminine attire Summary: When a thief meets a cop, they’re on the opposite sides of the law, two flips of a coin. However, there’s more to life than things being black and white. In a post android revolution, not much has changed for the common citizen. The rich get richer and the poor, well, they work. They adapt. They sacrifice. You straddled that fine line, one toe in the light and one in the dark. So does Connor, but you don’t quite see that yet. Notes: Based on that ask for “Tear You Apart.” I see you anon and I made this way longer than a oneshot (oops). ✨💙

Chapter 1 - Law and Disorder

When you think of America, you’re probably thinking of a star spangled banner, waving in the air as a marching band proudly plays a tune inspiring pride and patriotism. Pay no mind to the country’s shores dimming away into a rising sea and rockets with their red glare gleaming over oil rich lands. Across an ocean, the same melody was once but a pub song, meant to be slurred out of drunken mouths like 99 Bottles on the Wall.

Since the young country’s founding, the nation quickly led the global markets in pop culture, science and technology. By 2018, a young CEO of a tech startup changed everything with one invention, a perfect creation, beautiful, unchanging and with a mind that was sharper than its creator. An android, straight out of science fiction. The invention handled everything from household chores, babysitting, surgery and even replacing the role of an intimate partner. One could only imagine the fallout that occurred across the job market.

By 2038, the country was too busy bickering across political aisles, gaslighting and finger pointing instead of helping a neglected populace. Like adding water to a grease fire, tempers flared as people began to take out their frustrations on the androids. Eventually, the machines had enough. An android killed a man out of self preservation and a little girl was held hostage.

The story had changed and the media was quick to paint an image of a temporary truce, an us versus them. But machines were more level headed than their organic counterparts, wanting only peace, equal rights—the expected fundamentals. One peaceful revolution, a series of lawyers and they got it all. Love em or hate em, their freedom meant things quickly returned back to the status quo—for the most part.

For those still lost and purposeless, they found their way out with the dawn of cybernetics. In an effort to compete with the machines, people began embracing synthetic alterations. Surgical procedures ranged from minor implants to full limb replacements. X-Ray vision? You’ve got it. A machine gun for an arm? Still pretty fucking illegal but you bet someone had one.

The cybernetic market was also a hit for those in it for the aesthetic of glowing eyes and hair that could grow at will (very popular with middle aged men). Others found more…nefarious uses for their upgrades. Murder was a little extreme for your tastes. Thievery was more your thing, or a little something you might call, wealth redistribution.

Bold colors, the same as the flag, flashed wildly at a mansion in Palmer Woods, one of Detroit’s wealthiest neighborhoods. A patrol car idled in the rain. Not only were the roads slick, the weather was all doom and gloom, discouraging outdoor activities. Police normally didn’t make appearances in the sleepy suburb, but tonight, a house party was disturbing the peace.

From high up, a curtain was slightly drawn in a nearby home. Unlike the one next to it, the guests were not expected.

“Fucking pigs,” your associate, Leo hissed under his breath. He was attached to the shadows in the room, dark hair hidden behind a beanie, arms crossed with a teal blazer wrinkled around clenched fists. For a rich kid, he always managed to be short on money and his father, Carl Manfred, was beginning to catch onto why and halved his allowance. It wasn’t uncommon for people like Leo to chase wild parties and find himself doing dubious work to pay for his new habits. He would blame his circumstances on his father’s neglect, or as Carl saw it, the best a divorced man could do while balancing a large art career.

As a buyer of Carl’s gallery work, you knew him first, then Markus and met Leo at a bad place and a bad time. Carl’s eldest son had gotten himself in some trouble during an exchange of goods, a fight over bags filled with red crystals. You leveraged your trade name, Fox, and saved him from one hell of a beating. Despite your best judgment, you dragged him under your wing and to your surprise, he was good at keeping your side gig a secret. While you weren’t the type to pry, you didn’t love what he did with his free time but you did tell him, “If you’re going to do dumb shit at least I can keep an eye on you.”

You watched after him like any good sibling would, even though he already had a younger brother, Markus. But Markus was an android that shared all of the same passions their father had, which did not rest well with Leo who lacked any artistic talent. A story…meant for another rainy day.

“It’s just the one patrol car, you don’t think they tracked us…?” he pondered.

“Relax,” you replied. Your fingers were holding a bedroom curtain open by a sliver, enough to spot the cop car parked across the street and the two passengers exiting the vehicle. “They’re not here for us. I bet a neighbor called in a noise complaint about the house party.”

“Damn, you think we can finish up soon? I was hoping to meet my buddy there.”

You tried to ignore how shifty his eyes got around the word ‘buddy’ and the subconscious twitch of his fingers rubbing the tip of his nose.

“Right,” you scoffed, returning to the center of the room where an empty desk sat.

The home you cased was nearly barren, the owner too busy or too preoccupied with his other homes to bother decorating with personal touches. Paintings of generic scenery hung in each room and the walls were all the same drab seashell white color. This boring, Crate and Barrel style home belonged to a former investor of Cyberlife, your target for the evening.

“This shit we’re doing…we’re the good guys right?” Leo asked. It was a peculiar question since he never had a problem with what you were doing before.

“There’s no good or bad, we’re just here to balance the scales. Our target has been happily benefiting from the services our taxes pay. It’s time we got our share.“

“Wait, taxes pay for stuff?”

Distracted, you had to turn around to give him a look like you were talking to a child.

“Yes, they do. What are you twelve?”

“I’m Twenty-Nine!” he shot back, standing up taller and puffing his chest out. You knew he never worked a day in his life and mostly survived off the money his father sent him.

“Oh, so you do have a seat the big kids table then,” you snickered.

“Just—forget what I said and worry about the safe, okay?”

You went back to checking out the oak desk. At a glance, it looked like the rest of the home, plain and unimportant. You ran your bare hand over the surface, enjoying how smooth it felt. The new upgrades to your limbs offered retractable fingerprints and you were pleased to know you weren’t one of the unlucky few to lose all feeling in your hands as a result of the implant.

Your skin warmed along your veins, the circuitry embedded in the skin revealing angular lines of light that traveled from the back of your neck, down your spine and to your fingertips. The artificial lenses in your eyes spun, adjusting to see something beyond human perception. As the room shifted from reality to a virtual grid, a blue line trailed from a panel on the desk and to the wall across from it.

“There,” you announced and injected the lock panel with a combination breaker. Numbers clicked away, cycling and flickering hundreds of formations. Off in the background, you could still feel the bass of the party next door, shaking up the dead stillness of the place you were in. It was interrupted by a constant buzzing. Out of the corner of your eye, Leo stuffed his hand into his pocket, bringing out a phone.

“Fuck,” he whispered, gloved thumb fumbling with the red end call button. “Shit.”

You caught a small glimpse of a face on the screen, an older man who if not for his age, would be just as problematic as his son.

“Sorry, Fox,” Leo sighed out. “Won’t happen again.”

“S’fine.” You shrugged but kept an eye on him. “I hope it wasn’t important?”

Alright, so you pried sometimes.

Leo wasn’t looking his best tonight. Sweat was beading down his brow, his feet fidgeting and creaking the hardwood. He shook his hand dismissively at the desk, half to tell you to let it go and half to redirect your focus. You did, returning to blocks of text streaming down your sight. Numbers cycled until it finally halted on one set. Your lips curled, finger drawing a pattern on the panel.

A disguised safe door clicked open on the wall, revealing a small square box filled with thin, rounded glass tablets. On the surface, they looked like trading cards with cute monkey graphics but you knew this set was worth millions. These cards weren’t all that different from rare paintings and a few controversial auctions were all it took to make them seem exclusive. It was a little funny, the obscure measures the super rich took to funnel their wealth.

“That’s all of them,” you declared, grabbing a handful of holocards. Placing them in Leo’s care, you didn’t have time to celebrate when an alarm broke. Dramatically, your shoulders slumped, head thrown back as you groaned.

“Leo!”

Wide-eyed, he jumped, panic racing across his features. “Shit, I swear I got all of em.”

“Could have been a silent one. Fuck, and the cops are right next door.”

You dashed to the blinds, cursing once when you saw the officers on the neighbor’s lawn turn their heads from the alarm. Pulling away from the window, you worked out your backup plan.

“Cover your face,” you said while lifting up a handkerchief tied around your neck. He mirrored you, bringing a holographic mask up. It shimmered, forming around his face until he looked like a pixelated blur. “The door to the back yard, take it. I’m going out the front door—”

He looked more concerned as the words sunk in, “What? You’re going to run into them!”

“That’s the idea. Come on!” You raced forward, shoving him through the doorway. “We meet up after, a different spot than last week. You know the place right?”

Leo stammered out an affirmation of sorts as he stumbled down the stairs.

“And change your clothes!” you shouted after him.

Through the windows, you could spot the cops, one older and one younger, making their way to the front door. If you were to be honest—you stretched out a little, fingers intertwined and reaching for the ceiling—this was your favorite part when a heist went wrong.

Explosive energy surged through your veins, blue light rippling across skin, glowing brighter. You shot off your feet, racing quickly through the home, making a loud banging noise as the door swung open. Rain hit your exposed skin, cool pinpricks chilling your hands and face.

“Halt! DPD!” That must have been the younger guy, his voice energetic and closing in much closer than the other officer. Behind him, his partner sighed, arm bracing his back as he jogged to catch up.

“Connor! Wait!” the older man shouted. He gave up after a few paces as the rain slowed him further.

Pigs needed to run every now and then. You stuck out your middle finger and hopped over a fence. Connor’s faint cry of “stop” got lost between backyard sheds and fancy trimmed bushes.

First things first, the rules to a neat getaway: befriend the neighborhood dogs.

A large canine, out on its pee break ran up, bared it’s teeth with a vicious snarl. It calmed instantly when you threw a milk-bone and you were back on the run. The man chasing you felt close behind, the dog reacting to his presence only moments after you left.

The other rules were tedious things of the past like cardio. But who needs cardio when they’ve got implants? Wind bit your face as you raced through neatly curated suburbia. Some might say you relied too much on your cybernetics but you saw it differently. You designed them for a living, suffered the pain of your body rejecting the technology and when it all finally came together, you used your new advantages to your benefit.

Well, you weren’t soulless. A lot of the money you stole got laundered, turned legit and anonymously donated to nonprofit organizations you trusted. What was leftover went to your daytime front: a condo with a view, a sweet android dog waiting for you at home, and your side hobby of collecting art.

As homes drifted off into the distance and the streets felt more open, you glanced over your shoulder.

“Oh, fuck.”

The cop from earlier was still on your tail and it was then that you realized a small…blue…ring on his temple. You’d never seen an android that could keep up with your off market cybernetics. Double fuck.

For those taking notes, every successful getaway requires a back up plan to go with the back up plan. There were a handful of locations where you had emergency transit parked in hiding. Your fingers twitched, skin pulsing in a pattern. Blocks away, a motorbike’s engine came to life.

“Not another step,” Connor ordered. His shadow stretched to your shoes, his posture tall and shoulders squared to intimidate. “Move and I will have to use force.”

“Fuckers like you always do,” you casually responded, not at all deterred by his threat. The bike was going to take a few minutes to arrive so you had to buy some time. Your gaze dipped to his utility belt. Taser, gun, baton…oh, handcuffs, fun. “So, how do you wanna do this?”

His head tilted slightly, curiosity chipping away at his authority. “What can I call you?”

“You can…fuck…right off.” You didn’t miss the flash of gold from his temple.

“Would you prefer…” His LED pulsed until it eased back to a calm blue. “Fox?”

Your fists clenched. He couldn’t possibly make out who you were with what little you were revealing. Communications used for this assignment were heavily encrypted, although…it wouldn’t take a super computer like him long to compile data from the dark web and find a trail some associate of yours failed to cover.

You weren’t confident you could take on a machine that hunted other machines since your implants were optimized for dexterity and speed. However, Connor didn’t look terribly intimidating with his large doe eyes and delicate angular features. Compared to your sleek black, waterproof clothing, your adversary was a sad, wet dog. His hair was soaked, flat and his police labeled windbreaker was two times too large for his lean build. That all changed when he lowered his chin and the whites of his eyes caught the glow from a streetlight. As he stalked forward, you recoiled marginally, muscles pulled taut.

“Do you like to tango?” you asked, redistributing your weight until your feet were squared with your shoulders. You grinned, canines baring back at him, a sly fox sizing up a hog. “I’m a really good dancer.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply, dropping low with a fast sweep of your leg to his ankles. Any other person would have collapsed to the ground but Connor was quick to right himself mid fall, using the momentum to wrap his hand around your arm. Everything moved as if frame by frame, droplets of rain falling at an angle, your eyes widening and him dragging you into his hold.

What you failed to realize earlier was that this android wasn’t your average run of the mill PC200 or PM700, law enforcement androids meant for guarding, observing and patrolling. Connor was an RK800 and now, as you were about to land face first into his chest, you remembered you had seen him before. There was a man lingering at the edge of the stage during Markus’ big speech but your personal investment in the deviant leader’s wellbeing had you fixated on Markus. Great, how unlucky for you to be arrested by the one and only deviant hunter who’s specs were still unknown.

Alright, one last back up plan, because of course you were prepared.

You were prepared, weren’t you?

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court,” Connor said as he caged you into his chest. Your head smacked his jaw and he continued with little effort despite your thrashing.

“Let me go!”

“You have the right to talk to a—”

“Fuck off!” Your elbow connected with the center of his chassis, making him loosen his grip. It wasn’t enough but you were able to free your arms. Your hand glowed as you gripped his neck, forcing an interface. Connor’s body seized up, turning him into a still mannequin. His eyes were frozen open, the brown dimmed to a dull gray as his LED glowed an angry red. Waving your fingers over his face, you breathed out a sigh of relief.

Normally the program you ran acted as a temporary sedative to use on androids and you weren’t sure how effective it would be on an RK800. Your escape plan was here, headlights approaching and washing your tangled figures in yellow. Pushing free of Connor’s grip, a shock worked its way up your arm, the same one that touched his neck.

“Ow! What the f—fuck…?”

You glanced back up at him, watched the red of his indicator spin to gold and knew you had no time to think about anything that wasn’t getting away. The sting had mellowed out into a small fizz but the cybernetics in your arm never calmed on your way to the meet up spot.

Beneath the cover of a park tree, Leo’s leg was nervously shaking as he tried his best to appear casual. He had changed from his original get up, as did you. Anyone walking by would figure he was out on an oddly late date. He had bagged the cards in a bright pink bag full of white hearts with a single rose sticking out.

“Fox! Thank fuck, I thought for sure they got you.”

You cheerily held up a bag of oily goods, filled with fries and nuggets.

“What kinda friend would I be if I left you standing out in the cold?” Your smile grew wider when you caught sight of his disguised bag. “What the hell is that?”

He roughly snatched the junk food and handed—tossed more like it—the bag of cards to you.

“It was all I could find at the drug store!”

You caught it with ease, bringing the rose to your nose. With your other hand, you brought out your phone. An app for exchanging currency flashed before him. Leo fumbled around, wiping his salty fingers on his pants and you had to hold back a laugh.

“I knew you’d be hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied and placed his phone next to yours. The screens flickered, numbers counting up on one side. He watched the change with rapt focus, brown eyes wide as if hypnotized. His ashen face was washed in the white glow of his screen, drawing deeper lines on the purple, almost bruised skin beneath his eyes. You’d seen that look on other faces before and the ending was not so happy.

“Hey…you should call your dad sometime,” you said.

Leo broke from his trance, pulling away and stuffing his phone back into his pockets.

“I know.”

The silence was accompanied by glimpses of polished stone on fresh dug soil, the smell of cut grass. Your hand on a cool surface, flowers in hand.

You pressed the rose back up to your nose, nodding back at him.

“See you around, Leo.”

“Don’t get caught, Fox.”

Your fingers throbbed again, the blue glowing beneath your jacket.

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #dbh connor #rk800 #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #connor x reader #the pig and the fox

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staticl0ve · 2 years

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The Pig and the Fox - Ch. 3 - Connor/AFAB!Reader

Pairings: Connor/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Read it Here Chapters: [ Ch. 1 ] [ Ch. 2 ] [Chap 3] [ Ch. 4 ] [ Ch. 5 * ]/ 6 Words: 4k Warnings: smut, PnV, implied drug use (supporting character), so much swearing, reader does wear feminine attire Summary: When a thief meets a cop, they’re on the opposite sides of the law, two flips of a coin. However, there’s more to life than things being black and white. In a post android revolution, not much has changed for the common citizen. The rich get richer and the poor, well, they work. They adapt. They sacrifice. You straddled that fine line, one toe in the light and one in the dark. So does Connor, but you don’t quite see that yet. Notes: It’s been fun making this Cinnabun spicier than he should be.

Chapter Three - Fox Trap *

Connor had the strangest dream.

Stasis before deviancy was a colorless experience, devoid of emotional context. It was comprised of his systems parsing millions of new inputs, sorting them by his preference. Originally, the data prioritized his mission objectives and the primary task at hand was to end a machine revolution. Information regarding his partner’s personal history, the urge to pet a slobbery Saint Bernard and the facsimile of joy he derived when thanked by an officer who’s life he saved, were all deemed irrelevant to Cyberlife.

He was built so intricately that even his deviation was planned by his creators. As far as Connor knew, he was the only machine who had to break free of his programming twice.

Since then, stasis changed. It was unshackled, a blue sky, gray box, limitless space which he could use to micromanage his day’s experiences, generate new insights and let his imagination loose. All androids experienced stasis differently after deviancy and Connor was no exception. However, recently, he was reminded of a time when he had no choice. A series of simulations took over his dreamscape. Scenarios formed, one’s he didn’t normally indulge in because of it’s inappropriate nature. Admittedly, this view was much nicer than a rose garden.

“Ahh…! Mmm!”

Sounded nicer too.

His hand dug into the soft flesh of someone’s hips, the other on a pair of smaller hands. his grip tight enough to bruise. He thought he recognized the voice moaning and gasping in his ear.

“God…f-fuck!”

He knew someone with a tongue as sharp as that. Could it be…?

His little fox.

In the days that had gone by, he thought he imagined another person in stasis, swore he saw you sitting in the lake of a Zen Garden he long abandoned. But this time, you were much closer. Your fingernails raked his neck, clawing down his shoulder blades. He could feel it, your wet, tight heat around his cock, pulsing with need as he dragged his length halfway out. Fascinated, he watched as he disappeared inch by inch, only to do it again but this time, pulling out entirely and sliding in impossibly slow until he bottomed out. rA9, you took him so well.

Your legs were around his waist, back pressed into a door and he was beginning to see the full picture. His imagination knew no bounds, sourcing blueprints, reusing previous sexual experiences and his time talking to you to create a situation he had never been it. The walls were familiar with paintings lining the floor. A back room of the gallery perhaps? Music from the main floor pulsed through the thin walls and he could hear conversations coming and going in waves.

Your blouse was half torn open, allowing him access to your chest and your pants were lost somewhere in the room. His clothes weren’t faring any better, his shirt had been messily unbuttoned, pants unzipped and he was certain there were lipstick smears on his neck.

He had never seen you like this before, pliant, trapped but willingly so. Your eyes were fixed to the ceiling, mouth open in stuttering gasps, wrists pinned to the door by one of his hands…utterly and wonderfully, ruined.

“Who makes you feel this good?” he demanded, pulling you down roughly to seat you flush on his cock.

You threw your head back, rocking the door and he chuckled, covering your throat with his mouth. Connor’s tongue ran over your pulse, tasting the data that seeped from your skin. He let out a low, harsh sound before sinking his teeth lightly on soft flesh and you responded with swallowing a moan. You were trying your best to be quiet, biting your lower lip but the game had hardly begun. One hand left your hip, rising to grip your chin.

“Look at me,” he breathed out.

There was some fight behind your eyes, a raging fire which drove him mad. Connor was usually a softer lover, at least he thought he was—how…did this happen? Was it your defiance, your laugh, your devilish grin as you pushed and pushed?

“I bet you couldn’t fuck me, let alone know how to fuck your hand,” you said earlier, the corners of your mouth lifted in a mocking challenge. You pulled him lower by his collar and his eyes tracked you slowly wetting your upper lip with a flash of your tongue. Your hand gripped his belt roughly, tugging his hips forward and roaming lower to feel the bulge forming below. As he began piecing together what was happening, his sweetness all but vanished at the sound of your breathy laugh. “See? I knew it.”

You didn’t know anything.

Even after pinning you to a wall with his cock stretching you to your limits, you still managed to be defiant, grinning and shaking your head at his request. You watch the movement of his arm with interest as he lifted a thumb to your lips. You teased him, flicking the tip of your tongue on the artificial skin, then leaning in to take him between your lips. Connor’s face remained impassive, dark brown eyes covered by thick lashes. You used that brief interaction to tighten around him, to see if you could ruin his focus. His lips twitched as his thumb invaded the bed of your tongue. You licked around the synthetic flesh, enjoying the strange, neutral taste of his skin. When he withdrew, you grazed him with your teeth.

rA9, you did love to play with fire.

With his wet thumb, he found your clit but refused to rub with any more force than a faint brush.

“Tell me. Who are you so wet for?” Connor demanded, voice low and challenging, breath hot on your ear.

Your hand tugged back at his hair, pulling him away from your face. You chuckled arrogantly even while he angled his hips and began striking a spot that made you stammer, if not for just a moment. Connor didn’t need scans, he could feel your responsive muscles clenching around him. Stubborn and unbreakable, you glared through your lashes. Without a doubt, you wanted this game to go on.

“Pig,” you spat in place of the name he wanted to hear.

He called your bluff, slipping out of you, cock wet and throbbing against your inner thigh. His hips rocked, making a mess of your combined slick. The hand on your clit went lower, gathering what dripped, teasing your entrance. The pads of his fingers pressed, letting you know he could slip them inside, to where your hips were quietly urging him to, but he did not. He brought his hand to his mouth, swirling a tongue between his fingers.

Connor let out a deep sigh and he could feel himself twitch as he licked. You were wound up so tight, he could taste the orgasm that escaped you. Your white flag was a small, squeak of a whimper and a rasped: please. He pressed his wet mouth to your jaw and you could feel his victorious smirk, followed by the vibrations of his voice.

“Try again.”

“Connor,” you replied, tone annoyed and flat as you wrestled around to line him back up. Your wet folds brushed the head of his cock and he managed to hold back a shudder. Using his chest and broad shoulders, he pinned you further into the door and his idle hand returned to rubbing tighter circles over once neglected nerves.

“I need a little more enthusiasm, darling,” he insisted, using his eyes to pin your gaze.

You had half of his name on your tongue before he captured your lips and pushed back into you. He moaned into the kiss, tongue curling around yours. Your reward was him freeing your wrists, resulting in you tugging at his hair in your attempt to silently ask for what you were too proud to put into words.

More. Harder.

Connor obliged because you were right about one thing, he wasn’t a man who fucked. There was nothing he relished more than taking his time with a lover, have one fall apart on his tongue a dozen times over before he’d use his cock to carefully build one last gentle peak.

A series of errors appeared on his HUD before he registered that you bit him hard enough to warrant temporary damage. Thirium streaked over your lips and the sight obliterated the last of his control. He snapped his hips up, pushing you higher on the cool, hard surface.

You grinned, all teeth with a singe of blue.

“Fuck! Connor!”

He murmured something before static consumed it, words like ‘that’s better’ or ‘you’re wetter.’ You were almost sobbing into his shoulder, mouth fallen open as he fucked into you. The door protested, hinges creaking from your combined—though, mostly his—efforts. Connor was close too, anyone would be with how tight you were squeezing him. rA9, how could he ever have anyone else after this? You were perfect, you were—

Connor awoke with a start, artificial muscles seizing as he scanned for familiar items: his ceiling light, the feel of his sheets wrapping his overheating form and lastly, his work uniform hanging in his closet. He ran a hand through his hair, panting softly and glancing down. Unsurprisingly, he was painfully hard and throbbing from neglect.

rA9.

You were a dream.

———

Dispatch was asking for any patrols nearby to investigate a call about a disturbance and while Connor wasn’t a regular beat cop, he and Lieutenant Hank Anderson were already out on a coffee break. The diner wasn’t terribly busy since they caught the end of the morning crowd.

“Aw, you couldn’t say no? I just took a bite of this, Connor. Tell them we’re nowhere close,” Hank complained. Pastry crumbs littered his beard and he brought a large hand to pat them out.

“Hank, your breakfast contains twice the recommended daily intake of sugar,” Connor scolded.

“Yeah? And?” he replied, laughing to himself while shoving the last bit of a doughnut down his throat. Cheeks full and grinning, Hank was a little more youthful with the android around. “What now?”

Connor sighed. Hank had made great efforts in the past year to lower his alcohol consumption so he was willing to let this go…for now.

“What we should do is check on the call. It could be vital to our case,” Connor insisted. Hank scoffed, chugging down lukewarm coffee. They had overstayed the duration of their regular break time but the older man was in no hurry. Connor raised his hand, locking eyes with a worker behind the counter. “Check please.”

“Our case,” Hank said while scratching at his brow, “Involves a red ice dealer who’s gone a little mad with power. We know that already. Seven dead, claims of tampered drugs—usual stuff. Come on. They want us to check out some noise in a building?”

Connor raised one eyebrow at the Lieutenant.

“Precisely.”

Empty buildings were notorious for their use as shady business fronts. They had to do their due diligence and check out a concerned citizen’s call. A waitress walked by, leaving a small clipboard with a receipt. Hank placed a palm on the table, pushing up with a long, deep sigh. Keen android ears picked up the crackling sounds of protesting joints.

“Okay, kid.”

Already, Connor’s eyes were bright and sparkly, spine straight and chin tilted up—a Labrador ready for action. The Lieutenant was unfortunately, not immune to Connor’s charms. Hank found him endearing, a bit strange at times, but well meaning. It also helped that the RK800 changed the trajectory of his life. Whenever Hank opened his fridge and found it full of groceries instead of beer, he was reminded of how he had nearly given up on the world.

Now though? Now—he glanced at Connor’s large brown eyes, the tall android in his spotless and wrinkle free clothes—now…Hank was responsible for someone. Sort of.

“Come on, son. I’m driving and…don’t—don’t get your hopes up. This could be nothing,” Hank said, tossing a few extra bills at the check.

The road to the dingy building in disrepair was a quick one. Hank hardly had time to burn through most of his favorite songs in a Knights of the Black Death album. They pulled up to an old, paint rusted building. It was surrounded by fencing, sliced apart by wire cutters. Connor graciously held the sharp metal apart for Hank.

They peered through dirt clouded windows.

“See anything?” Hank asked.

“No. I’ve scanned the area. The only people here, are us,” Connor replied.

The front door was pried loose by the abandoned home’s previous guests. Aged hardwood protested as their combined weight stepped inside. Rain water from earlier days, collected in the bulging ceiling, dripped, forming small puddles. Hank’s nose twitched. A coppery scent clung to the air, mixing with the musk that was likely mildew and mold.

Connor was quick to follow a trail that Hank couldn’t spot. As he fell behind the android, the scent only got stronger. They walked through a kitchen filled with dirtied pots and boxes of thirium, all empty. If there was a drug operation here, Connor’s scans indicated that it had been abandoned recently.

“Jesus!” Hank cried out when he pulled open a closet door. A coat fluttered in his face, falling to the ground. Connor spun around in alarm, ready to pounce if needed.

“Hank?”

“Think you can do your thing here?” Hank waved at the room. “Not the licking thing, your scanners.”

Connor offered him a smile and took his place in front of the narrow closet. A single wooden chair had blood splattered around it. There was a loose molar that had fallen into a dark corner, catching his eye as it was blinking a blue light back at him. Gesturing for Hank, Connor stuck his arm out.

“May I have an evidence bag?”

“Sure thing.”

There was some rustling and Connor had the blinking device bagged up. He recognized it as a cybernetic tooth used to disguise a wire. As he further examined the room, he found nail marks scraped along the chair’s arms, implying that the victim was tied when the device was removed. Pooled on the ground was a teal blazer. Connor honed in on the label.

What grown man still labeled coats with his name?

“Leo Manfred,” Connor read out loud.

He knew of his name from Markus, although the deviant leader did not have a close relationship with Leo. Which meant the only information Connor had of the biological Manfred son was by parsing the web. He found security camera footage of him exiting a store with a bright pink bag. More digging and the same bag appeared on a social media app. It was one of your images, featuring your android dog sleeping on a couch and a bright pink bag, mostly obscured by the dog, but visible nonetheless.

According to most who knew of Fox, the word was, you worked alone and it had been that way for years. So it was a bit intriguing seeing someone tag along on your latest adventures, not unlike a sibling reluctantly accepting a second player to their game. As for the wire tapping tooth….

“Hank, I recall Gavin mentioning he had a ‘guy on the inside’ of a drug deal.“

“He does, said he hasn’t heard from his informant for a few days.“

Connor’s LED spun as he searched his memory banks. “Did he ever mention his name to you?”

“No, the fucker thought our cases were too similar and didn’t feel like sharing,” Hank spat out the last word, crinkling his nose in disgust.

Connor held the bag up and the cybernetic blipped back at him.

“We may have found his tooth.”

The two spent the better half of the day finding typical drug den items scattered around the home, working until the sun was still fairly high on the horizon, pale blue skies barely turning pink. Between floorboards Hank found a small heart candy, white with a red skull painted on it. Curious, as it was not the season for that type of candy to be found, especially not in a drug operation. Connor sampled it and found it had a similar make up to Red Ice with traces of a new chemical.

The stairs to the second floor were rotted through, so they called it a day. Hank was ready to head back to deliver bags of evidence while Connor had a different agenda in mind.

“You’re not coming with?” Hank asked.

Connor wasn’t ready to share his hypothesis—for his own reasons.

“I have a friend I must see. I’ll call for a car of my own.”

Hank laughed and slapped the roof of his car twice. “Am I going to meet this friend someday?”

The android flashed him a wide smile.

“Soon.”

———

Elevators played a prominent role in most of Connor’s early life. He recalled riding one up to a penthouse floor for a hostage situation. Then there was the one up Stratford Tower where he discovered he shared some similarities with an RK200. Lastly, was the most prominent elevator ride of them all: when he freed hundreds of thousands of androids from Cyberlife tower. Through it all, was his trusty calibration coin, flashing silver in the air and landing expectantly between his agile fingers.

An average elevator ride up a seventy floor building was long enough to match the duration of his deviancy assessments. These days, Connor merely stood back, facing the doors as any average rider would, enjoying the gentle and inoffensive Muzak playing in the background. Occasionally, he would scan floor numbers and calculate how much longer he had. Today, his mind was thrumming, bouncing from one preconstruction to the next.

In one hand, he spun a coin between his fingers and in the other, your coat.

Connor was smart enough to avoid your condo because your pet was capable of viciously defending its owner. In the eventuality that you’d react poorly to his surprise visit, his soft spot for furry beasts meant he had to meet you elsewhere. He knew you had a favorite bar, one that was fully automated. You likely preferred it because it was easy hacking the scheduling system and booking the whole place to yourself.

It was quite the fox hole. Dim, with recessed pink, cyan, and gold lights on the floor. A virtual ocean lined the walls of the bar, it’s curved design adding to the illusion of taking a dip under the sea. There were thick, black leather seats around low tables, perfect for parties wishing to lounge around and a dance floor in the center with tiles that lit up as he walked across them. As typical of any bar, music filled the space and your selection for the night was relaxing, jazzy tunes.

At the end of the room was a wall of windows and a luxury booth. Currently, you were seated in one of the chairs, facing the skyline with your back to him. Connor’s footsteps were silent, the android mindful of angling his feet to walk lightly and avoid detection. You had not noticed him yet, too preoccupied with a storm raging inside your mind.

Strangely, the beverages on your table weren’t typical for someone seeking refuge at a bar. Steam puffed out of a mug of coffee, it’s aroma rich and warming. Beside the sugar and cream was your laptop, stuck on screensaver mode. Connor watched the pink sunset kiss the curves of your dramatic pose. Golden light seeped from the cracks of your bent limbs, colored your hair and jaw. Your head was thrown back, hanging off the back of a chair, eyes pinched shut. You weren’t sitting in it properly, one leg propped up in the seat so you could rest your arm on your knee. Your hand was on your face, kneading away tension.

“Fox.”

You startled out of your seat, standing up quickly to address him. Your eyes were wide, narrowing once you resolved the mystery in your head.

“Robocop,” you said wryly. He saw you glance around the tables, your face falling slightly at the lack of makeshift weapons. For a second, he was genuinely worried you might throw sugar at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m unarmed.” Connor held his hands up and you followed the flat of his palms to the coat dangling off of one arm. He came straight from his apartment, changing out of his typical day wear of a blazer, button up, and slacks for a casual look: a sports coat with the same button up and pants. It really was Connor’s idea of casual. He owned a few band T-shirt’s thanks to Hank but felt more in his element in a freshly steamed dress shirt. And from how your eyes flickered from his hands to the stretch of cotton around his narrow waist—you liked it too.

“I just want to talk…and return something of yours,” he said, making sure to bend his joints and shrink his normally tall silhouette.

“You know…most people call or text.”

He smiled, “And risk being left on read?”

The tightness in your shoulders loosened marginally and his chest warmed at the sight of you laughing.

“There are worse things,” you replied. “Like being stalked.”

You came up to him, reaching for the coat he was offering. Your eyes met his, swirls of brown and gold; a comforting reminder of fall, cinnamon sticks and warm cider. You couldn’t deny that Connor as a person was intriguing, attractive…never mind the series of increasingly bizarre dreams starring you and him…however, a glimpse of his badge tucked in his jacket was the splash of water you needed.

The flash of blue in your irises registered a second too late to him and the power cut out. This wasn’t how Connor wanted the evening to go, but it seemed this was what you two were destined to do.

You tackled him, arms locking around his waist. The force was enough to knock him into the floor and his grip on your body left you with no choice but to follow. Your fist met his cheek at the same rate that his collided with your jaw, the sharp edges of your teeth cutting your cheeks. Blood stained your lips, smearing over your teeth as you flashed him a cocky grin.

“Not bad for a machine.”

The upper right corner of his mouth twitched. He was reminded of a dreamy version of you with blue on your lips.

“Your cybernetics are beyond the scope of what’s available on the market. I’m impressed, you must love your craft.”

“Bite me.”

Pearly white canines glinted back at you.

He would.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist in an attempt to keep him stationary but even you didn’t miss the suggestive manner of you seated on his hips. He didn’t budge but noticed your eyes dragging from his waist and up his chest and the jump in your heart rate. His grin widened, causing your hands to go for the patch of skin he always had exposed: his neck. When your cybernetics glowed to interface, he chuckled at your look of frustration. His hand gripped your wrist, pulling you down until your nose touched his, your breaths were uneven and hurried on his face.

“The same trick won’t work twice on me,” he said, voice calm and low. His gaze remained sharp and focused while you glared back at him.

“Fuck. You,” you sneered back, unable to stop a small smirk breaking loose.

Connor, knowing that he would be reaching across boundaries, ran a thumb gently over the smear on your lips. His mouth parted, face twitching to conceal a look of concern. The sudden contact made you flinch and blink back at him confused. It was a wordless apology, like he wanted you to know it didn’t have to be this way.

“I just want to talk,” he repeated, brows furrowed. “Please. It’s about Leo.”

“Leo?”

The gentle tone of his voice caught you off guard and your eyes began searching his. But it was too late, you felt the cool metal of cuffs wrapping around your wrists before you could tear yourself away. They pulsed in time with his LED spinning. These were special cuffs, normally used for androids or cybernetic enhanced humans. It meant any wireless interference from the cuffed person meant receiving a shock, or worse, become sedated.

“Now, if you could restore the power, we can do this the easy way and leave here quietly and quickly,” he said from beneath you.

Your silence conveyed the daggers you imagined slicing through his synthetic skin. Connor didn’t mind. Either way was fun.

“The hard way then,” he confirmed.

#my writing #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #reader insert #dbh connor #rk800 #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #rk800 x reader #the pig and the fox

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