Hi! Where Did You Edit Your Header? Thank Youuu 🫶🏻

You’re so fast with you’re writing. I’m honestly impressed.

Thank you, it’s the fever. Whenever I get sick I get the urge to write all day for some reason.

I have an Ao3 account but I really just wanted to say thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me, or how encouraging it is. I think when I write I try to hard to make everyone happy, instead of asking myself if I’m even enjoying what I’m writing.

This is exactly what I needed to see. Thank you so much!!

Is the Detroit: Become Human fandom dead? Because I really want to write something about RK800 and I haven’t seen a lot of recent posts surrounding DBH lately, would anyone be interested?

One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps. 

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you. 

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting. 

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house. 

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety. 

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you. 

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs. 

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom. 

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it. 

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come. 

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time. 

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor. 

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table. 

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with. 

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys. 

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants. 

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo. 

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up. 

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for. 

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely. 

Alright, you’ll take that. 

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go. 

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours. 

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody. 

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow. 

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others. 

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works. 

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls. 

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you. 

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about. 

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them. 

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out. 

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it. 

Your one act of rebellion. 

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like. 

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this. 

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming. 

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out. 

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful. 

Or she would. 

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her. 

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something. 

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood. 

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly. 

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound. 

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand. 

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken. 

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this. 

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life. 

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them. 

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms. 

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten. 

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move. 

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself. 

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could. 

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it. 

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this. 

You could hardly believe it yourself. 

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down. 

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past. 

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day. 

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down. 

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag. 

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser. 

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it. 

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable. 

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them. 

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing. 

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence. 

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body. 

Maybe he had won. 

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you. 

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted. 

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too. 

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

i love flux and logan so much, they mean so much to me

They're literally the only thing keeping me stable right now

(ily guys 💞)

I can’t for the life of me explain why, but I feel like Logan would have a heartbeat kink

Like his heightened senses allow him to hear and smell things better than the average man could, and I feel like him being able to hear his partner’s heart racing while he’s getting them riled up would turn him on as well in the process

Your mind is 💋💋💋

Made this: big bad wolf

CLAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE PART FIVE WAS A MASTERPIECE AND I WANNA PUNCH COOP IN HIS STUPID WRINKLY FACE AND THEN KISS HIM IM SO EXCITED FOR PART 6

Well based on that I think you’re gonna like part 6 lol

Ultraviolence

Previous part / Next part

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The Ghoul x fem!reader A/N: Canon timeline? We don’t know her Summary: He’s not the man you remember. Maybe you’d never actually known who that man was. It doesn’t matter, you need to get away from him before he kills you or does worse.

Bud sits at the head of the table. You don’t know how he managed to get this room for your meeting. Most of the time it’s only used for potential investors or the higher ups. But you know he likes to use it because it makes him feel powerful to sit in the big chair. 

You sit beside him, Hank’s on the other side of him, all of the higher ranking Buds are. It ranges from junior execs to lower ranking administrative assistants. He wants to create the next few generations of super managers and this is who he’s starting with.

You met him when you were working with his company creating the power suits. You were the one that brought the concerns about the defects to him. And because you’d saved him from years of lawsuits and dropping stocks by getting him the hell out of there, he’d taken you on as his personal assistant. A better pay, but not a better job. 

When Vault-Tec had agreed to this plan of his for his triple set of vaults, he’d kept you as his personal right hand. But that doesn’t matter to the rest of the little corporate worker bees. They don’t think you earned your place here. And they think you’re a threat to their positions. 

You’d been under the misguided belief that it was common knowledge that Bud wasn’t truly grooming you to take over the vaults. He likes you and enjoys working with you. Squeezing you into this program was a favor and a way to keep you safe in the fallout. He only drags you to these meetings to keep a good cover as to why you’re supposedly a valuable asset. None of its real.

These people don’t respect you. They’re all buying into a baseless rumor that you slept your way here. Not true, ever. If you weren’t so inclined to saving your own ass you might even say that you would prefer the nuclear war zone to Bud’s bed. But honestly, those thirty seconds with him would probably be worth it to have a place in the promised land. 

At the very least, he’s not letting you go into this unprepared. He’s got you in the same training regime as the rest. The same classes on leadership during tumultuous and trying times. If you are one of the lucky few who gets to see the surface, you won’t be unprepared. 

The meeting has devolved from lessons on proper management to discussions on other vaults. “I heard in vault eleven they’re doing self elected sacrifices.”

You scoff, spinning a pen idly on the table before you and reclining lazily in your seat. “That’s ridiculous,” you object, “what’s the point?”

Steph shrugs and shakes her head, blonde curls idly bobbing by her ears. “I don’t know. I think a lot of the experiments are just for the sick satisfaction of the investors.” Everyone turns to Bud, wanting to see if he would divulge any information. 

He entertained you guys by letting you speculate on what the vaults might be, but he was pretty adamant on not sharing investor secrets. Instead of answering he smiles, “A hypothetical for you.” You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. He might be kinder to you, but you had to show him the same respect everyone else did. You didn’t want to risk undermining him just because he didn’t have as strong a backbone when it came to you. 

Besides, you know he doesn’t like talking about the darker side of the vaults. He always tenses up when anyone mentions a particularly grisly experiment. It’s clear that what Vault-Tec is doing is evil. But what the investors are planning is even worse. At least Bud just wants to breed a bunch of corporate workers, some of these people are talking about killing kids and only letting the smartest reach adulthood. Sometimes, Bud doesn’t like to face the harsh reality of the company he endorses so eagerly.

“Betty,” his eyes scan the table and everyone perks up, hoping for an opportunity to prove themself. His eyes land on you and his face lights up. You try to shake your head subtly at him but he’s already speaking your name with a smile. 

These hypotheticals are tests, see who has the better solution to a vault conflict. It’s an unspoken rule that whoever has the right answer is more likely to be put in a position of power rather than just be a breeder. With Betty it’s lose-lose. You let her win and everyone here just further confirms that you don’t have what it takes. You win and the divide between you both just gets larger. 

You feel the eyes of everyone on you and try to ignore them by continuing to roll the pen against the table, blocking out their stares. 

“One of us gets off on the wrong foot with their new partner from the breeding vaults. What do you do?”

Betty speaks up quickly, “We reassign,” she blurts out, all confidence and smugness as she looks over at you. “If they don’t get along, they can’t facilitate the proper environment for a child. It’s best to just reassign them to another partner.”

Bud hums, jotting something down on his notepad and looks at you. He says your name, prompting you to speak. “Once a partner’s assigned, there’s no going back. It’s up to the overseer to facilitate conversation between the two and find the root of the problem. It’s up to us,” you look at your peers and grin, “to be better than them. If we can’t get along with our partner it’s a poor reflection on us and Bud. Ultimately, it’s our job to fix the issue with conversation and if that doesn’t work, well,” you smile at Bud, “a little extra Calmex in their Sugar Bombs never hurts.”

Betty’s face falls as Bud smiles at you in return and you know you’ve won. “Correct! We’re meant to be raising the best of the best for our future. That means that petty squabbles get left behind. And I need strong leaders.” 

Bud grows serious, staring down the table at you all. “One’s who aren’t afraid of compromising their principles.”

He yanks her to her feet, fisting his hand in the collar of her blue suit dragging her up harshly. Her eyes widen with shock, looking him up and down. “Cooper?” She shakes her head like she’s trying to reset it and his mouth turns down into a frown. Her mouth flops open and closed obnoxiously. “I thought when I saw you that I was going insane. That I’d finally had a heat stroke. But it’s really you isn’t it?” 

She reaches forward like she’s going to touch him and he steps back with a harsh scoff. There’s a distant sort of wonder to her voice that has him gritting his teeth. Few things have kept him going these past two hundred odd years. Two of the main motivators; spite and hate. And he holds a hell of a lot for her. 

“In the flesh,” he grins, only getting angrier when she looks at his yellowed teeth with disgust. Not everyone had the luxury of hiding out in the vaults like a fucking coward. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” The question is blunt, no class or grace about it. She’s clearly caught off guard by the sight of him. He’s sure it's jarring to see the man who she’d left for dead still alive. Frankly, he’s only getting more pissed off by her reaction. 

He honestly thought that she was dead. He figured after she’d screwed the pooch with him that they’d gotten rid of her. And at one point, the thought of her death had saddened him slightly. They’d been close, about to breach something that would have ruined him as a married man and compromised his morals. But she’d lied to him and he was long past sadness, the only thing he felt now was a stark disappointment that she was still fucking breathing. 

“Nuclear fallout happened.” He growled, grabbing her by the rope looped around her waist and yanking her forward. She yelped, stumbling into his chest and trying to tug herself back from him. “Don’t you remember? It was your people who pushed the button.”

She smirks, a cruel tilt to her lips that makes him want to beat her to the ground. “If I remember correctly, it was your wife who pushed the button.”

He looks her up and down. There’s a burning rage building in him, this overwhelming desire to just take out his gun and riddle her pretty body with bullets. He’s damn near desperate to see what her blood looks like painting the forest floor. But he has to have patience, he’s got use for her yet. 

He lifts the rope up, smiling at the relieved look on her face, before drawing it around her neck and tightening it. She wheezes, hands shooting up to try and loosen it. He tuts, patronizing, grabbing her wrists harshly and yanking her forward so he can tie those too. She tries to say something, he doesn’t care what, but all that comes out is a strangled gasp for air. 

He tugs on the rope a few times, smiling at the way she winces at the pull, before dragging her through the forest. He’d love to just get this over with here and be done with her. But he needs to get away from Filly before the Knight calls for backup from the brotherhood. They’re not exactly big fans of him and he doesn’t need any more trouble than he’s already got. 

With her in his grasp, he forgets all about the bounty left behind in Filly. And the girl who’d been with her. 

“Is it true?” Hank runs in front of you, stopping you from going any further. You let out a rough sigh, glaring at him. 

“Is what?” You snap, moving around him and continuing towards the elevator. You’re going to be late meeting Bud at the studio if Hank decides he feels like being chatty today. You don’t want to make a bad first impression with your new boss. 

You don’t resent the idea of being an assistant as much as you thought you would. You were Bud’s assistant, but he didn’t really count. He wasn’t much of a boss and the tasks he had for you were menial. Most of your time was taken up by your training anyway. The only part bothering you about all this was the worry that your new boss might not be very agreeable.

He catches up with you, looking incredibly excited. “Bud’s really assigning you to Cooper Howard?” You huff out a laugh, nearly forgetting that Hank is just as smitten with Cooper as Bud is. Your heels clack against the tile as he keeps stride with you. You stop in front of the elevator, glancing over at him while you click the button. 

It opens quickly and you both step inside, even though you know he doesn’t need to actually use it. He fiddles with his tie, doing more damage than good. You roll your eyes and step forward, straightening it out for him. “Yes,” you mutter, fixing the knot. “I’m working with Mr. Howard from now on. Barbara thinks I’m expendable enough to be assigned to him.”

Hank glances down at you, patting your hand as you step back. “You’re not expendable,” he tries to reassure. 

You give him a grateful smile and shrug. “That’s sweet, Hank, but we both know I am. I don’t have any qualms about it. I’m just hoping he’s not one of those Hollywood assholes who thinks everyone needs to worship the ground he walks on.”

Hank shakes his head, expression in vehement disagreement. “No way, he’s my idol. Have you seen him in A Man and His Dog? Oh, and that line of his ‘feo, fuerte y formal.’” You blow out a long breath, idly clicking the first level button again, hoping it might speed this up. Hank chuckles, “Sorry, I’ve been talking Betty’s ear off about this all week. I almost wish Bud had assigned me to him.”

You don’t bother with telling him that he’s sorely lacking the assets that make you so well suited for the job. The elevator stops, doors slowly sliding open and you all but leap out of it. “You’ve got more important things to do here, Hank. I’ll try and get you an autograph,” he lights up at this. 

“Trust me,” you turn to look at him, giving him a slight smile. “Never meet your heroes.”

You’re tied up to a tree, the rope around your neck still wrapped around his fist. You eye it warily, waiting for him to yank on it again. He keeps doing that, randomly tugging on it and causing the burns around your neck to worsen. “I’ve got ways of making you speak, darling. You’re only making this worse for yourself.”

You glare at him, undeterred by his ‘torture.’ “You know another way of making someone talk?” His head tilts in question and you scoff, “Fucking asking a question.” He’s had you here for you don’t even know how long. Blood is steadily starting to form around the burns on your neck. Everytime you inhale it feels like you’re brushing an exposed nerve. And through all of this, he hasn’t asked you one damn thing. 

He just keeps tugging that goddamn rope and giving you this expectant look like you’re meant to read his mind. He’s already rifled through your bag, stolen your guns, and dropped all of your supplies onto the forest floor. You don’t know what he’s looking for but clearly it wasn’t in there. Or he’s just being a dick. 

This was not at all how you thought your reunion with him was going to go. One, because you’d never thought there would be a reunion. And, two, you don’t remember him being such a sadistic asshole. Then again, if he’s been out here as long as you think he has, you’re lucky he’s not worse. 

You still can’t believe it, that he’s alive. Even if he is a ghoul now, it’s a miracle your paths ever crossed. Well, maybe a curse, karmic justice on your part. He leans forward, elbows propped up on his knees and you find yourself leaning in to meet him. He grins, the curl of his lips cruel and lacking any sort of warmth. It’s enough to have you pressing your back against the trunk of the tree again. 

He doesn’t appreciate that, though, and tugs you forward once more. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but you can’t help it. You hiss in pain, burning tears building up on the rim of your eyelids as you glare at him. “How’s this, sweetheart, where’s my fucking family?” The last two words are bordering on a shout, full of an anger you’ve never heard from him before. 

It’s enough to cause you to flinch back in surprise. Then, you laugh. “Family?” You question, tone sarcastic and bordering on cruel, “What fucking family?” The noise grates further on his nerves and the look on his face causes you to laugh harder. He darts forward, fast as a whip, and grabs your throat, shoving you back against the tree. 

You grin up at him, ignoring how much the leather of his glove hurts the raw skin on your neck. “I don’t know. How would I?”

He grins, “You were Buck’s favorite little cocksucker weren’t you?”

You scoff, lips curling down in disgust. “Bud,” you spit out, not helping your case. “And that was above my fucking pay grade jackass.” 

God, didn’t you used to love him? Wasn’t that the whole reason your relationship never worked with your husband? You’re really not feeling any of the love right now. Apparently, neither is he, his hand tightens to the point your vision turns black. Shadows start to crawl into the corners of your eyes and you can feel them starting to roll. Your limbs flail out in a discoordinated panic as air becomes harder to come by. 

After a minute he finally releases you, backing off and sitting back down on the log across from you. You fall forward, hands clawing at your throat as you take in deep gasping breaths. Your heart beats so violently inside your throat that you worry it’s going to rip through the skin. 

You struggle to get upright again, still panting when you finally look at him again. He’s no longer smiling, just staring blankly at you while he waits for you to get it together. “So,” you start, voice a rough croak that has you gritting your teeth at the sound. “Still pining after Barb, huh?” His eye twitches briefly at her name but he doesn’t react otherwise. “You know,” your hands lower towards your boots but he doesn’t catch the movement. “From what I remember she was a fucking bitch. Maybe you should just move on, I heard she did, real quick.”

You’re goading him, trying to get him angry again. You’re not sure it works until he lunges at you. Your lips pull up in a cruel grin, hands shooting out before he can catch onto what you’re doing. Your knife, the one you keep strapped to your boot, is buried in his throat. You jerk the rope out of his hand as blood dribbles over his lips. His eyes are wide with shock as you smile up at him. You rip the knife out, mouth closed against the arterial spray that follows. 

You don’t have time to grab your bag or untie your wrists. Ghouls heal fast, faster than you’d like. You leap off the log, over his body, and take off through the forest. You’re careful not to trip, you’ve still got your knife in your hand and you don’t heal nearly as fast as him. All you hear is the gurgle of death as he chokes on his own blood, but the sound quickly fades the further you go. 

You risk a glance at your wrist, trying to get a better look at the map on your Pip-Boy but there’s no point. You won’t be able to find Lucy or a way out of this right now. The best you can do is run and hope you manage to stumble across her. 

You should have planned this out better. You should have done this in a way where you could have taken your supplies with you. As it was, you don’t think he was going to present many chances to you. You genuinely know nothing about where Barb was. It truly was above your pay grade and it was information she never wanted to share with you. You have a feeling she’d caught on to how you felt about her husband and wanted you as far from him as possible. 

Without this information to offer him, you were useless. There was clearly no love lost with him and you doubted he would keep you around much longer. You just needed to get out before he decided he really did believe that you had nothing to offer. 

“How do you like it?”

You glance up at Bud and give him a terse smile, he eagerly waits for your answer. You finish chewing and force down the driest piece of chicken you’ve ever had the misfortune of eating. “It’s good, Bud. Did you,” you hesitate to finish, worry it will come out bitchier than you mean it to. “Did you make it?” You stumble over the words, voice rising in pitch to try and keep the dislike out of your voice. 

He nods, sawing so hard into his own piece that the table shakes slightly. “Yep,” he pops the ‘P’ with a proud smile directed at you. He dips the chicken into some ketchup and you watch in awe as he pops it in his mouth. He seems completely unbothered by the lack of flavor and juices. This man should never be allowed in the kitchen again. 

Bud clears his throat and you brace yourself. It’s not uncommon for you to be at his place for dinner. Normally, the food has been cooked by a professional, but he never invites you over without a reason. You’ve been wondering why you’re here since you arrived. 

He placed his fork down on his plate and leaned back in his chair. He gives you a smile that’s meant to be disarming but only puts you further on your guard. Bud might be able to hide behind his goofy grin and facade of incompetence, but you see what really lurks under the surface. 

He’s just as greedy as everyone else in Vault-Tec. For fuck’s sake, he’s planning to have two vaults of people that are just there to be bred. He wants to create an army of micro-managers to efficiently rule the world. He would do anything to carve out a place for himself in the future. To make a name for himself. And just like any other man he wants his name to have weight, meaning, power. 

It’s what this whole experiment of his comes down to. A hierarchy of power that all leads back to him. The people in the two vaults, the cattle as Bud’s Buds have come to call them, answer to their overseers. The overseers appear to have final say in all decisions, but it truly all loops back to Bud. He’s created a world for himself where he is almighty, a practical god to those in the vaults. They’ll never even know that every decision they make, every happiness or low point they experience, has all been orchestrated by him. 

Him being Bud, the man with the least intimidating persona you’ve ever met. Maybe that’s how he’s made it so far. Everyone underestimates an idiot. 

“How has it been going with Cooper?” Even now there’s a pitch to his voice that betrays his excitement every time he mentions Mr. Howard. You know Mr. Howard wants you to call him Cooper, or, as he’s insisted, Coop. You can’t do it, though, everytime you call him by his first name you fall deeper into your crush. 

You can’t be blamed for it. You spend everyday with him, you’re by his side more often than you’re on your own. Anyone in close proximity to him that often would start to fall for him too. You’ve been trying to convince yourself it’s just guilt presenting in odd ways but you know that’s bullshit. You’re slowly falling for him and you feel awful about it. 

Everyday you’re getting closer to just blurting out the truth. But you know the consequences of that. Not only will Barb get rid of you, most likely kill you to keep Vault-Tec’s secrets, you’ll be screwing over Mr. Howard. If he learns about what his wife is up to, the sickness that lurks behind that pearly smile, he’ll never forgive her. He can kiss his place in the vaults goodbye. You’d be condemning the both of you to death. 

You need to rid yourself of this unfortunate crush. There are at least one hundred and twenty two vaults, and those are only the ones you know about. Who knows how many the higher ups are keeping from the rest of you? You’ll never see him again after this and you need to come to terms with that. 

“He hasn’t been asking me much about the company. I think he’s assuaged for now, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up, though.”

Bud sets you with a stern glare and you straighten up, face falling into a mask of indifference. “Why’s that?” The tone of his voice tells you he knows exactly why you’re struggling. But he wants you to deny it, to prove him wrong. You know Bud likes to look out for you, but he isn’t just flippantly providing you with a place in the world. 

This whole thing with Cooper is one big test. He only wants those who aren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty. Leadership requires sacrifice and sometimes doing things you don’t want to do. 

You shrug, “He’s a bit of a wildcard. Not as easily malleable as Barb made him out to be. I think she underestimates him.” You reach to take another bite of the chicken but change your mind at the last second and sip some water instead. It’s a weak attempt at stalling but Bud lets you have it.

“I have faith in you.” You glance down at your hands and Bud calls out your name, forcing you to meet his gaze again. “If anyone can do this, it’s you. I’ve never met someone more inclined to self preservation.”

There’s a glint in his eyes, an underlying threat to his words. You swallow harshly, grip tightening around the glass until you feel like it might shatter. If you mess this up there’s not going to be a second chance. 

You nod your head, “I’ll keep him under control. It’s not hard to leash a man when you’ve got something he wants,” the insinuation isn’t lost on him. He nods, picking up his fork and beginning to eat again. 

You can’t do the same, you’ve lost your appetite and it’s not because of his cooking. You’re not sure what Cooper will do to you if he ever finds out the truth but you know it won’t be pretty. 

He rolls over onto his side, hand peeling away from his throat and eyes widening at the glossy sheen of blood over the leather. “Fuck,” he hisses, testing out the damage done to him. Nothing too bad, just a hoarse voice that would probably work itself out within the hour. 

It’s not her stabbing him that has his blood boiling with rage. It’s the audacity she has to even attempt hurting him. He can’t know for sure whether or not she knew he would survive that. He has to assume she wouldn’t, there’s no way she’s met a ghoul before. 

Leaving him for dead once wasn’t good enough, she needed to kill him herself this time. Spiteful fucking bitch. She’d always been like that, it had just taken him too long to see it. Seems like he has a type, women who only ever look out for themselves. 

There was a look in her eyes, one he’s seen a million times before. She’s got a fight

 in her, the same selfish spirit that kept her alive for so long. God help anyone who gets in her way, she would always pick herself first. 

He rubs at the skin of his neck, wiping off the rest of the blood and laughing humorlessly. He wants to see that light go out. He wants to watch as she loses her fight. He wants to be the one that does it. Break her so thourhougly that she gives up all hope. And when she does, when there’s nothing left for her, he’ll set her loose in the world and let it have its turn ripping her apart. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Broken Machinery

Pt. 4 (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: A long one, I wanted some more domestic moments between the two, sue me. Black dahlia’s represent betrayal (or it’s just a nice gift for that emo friend in your life)

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), body breaking like fine china, shoulders out of sockets (not that bad but I googled a picture of one and it’s gross), overdose (but not really), past death of a child (not reader’s), readers got hair long enough to be in a braid, death of a pot

Word Count: 6.4k

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

Shoulders aren’t supposed to look like that. They’re sure as fuck not supposed to feel like that either. You can’t even lift your arm to peel off your jacket, you don’t have to though, they’re dislocated.

“Y/N!” Calloused hands on your wrist and then all of your body weight is jerked down and hanging from your shoulders, you can feel the moment they rip out of socket, you can’t help the guttural scream that rips its way out of your throat.

The pain from your everywhere is momentarily ignored as you lay in Hank’s lap, sobbing with the relief that you’re still alive. You’re not dead or a paraplegic somewhere in a hospital bed, you’re breathing. You can feel Hank trembling, you’re not sure from what, but he’s silent as he holds you.

You must be going into shock, you can’t really feel anything as he slowly gets you on your feet. You can’t feel your legs moving down the stairwell or him directing you towards the group of patrol cars. One moment you’re on the roof, then you blink, and you’re standing behind an ambulance being looked over by paramedics.

“Cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder,”

Guess it was only the one shoulder, then.

They’re looking you over to assess the damage done. You can just stare blankly down at your sneakers. You’re trying to remember what exactly happened on the roof. But it’s all a blur of adrenaline and primal panic.

He was holding you over the edge, talking to someone. Who?

“Detective! Lieutenant!” Your head shoots up, you ignore the stabbing pain that travels down your spine.

Connor, Connor will save you.

Except he didn’t, he walked away.

He walked away.

You yank your arm free from the paramedic, ignore Hank as he tries to stop you and storm over to Connor. You’d say the look on his face is proud, but you’re not gonna let your heart trick your mind into thinking this plastic son of a bitch can feel anything at all.

“Y/N, I’ve successfully apprehended the deviant.” You’ve still got one good arm. You don’t aim for his face, that won’t do any good, you punch him right in the bio component and watch him crumple to the floor. When hes down you kick your foot into the same spot as hard as fucking possible, ignoring any pain that it brings you.

“Congratu-fucking-lations.”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

It’s been two days and the detective still refuses to acknowledge Connor. He’d tried to explain his reasoning for leaving her in favor of catching the deviant.

FIND Y/N

Connor double checked the door on the hospital room, he could hear Hank and Y/N bickering from inside. “What did the doctors say?” There was a pause before she responded.

“Another day of bed rest,” she sounded reluctant to answer. Connor hadn’t been able to speak with her after the incident on the roof; he'd had to go straight to CyberLife technicians for repairs. She’d done considerable damage to his biocomponent.

Maybe I deserved it.

“Then get your ass back in bed.”

“Hank, please, I’ve suffered a lot worse than this and made it out perfectly fine.”

Hank didn’t sound amused, and there was a loud thud as something landed on sheets. “I don’t care, Y/N! You’re staying right there, it’s not just your fucking physical issues you have to worry about. I’ve never seen you act like that before, I’m worried about what that fall did to your head.” There was a moment of silence and Connor thought it was a smart time to go inside.

There seemed to be a strange, different sort of silence when he walked into the room. Connor wished his hands were free, there were no objectives or dialogue options to pick from as Hank and Y/N both turned towards him. His hands were full, he looked down to the potted black dahlia between them.

He outstretched his hands and moved towards Y/N. She just stared at him from her spot on the bed, unsure of what to do now, he looked to Hank for an order.

The Lieutenant was watching him with crossed arms and an undetermined look on his face.

Connor cleared his throat and placed the flower down on the table near the bed. He scanned her, a minor concussion, two cracked ribs, and one dislocated shoulder. Her heartbeat was increasing the longer he stared, adrenaline and cortisol reaching a level that told him she was very upset about something.

“Your arm seems to be healing at a good pace. You should listen to the Lieutenant, a couple more days rest and you’ll be feeling much better.” The room remained silent and Connor reached up to fix his already perfect tie. There was something odd about him as he felt the stares of his partners. Something inside felt off.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

“I’m programmed with psychological software that could help you after recovering from a strong shock.”

SUPPORT

ANALYTICAL

STAY QUIET

Connor immediately knew what he said was the wrong choice.

“A strong shock?” Your voice was quiet enough that he almost didn’t catch what you said, but the room was so deathly still it was impossible for you not to be heard. “A strong shock?” You were quickly gaining in volume. “You left me to fucking die! And for what, for the goddamn android to smash its fucking brains out on the interrogation table before we got anything! I would have died for nothing!”

Connor opened his mouth, prepared to argue his side of the problem, but you cut him off with a quiet question he wasn’t expecting. “What was the chance?”

“Sorry?”

You walked up closer to him and tugged his tie so hard he stumbled into you, you used the shock of the movement to jerk him down lower than you. “The chance of my survival, RK800, what was it?”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

That strange feeling was back, the use of his model instead of his name made him feel wrong.

He shouldn’t be feeling at all.

When he took too long to answer you knocked his legs out from under him and tightened your grip on the tie. “40%,” he tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible but it was clear both you and the liteuant heard him.

You released him like it had burned you to keep holding on to his tie, and the Lieutenant muttered a quiet, “Fucking bastard.” Connor opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but wanting this feeling to stop and needing the tears forming in the corners of your eyes to go away.

You and the bag you had been packing were gone by the time he had gotten to his feet, Hank stayed behind a moment, gave Connor a long look before following after you. Connor straightened his tie and sleeves and stared at his shoes. He didn’t know what to do.

There was no objective, there was nobody to give him an order. He lifted his eyes to the flower sitting on the table in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he ignored the way his LED flashed red in a mirror as he reached forwards and grabbed the potted plant.

Connor looked down at his hand and noticed he was holding an umbrella, he was back in the Zen Garden. Amanda was waiting for him on the other side of the bridge.

They walked under the umbrella together. “That deviant seemed to be an intriguing case, a pity it deactivated before you could get any useful information out of it.”

Connor felt the need to defend himself, “Deviants are extremely irrational, which makes it difficult to anticipate their behavior… I should have been more effective.” The last part of his sentence came out without any thought behind it. Like it was an instinct to automatically blame himself, even though no one would know what the deviant could have been planning.

“Did you manage to learn anything?” Connor told her of the strange drawings on the walls, the ones like mazes and the journal that had a strange code inside it. He still had no explanation for rA9 and he could tell Amanda was disappointed.

“You captured the deviant at the cost of your relationship with the detective, have you made any development in that fixing that?”

Connor couldn’t help but think of your face in the hospital room, you were angry yes, but you also seemed . . . Sad.

Connor wasn’t sure if what he was feeling was guilt, but he knew he shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.

“She still hasn’t forgiven me for leaving her to fall. We had an altercation in her hospital room, after the fact and whatever good grace we had developed seems to have been erased.” Connor stopped once he realized Amanda was no longer following.

“We don’t have much time. Deviancy continues to spread, it’s only a matter of time before the media finds out about it. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.”

Connor straightened his shoulders back and looked down at her, “I will solve this investigation, Amanda. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Don’t let relationships get in the way of success, Connor. Improve on them if you can, but remember their lives mean nothing in the grand scheme of your mission.”

“Detective?” Connor knocked on your door again. You lived in a house about fifteen minutes away from the lieutenant’s. He’d attempted to contact Anderson to get your address, he’d hung up every time he’d realized it was Connor calling him. Eventually he just used the information from your personnel file.

Which is how he ended up peering through your windows, trying to catch a glimpse of where you were. Eventually he managed to get a small peak through one of your blinds in the living room. You were asleep on the couch, the TV playing, and there was something in your hand. Connor pressed his face fully against the glass and alarms went through his processors at what he saw.

Pills were spilled on the ground and the bottle was empty in the loose grip of your hand. Connor attempted a scan to see if you were even breathing, but after unsuccessfully trying to wake you up and get your attention he simply broke the glass.

Connor quickly dove through the window and rushed to your side on the couch. He took in your appearance, your mouth was open, barely any breath going in or out. Your lips and nails were discolored and there was a clammy feeling to your skin when Connor pressed his hand to your forehead. He needed to get you awake and alert, first and foremost.

He lightly brought his hand down on your cheek, you shifted but stayed unconscious. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I need you to wake up.”

He brought his hand down harder and your hand immediately swung out in response. Connors cheek whipped to the left at the force of your slap, it didn’t hurt of course, but it still shocked him.

“What the hell? Connor? Did you just slap me?” Connor looked down at you, extremely confused at your sudden alertness. He couldn’t stop you in time to not notice what he had done to your window. “The fuck? Did you break my goddamn window?” You used his face as an assist in pushing yourself off the couch, his hands went to your hips to stabilize you.

Connor stood as you kneeled down by the broken glass on your ground, swaying slightly. “Shit, I can’t afford to fix this,” you groaned at the sight of the rain pouring into the empty frame. “My things! They’re all getting wet.” Connor walked over and moved anything around the frame to the wall, making sure nothing besides your carpet would get wet. You were silent as you went and retrieved some plastic to cover the window up. Connor wanted to say something to you, but he was unsure what would help the situation.

“Why did you bust in here like the Kool-Aid Man?”

“I thought you had overdosed.” You seemed to finally take in the mess around the couch.

“Oh, crap.” Connor watched you as you picked up the pills and put them back in the bottle, he finished up the window and moved towards where you were sitting on the couch. Your head was in your hands like it was bringing you pain.

Your voice snapped him out of his observation. “You know, for a state of the art android, you’re a real dumbass.” Connor looked down at you, his face must have displayed something he couldn’t identify because you laughed a little.

“My nails look weird because I haven’t finished painting them,” you pointed towards the nail polish bottles on your coffee table. “I haven’t used any chapstick or taken my iron supplements, so there’s lips. And I got tired and fell asleep with the pill bottle in my hand. I was gonna take one for my headache but passed out after I opened the damn thing, which is probably why my head hurts so much.”

Connor was disappointed with himself at everything he had missed, he should have seen all that from the window and not taken such drastic measures. His damage to your domicile had only worsened relations between you. Right now, you hated him worse than Hank.

“You were barely breathing.”

You shot him a deadpan look, “Deep sleeper.” Connor fixed his tie and looked around the house for something to occupy himself with. There was trash everywhere, dirty clothes scattered the ground, and old dished piled in the sink.

“Hey, hey! I don’t need your judgy ass android eyes making me feel bad for my pig sty. Okay?”

“Allow me to help, detective.” Your eyes narrowed, you didn’t seem particularly trusting towards Connor. He couldn't blame you, he’d completely destroyed the small bridge of trust he’d managed to make with both you and the lieutenant. “Your shoulder and ribs are still damaged, I understand it’s difficult to take care of yourself right now. Allow me to help you.”

You laid back down on the couch, and Connor thought you were going to ignore him until you spoke up after a couple of moments of silence. “You’re a detective bot, not a house maid.” You paused before waving your hand through the air. “But sure, whatever, knock yourself out. Just stop fucking standing over me like that.” Connor watched you close your eyes, he continued standing there for a few seconds. You seemed to be faking sleep to try and get him away from you.

At least he finally had an objective he could follow now.

TAKE CARE OF Y/N

He started with the kitchen. Cleaning the takeout boxes off the counter and grabbing any dirty dishes scattered around your home. He stopped when picking some napkins off your coffee table, to check on you. Your breathing had settled and your back was turned towards him. You appeared to actually be asleep this time.

Connor frowned at the position your body was in. You were going to do more harm than good sleeping on your worn down couch. He placed the trash can on the ground and stepped silently towards you. He made sure to be as still and gentle as possible as he slowly rolled you into his arms. You only moved once, to settle your head in his neck.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

He ignored the way his thirium pump seemed to move faster and how the blue blood rushes towards his head. It simply wasn’t possible.

Connor went down the hall and to your bedroom on the right. He gently deposited you into your unmade bed and tucked the sheets over your body. He checked your pulse and scanned your body. Everything seems to be working perfectly.

You were just a disturbingly deep sleeper.

On his way out, something shining on the ground caught his eye. He made his way towards your dresser, at the foot of it appeared to be a picture frame. He looked over his shoulder to ensure you were still asleep before he bent down and grabbed it.

You appeared to be around nineteen years old. You were sitting on a roundabout smiling at the camera, your hair done in two French braids. Your arms were wrapped around a young boy around the age of three. He had his hand around your forearms and was making a strange face at the camera with his tongue out. Neither of you seemed aware your picture was being taken at the moment.

The scan confirmed your identity and gave him the identity of the boy.

DECEASED

Anderson, Cole

9/23/2029-10/11/2035.

Y/LN, Y/N

DPD Detective

Other known aliases:

Y/N ANDERSON

Hank had a son, who had died? You both appeared close in this picture. It’s approximately three years before Cole’s death. Could the death of Hank’s son be what caused the drift between the two of you?

Connor heard you shift on the bed and quickly put the picture back down on the floor. He didn’t believe you would appreciate him further investigating your life. Not when you got so upset with him when he simply took a look at your adoption papers.

Connor examined this new piece of information. It was like he was working two cases at once, solving the deviancy problem.

And trying to figure out your unfortunate past with the Lieutenant. Knowing now that the Lieutenant's son had died he could go ahead and assume that’s when your relationship started to go downhill. A year after Cole’s death is when Hank’s divorce became official, according to the papers he not so legally acquired.

The death of a child will often destroy families, if Hank could no longer be a viable partner to his wife, then perhaps he could also no longer be a father to you.

Judging by the Lieutenants drinking habits he didn’t have a healthy view on mental health, or know how to properly deal with grief.

The way you seem to isolate yourself when Connor brings up your past or tries to have a better understanding of your emotional well being, he can also go ahead and come to the conclusion that Hank passed on his unhealthy coping skills to you.

His assumption is proved correct when he comes across a packet of cigarettes buried between the couch cushions. They’re unopened but the plastic surrounding the carton has been picked at. You seem to be trying to stop yourself from giving in to your unhealthy impulses.

Connor frowns down at the box and decides to do you a favor, he throws them in the trash.

Connor continues cleaning up your home while you sleep, attempting to wash and dry your dishes as quietly as possible. The cleaning gives himself something to occupy his mind with, the frantic, buzzing thoughts about deviants and his frustrating partners temporarily quiet while he focuses on one singular task.

PROTECT Y/N

Connor always accomplishes his missions, even if that just means making sure you can wake up to a clean home, or if he has to protect you from self-sabotaging habits.

You wake up to the smell of smoke and a loud blaring alarm.

You’re soaked in a puddle of your own sweat and have no idea where you are or what day it is. Your head shoots up from your pillow at the sound of something crashing onto the floor in your kitchen. You take a second to realize that you’ve been moved to your bed.

Then you remember what woke you up and you’re bolting out of bed. “Jesus Christ,” your kitchen is a smoky haze as you cough on the suffocating smell of something burned. Connor is standing in front of a pan on your stove, simply watching the flames. “Connor!” You grab a lid off the counter and shove him out of the way as you slam it over the pan, suffocating the flames. You quickly grab the metal sheet off the ground and slam it into Connor’s chest. “Quick make sure the sprinklers don’t go off.” Connor runs towards the alarm in the hallway and immediately starts waving it around.

The sight of Connor, the emotionless android who is always calm and collected, frantically running around waving a metal pan in the air, jumping up and down to get closer to the smoke alarm makes you double over in laughter. There’s an ache in your rbis and arm from the force of your laughter, but you don’t care. You haven’t felt this light for years, you haven’t laughed like that in years.

So you allow yourself to bask in the moment, one peaceful moment where you’re not weighed down by anything, except the weight of your own joy.

Connor didn’t hear you laughing until he finally managed to get the alarm quieted. The joints in his shoulders were tired from his wild maneuvering, but it was worth it. This was the first time since you met that his observation of you showed endorphins and a positive change in your body, not one that comes from feelings of negativity.

It felt like something was in his chest, lifting him up and lightening his weight as he watched you.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

Perhaps you did more damage when you attacked him than he originally thought. Your face contorted in pain as you finally raised up from your position. Connor moved before his processors could give him the option to. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he assisted you in standing. He pointedly ignored your protests that you didn’t need help.

You did and you were getting help whether you wanted it or not.

There was still a slight smile on your face as Connor deposited you on the chair next to your table. He moved towards the stove and turned off the burner, dropping the ruined pot in your sink and running water over it, your house still smelled very strongly of burnt food.

He heard a grunt coming from his right, when he turned something inside his head felt strange. LIke he wasn’t okay with what was happening, perhaps humans called this irritation. A concerning thought, but one he ignored in favor of nudging you aside while you failed to open a window.

“Connor-”

The look he shot you when he turned around was enough to get you to sit back down. “Why are you so stubborn? You should not be here alone, you’ve taken too much damage to even do basic household chores.”

You looked around your house and finally noticed all the hard work he had put in. “Holy shit.” There was a look of appreciation on your face until you turned towards Connor. A pout formed on your face and you crossed your arms like a petulant child, “Maybe I wanted the mess. I liked it like that.”

Were you seriously having this argument with him right now? You being difficult for no reason was causing his programming to go haywire. There were red warnings in the corner of his eye telling him he was going to overheat, he dismissed them and stormed towards you.

His hand landed on the table more harshly than he intended, causing you to jump in your seat. “You’re behaving like a child, Y/N, you’re a grown woman act like it! You need my help, there’s nothing wrong with letting me assist you, so just let me help you.” Without consciously activating it the voice he uses during intimidation tactics had been used.

His eyes were drawn down to your thighs, you had them clenched tightly together, your thighs pooling out on the chair below you. Your lips parted slightly as you stared at him. Connor quickly scanned you, your heat level was rising, your heart rate had accelerated and there was an increased level of estrogen and testosterone production. A thermal scan showed an increase of heat in your pelvic area.

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINE?

It wasn’t until the message appeared in front of him and blocked his view of your face did he realize how close he was to you.

This was highly inappropriate. You were injured and still upset with him, there was no need to seduce you.

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINE

He was designed with the intent to complete his mission at any cost. In case there was ever an issue between him and one of his partners and other more illicit methods were needed to gain their support, he was equipped with the capabilities to do so. This wasn’t a situation where methods like that were necessary, so why was there a prompt for it?

Connor backed away from you immediately, it wasn’t right to be taking advantage of your emotional vulnerability. From the corner of his eye he saw you slump back down into your chair. “What-“ you cleared your throat. “What were you even trying to make?”

Connor looked back towards the pot, his hands reached for the coin in his pocket. He needed to do something to get his software back in order. He didn’t turn to look at you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus. He thought back to the pasta sauce on your counter. “Spaghetti, for some reason the noodles burned onto the bottom of the pot.” After he was done recalibrating he placed the coin back in his pocket and found it was okay to look at you now.

Your eyes were glued to his hand for a moment before they shot back up to his face. “Burned, to the bottom of the pot? How the hell do you burn water?”

Connor tilted his head to the side, “Water?”

Your mouth dropped open and your eyes widened. “You’re kidding? Tell me you’re kidding.” Connor didn't know how to respond to you so he remained silent. “Oh my god,” you dropped your head into your hands. “You didn’t put water in the pot.”

“Was that required?” You didn’t answer him, instead you stood and walked over to the sink, Connor followed behind you, unsure what you wanted him to do. The both of you stared down into the pot as you lifted the lid, the pasta has blackened at the bottom. Even when you stabbed at it with a knife it wouldn’t come off the pot.

Your, “yeah, it needed water,” was quiet as you went outside and tossed the pot in your trash bin. Connor stood by your opened back door awkwardly, he didn’t feel good at disappointing you and failing his task.

“I apologize Y/N, I failed.”

You snorted, “Big time, how the hell do you not know to put water in the pot?”

Connor looked down at his shoes, “I was not built with cooking capabilities,” he risked a look at you.

You were standing there, just staring at him with your arms crossed before you finally shrugged, “Well then… I guess Barbie’s got you beat.”

“Dammit, Connor, I can feed myself!”

Connor leveled you with a look that allowed for no arguing. “Your dominant arm is dislocated and you refuse to wear your sling, I’m going to assist you.” He pushed the fork against your mouth again and you reluctantly opened your mouth to eat the pancakes he had ordered. This was so humiliating, you were desperate to get him to leave at this point.

After the pot had been destroyed and subsequently disposed of he had ordered some food and you sat down in your living room.

Your entire home was absolutely spotless, when you went to the bathroom you’d noticed he’d mopped the tiles. You were not asleep long enough for him to clean your living room, let alone your whole house.

While you were still against the idea, you could understand why some would prefer android cleaning services to human. You didn’t even want to sit on your couch, afraid of wrinkling the now pristine cousins.

Once you’d sat on your couch, you’d waited for him to leave.

Except, he didn’t, he sat down next to you and then just stopped moving. No blinking, no breathing, just absolute stillness. So, still being pissed at him you’d grabbed a marker off your desk and scribbled some drawings on his face. A heart, random flower, some choice words, nothing too bad. However;

They were staring at you right now as he force fed you.

He’d called a repairman while you had drawn on him, someone would be coming by to fix your window tomorrow, CyberLife would be footing the bill. After he’d made the order for the repair he’d asked what you would like to eat and made a call for the pancakes.

He still hadn’t noticed the drawings, it was a struggle not to choke on your laughter.

You forced a yawn as you pushed his hand away from your mouth, he frowned at the action. “Are you tired, detective?”

“Yeah, I am,” now please get the hell out of my house.

“You should bathe before you go to sleep.” Your head shot towards his, the action hurting your neck. You ignored it in favor of giving him your famous The Fuck Did You Just Say™️ look.

First, he lets you fall off a building and nearly die. Next, he breaks your god damn window and destroys your pot. Now he’s saying you stink. And good grace you held for Connor was gone, obliterated at the comment.

“That’s it Connor. You’ve stayed far past your welcome, I’m done.” Your resolve almost broke at the way Connor’s shoulders slumped. You straightened your shoulders, ignored the pain shooting down your arm, and rebuilt your walls.

You should thank Connor honestly, him letting you nearly die had reminded you of exactly what he was. Nothing more than a plastic soldier that only cared about his mission. You meant nothing to him. Your life was nothing. How could something that could so easily be put into a new body have any idea about death. He couldn’t.

But something that couldn’t die, also couldn’t feel. Those small touches, and the times he would check in on you, it was all manipulation. Just like the way he lied about having a favorite dog, they were all subtle little manipulations to have you as agreeable as possible. And a visceral rage filled you at the thought that he had almost succeeded.

Your heart had almost been his.

You rebuilt your walls and stared him down. “Leave. Now.”

Connor didn’t frown, he didn’t cry or scream at you to let him stay, but the look in his eyes as he stared up at you from his spot on your couch said enough. He looked genuinely hurt at what you said. Not possible.

“You can take your sad little eyes and you can shove them up your ass, Connor. Get the fuck out of my house.” You stormed out of the living room and into your bedroom. He’d cleaned it up and replaced your sheets while you’d waited for the food to arrive.

The lack of your mess made you angrier than it should have. How dare he just come into your house and start acting like he belonged there?

Like he had any right to be near you?

If he could feel pain you would beat him twice as bad as you did after the rooftop incident.

Apparently he’d had to get three parts replaced by CyberLife after what you did. Hank had been complaining about the paperwork the entire time you were in the hospital.

If your arms and ribs weren’t aching you would be pitching a major fit, and ripping the goddamn sheets right off the bed. At the moment, however, the pill Connor had forced you to take was kicking in and making you sluggish.

The only reason you had allowed Connor to stay in the first place was because you were still waking up from your nap. He seemed determined to keep you weak and tired so you couldn’t get rid of him.

You heard footsteps and then a hand was wrapped around your non-injured elbow. “I’m not leaving, detective. Someone in your condition needs assistance.” You turned around in his arms and tried to push him off of you, but he wouldn’t budge. Both of his hands moved to your biceps. The look he gave you made you stop, “Y/N, please, let me help. Please.” He seemed so sad, there was a slump to his shoulders that made him look almost shameful. The tone of his voice made you believe he actually wanted to help, that this wasn’t a part of his programming.

You blamed how easily you gave into him on the drugs.

“Absolutely not!”

Connor was holding your towel in front of him like a shield. “I won’t look, detective, I promise.”

“Hell no! Line drawn! You shall not pass.” He gave you a stern look. Like you should feel dumb for thinking he wanted to see you naked, maybe you were, but you didn’t want any pervy CyberLife techs scanning through his mainframe and seeing footage of you naked. “I’m not gonna let your bosses see me naked.”

Connor seemed to catch onto your train of thought. “I won’t be recording when you’re bathing, I promise we’ll be completely alone.” You crossed your arms, this is one battle he would not be winning. Android or not, your stubbornness was not something to be so easily reckoned with. Connor let out a long sigh, “Fine. You clean yourself, and then we can draw a bath and I’ll assist you with your hair.”

You’d made the mistake of admitting to him that you hadn’t exactly been keeping up with your hygiene while you’d been on the case. You’d been keeping your hair in two braids and have been taking quick showers in between working the case. It was one of your more major flaws. Letting yourself get swept up in the mystery at the expense of your own self-care.

You’d also made the mistake of telling him that it hurt too much to wash your hair, or even attempt to. Now he was insisting on helping you.

Connor looked at your arms and mimicked your posture. “We can stand here all night, detective, I’m not budging.”

You were standing there for two minutes before you realized he was actually being serious. Your chest was starting to ache with the effort of keeping yourself upright. You shifted around and he didn’t even blink. Your skin was starting to buzz with boredom.

After another minute you saw that he wasn’t blinking. Narrowing your eyes and moving closer to his face you waved your hand in front of his face. “Are you serious?” He’d gone into sleep mode, you could tell by the pulsing yellow LED on the side of his face. “Bitch.” And he had ‘coincidentally’ blocked the bathroom exit. Groaning you took the towel in his hands and threw it over his head.

“RK800 wake up.”

Connor’s systems slowly came back online at the sound of your voice. Everything was at 100%, except his optical units didn’t seem to be processing his environment correctly. It took a second before his sensors recognized the fabric of a towel over his head. He sighed and ripped it off his head.

The sight before him had him momentarily stopping. You were in your freshly cleaned tub, bubbles covering your body as you looked at him expectantly. “You wanna help me out or what, sleeping beauty?”

ACTIVATE SEXUAL SUBROUTINES?

SYSTEM OVERHEAT IMMINENT

ACTIVATING COOLING SYSTEM

You looked concerned by the time Connor had managed to calm his sensors, there were parts of him coming online that were not necessary at this moment. He tightened his tie as a poor attempt to get everything back in order. It didn’t work, he was still distracted by your lack of clothes. He could not understand why.

“I’m starting to get creeped out, Connor.” That got Connor’s attention. He never meant to make you uncomfortable.

He moved to sit beside the tub and pulled up his sleeves. “Apologies, detective, my systems were coming back online.” You nodded your head and he hoped you couldn’t see through the lie. Connor used the pitcher beside him to wet your hair and began massaging your scalp as he rubbed the shampoo in.

You moaned as his hands came down to rub your neck. It triggered another cooling process. Much of the rest of your bath was the same, he was struggling with strange impulses that were activating outside his control and programming. When you had leaned your head back on the rim of the tub he’d wanted to press his lips against your stretched neck.

He’d seen humans do it before, but the emotions connected to the act were something Connor wasn’t capable of. He was experiencing what some might call a mental crisis as he helped you wash your hair.

When he was finished, he handed you a towel and went to your room to grab you some pajamas. The picture of you and Cole was facedown on your dresser, moved from the upright position he had placed it in while he had cleaned.

He placed the tank top and shorts you requested on your sink and waited for you in your bedroom. When you walked in you seemed surprised to see him standing by your bed. Your face quickly morphed into one of resignation as you threw your towel on your bed.

Connor made a note to pick it up.

“What now?” He held out the brush in his hands.

“I’ll braid it for you, so you don’t have to worry about styling it with your injured shoulder.” You stopped fidgeting with the end of your shirt and instead gave him a bewildered look. “Is something wrong, detective?”

You cleared your throat before answering, “Nothing it’s- Nevermind.” You sat on your bed with no argument, something Connor was surprised by, considering you seemed to find it necessary to argue with him about everything.

By the second braid you were fully leaning onto his leg, Connor had to keep readjusting so he had room to finish off the braid. The medicine seemed to have fully kicked in, you didn’t make a fuss when he gently guided you under the covers and turned your light off. He knew you were still awake as he made his way to your door.

“Good night, detective.”

He didn’t get a response.

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Apparently in Wolverine 8# 2011 (you can see the page in google images) his sexual fantasies looks like a BDSM room and we know our boi likes a lil pain.

ITS CANON 😭

Broken Machinery

Pt. 2 (completed series)

Series Masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: I swear they all get some personality in the next part. Consider the first two chapters ‘world-building’

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), dead opossum (sorry), Hank’s emotional constipation

Word Count: 3.3k

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

“Lieutenant Anderson hasn’t arrived yet, but you can wait at his desk.”

FIND LIEUTENANT ANDERSON’S DESK

Connor examined a wall dedicated to honoring past police officers, before heading towards the back of the police station. A PM700 directed him towards a cluster of three desks. One was positioned horizontally in front of tow others, forming an upside down T. The one to the right was extremely cluttered, you occupied the left. You were writing something down, posture hunched over in a position Connor suspected would leave you with pain later today.

He made his way over to you. “Detective Y/L/N,” you jumped when you heard his voice. On the right of his vision a note reminded him:

MAKE PRESENCE KNOWN

It seemed that you would be startled no matter what warning he gave you. He made the conclusion that behavior like that would prove to be a hazard later. Officers needed to be alert at all times.

You clutched your chest in alarm, “Connor. Sorry, I didn’t see you walk up, and you can just call me Y/N.”

“Do you know when Lieutenant Anderson will arrive?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “If we’re lucky we’ll see him before noon.” There was a hostile tone in your voice, there often was when you spoke of, or to Lieutenant Anderson. He’d have to look into that later, if you two didn’t see eye-to-eye it could compromise the mission.

EXPLORE NEW OFFICE

You looked away from your report as you noticed Connor moving towards Andersons desk. He picked up the headphones lying on the desk and moved them towards his ear.

You could hear the music blaring from where you were sat across from him and had to hold back a smile at the way Connor flinched away from the sounds.

He moved towards the phone on the desk, “Call Hank Anderson.”

“Good luck,” Connor glanced at you but ultimately ignored you as he left a message for Hank.

“This is Connor,” he then added for clarification, “the android sent by CyberLife.”

“I don’t think he knows any other androids, Con, or people.” Again, ignored.

Brat.

“It’s almost noon and I’m waiting for you at the office.” He turned towards you and finally acknowledged your existence once he’d hung up. “Do you dislike Lieutenant Anderson?”

The question shouldn’t have caught you off guard, considering you and Hank don’t exactly hide the hostility. Still, an android calling you out for being a bitch stung a bit.

“It’s not really that,” you paused trying to come up with a way to describe your complicated relationship with Hank. “Simple, it’s not as simple as just disliking him, Connor. We’ve got a lot of history and a lot of complicated feelings surrounding that history.”

He took a seat at the other desk now. Hands in his lap and head tilted like a puppy. He fiddled with his cuff links and examined you, you felt uncomfortable, like he was stripping you bare with those plastic eyes of his. “You were romantically involved with the Lieutenant?”

The coffee you were drinking splashed all over the file in front of you as you choked on it. “What the hell Connor? No! Hank and I were not together.” The thought made you gag. “Why would me saying it’s complicated make you think we dated? There’s so many other explanations?!”

“I apologize if I offended you, Y/N. Police officers are often in high stress, life and death situations. Sometimes partners grow close romantically through those extreme bonds. I just came to the conclusion that perhaps you and Hank were once like that.”

You shook your head vigorously, shaking off the mental image of you and Hank. “Well you’re wrong. And it’s too early to get into this with you.” Connor nodded before getting up from the chair and moving towards the break room.

You saw Gavin go in there earlier and immediately followed behind Connor, hackles already raised.

EXPLORE NEW OFFICE

Speaking with Y/N wasn’t helping Connor with learning more about Hank. From his analysis of her behavior, she didn’t seem to mind androids. She referred to them in gendered pronouns instead of as objects. His relationship with her was lower priority. Her usage of nicknames for Connor led him to the conclusion that she already held an acceptable level of affection for him that would positively affect their working relationship.

Connor entered the break room and scanned the people inside. Detective Gavin Reed and Officer Gina Lee.

“Our friend, the plastic detective, is back in town. Congratulations on last night, very impressive!” The tone was clearly not genuine. You walked into the room silently and began making yourself coffee.

“Hello, detective.”

“I’ve never seen an android like you before. What model are you?”

“RK800, I’m a prototype.”

“A prototype,” he turned towards the officer Lee, “Android detective… So machines are gonna replace us all… is that it?” He pushed Connor back slightly, “Hey, bring me a coffee dipshit.” Connor could hear you slam a cabinet door behind him.

You laughed when he said, “I’m sorry, but I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson.” Gavin almost walked away before turning back around and punching Connor in the middle. That was when you stepped in. You pushed Gavin away from Connors kneeled form and got between the two.

“Make your own coffee dick.”

“You better watch yourself, after last night the captain’s not gonna be too happy if you start another fight.” Connor logged that information away for a later time. Right now he was trying to recover from the blow to a major biocomponent.

“You drew your weapon first Gavin, but go ahead bring that to the attention of the captain.” Gavin scoffed and pushed you back, Connor was finally standing again and stabilized you with a hand to the back.

“What’s your problem, Y/L/N? What would you rather fuck an android than me?” Both you and the detectives cortisol and adrenaline were reaching concerning levels.

“Gavin, get this through your thick fucking skull: I’d rather be fucked gently with a chainsaw than go on a date with you, let alone fuck you.” That seemed to push the detective over the edge, his hand was rising as if to strike you. You just shoved him back and walked out of the break room, “Connor let’s go.” The tone brokered no room for argument. Connor followed behind you and ignored Gavin’s insults that he shot at the both of you as you walked away.

Connor had planned on exploring more but a new objective had popped up.

FOLLOW Y/N

Odd, he’d have to get that checked out. He was only meant to follow Lieutenant Anderson’s orders.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

Hank was at the desk when you made your way back. Your hands were shaking in anger from the interaction with Gavin. The sight of Hank pouting like a petulant child wasn’t helping your temper at all.

“I get the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant.” This was not going to go well and you really didn’t want to witness another temper tantrum this morning. You tried to get Connors attention, shaking your head and mouthing the word stop. He either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “I’d like you to know I’m very sorry about that.”

Hank’s a grown man, he shouldn’t need to have his pride catered to because he was acting like a baby. “Now that we’re partners it would be great to get to know each other better.” Connor’s eager smile was slowly starting to falter and you really wanted to throttle Hank.

Something about Connor made you want to protect him. He was like those little kids with the glasses that made their eyes huge, you wanted to stop anyone that tried to bully him.

Stupid, considering he’s an android and doesn’t actually give a shit about Hank or his feelings, he just wants to complete his mission. “Connor?” He looked at you, the smile back. “Why don’t you get settled at your desk. You can work at this one, since it’s so close to both of us. Deviant files are already on your terminal.”

Connor sat down and you relaxed slightly. Hoping this was the end of the one sided conversation. You should have known better. “Do you like Knights of The Black Death? I really like that music… it’s full of energy.”

That shocked the both of you. You knew he didn’t actually listen to it, he’d just been snooping around Hanks desk, it still was strange to hear an android say he enjoys heavy metal. Seems Hank thought the same, “You listen to heavy metal?”

“Well I don’t really listen to music as such, but I’d like to.” Hank shot you a glare as you struggled not to laugh at his disgruntled face.

“You have a dog, right?”

Hank’s voice got lower and he hunched further into himself, “How do you know that?”

You scoffed, “Jesus Hank, he’s not stalking you. You’ve got dog hair all over.” Hank looked down and frowned at the sight of Sumo’s hair covering his jacket.

“I like dogs.” That was it, you were going to melt. You didn’t care if the feelings were fake or if this was some AI manipulation to gain trust. That was adorable. “What’s your dogs name?”

“What’s it to you-”

“Sumo.” You interrupted Hank before he could act like even more of a jackass. “Sweetest dog ever.” Connor gave you a cordial smile before turning back to Hank.

“I was wondering, do you always arrive at the office at this time?”

“Nope, Connor, no, stooooop,” your whispered warnings weren’t convincing enough to stop his onslaught of questions. You’d noticed Hank had started to relax slightly, but he doesn’t take kindly to people questioning him on his work habits. Or any criticism at all.

“I arrive when I arrive. Now stop busting my balls, okay?” And then he made his final mistake. The basketball game.

“You’re a Detroit Gears fan, right? Denton Carter scored 53% of his shots from the three-point line yesterday. Did you see the game?”

“That’s what I was watching at the bar last night.”

Connors dejected little oh made you glare at Hank. He raised his hands up and glared right back. “Be nice.” Hank waved you off and went back to staring at his terminal.

“What’s your dog's name, Y/N?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “I don’t have one.”

Connor frowned, “There’s dog hair on your jeans.” You looked down and he was right. You hadn’t even noticed this morning, you were in such a rush. Probably should have picked some jeans from the clean pile.

“I volunteer at the dog shelter on weekends, I guess I forgot to wash these. You have a favorite type of dog, Connor?”

“Saint Bernards,” now you know he was just sucking up. Especially with the not so discreet side eye he sent Hank.

“What a coincidence, that’s what Hank’s dog is,” Hank sent you a look that said to keep him out of this conversation. He’d clearly reached his limit for ‘polite’ conversation. “Find anything useful in those reports?”

“An AX400 is reported to have assaulted a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation.” Connor got out of his chair and stood in front of Hank’s desk, Hank who turned his back to him like a child. You were quickly reaching your own limit of how many man-baby’s you could deal with this morning.

“I understand you’re facing personal issues, Lieutenant. But, you need to move past them-” You could perfectly pin-point the moment you knew Connor had fucked up.

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like you know me. I’m not your friend and I don’t need your advice, okay?”

Just as you were going to intervene, Connor did something you should not find attractive but really, really did. He placed his hand on Hank's back and leaned into him. Maybe if you started being a bitch to him he'd get mad at you too.

The thought made you disturbingly excited.

You only checked back into reality when you saw Hank slam Connor against the wall. “Enough! Hank, back off, that’s enough.” He’d been so willing to defend him last night. What had changed? You were both stuck in a pissing match until Chris walked up with information on the AX400.

You straightened Connor’s tie for him and sent him an apologetic smile before grabbing your jacket and following after Hank.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

“We’ve got officers sweeping the neighborhood, in case anyone saw anything.”

Hank sounded as doubtful as you felt when he said, “Okay. Well let me know if they turn anything up.” Connor was just standing in front of the car. Back so straight it made your own ache at the thought of your poor posture.

You walked over to him and it was almost like he was waking up as he addressed you. “It took the first bus that came along… and stayed to the end of the line.”

“Based on her piece of work owner, I’m assuming everything she did was unplanned and out of fear. The android has already been damaged and repaired more times than most. I’m guessing we’ve got another Carlos Ortiz situation on our hands.”

Hank interrupted you with a scoff, “Only one problem, androids don’t feel fear.” You frowned at him.

Connor, however, was quick to back you up. “Deviants do. They get overwhelmed by their emotions and make irrational decisions.”

An idea popped into your head as he spoke. “Then we should approach this similarly to how we would a human. She’s scared, has no money, no plan. She wouldn’t have gone far.”

You examine the area. Abandoned house, desolate parking lot and a motel. “She doesn’t have any money for the hotel, I doubt she’d want to sleep in a broken down car. We should check out the abandoned house.” Connor followed you, Hank somewhat farther behind.

Connor shouted out a quick, “Anybody home?” He looks at the fence surrounding the house and points to something you can’t see. “Blue blood, another android was here.” You nudged Hank none too gently in the ribs.

“Not too bad, huh?”

“For an android.”

You glared at him, “Grumpy old bastard.” You climbed the fence and Connor offered you a hand to help you down. “Thank you.” He led the way towards the back of the house. He glanced through a hole in one of the boarded up windows.

“Android,” he whispered. You were quick to withdraw your weapon. The HK400 from last night had killed itself this morning, Chris had informed you. Slammed its head against the wall until it shut down.

You could never be too careful.

You gave Connor the go ahead to keep moving.

You stopped him when you reached a door. “I’ll handle this.” You entered the house, gun out, and scanned the area. A damaged android was standing in the middle of the room. You slowly lowered your gun and motioned Connor forward when he made no move to attack.

You were still cautious as Connor questioned the android.

“Have you seen any other androids in the area?”

“Ralph seen nobody.”

Something wasn’t right in this house. Call it intuition or the fact that something was seriously disturbed about this deviant, you knew he was lying. You moved slowly behind Connor, trying not to startle Ralph and looked around the room. Was that a-

What the fuck? A burnt opossum, that’s not ever a good sign for someone’s sanity, deviant or not. “That’s Ralph’s blood.” You glanced back over your shoulder at the android. Those wounds weren’t new.

And this table was set for three. Was someone else with the runaway android? A fire was burning, you motioned Connor over and pointed at the fireplace.

“Do androids need heat?” He shook his head and frowned.

“I believe it's lying to us.” You both chanced a look at Ralph but he didn’t seem to be listening.

“I think you might be right.”

“I found the same message from the wall on Carlos Ortiz’s house in another room in here. As well as rA9 scratched into the walls.”

“And the HK400 didn’t give you any helpful information about that?” Connor tilted his head and his eyes scanned your face.

“Were you not paying attention to the interview?”

Heat flooded your face at the question and you could feel it spreading down your neck. “I was … distracted,” by wanting you to handcuff me and talk to me like a-

NOPE! NO!

Boundaries, Y/N, professional boundaries.

He frowned at your admission, “No, he didn’t give me any valuable information. Just the vague admission that it would set me free.” Connor moved away from you, if you didn’t know better you would think that he was annoyed you weren’t paying attention last night. You felt guilt pool in your stomach at the thought that you missed Connors ‘big moment.’

Weapon still in hand you made your way to the stairs, Connor following. Ralph was quick to deny anyone was upstairs, too quick. But Connor shook his head at your doubt, “He’s telling the truth.”

You holstered your gun and moved towards the bottom of the stairs. Movement caught your eye behind a bookshelf. Just as you leaned towards it Ralph yanked you back. Hands under your arms and uncontrolled android strength squeezing the life out of your ribs. “Run, Kara, go!” The bookshelf flew back and two shapes ran out. You were struggling with Ralph too much to realize she had a little girl with her.

Connor rushed over and yanked Ralph’s arms off your waist just as Hank appeared in the doorway. “It’s here, call it in!”

You pushed Connors hands off of you, “Hurry, go after her!” You were still catching your breath when you felt Hank's heavy hand on your back. “I’m fine, let’s go!” He seemed hesitant before following after you. You managed to just barely follow the blur that Connor was forming in the rain.

You were embarrassingly out of breath when you caught up to him, Hank in a similar state of distress. “Shit!” Before you, there was a chain link fence, a busy highway on the other side. You could see the android climbing over the barrier that blocked off traffic, “Fuck, is that a kid?” She was pulling a little girl behind her as they ran into the middle of the busy road.

The cars were going by so fast you couldn’t even make out the colors. The android had a tight hold on the little girl’s arm as she tugged them in between cars, barely missing being hit.

“That’s insane!”

You nodded along at what Hank said, anxiety filling you at the sight of the girl. “She’s gonna get her killed. Jesus!” You wanted to look away as you heard the little girl screaming and the AX400 nearly get its leg taken off by a car going too fast to stop.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Your head shot back to Connor, Hank’s hand was pulling him down as he attempted to climb the fence.

“I can’t let them get away!”

“They won’t, they’re never gonna make it Connor.” Connor shook both yours and the Lieutenants hands off of him.

“I can’t take that chance!” You pulled in Connor again, “Jesus Connor, enough!”

“Hey, you will get yourself killed!” You were shocked at Hank’s reluctance to let Connor go, if anything you would think he’d be more than eager to let Connor get run over. “Do not go after them Connor, that’s an order!” Hank then looked at you and shoved an accusing finger in your face, “And you keep your ass on this side of the fence!”

You shoved his hand out of your face, of course you knew you shouldn’t cross the highway. It was idiotic and you’d most likely distract both the android and the little girl and they’d both end up roadkill. Still, it was hard to just let them go and not try and help at all.

“Oh thank god.” They’d made it across, while it was shocking, at the very least you didn’t have to see a little girl get splattered across the pavement.

Connor seemed almost angry as he walked away from you and Hank.

“That could have been really bad, Hank.” You winced as you took in a painful inhale. Your ribs were most likely just bruised, not cracked, but it still hurt like a bitch.

He nods and gives Connor a strange look. He wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you back to the car. “Yeah, I know.”

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.