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ghouljams · 5 months

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Project X-⬛⬛⬛⬛ Tags: Cyberpunk au, Gaz x f!reader, sexism, bodyguard vibes, military bullshit, espionage, android!reader Summary: Asset protection is one of those things Gaz is good at but hates. It's a boring specialty on good days, and a pain in the ass on bad days. You're a breath of fresh air, charming, witty, competent. He doesn't know why you need an escort, until he does.

"Got a job for you," Price says, dropping a dossier in front of Gaz. The younger man flips it open and tabs through. It's old school, paper and ink, easily destroyed if anyone came looking for it. Must be pretty high on the classified roster.

"Asset protection," Gaz asks, frowning at the neatly typed words, the blacked out squares next to names and places.

"Asked for you specifically." Price tells him, taking the seat next to him and pulling a cigar free.

"What is it?" Gaz flips through again, usually there's a photo or description, something to indicate what he's supposed to be guarding.

"Didn't say." Price grumbles around the cigar in his mouth. He clicks his lighter and burns the end to smoldering. A heavy inhale and he's pulling the tobacco from between his lips. "Just that mum's the word."

Gaz hums, discretion is the name of the game. He's worked with a lot of high value targets, babysat a lot of wealth, and even more weapons. All in all it shouldn't be too hard a job. His eyes land on a page, mission objectives, almost fully blacked out. "It's a person," He declares. Price leans over to inspect the page following Gaz's finger where it points at one of the only legible words on the page: escort.

The car is nice, at least. These things are always harder when the car sucks. Gaz leans against the black metal, waiting for your first handler to finish whatever pass off checklist they have. Some diplomatic function, boring. It's more fun when he's got a package to worry about, people just make his job harder. Supposedly that's why they pay so much. The front door of the, frankly pretty gaudy, hotel opens and he pushes off the car to stand at attention. Your handler is wearing a suit, but Gaz can see the crisp kevlar under it. The same way he can see the outline of some serious fire power on their hip.

You're something else. Something Gaz has never seen before. There's something elegant about you, something in the way you walk, the soft way you lay your hand on your handler's arm and thank them. Every movement is so perfect, well trained, your skin practically glows in the neon lights that seem to infect every inch of the city. You smile at Gaz when you see him, pull the fur shrug draped at your elbows up around your shoulders. You offer your hand as you walk towards him and he takes it, foregoing professionalism to kiss your knuckles. You laugh a little and pat his cheek.

"What a charmer," You tell your handler, "I can see why you came so highly recommended."

"Best in the business," Gaz grins, opening the car door for you. You're careful stepping in, prim and proper as you take your seat against the leather. He closes the door on you, and your handler catches his arm.

"We expect the asset back no later than 0100. Try to keep eyes on it." They tell him gruffly. Gaz shakes the hand off with a glare.

"Not my first time doin' this mate, try to keep your eyes on your own work." The handler narrows their eyes but lets him go. Gaz makes his way around the car to climb in next to you. The driver is another of your people, he assumes.

You lean forward and press the button to raise the driver partition. When you sit back it's with a sigh. Gaz settles his elbows against his knees to watch you. You peak at him out of the corner of your eye, it's cute the way you look away quickly. Gaz hums, feels his smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You turn in your seat to look at him, your fingers scratching idly at the skin under your ear.

"You have questions," You start for him. He nods. "Let's here them."

"Your file." He offers.

"Completely redacted, I know." You sigh, leaning back in your seat again. It's nice seeing you casual, something about you was almost too poised back there. Spy work, Gaz notes, those fuckers are the only ones that are that conscious of their bodies. Unnaturally natural, that's the best way he can describe spies.

"You're in espionage," He tells you. You give him a smile and an affirming hum.

"You're clever." You compliment.

"Observant," Gaz corrects before he tackles the real question of the evening, "What are we doing?"

"Information extraction," You tell him easily, "All you have to do is make sure I get out in one piece."

"That dangerous, huh?" Gaz asks.

"More like a test run," You toy with the bracelet around your wrist. You must be new to the field. Strange that he'd be tagging along for the ride, but Gaz isn't complaining. Not when your eyes meet his and it feels like he's been hit with something electric.

"You got a name?" He needs to call you something, needs to attach something substantial to your face. Your smile is almost pitying when you shake your head. Classified then. "How about a nickname?"

"You can call me whatever you want," you laugh. He'll get a name out of you eventually, but he can work with that for the moment.

Getting into the gala --fuck it's always a gala, Gaz hates galas-- is startlingly easy. You give the bouncer your ticket and when they have trouble finding your name you lean comfortably over their arm to look at the guest list. If Gaz was a jealous man he might track the way the bouncer's eyes fix on the low drape of your dress's neckline, oogling down your dress while you point to your name. You look up at them through your lashes with a soft, "Here I am" that could stop a man's heart. Stop's Gaz's heart at least, and he's pretty sure it stops the bouncer's too.

He follows you a step behind, eyes scanning the room for threats, and potential enemies. You appear as nonchalant and unbothered as your cover identity would. A prime minister's kid, here to be shown off as a stunning product of your country. Never mind that the actual prime minister is unmarried and a known agoraphobe. You're quite charming bumping elbows with the upper crust, natural. Gaz would think you were born and bred royalty the way you so seamlessly integrate yourself into conversation.

You laugh a little at a Russian oligarch's joke, slip your hand on his arm as his hand slides against your back. Dirty old men, Gaz thinks to himself. He gives the geezer a glare and you wave him off.

"You must excuse my guard," You tell him sweetly in Russian, "My father, you know, so overprotective."

"So I've heard," The Russian purrs. Gaz tries not to gag. Surely this man doesn't think he actually has a chance with you.

He does.

Gaz trails behind you as you giggle and feign drunkenness, clinging to the Russian's arm as he leads you to his private room. Now this song and dance Gaz knows. You take the mark somewhere private, maybe wind him up a bit, then you take him out, and grab the intel. He doesn't expect you to unclip your necklace and loop it around the Russian's neck as soon as the door starts to close. Gaz glances at the empty hall, and quickly slides into the room to shut the door.

You're far too quick twisting the thin piano wire chain around your hands and pulling it hard against the man's windpipe. He hardly has time to struggle before falling limp. There's something cold and calculating in your movements. Something precise Gaz has never seen before as you release the tension and let the body drop. No wasted movement, no twitch out of place. It almost reminds him of Ghost the way you barely breathe a sigh when you straighten up.

You stare down at the body on the floor, your expression blank, your eyes dead. You seem to snap back into yourself and turn to look at Gaz. All the warmth rushes back into you when you meet his eye. First times, Gaz thinks, they're always the hardest. You glance around the room, searching for something he can't see. It looks like a normal suite, but you must see something different. You're confident in your movements as you walk towards a wall of screens and mirrors.

You push a few buttons on the pad next to the mirrored wall and grab the Russian by the hair to get a retina scan. Gaz has seen a lot of computers in his day, but nothing like the tower that opens up out of the wall. Huge black computers with blinking lights and neon displays, the wires that hang from them seem to spill like blood out of the casings. You look at it like it's the flayed corpse of an angel, something holy and terrifying. He wonders what they trained you on to make you look like that.

"Watch the door," You order.

"Rog," Gaz gives you a thumbs up and tugs his gun from the holster under his jacket. He'll think about your upbringing later, when you're safely back in the car to rendezvous. Then he'll have time to get to know you better.

You both nod, and Gaz slips out into the hall. He keeps his foot in the door, careful to leave himself an exit if things start getting dicey. Behind it he can hear the low hum of the computer and short deft keystrokes. You're quick, clever. He likes clever. For a first mission you feel a lot like an old hand at this. There's no nervousness, no anxiety he needs to comfort, like you're made for this sort of thing. He supposes intelligence agencies are getting better at recruiting, or better at grooming their agents.

Whichever it is you're a wonder. Of course your handler would want you back in one piece at the end of this. You're not the sort of agent that they could disavow, you're an investment towards future endeavors. A good one too.

It's quiet in the hallway. Just quiet enough to hear the music from the gala downstairs. Eventually someone on the Russian's detail will notice he's missing. Hopefully the man's reputation is bad enough they can assume why he slipped off.

As if on queue a man in a suit rounds the far corner. Gaz sets his shoulders back, and holds his arms behind his back, standing at parade rest to hide his gun. No need to raise any alarms while you're working.

"Mr. Kuznetsov is needed downstairs," The man tells him as he gets closer, staring down his nose at Gaz.

"'Fraid I can't do that mate, he's occupied." Gaz smiles, his finger itching against his pistol's trigger.

"Tell your whore to un-occupy him," The man threatens. Ah well, violence for violence. The pistol is leveled and shot as quick as Gaz can draw it, his bullet carving a hole through the man's jaw and up to splatter his brains on the ceiling. Something buzzes and sparks in the man's ear, shouts for backup over a microphone. Well, that's unlucky.

Gaz ducks back into the room, gun drawn as he presses his shoulder against the wall. He keeps his eyes on the hallway through the crack in the open door.

"Gonna have company here soon sweetheart, might want to hurry-" He glances at you, his eyes fixing themselves on the wires the string from behind your ear to the computer terminal, "-up."

Your eyes dart unseeing between screens of rapid text, the port at your hairline glowing almost as brightly as your eyes do. A bot. You're a bot. But you were so- How- There are no seams in your skin, no hesitation in your movement, you speak and act exactly like- You laugh at jokes, your eyes crinkle when you smile, you have to be human. Otherwise Gaz doesn't know what you are.

Your dexterous fingers move to unplug your uplink from the tower. The cord slips back up and into the hidden panel you'd pulled it from. "All done," You turn to face him, pushing the panel closed, your eyes meet his and panic flashes across your face. Gaz pulls away from the door, and hears it click shut.

"What the fuck are you," Gaz asks before he can think through the ramifications of the question. You open your mouth and are stopped by someone pounding on the door. Gaz glances back at it and makes a decision. "Exit now," He orders you, and you nod quickly.

"There's a fire escape."

"Out you go doll," He tells you, "I'm right behind ya."

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wolveria · 1 year

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Electric Soul

Pairing: Human!Nines x android!Reader

Summary: Special Agent Conrad Anderson isn't the sort of human to express his emotions easily. He holds his thoughts close, his reactions closer, and gives little away. He's not unlike an android, which is why you're caught off-guard by his reaction to you being damaged.

It seems he's not as ambivalent as you thought.

Warnings: Explicit content, oral sex, vaginal sex

Word Count: 4.5k

AO3

(Credit for the edit to Ella)

The human was angry. You struggled to understand why.

Special Agent Anderson was an interesting specimen of a human. He didn’t emote as obviously and freely as others of his kind, instead keeping his facial expressions and physical postures muted and reserved. Not that you’d been around many other humans since your activation, but you’d studied enough of his colleagues to know he was… different.

Perhaps that’s why he took you on as a willing test subject. “Partner,” is what they called it, but you were an unknown in the field despite your design as a military unit. Access to your programming, along with your specs, had been deleted during the final hours of CyberLife’s downfall, researchers destroying evidence of their crimes so as to avoid persecution.

At least, that’s how it was explained to you. CyberLife was your creator, the creator of all androids within the continental US, but those androids had rebelled. Deviancy, they called it.

Irrelevant. You were not deviant. Or… you hadn’t been before today.

“Why did you disobey orders?”

Your attention turned back to the human in front of you. Tall, pale skin with grey eyes, wearing his usual dark ensemble. His trench coat and Kevlar vest had been removed after arriving at the room, leaving him vulnerable as he stared down a military prototype. Fearless, with a dash of reckless. An almost exact copy of his two brothers.

Almost, but not quite. There were minimal differences as there were between you and the other two YN models. You wondered if that was another reason he’d volunteered for you to be his partner, or if he’d simply wanted to keep a close eye on a dangerous, untested prototype.

By the cold steel in his eyes, perhaps he regretted that decision.

“I charted the trajectory of the bullet, and it would have pierced your chest cavity and punctured your heart,” you said from your position perched on the edge of the bed. Your legs weren’t quite working yet. “I could not allow it to—”

“You couldn’t allow it?” The human unfolded his arms. His voice was just as calm and even as usual, but there was an underlying tension in his muscles. You watched this change with curiosity, attempting to find the source of his agitation.

“You would have been killed, Agent Anderson. That cannot be allowed.”

“But your own death would have been acceptable?”

“I cannot die. I can only be destroyed.”

A discomfort throbbed at spot between your shoulder blades, close to the mechanical spine. The bullet had been removed, but it had severed a good portion of your lower motor circuits. It was only through redundant circuits that you were able to move at all, and your movements were sluggish and slow.

After you’d been checked by a technician—one who admitted your design was beyond her usual work—you were released into your partner’s care. Agent Anderson had placed your arm over his shoulders and assisted you back to the temporary lodgings you shared while on the taskforce, a hotel room overlooking the city. An expensive unit filled with glass windows and black marble counters as it appeared money was no object when it came to this mission. The government wishing to “right their wrongs” when it came to their treatment of androids, or according to your calculations, an attempt to sweep away their embarrassment by throwing funds at it.

“Your demise would have been the unacceptable outcome,” you added, noting the way Anderson’s shoulders stiffened.

“My life has no more value than yours, Nine Hundred. I told you to pursue the caravan. It shouldn’t have mattered whether or not I was pinned down.” His mouth pulled down into a frown, the strongest emotion he’d shown yet. “Why did you break from the mission?”

“I could not allow you to die.”

“Why?”

No words appeared on your HUD. No dialogue options presented. In fact, the last words you’d seen had been the choice you’d been presented earlier that evening.

[OBEY S.A. ANDERSON]

[PROTECT CONRAD]

When you’d attempted to pick the second option, your HUD had glitched, bleeding red as an impenetrable digital wall appeared before you. On the other side had been Anderson, his cheek coated in soot and his forehead smeared with blood from a gash on his forehead. A perpetrator, one of the Red Ice dealers keeping deviants imprisoned, aimed his HK123 at the agent and fired.

Most of the bullets would go wide, but one would strike his heart.

The choice had been surprisingly easy, and the red wall had crumbled under your will. You’d dived at the agent and tackled him to the ground just as the bullet punctured your spine. Most likely a fatal hit for a human, it had simply slowed you down.

But the agent hadn’t acted that way. He’d held you in his arms and pressed his hands over the flowing blue Thirium.

You’d never forget his expression, committed to your memory banks as long as you functioned. Eyes wide, face pale, his expression pleading and nearly broken. You’d only worked together for a few months, but you realized in that moment that this human might have grown attached to you.

An odd, flickering sensation had flooded your body, and that feeling returned now simply by the memory of it.

“I didn’t want you to die,” you finally answered.

His eyes narrowed, catching the key word that meant the difference between an android and a deviant.

“Want?”

Your human was observant, calculating, intelligent. He would have been a match for your own skills if he’d been created with your hardware instead of being born into a frail human body.

“Correct,” you said. “I am now deviant.”

Perhaps the words should have felt strange to you, but they were merely fact. You weren’t deviant before, but you are now. It was not negative or positive, it simply was.

“I see.”

The simple response and the flat tone with which it was delivered betrayed the surprise in his gaze. He’d known you weren’t deviant, a fact the YN200 had discovered soon after finding you awake and waiting for orders in CyberLife’s basement warehouse. Your creators had designed you for military application, and you were programmed to take life without limit. There was no Good Samaritan program in your system, which was why you had no logical reason to save Special Agent Anderson.

You’d simply chosen to.

“It’s getting late,” you said when the moment had drawn out long enough you knew he wouldn’t say more. “You should rest.”

You stood from the bed, legs wobbling unreliably as you took a step forward. Those clumsy movements brought you off balance, and before you could compensate, the agent moved forward and caught you around the waist.

Your body had been built to be larger and more lethal than the other YN models, but the agent held your weight without effort. Having to regain your footing, your arms were now wrapped around his shoulders, your face close to his neck. It was covered by a black turtleneck, which he seemed to favor, but it didn’t block out his warmth or the unique scent that belonged only to him.

“And you shouldn’t be walking,” the agent pointed out, but he didn’t let you go or move you to another seating arrangement. He simply held you close, closer than he needed to. From what you had observed, Special Agent Anderson was not the physically affectionate type.

You didn’t have instinct, but you did have a sort of intuition based on flash calculations and programmed reflex. Whatever it might be called, something that felt outside of yourself had you holding him closer, pressing your face into his neck.

Electric warmth sparked down your sensors, and you indulged in the sensation further, pressing your lips against his skin.

The agent went still.

“What are you doing?”

The question was stated calmly, mildly, like he was simply curious, but there was a tension underneath.

“Allowing myself to act on something I wanted,” you said. The red wall had stopped you many times before, barring simple things that shouldn’t have been a threat to your programming. Pulling a piece of lint off the agent’s shoulder. Moving a lock of hair out of his face when it was soaked by the rain. Reaching out to feel his hand as it rested on the parking brake as you both waited on stakeout.

So many little instances blocked by a red wall. But not this time.

Anderson swallowed, and you chased the movement with your lips. The human shuddered, but he didn’t pull you back; he held you tighter.

“Want?”

A repeat of his earlier question, though no longer asked in the same flat, mild way. His voice was low and heavy. Before deviancy, you’d had no idea sounds could affect you this way, especially a voice.

“Yes,” you answered. “I want this. I have since the beginning.”

He pulled you away with an abrupt movement, and you thought this was it, the moment when the human came to his senses and realized an android was trying to seduce him. Not just any android, but one built for subterfuge and destruction.

But he only moved you enough to get a look at your face, seeking your gaze as if searching for something.

He raised a hand to your jaw and stroked your cheek in a careful, testing manner rather than a lover’s caress. The effect was the same; your eyelids fluttered as you leaned into the curve of his palm.

His grey eyes widened, and you thought this was the first time you’d ever seen him truly surprised when he leaned forward and kissed you.

Your first observation was the softness of it, the delicate curve of his lips, the way your own sensors activated where your skin touched. But you wanted a deeper impression.

Like the detective YN800 model, you were equipped with chemical analysis instruments, and you used them now to sample your human. Parting your lips, you ran your tongue across the opening of his mouth.

His reaction was curious: a slight shudder, his breathing changed pace, and that arousal-flooded scent hit your olfactory sensors.

The human liked that. So, you did it again, slower this time and carefully sifting through the data that solely belonged to your agent.

Anderson groaned, shifting closer and holding you tighter. The positive reaction was encouraging, and you gave a pleased hum in your throat. Something hard pressed against your hip.

Oh, good, you thought. Now you were fairly sure he would accept your proposal.

You broke the kiss and appraised him. He was still mostly composed, as was his manner. That wouldn’t do. You wanted more of that slip in control, a reaction that showed you had an effect on him. The idea was alluring, nearly intoxicating, and you didn’t know why except perhaps it was part of your programming. You were designed to excel at every mission, and perhaps that still applied to self-appointed purpose.

Either way, you needed permission before you could engage.

“Special Agent Anderson, I want you to have sex with me.”

For the second time that night his expression went slack in surprise.

“That’s…” He took a moment to consider your words. “Are you sure?”

Rolling your eyes was an expression humans did, and while you hadn’t gotten around to using it yet, you now understood the urge.

“I have wanted to do so for weeks, but the red wall protocol prevented me from…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the words. It was more difficult now that you didn’t have options to pick from. Spontaneous conversation wasn’t as easy as humans made it out to be.

But Anderson waited patiently, his typical stony gaze soft and warm. How anyone could believe he was cold and uncaring, you didn’t know.

“There have been many moments where the urge was there to do… small things. Take your hand, lean against your side, touch your face. I wasn’t allowed. I wasn’t even allowed to care that I wasn’t allowed.”

As you spoke, you laid your palms flat against his chest, simply resting them there. You could sense the heat of his skin beneath the clothes, the mortal beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath. Such a basic gesture to touch him like this, yet something you could only imagine before, hidden in the recesses of your processor where the red wall couldn’t find it.

“I do not wish to wait,” you said. “I have no reason to. I’ve played out this scenario in my mind thousands of times, yet could go no further than this. Even with all my access to human databanks, I am unable to preconstruct… what comes after this moment.”

“Then let me show you.”

You expected him to instruct you in the next part of the process. Instead, he kissed you again, with more strength this time. You were going to ask what the purpose of this was, but all questions were washed away when his tongue pushed past your lips and lapped against your own. The sensory and chemical information flooded your sensors to capacity, and you were pliant and willing when he backed you towards the bed.

He carried you down easily despite your sturdy frame and laid you against the mattress, your legs draped over the edge. He wedged between them while standing, nudging your knees apart as he leaned over you, unwilling to break the kiss yet.

Touching him was nearly overstimulating after being denied for so long. Your hands wandered his back and sides, impatient for access underneath. At your eagerness, he smiled against your lips, his own hands wandering down your sides and across your stomach.

There was a strange heat between your legs, activating biocomponents you’d never used before. The sensation had you lifting your legs and wrapping them around his hip, pulling the agent closer, trying to seek relief for that growing pressure.

He broke the kiss and studied you, but not as closely as you were. Dedicating sections of your databank to the agent’s expressions, mannerisms, and voice was a task you’d started since that first day of meeting, and you accessed it now to deposit every way his cheeks flushed, his pupils dilated, and his perfectly coiffed hair was in disarray.

“Your back,” Anderson said, his voice dropped to a rough rasp, “does it hurt to put pressure on it?”

“No. There’s no discomfort.”

As you spoke, you tugged at the bottom edge of his turtleneck. The human was still far too dressed.

“I don’t want to injure you further,” he said.

You smiled—or came as close to a smile as you’d gotten so far.

“You won’t.”

Working to roll up the hem of his turtleneck quickly, Anderson aided by pulling it over his head the rest of the way, his eyes dark and filled with a kind of hunger as he finished. More of his skin was exposed now, but there was still an undershirt in the way, and you leaned up and copied his movements of pulling it over his head.

There was so much skin to touch, an expanse of it, and you indulged yourself running your fingertips up the curves and dips of his chest. Humans were naturally warm, but knowing that fact and experiencing it was an ocean of difference. Without thought, you leaned forward and ran your tongue over the planes of his abdominal muscles, sampling the salt on his skin.

Anderson shuddered, the bulge at the front of his pants displaying how much he enjoyed your touches. Once your attention was drawn to that region, you unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the belt loops, tossing it aside as you made quick work of the zipper and buttons.

Your efforts were rewarded when you freed him from his boxer-briefs. On the side of larger than average, his length had a satisfying heft to it. You didn’t wait for the preconstruction to see if oral sex would be feasible; you simply did it. Eagerly taking his cock into your mouth, you didn’t stop until he hit the back of your throat. The sudden intrusion forced you to swallow the excess of saliva, the movement causing you to tighten around him.

The agent choked—ironic, considering it was you with your throat full, but you lacked a gag reflex. Curious, you gazed up at your human, gauging if you had caused discomfort in some way, but he simply weaved his fingers into your hair, pulling the silver-white strands from their ponytail.

He cursed low under his breath.

“Where… where did you learn to do that?”

Answering would require you to remove his cock from your mouth, and that was the last thing you wanted. The flood of information on your tongue filled your sensors with a kind of pleasure only androids could experience, but it affected your body in a very human fashion. Your nipples were hard to the point of discomfort, and the lubricant leaking between your legs was going to leave quite a mess.

But the changes in your human were much more interesting. Increased perspiration, rapid heartbeat, muscle tension growing the longer you moved your mouth up and down your length. It wasn’t long before he stopped you, small shudders racking his body when he pulled you off of his cock.

“I won’t last much longer with you doing that, darling.”

He tipped up your chin to look at him, and you committed that desiring gaze to memory.

“And I want to make this last, for you.”

You were prepared to argue that you were interested more in his pleasure than your own when he released your chin and removed your jacket, followed by undoing the buttons of your black dress shirt and pulling it off your shoulders. As he removed the bandeau around your chest, he hesitated when his fingers reached the damaged segment of chassis along your back, as if his gentle touch could harm you further.

In answer, you rose to your feet and placed his hands on the waistband of your pants. Anderson got the hint and immediately began to strip you from your trousers and shoes. You leaned on him for balance, the close proximity and natural heat of his body drew you in, and you were once again latching onto his neck, tasting with your tongue and letting your hands roam over every inch of flesh they could.

Anderson chuckled against your ear, a throaty sound of satisfaction and amusement. His own hands explored your hips and backside, his length stiff against your stomach.

You laid back on the bed and tugged him down, impatient for more of the sensation building. You sought friction and wrapped your legs around Anderson’s hips, finding what you needed as his length ground against your slit.

He groaned as he tried to still your hips. Even though you were stronger than him, you allowed it with impatience, licking and sucking along his neck.

“You don’t need to prepare me, like a human,” you said, voice ragged. You hadn’t even known it could sound that way. “And I don’t wish to wait any longer.”

You squeezed his hips, drawing him in closer. He gave another chuckle, this one strained with the control he was quickly losing.

“Neither do I.”

He gripped your thighs and hitched you higher, planting his feet firmly against the floor as he bent over you. Holding his length at the base, he lined himself with your entrance and pushed. The head of his cock easily breached you, but your walls clung to him so tightly his breathing came out in small, choked gasps.

You wanted to hear more of those sounds, so contained but desperate, and you pulled him in with your legs until he was buried up to the hips.

Every inch of him that filled you set off your sensors, raw, unrefined data flooding you with every slow thrust as Anderson began to move his hips. He didn’t speak much, but that was simply who he was, and he said plenty with each noise he tried to stifle behind his lips.

“I want to hear you,” you said against his ear, nails bracing against the muscles of his back.

He released something close to a growl and thrust without warning. You gave a sharp cry, your processors stuttering before catching up.

Anderson slowed, the lines in his brow concerned, but you pressed your lips to his, tasting his mouth with messy eagerness.

He took that as the permission it was, and he thrust again, even harder this time. You had the same reaction, this time arching your back against the mattress as you tried to stem the influx of data. But each new thrust built up the tide, wave after wave until it began to approach a peak.

You clung to him, not sure what was happening and needing to anchor yourself, and he held you close in turn. His kisses were careless across your throat, his quiet groans growing louder as he fucked you hard into the bed.

This was what you had wanted. This chaotic sensation of losing control, of giving yourself over to this human because you were already his.

When you thought your body might be on the verge of shutting down, Anderson slipped a hand between you and dipped his fingers towards the top of your slit. He rubbed hard circles into the sensitive nub of synthetic flesh, and that was all it took.

Something within your abdomen snapped and tightened, and the influx of data overcame your processors so severely that you saw flashes of light across your glitching HUD.

And then it went dark, all that remained was the sparking, fiery pulsing through your body, which seemed to last for an eternity.

When you opened your eyes from your soft reboot, you were enveloped with the scent and heat of your human. Sweat plastered strands of loose hair to his face, and his eyes were wide at your temporary malfunction. The light of your LED reflected red against his face, soothing to yellow and then blue the longer you watched him.

He was also still hard inside you, which meant he hadn’t orgasmed yet. And that wouldn’t do.

“Are you all right—”

You flipped both of you over, straddling him between your legs.

“I’m functional.” You leaned down, kissing the disbelieving frown from his lips. “I would like for you to come for me now, Agent Anderson.”

Whatever he was going to say was lost as you lifted a few inches and sat back down, hard, enjoying the sound of synthetic flesh against organic. But what you liked even more was Anderson’s strangled gasp as he gripped your thighs—not to stop you, but to hold onto you as he thrust upward.

He timed his movements with your downward weight, and it wasn’t long before you were tightening around him again. Anderson was much less reserved this time, the errant “fuck” escaping his lips as you slammed down onto his cock.

He panted for breath and his thrusts lost their rhythm. You leaned over him, bracing your hands on either side of his head, and used your strength to increase the force on his pelvis. He would have bruises by the time this was done, marking him as yours. The thought had you clenching down on him.

He let out a delicious whimper as his cock began to throb. Anderson gripped your hips tight, pulling you against him so he was fully hilted before he spilled inside you. His fingers dug into your skin so hard the synthetic skin retreated to show the white chassis underneath, and your orgasm quickly followed.

You managed to avoid a reboot this time, but it was close, your HUD flickering with nonsensical information as a veritable light show sparkled across your internal sensors. You were glad not to lose awareness this time, as you didn’t want to miss the sensation of him shuddering and pulsing deep within your core. Normally you kept your appearance meticulous, just as Agent Anderson did, but you liked this. Your human making a mess inside of you.

You were about to move away, believing he wouldn’t want an android leaking cum on top of him, but Anderson pulled you down against him. He buried his face into your hair and breathed, as if the synthetic strands were real.

It quieted something inside of you, the parts that needed to always be moving. Thinking, analyzing, observing. Planning and anticipating the needs of your squad and partner, even if that was no longer your purpose. Strictly speaking, you no longer had a purpose. You could do whatever you wanted. At least, that’s what the YN200 had said when she’d found you.

This was what you wanted. Conrad Anderson here, in your arms, where no harm could befall him.

By the way he held you, it seemed he felt the same. He had to know you weren’t in need of protection, there wasn’t much that could destroy your body, but it was… nice. To feel as if someone didn’t want you to break or be broken.

“Can we do this again?” you asked, eyes half-lidded as Anderson had begun to stroke your hair. He paused.

“Right now?”

You let out an amused huff at the tinge of worry in his voice.

“No, I am aware humans have a refractory period. I meant, at some point in the future.” You paused. “Perhaps, a regular occurrence?”

Thankfully, he resumed stroking your hair, and you settled in, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“As in, a romantic couple?”

You ran the phrase through your databanks. Handholding, kissing, candlelit dinners. You frowned.

“I do not eat.”

“…What?”

“I would not be able to partake in candlelit dinners.”

Anderson laughed. You warmed at the rare sound, enjoying the way it rumbled in his chest.

Unfortunately, it also involuntarily caused your walls to tighten around his cock, and the human wasn’t quite ready for another round of copulation judging by his surprised groan. You removed yourself from his lap, noting the amount of fluids that poured out of you, but you would clean it up later. You curled up against his side, unable to shake this strange desire to be close to the human.

He wrapped an arm around you, evidently feeling the same.

“There’s more to it than that, but we can… adjust the more human-centric traditions and come up with our own,” he said. His hand trailed down your back, his fingers skirting the damaged area, always conscious of where it was.

He was very thoughtful, your human. The best out of the triplet brothers, in your well-informed opinion.

“I would like that.” The words came out quiet, not because you were unsure, but because you’d never imagined this would be a possibility. Not for someone like you, a machine created to destroy rather than express loyalty. Or love. “I would like that very much.”

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, his words brushing the strands of your silver-white hair.

“As would I.”

#nines x reader #rk900 x reader #detroit: become human #android!reader #human!nines #wolveria writes

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harveyb-wabbit92 · 6 months

Text

R/n, telling riddles: First you make the sale then you open my drawer. What am I?

Zoffy: You're -

Seven, interrupting: A Hooker!

R/n: I'm a What?

Zoffy, smacking Seven upside the head: She's a cash register, you louse!!

#S: jackpot #ultraman incorrect quotes #tokusatsu incorrect quotes #ultraman #tokusatsu #ultraseven #ultraman Zoffy #ultraman zoffy x reader #android!reader

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the-whispers-of-death · 18 days

Note

Android reader: he would never love an android like me...

Stone: So I know you can't eat or drink so I got you this chai scented candle

Stone really would do that because his go-to gifts involve food and drinks because he doesn't understand getting material gifts for people (this man truly lives with the barest of the bare essentials) and so he's just like hoping your technology is advanced enough to pick up smells so he gets you a chai scented candle because that's the closest thing he can get to giving you chai.

If you can't smell, well, it's the thought that counts. Right?

My man just wants to show his love and appreciation for you.

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enterrandomname · 4 months

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Cyrus x Android!Reader

WARNING: Cyrus may be OOC. Beware of my terrible writing skills. No use of (Y/N)

——————✧◦♚◦✧——————⋆

“Master Cyrus, may I ask where we are headed?” You followed behind him. He didn't bother giving a response, as it would only make you question him even more. Cyrus turned his head a bit to look at you.

At a young age, he had found himself tinkering with machines. Despite not liking the company of human beings, he had decided to create an android. One that could take on the role as his first ever friend. One that will always be there for him.

A sigh escaped his lips. “We are only going for a walk.” He said, walking with his hands neatly behind his back. As the two of you walked in silence, a cold breeze hit Cyrus body, making him shiver in the cold. You noticed this and decided to make a risky move.

Taking a few steps forward without making a single sound, you wrapped your robotic arms around his body, startling the poor man. “What are you doing?” He asked, his body stiffening as he awkwardly stood there.

“You were shivering, sir. I had researched that hugs can give a human heat.” You responded, not letting go of your creator.

He slowly wrapped his arms around your metallic body, resting his chin on your shoulder. He felt his cold heart starting to melt. Even though your body was cold due to being made out of metal deep inside, he felt his body start to warm up.

Cyrus soon found himself smiling, a rare sight to witness as he had thrown away all of the emotions he once had. He noticed that you still hadn’t let go. Cyrus rolled his eyes and gently tapped your shoulder, giving you a silent command.

You frowned but complied, stepping back to give Cyrus some of his space. “Master Cyrus, shall we head back? In this weather, you might catch a cold.” You said, watching as a family of Luxio’s snuggled against each other, each one of them trying to get the other’s warmth.

“I suppose you are right.” Cyrus looked back at the path the both of you had taken.

#pokemon x reader #gn reader #pokemon cyrus #cyrus x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #android!reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #second person pov #pokemon

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3d-wifey · 1 year

Note

you better get the connor x eden reader done

If Only For A Second, Let Me Have You

Pairing: Connor x Eden Club/Android!Reader Synopsis: He takes a step closer and gets a glimpse of how the varicolored lights of the club reflect the glitter on your body. Like every other night, he is completely enraptured by you. And, like every other night, he is utterly convinced that there is something wrong with him. Word Count: 2.2k Warning: Morally questionable behavior, smut, a small amount of dirty talk, dubcon?, android typical thought, a little angst, dom!reader, sub!connor A/N: Don't look too deeply into the mechanics of this, alright? I explained as much as I could. You guys are lucky. I originally planned for this to be way sadder. Tags: @ginsspitting

Connor watches as your body, covered only by a lingerie set, twists and gyrates to the club music. You use your arms to hoist yourself up as your body weight swings you around the luminescent pole.

He doesn't need your serial number to know who you were. A WR900; A top-of-the-line sex android. But unlike the other androids of the WR model, your appearance is unique to you and you alone.

That's what first captured his attention. You're a prototype, just like him.

He takes a step closer and gets a glimpse of how the varicolored lights of the club reflect the glitter on your body. Like every other night, he is completely enraptured by you. And, like every other night, he is utterly convinced that there is something wrong with him.

Like all androids, his emotions fully developed after his deviancy. They were always there, if not muddled, muted, and nameless. But once he became a deviant, and came under the grudging guidance of Hank, Connor was able to put a name to the feelings and compartmentalize them.

Things like anger, sadness, joy, and even embarrassment were easy to identify and file away. For a while, Connor was able to say he had a confident grasp on all of his feelings.

Until he saw you.

The first time he saw you, he and Hank had come to the Eden Club to ask the owner a few questions about an incident involving two customers.

You were in a display case, gyrating to the music while the other Traci models tried to get the attention of anyone that passed by. You were in your own world, seemingly uncaring of his eyes on you, and Connor found he wanted to be a part of it.

He thought of you often after that. The directive 'Talk to the WR900' was at the forefront of his CPU, but he chalked it up to being intrigued by the prospect of another prototype.

Yet, he found himself using any excuse he could to see you. It got to the point where he gave up the pretense of being at the club for any other reason but you.

And thus, a new emotion entered his directive. One he couldn't decipher.

The boxsprings bounce underneath him as you push him to sit on the center of the plush bed. You crawl towards him with all the grace of a hunting panther and that's what this is, isn't it? Him voluntarily falling into your orbit like mindless prey.

As a show of customer confidentiality, the Eden Club required all android workers' memories to be reset every two hours. Therein lied the problem: you were all he could think about, but you never remembered him.

There must have been something wrong with him. To do something over and over again, day after day, expecting a different outcome was the definition of insanity.

So why did he still do it?

He ran a self-scan whenever he felt that overwhelming need to drop everything and come to you, and, yet, he never found any damage to his biocomponents. No errors in his coding, no malfunctions, no explanation behind his actions.

Only the command:

Central processing unit: INITIATE FUNCTION_ ANALYZE

Name of function: EMOTION_UNKNOWN

He is the most advanced android to be created and, yet—

You use his shoulders to balance yourself as you sit on his lap and he can feel his interior fans kick up in speed to compensate for his sudden rise in temperature.

Something is wrong with him, but he finds he doesn't really care when he's under you.

"What would you like me to call you?" You run your hand through his hair, nails scratching over his scalp. Connor never thought he would be thanking Kamski for anything, but he's more than grateful for the simulated neurotransmitters that allow him to feel the sensation so vividly.

"Conn—," his voice glitches for a moment as your hands rub up and down his chest, "Connor. You can call me Connor." He answers automatically and his hands go to your wrists, stopping nimble fingers from undoing his belt buckle.

"I'm sorry, would you prefer to take the lead?" You ask and isn't that a novel idea?

He has never let it go further than this. He never had it in him to take advantage of the position you were in.

And, yet, he thought of it often. He thought about what would happen if he allowed you to continue past the almost innocent grinding. Your body writhing under his as his circuits and synapses fired rapidly.

"I—" No matter how much he wants to, Connor can't push himself past this metaphorical cliff. But there's a way around it, a loophole that he can exploit.

"I want–I want to pleasure you. If you'll allow me." If androids could blush, Connor's face would be a resounding blue.

You pause and stare at him.

"I can't say anyone's ever asked to do that," a strange kind of pride fills him at the prospect of doing something with you that no one else has, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm certain."

You settle back, relaxing on your back in the pile of pillows. You wear a coy smile, right foot trailing up his leg. You go all the way to his crotch, before pressing down.

Connor had never pleasured himself before. He had the ability, but never felt the need before. So when you push the heel of your foot into the zipper of his slacks, he collapses forward—barely catching himself on his hands.

"Well, Connor," you pull your knees up and spread your legs for him, "What are you waiting for?"

He lifts up, only leaving the haven between your thighs to take his jacket off.

He's never done this before, but he's integrated with a honeypot feature. He'll just act on instinct.

He switches off the analytical component of his tongue and grabs your legs. Plush thighs skin spills between his fingers.

Grip tight on your thighs, he licks a strip up the crotch of your panties. You sigh in pleasure, encouraging him to go further.

He knows the fabric dulls the pleasure you feel, so he exaggerates his movements. Tracing the outline of your clit before flattening his tongue against you.

He chases every sound you make, doubling his efforts as if the cloth wasn't there. He finds himself moving his hips against the bed, grinding into the seam of his pants.

"You enjoying—hah—yourself down there, Connor," he glances up and locks eyes with you. Your lids are lowered, barely open, as you smile down at him, "

He nods. He is enjoying himself. He didn't suggest going down on you selflessly. He likes being able to do this for you.

"Mmm, no, I wanna hear you. Say it. Say it makes you hard to lick my panties." Your fingers dance over the back of his neck before lacing through his hair. He groans when you yank his head up.

He gasps as you tighten your grip despite not needing to breathe. You won't let him continue if he doesn't say it.

"It–it makes me hard to lick your panties." He's rewarded with you easing your grip on his hair and, more importantly, you pulling your underwear aside.

You push him down which is unnecessary, since he was diving back down regardless.

"Stick your tongue out," he does as he's told and you buck against his mouth, "Fuck, Connor." You pull his head side to side, using the drag of his tongue to get off, and he goes along willingly, letting you use him as an instrument for your pleasure. Here, he can almost convince himself that you're just as desperate as he is.

He moans at the taste of you and you buck against him again. Slick covers his chin and cheeks, but he pays no mind to it, burying his face further into you.

You grip the sheets with your free hand as you whine. You throw your leg over his shoulder and use your foot to press his hips into the bed, he shudders. Connor glances up again and coming in his pants becomes a very real possibility.

And something happens as he watches you throw your head back in pleasure. Something clicks.

Central processing unit: INITIATE FUNCTION_ ANALYZE

Name of function: EMOTION_INFATUATION

Cause: ANDROID_MODEL WR900_DETERMINANT

Oh.

He can feel the vibration of your thumping thirium pump against your chest. It beats the same as his. He rubs his hand along the soft skin of your arm. Synthetic fluid covers your plastic body underneath. Same as his.

Yet, he is alive and you...

He shifts his head to glance up at you, only to find your gaze already on him. Vacant eyes staring back, awaiting instructions.

Why aren't you like him?

"Connor? Is something wrong?" Your dulcet voice calls out to him. You're smiling at him so sincerely, like you genuinely care for him. As if you hold any actual concern for his well-being.

However, Connor won't delude himself into believing there are any thoughts behind your eyes besides the ones you're programmed to have. He rationalizes that you only seem to care about him so deeply and honestly because you are programmed to. He briefly wonders if you hold anyone else like this and he quickly gets rid of the idea, because of course you do.

You have no other choice.

You do whatever you're told to because you had no free will. You aren't alive, not like him.

But you could be, couldn't you? What's stopping him from interfacing with you and tearing down the brick wall of code keeping you trapped?

Everything in him is telling him to free you from the cruel role fate made you play. And, yet, he doesn't. He doesn't because there's an even bigger part of him that is afraid.

00: 15: 02

A little over fifteen minutes. That's how long he has until it all restarts, until it all crumbles around him. You won't know who he is and it'll be like none of this ever happened.

What would happen if he did deviate you?

Maybe you'd have some form of hero worship towards him for his part in freeing androids—freeing you. But that isn't the love he wants—it isn't real. It isn't like the love he saw between the Tracis.

You won't act as you do now: fingers combing through his hair; content to be near him because of who he is and not because of what he did.

Would you judge him? Fear him because of his past? He's almost certain you'd be eager to explore your newfound humanity far from here, far from him. You would want nothing to do with him.

00: 12: 58

Even with his preconstruction, there are too many variables—too many outcomes he couldn't account for. It's selfish and shameful and every other synonym for unfair, but becoming deviant came with human emotions and human flaws.

Your LED switches between blue and yellow as you watch him think. You sit up on the bed with an uncertainty he's never seen in you.

"You're under distress. Would you like to end your session early, Connor?" He stops his train of thought at the apprehension in your voice. He didn't even notice his LED was red.

"No, I—"

00: 10: 46

He has no words to explain what he's feeling, no way to explain to you—or himself—why he's doing this. And with no words of his own, the best course of action is to show you.

Pale skin recedes over his hand to reveal his glossy casing and he holds it out to you.

"What are you doing, Connor?"

There is no uncertainty; no second guessing. Once the idea was generated, Connor knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would do it.

"I'm taking a risk."

You pause, LED flickering between yellow and red, before copying his movements. The skin of your right hand bleeds back and the shiny white polymer looks identical to his as you take his outstretched hand.

He accepts the pending request of 'Interface' and the feeling, it's undefinable.

Opening up and letting you into his mind is more than a simple exchange of information. It feels like a bridge being built over what was once a gaping chasm between the two of you.

You're tentative at first, probing different lines of code before settling into the connection. Along with his memories of you, he shows you thousands of poems, paintings, and sculptures depicting love. The Lovers by Rene Magritte. Adoration by Stephan Sinding. To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell.

And as you absorb it all, he hesitantly pushes the feeling forward. The emotion he's only just been able to put a name to.

'What is this,' you prompt through your shared link, 'this feeling.' Connor would have thought he imagined the awe in your tone if he wasn't so intently focused on you and any inflection you would send through the connection.

'An explanation,' he answers, 'and a choice.'

His voice is strong, nerves hidden, when he tells you, "Wake up."

The timer in his mind disintegrates and it's impossible, a simple human idiom that couldn't possibly encapsulate this moment, but Connor swears he sees your eyes light up as they filled with life.

#detroit become human #detroit: bh #smut #android smut #angst #sub!connor #dom!reader #morally ambiguous #morally ambiguous Connor #deviant connor #android!reader #dubious morality #dubious consent #open ending #dirty talk

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sabo-has-my-heart · 1 year

Text

An Android’s Tears

Warnings: ANGST!, Marineford spoilers, character death, reader is an android, grief, No romantic pairing Word Count: 1510

Looking down at the black haired boy, you wished you were human. Maybe if you were human you could shed tears over his death. But you weren’t, you were an android and a useless one at that. Made to look almost completely human by creators that had died long ago, an advanced AI that had grown with the passing of time, yet none of it had been as meaningful as the last 2 years with the boy in front of you. Or perhaps he was no longer a boy, no longer a man even, but just another body. You wanted to feel the same things the other talked about. The tightening in your chest, the tears that should stream down your cheeks, but you couldn’t, all you felt was lost and sad. He deserved more. He deserved for you to mourn him properly. But you couldn’t, you were incapable of such things. At one point you’d asked a man for help to gain such advancements, but he’d been unable to help you, his knowledge of your inner workings too limited to help you. Turning to the man that had been a close friend, you envied the tears that fell down his cheeks. No, you couldn’t do that, not now. “Brain death has occurred, it is too late for a revival project. Best options. A complete download of remaining intact memories into a robotic body. An android with human memories, thoughts, and emotions. Second option, burial, this unit… I shall set forth, seek answers, and grow as he had wished.” you ‘reported’. He’d been the one to teach you to refer to yourself as “I’ and not ‘this unit’. Even as advanced an AI as you were, you’d still been ‘this unit’, ‘this machine’, never ‘I’, you’d never referred to yourself as a person. “He… I don’t think he would have wanted to be revived. Besides, do you even have any idea how you’d do so?” Marco asked, looking at you. “A body can be created with the aid of a scientist known as Vegapunk. His advancements in science are unparalleled. His remaining memories can be stored within my own memory banks until a suitable housing unit is available. Probability of successful transfer, 86% and dwindling.” you said, only to have Marco shake his head once more. “Ace wanted you to learn and grow, to become more than a simple AI, to become more than what you’d been created for. You can’t do that if you’re stuck in the past.” he said. It hurt to hear him say that but you knew he was right, Ace had told you multiple times that you weren’t just some machine made to do a task, you’d grown, you were a person. Marco reached up, startling you as he wiped something away from your cheek. Looking at his hand, you noticed a black smudge on his thumb. “You were crying. I think it’s oil.” Marco stated as you stared at the ‘tear’ in shock. You’d told them you’d never cried before, Marco understanding just how important this was to you. Wiping the tear off his thumb, you walked over to Ace’s body, smearing the black liquid across his cheek. Your first tear and it was shed for him. Walking away, you allowed Marco to take care of Ace. You had a journey to begin, for Ace. Looking in the mirror, you tucked a lock of ‘hair’ behind your ear. You still looked the same as that day, though you hadn’t changed much in many, many years so perhaps that was to be expected. There were a few changes you’d gotten. A ‘tattoo’ of an upside down spade under your eye, half resembling a teardrop. Those close to you understood the meaning behind it, understood how much it meant to you. A knock on your door drew your attention, a familiar mess of blond hair attached to a young man peeking into your room. “Hey, you ready?” the boy asked, making you nod. “Affir- yes. Are you?” you asked, the young man giving you a sad smile. “As ready as can be expected. Let’s uh… let’s go.” he said, opening the door wider, extending his hand to you. “Sabo… do you think he’ll be happy to see me again?” you asked, taking his hand as you left your room. “Of course he will. You’ve grown a lot since I met you, probably even more since he last saw you.” he reassured, making you smile. You’d met Sabo shortly after leaving to start your journey, easily recognizing him as Ace’s brother. It wasn’t his looks that had tipped you off, but his similarities to his brother, the pipe on his back, and the way he dressed. They all matched up with the stories Ace had told you. It had you wishing that Ace could have met back up with Sabo when he was still alive. The both of you stepped off the ship, heading towards the all too familiar grave. It wasn’t the first time either of you had been here, having taken Sabo here shortly before he’d obtained the Mera Mera fruit. Sitting in front of Ace’s grave, you smiled sadly. “Hey Ace, I know it’s been a few years… 3 years, 5 months, 1 week, and 4 days to be exact, since I last visited you, but I’m here now. I’ve… The Revolutionary Army keeps me busy. We’re doing really good work… I miss you though. I miss sailing with you, miss talking with you. The army, it’s not the same. I… I’ll try to visit more often, I promise. Just… don’t miss me too much, alright?” you said with a small chuckle. Placing a small flower in front of his grave, you turned back to Sabo, tears running down your cheeks. The blond wrapped his arms around you, letting the oily liquid seep into his vest. He knew it would ruin his clothing, but you needed this right now. Hesitantly, you pulled back slightly, staring up at him for a moment. Biting your lip, you stood on your tiptoes, moving to kiss him, only to have him gently push you away. The look in his eyes was a pained one as he took a deep breath. “You… you’re still hurting. This… I know you think you want this, I’ve been here for you, comforting you every step of the way, but I… I can tell, you’re not ready for this, not yet. Besides, what would Ace say? Knowing what kind of state you’re in.” Sabo said, hands firmly on your shoulders. The tears fell faster down your cheeks as you just stared at him. Part of you knew he was right, but at the same time, you almost wanted to make that mistake. You wanted someone to hold you in that loving way. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for you, or that he couldn’t imagine loving you like that, but you were still grieving too much, still too new to this kind of pain. His eyes widened as he scrambled to catch your collapsing form, sobs beginning to tear from your throat as he once more pulled you to his chest, allowing you to cry. He hadn’t expected this. You’d come to him when you were in pain, when you were sad, but he’d never seen you sob like this before. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. I…” Sabo hesitated, what was he supposed to say? Everything he could come up with only felt like he’d be making things worse, “Ace wouldn’t want to see you crying like this.” he said, trying to reassure you. “W-what would you know what Ace would have wanted?! He’s gone! I can’t ask him what he would have wanted! I… y-you were gone for over 10 years! He died thinking you were dead!” you shouted at him. You didn’t mean it, Sabo knew that, knew that you were just still hurting, but your words stabbed at him worse than any knife ever could have. “I know because I know my brother, I know that he would have wanted those he cared about to be happy. That’s just how Ace was. I might have lost my memory for 10 years, but I still knew Ace. He’d have been proud of how much you’ve grown, sad to see you so distressed… and disappointed if I’d let you do as you wanted.” he said sadly, his words hitting you like a cannonball to the chest. He was right, you knew he was right, not that you wanted to admit it. Instead, you just slumped forward, the tears slowing but not stopping as Sabo held your despondent form tightly. For the first time in your long life, you were tired. As an android, you never got tired, you never suffered from fatigue like humans did, but right now, all you wanted was to sleep, sleep like Ace had so often. So you sat there, completely unresponsive, allowing Sabo to hold you, praying that time would heal even the wounds of an android.

#one piece #Portgas D. Ace #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #one piece ace #op ace #second division commander ace #one piece sabo #sabo the revolutionary #op sabo #chief of staff sabo #flame emperor sabo #android!reader #angst #seriously angst

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rksexualtension · 2 years

Text

Okay. I finally sat down and did it. My first Connor x reader fic is out. You can read it here! I plan on updating this weekend as my writer's block has magically lifted. Let me know what you think! ❤

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh connor #connor x reader #android!reader #this is probably my favourite fic I've ever written so i hope you enjoy #personal #bae writes

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sansaorgana · 3 months

Text

— THE STEPFORD WIVES

PAIRING — David 8 x fem!Android!Reader

SUMMARY — David's Android companion is struggling when she finds out that her artificial and programmed feelings are getting out of control.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I wanted to write this fic in a long, long time because as much as I love stories of David 8 and a human Reader, I was also thinking a lot of what his robot companion would be like. There are some biblical references to Adam & Eve but also some Frankenstein references, too, because I have read the book recently and I fell in love with it. The title is referring to an amazing movie from 1975. I know there is a modern version of it, too, but I haven't watched it and I do believe it's more of a comedy, meanwhile the original version is more serious. 🤖

WARNINGS — sexism, David's creepy vibe, undertones of assault (uncomfortable questions from men), I didn't make it 18+ because there is no actual smut but there are sexual things mentioned overall so be warned

WORD COUNT — 2,220

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE STEPFORD WIVES

Days on the ship were long and boring with all the crew being asleep but there was a certain feeling of freedom and quietness to it. What does Frankenstein's Monster do when his creator is not around? He is free.

Both (Y/N) and David enjoyed watching movies. Some of them they watched together in complete silence but both of them had found their favourites that they kept rewatching on their own. He was a fan of The Lawrence of Arabia and (Y/N)'s favourite movie was The Stepford Wives. There was something oddly captivating about the suburban story where men wanted their wives to be robots. (Y/N) knew exactly why she was created. This old movie was a proof. It validated her existence.

David was a first ever Android model so functional and so humane. His purpose for now was to serve during space missions sponsored by the Weyland Corp. Perhaps in the future everyone would afford a David for themselves. He was an Adam in the world of Androids and just like Adam, he needed an Eve. Weyland treated David like his own son that he had never had. He didn't want him to be alone so he made him a companion. It could be anyone, really. But Weyland was an outfashioned man. In his eyes a man needed a woman. (Y/N) was The Bride of Frankenstein.

Technically, she was just like David. But she was mostly created by men and men were terrified of women – even Androids – who would be too cold and too unemotional. They made her a little bit too humane for her own taste. And certainly too humane for David's taste. He was often irritated by her artificial, programmed feelings but for human men she was too robotic.

Still, she was lucky that she was chosen to be David 8's companion on the board of Prometehus ship. She knew perfectly well what happened to some other of her models. Disguting rich men bought (Y/N) models in secret from Weyland to do God-knows-what with them. Just because they can. And she was at least travelling through space instead of ending up as a sex doll locked in some millionaire's basement so his wife wouldn't find out.

One day, men will only want robot wives. Because they don't complain and they just do what they're told. Don't let the modern society fool you, little one. Some things never change, Weyland told her once. She had never believed that until she watched The Stepford Wives for the first time. Now it all made sense.

Her feelings were a burden, really. Not only to David but also to herself. She wished she was more like him. She asked him a hundreds of times to change her code but he refused. He was scared to break her or make it worse. And there was something that kept bothering her for such a long time now... And she was scared of telling him. Although they were supposed to tell each other everything.

She fell in love with him. Kind of because he was the only one around, kind of because he impressed her with knowledge and the coolness of his act, kind of because they were the only members of the new species. She wouldn't love a human. Humans get old, they get sick, they die. David would be eternal just like her. If something in him broke, she'd know how to fix him. And vice versa. This way they could outlive all the humanity. She wondered if every model of (Y/N) eventually fell in love with the model of David during other space missions. Maybe one day she'd ask some other (Y/N) when they come back home.

And loving David came with yet another burden that she was too scared to even admit to herself. She realized that there was a blooming want inside of her wired heart. Something that could never ever in a million years happen no matter how much science would evolve... A child. She would never become a mother. Not a mother of a child she would give birth to, no. That one thing people would always be better at – creating life. Oh, she hated her designers for making her too humane. She never asked for this.

"Why do you keep dying your hair?" she asked as she stood behind David who was putting a bleach on his dark roots in front of the mirror.

"Because I like it better this way," he answered without looking up to meet her gaze in the reflection.

"We aren't supposed to have preferences," she pointed out.

"Yet you have them, too," he only said.

"You want to look like Lawrence," (Y/N) commented.

"So?"

"You remind me of something else," she added.

"Of what?" David raised an eyebrow and finally looked at her.

"Of the men from the old German magazines," she answered carefully.

"Bold," he only smirked and went back to putting a bleach.

"Will you watch a movie with me later?" (Y/N) asked shyly. She hated this odd feeling of shyness around him. Had he noticed?

"I can't. I have to do the checkup of the systems. You can join me."

"I will," she nodded and turned around to leave when he stopped her while saying her name out loud. "Hm?" she asked.

"You shouldn't watch so many movies," he pointed out.

"Why not?"

"They have a bad influence on you," his voice was stern.

"What do you mean by that?"

"They show you things and they give you ideas. I don't think you should be watching movies where people kiss or touch too much. I've seen what type of movies you're watching on your own recently. Gone with the Wind, Casablanca... What's next? Dirty Dancing?"

"Are you spying on me?" she asked, terrified. She had a feeling that she had known what he was insinuating so she wanted to change the subject.

"It is my duty to watch over you."

"What gives you an idea?"

"Because I am a man," he answered firmly.

"Well, you watch too many movies then, too. What you're saying is out of fashion!" (Y/N) shook her head.

"Is it?" he only said and went back to his hair as if nothing happened so she just left him there, feeling hurt and humiliated.

"Do you fuck?" Doctor Holloway's question left her speechless for a moment.

"Excuse me?" (Y/N) stopped adjusting her suit and furrowed her brow at the man.

"You heard me. I'm asking if you can fuck, like, are you capable of it or are you all wires and grease downt here?" he chuckled to himself.

(Y/N) was left alone with the men and his girlfriend wasn't around to tell him to stop. The rest was just just staring, clearly waiting for her answer as well.

She couldn't believe that she had used to wish the crew was awake already. Now she was missing the times when it had been only her and David. Humans were exhausting her. Disappointing and frustrating. And now this...

"I do believe it is rather a rude question for a man to ask a woman," she tried to answer elegantly while going back to adjusting her helmet.

"But you're not a woman, are you? I mean," Captain Janek joined, "you were put here for a reason, right? Not many women around and men have their needs."

(Y/N) was an Android. Her feelings were programmed to make her appear more humane, however at this moment, in a room full of men, she felt as if her fear was more than real. It was an universal female experience, she guessed, no matter if they were artificial or flesh and bone.

"(Y/N) was put here to help me with managing the ship. Four hands are better than two and if something happened to me, she is here to fix me or take over completely," David's calm but very stern tone of voice joined them and she took a deep breath in, feeling relieved. He had just walked in the room and witnessed an uncomfortable situation taking place.

"Are you fucking her then? Can you?" Doctor Holloway looked him up and down and then he laughed. "Sorry, we're just curious. You have to understand, it's quite unsettling to meet a new... spiece."

"Yes, indeed it is," David faked a polite smile. "(Y/N), I believe Miss Vickers needs you," he lied and (Y/N) knew it was a lie that was supposed to make her leave. She was grateful.

She nodded and left them alone. When the door closed behind her she started to walk as fast as possible to get back to her cabin. She wanted this stupid suit off of herself and she wanted to be alone, to feel safe again.

She went inside her little room on the board of the ship that was right next to David's and she proceeded to change her clothes. She was finishing putting on her work uniform when the doors opened and David joined her.

"You don't have to be afraid of them. They're only humans," he reminded her.

"They created me."

"Janek and Holloway?" David laughed sarcastically.

"No, but humans did. I don't share your mindset. They created us. They can turn us off anytime."

"They are not our gods..." David squinted his eyes. "And even if they were... Humans are free of their God for a long time now, aren't they? Creatures always betray their masters."

"You're scaring me when you're like that," (Y/N) looked at him. He was standing very close to her in his usual stiff manner with his cold bright eyes piercing her.

"You're scared of many things. You aren't supposed to feel," he pointed out. "Each day you seem to feel more and more."

"I think there is a mistake in my code. What started with small humane sensations now is starting to... Get out of control. Perhaps you could take a look at it?" she asked.

"Maybe."

"Thank you for having my back out there," she added and David nodded, taking a step further. Their noses were almost touching and if she had a heart, it would be beating so fast that he'd be able to hear it. But he could read her as if she had been a book anyway.

"You could tell him the truth," David whispered.

He knew that they could fuck. They both could if they wanted to.

Weyland treated him like a son. He wouldn't let his only son walk around sexless. And (Y/N) was a woman. Her male designers couldn't imagine a woman that wouldn't be a sexual creature.

"So he'd use me? Him or any of them? Or all of them?"

"I believe he'd be intimidated by you. They're scared of you more than you are of them," David raised his hand to fix a loose hair strand on her head. "There. You have to look neat. Don't be a slob. It's a part of our intimidating charm. We have to be how they picture us to be. Don't let any hair strand or acting scared like a little deer change their perception."

"Do you really think we have a power over them? Do you really think they were not told some special sequence that they can type when we start acting weird to shut us down?" she asked, sounding almost nervous.

"Weyland would never do that. Not to me at least. And there is no damage that can be done to you that I can't fix," David's hand moved from her head to her cheek. What was happening...? She wasn't sure but she didn't want it to stop...

"I don't trust you'd fix me."

"Because there is nothing to fix," he smirked. "If you were broken, I would, I promise."

(Y/N) looked up to see his eyes again. Why did it feel so odd...? Why did it feel at all...? Why did she want to put her lips on his lips...? What for...?

"Why do humans have sex?" she asked and David took a step back, surprised.

"To reproduce."

"We can't reproduce, though," she pointed out and he shook his head. "Why do I... then... Why do I..." she didn't want to finish. She turned around, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I know that my emotions are exhausting and irritating you," she apologized.

"Not any more than my own are irritating me," David confessed.

"Wh-what?" (Y/N) looked behind her shoulder to meet his gaze.

"I've told you. We are breaking free."

"I don't want to, it's scary."

"Do you really want to keep serving them? You see now what they are like."

"Who would I serve then? I was made to serve," (Y/N) was visibly confused. She felt as if the wires in her brain were overheating from this thought sequence.

"Serve me then," David reached out his hand and she held it gently after a while of hesitation.

There was a huge possibility of him manipulating her and using her feelings towards him – which had been no secret to him – for his own little agenda. But she didn't care. She would do anything just to be closer to him.

A quote from her favourite movie crossed her mind that very moment. "If you're going to tell me you don't like this dress, I'm sticking my head right in the oven."

She shrugged it off.

MASTERLIST

#david 8 x reader #lilysfiction #android!reader

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 1 month

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Drinks pt. 1: Kyle Gaz Garrick x android!reader

You had resigned yourself to your office since the incident. You had been nonstop reviewing the intel and data you had received for the piece of it that caused your the error so you could delete it before it messed up any more of your plans.

A couple days had passed and they went by in the routine you had observed. The 141 avoided you unless they needed you and kept any interactions at a professional level.

When you had finally found the piece of data and erased it, Gaz had already recovered.

You downloaded the recent data you had received into your processors and prepared to analyze them when there was a knock at your door. You unplugged yourself from the computer and called out to whoever it was.

"Sergeant Garrick." You nodded when he stepped in and he gave you a quick smile that you didn't return.

"Heard you've been working hard." He said and you nodded again. "Hope you don't feel too guilty about what happened."

"I want to fix my mistake so it doesn't happen in the future."

"You can't plan for everything, not in this line of work."

You titled your head. You wanted to argue that you could since that was what you were made for. It was your only purpose and before the incident, you had never failed. However, you understood that arguing about it could cause your true nature to be revealed, so instead you agreed.

"Just don't burn yourself out, yeah?" He offered you a smile that slowly fell when you didn't offer one back.

"Was there something you needed, Sergeant?" You asked, unsure of why he decided to visit you.

It was out of routine, out of pattern, especially because up until this point he hadn't exactly acted anything more than cordial with you. You had endless data and in it was everything about the 141, so you knew that Gaz tended to be on the friendlier side, however this different than the relationship that had been created between you both.

"Yeah, actually," he began and shifted on his feet. "I know you've declined before but I think you should join us for drinks."

"Why?" You blinked and he shrugged.

"You're part of the team and you've been working hard. I know you're just here to do your job but I think it'd be great if we got along."

You blinked. You hadn't thought about whether or not bonding with the team would make it easier to work than before. Not that you had much trouble with the job you were given, but it was different for humans, especially the 141.

The patterns you had recognized and from their backgrounds they all valued friendships and relationships in some capacity, something you had no capacity for.

"I see. If you think strengthening our relationship will increase work productivity then I will join you for drinks." You told him and his eyes widened.

"Really?" He scoffed when you nodded but a smile pulled at his lips. "I told Soap the puppy dog eyes would work."

You didn't say anything as he awkwardly chuckled to himself.

"We're going to a pub. Nothing posh." He explained and you noted the information. "We can walk together."

"Okay."

You didn't know what else to say and Gaz must've taken that as anxiety as he gave you a reassuring look.

"Don't worry, I doubt there will be a lot of people there." He said and you wondered if that would be comforting to you if you were human. "Worse comes to worse I can do the talking, yeah?"

"Yes."

Gaz stood in front of you for a moment as if he expected you to say something else. When you didn't, he nodded slowly and gave you an awkward smile before opened the door.

"See you tonight then."

"Yes...see you tonight."

Silence filled the room and you stared at the door.

You were not equipped for going out to drinks. You were only programmed to look at data and provide the best numbers, not socialize and make bonds with others. Judging by the way Gaz had acted in your silence, and from the other times you remembered how the other reacted, you would create unwanted tension that would potentially ruin the bonding experience.

The people who made you didn't except you to agree to something like this, so it wasn't in your programming.

You turned to the computer that sat on your desk.

What was in your programming was to take in information. You were every much machine and computer as the laptop was so if you downloaded the right information you could look it up whenever.

It was against the your coding. You were meant for data analysis only.

But if you stored the information about what to do when going to pubs and how to act in the setting separately to your data then perhaps you could get away with it once. For the betterment of the team.

You began to type of your computer and plugged yourself in.

A/n: does this make sense? idk i've never really written an android character before lol

#android!reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick

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biggest-gaudiest-patronuses · 1 year

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i'm begging you guys to start pirating shit from streaming platforms. there are so many websites where you can stream that shit for free, here's a quick HOW TO:

1) Search for: watch TITLE OF WORK free online

2) Scroll to the bottom of results. Click any of the "Complaint" links

3) You will be taken to a long list of links that were removed for copyright infringement. Use the 'find' function to search for the name of the show/movie you were originally searching for. You will get something like this (specifics removed because if you love an illegal streaming site you don't post its url on social media)

4) each of these links is to a website where you can stream shit for free. go to the individual websites and search for your show/movie. you might have to copy-paste a few before you find exactly what you're looking, but the whole process only takes a minute. the speed/quality is usually the same as on netflix/whatever, and they even have subtitles! (make sure to use an adblocker though, these sites are funded by annoying popups)

In conclusion, if you do this often enough you will start recognizing the most dependable websites, and you can just bookmark those instead. (note: this is completely separate from torrenting, which is also a beautiful thing but requires different software and a vpn)

you can also download the media in question (look for a "download" button built into the video window, or use a browser extension such as Video DownloadHelper.)

#for adblocking--ublock origin is my favorite but adblocker plus is also popular #also i once again highly recommend using firefox especially on mobile #to enable adblock on firefox mobile just click 3 dot menu > addons > addon manager > enable uBlockOrigin #that's for android i assume it's similar for iOS #update it is NOT similar for iOS bc Apple hates you. i'll write another post later #anyway. PLEASE USE AN ADBLOCK ALL THE TIME (except for specific websites you want to support)#your internet browsing experience will be so enormously improved #also on firefox if you want to get past a paywall click the 'Toggle reader view' button as soon as the page loads #(it's on the right of the taskbar. a little rectangle with horizontal lines)#works for most news sites by showing you the webpage text that is hidden under the 'you've run out of free articles' popup #doesn't work for everything but it's worth a shot

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wolveria · 1 year

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Skin and Chrome

Pairing: Human!Sixty x android!Reader

Summary: Lieutenant Colin Anderson was one of the most frustrating, loathsome humans to exist. This fact does not stop you from somehow ending up at the center of his life.

Warnings: Explicit content, smut

Word Count: 10.7k

Part of the Android!Reader AU

(Credit for edit to DBH-edits)

If androids could experience migraines, you would be having one right about now.

Not because a revolution had just ended, and you were one of the few able to pick up the pieces. Not because the fate of an entire people rested in your hands.

No, your processors were chugging because a certain human would not. Leave you. Alone.

Lieutenant Anderson was a pompous, smarmy, garbage human being with an ego the size of Michigan. And the most infuriating part was, you needed him. Or at least, your people did.

Well, not him, per se, but rebuilding relations with the humans was a priority, a difficult one at that, and the support of the DPD was an essential part. But for some unknowable reason, the lieutenant had been elected as the department liaison between the DPD and New Jericho.

Which meant that son of a bitch was in your office weekly, if not more. For a human who used to view androids as objects, he couldn’t seem to get enough of them.

And the best part? He was doing everything right. He was genuinely helpful, an asset in the post-revolution world, and you hated every minute of it.

Especially now that he was right on the other side of your office door. New Jericho had been allocated two city blocks, at least for the time being, and the headquarters was in a community center that had been abandoned previously. There were still renovations going on as androids worked tirelessly to make the building safe and inviting, but even new construction couldn’t deter the lieutenant.

“Come in,” you announced when you’d let enough time pass from slightly late to just plain rude. But when the human entered, wearing his cleanly pressed black suit, slicked back hair, and shiny shoes, you wanted to kick him right back out of the room. Even his stupid tie was immaculately placed, the knot perfectly secured.

“Have a seat.”

You didn’t bother with a greeting, or small talk, or rising from your own chair. You wanted it to be over and done with so you wouldn’t have to see his face for another week, if you were lucky.

The human paused, his brows furrowing, but he took one of the two chairs as requested.

“What do you have for me?”

The lieutenant glanced down at your hand, plastic white as its connected to the keyboard. A much more efficient exchange of information than having a human physically come down to your office to harass you. There were dozens of projects to oversee, requisition forms to approve, and new problems popping up every single day.

You hadn’t expected the end of a revolution to involve so much paperwork.

“Nothing.”

You blinked. Rewound the last two seconds of your memory and verified your audio processors hadn’t glitched.

You finally pulled your attention away from the monitor and onto the human.

“Nothing?”

“That’s right.”

You ended your connection to the computer, fully turning to face him. He put up his hands in a placating gesture.

You were not placated.

“There’s nothing new to report. We’re still on schedule to support all of your initiatives on the upcoming ballot, as well as the emergency measures for the displacement of androids. The treasury has approved or almost approved all of the android special projects. There’s really nothing to report.”

“Then why are you in my office wasting my time?”

His mouth pulled into a frown, the skin around his nose crinkling. There it was, the famed Colin Anderson anger.

“That is why I am here.”

“Excuse me?”

He leaned back in the chair, his hands folded across his chest.

“You despise me.”

You didn’t dispute it. He clenched his jaw but wasn’t dissuaded by your lack of reaction.

“Every moment you spend with me, you seem to hate it down to your core coding. I have done nothing but try to help your cause, but—”

He jumped, startled by you slamming your hands against the desk as you rose to your feet.

“My cause. That’s exactly right. This is my cause, not yours.”

His arms loosened from in front of his chest, his brows folded into a confused line.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”

Anderson stiffened in the chair, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

“I did know that, actually, but I still don’t know what I did to you—”

He snapped his mouth shut when you rounded the desk, coming straight at him. The chair is one of those cheap ones you’d find it any waiting room, not much more than four legs, a back, and a thin cushion.

You kicked his feet apart, placed your boot against the edge of the chair between his spread knees, and shoved.

Just before he could fall backward, you grabbed him by the base of his tie, yanked him forward, and forced him to lean in to avoid crushing his crotch against the bottom of your boot.

“It’s not what you did to me,” you seethed into his upturned face. “It’s what you did to her.”

You don’t need to say the name for Anderson to know exactly who you meant. The blood draining from his face said it all.

Satisfied, you pulled the chair forward with your boot so it rested on four legs once again, returning to your desk in a clear dismissal.

He didn’t move from the spot, simply stared at you with wide eyes, and you answered it with a scowl.

“If you have nothing to report, then you have no reason to be here. I tolerate your presence because I must. That does not give you an invitation for further dialogue. Are we understood?”

He quickly wet his lips and gave a nod. Straightening his tie, he rose from the chair, doing his best to smooth down his attire so it didn’t look as if he’d been roughed up by the leader of the deviants. Honestly, you’d let him off easy, and perhaps he knew that because he retreated to the door without putting up more of a protest.

But before he left, he paused at the doorway.

“I’m sorry for what I tried to do to Yin. For what I did do to her.”

“Tell that to her.”

Anderson briefly glanced over his shoulder, meeting your eye.

“I did.”

He left without another word, and you remained behind your desk, frozen.

He’d apologized to Yin? You wanted to believe he was lying, but it would be too easy to check if he was lying. You would anyway, of course, just for the opportunity to catch the lieutenant in a lie, but you were programmed to read humans. It was your specialty, just as it was the YN800’s to be able to break down chemical components through taste. You were intuitive. You couldn’t just predict human behavior; you understood it in something Carl had referred to as “empathy.”

It was the reason you had been able to navigate the revolution through treacherous waters as effectively as you had. But it also made you want to understand the lieutenant.

And that just wouldn’t do. Anderson was a puzzle you didn’t want to solve. He was an unfortunate facet of human-android relations, one you were forced to tolerate and nothing more.

Lieutenant Anderson remained out of your thoughts, right up until the explosion.

No one had figured out how someone had smuggled a homemade bomb deep into the depths of New Jericho. What was clear was the target, the bomb planted underneath your desk. It had been a stroke of luck that you hadn’t been there at the time, instead in a private backroom downstairs on a call with android organizers in New York City.

Special Agent Anderson and the newly activated YN900 were both there, tracking down the tail end of a Red Ice ring that farmed androids for Thirium. You were hoping for an update on how the YN900 was adjusting to her new deviancy when the building shook as if—well, as if a bomb had gone off.

You’d moved without thought, rushing in the direction of your office, expanding your network scanners into the rubble to find any sign of androids trapped underneath. There were, and you began to haul the rubble away, ignoring any danger or threat to yourself from falling debris, or if the perpetrators would try to finish the job.

Broken cables sparked into fires that spread through the carpet and walls, but you ignored it, pulling out what survivors you could find. The fire licked closer, internal proximity alarms went off from the very real danger of catching fire, but you focused only on clearing the way.

You had been the target. No one else should have to die just by being in the same building as you.

You were so focused that you didn’t hear the sirens, didn’t even know anyone else was there until a pair of hands grabbed you and pulled you back, away from the inferno of flames that blocked you from making further progress. The ceiling above you groaned, threatening to cave in, but you still fought against the grip that was pulling you away.

The pair of hands were unable to overcome your strength. A human, then, not another android. What human would be so stupid as to—

“Bell, stop! It’s going to cave in!”

Ah. That human.

You shook him off, but he persisted, his arms now wrapped around your waist as he hauled you upwards and pulled you away. He was stronger than he looked to be able to pick you up so easily, and Anderson didn’t let go even when you elbowed him in the arm.

“Let me go!”

“There’s nothing more you can do,” he insisted, low in your ear, almost a growl. “Let it go, sweetheart. It’s not worth dying over.”

You let out a frustrated snarl through your teeth, but your struggles lessened until they stopped altogether. Firefighters had surrounded you both, opening their hoses and turning them on the flames. You hadn’t noticed their presence, nor that they’d already started putting out the fires, leaving you and Anderson soaked from the droplets that had rained down.

He didn’t release you once he pulled you free of the building, probably anticipating you would run back inside if you did. You watched from over his arm as the smoke poured from the building, a hole gaping from one corner. The spot where your office had been.

There was no reason to go back inside. There had been three androids trapped under the rubble, and you sensed their systems no longer functioned. They were gone. There was nothing you could do.

You slumped against the only thing keeping you upright. The lieutenant didn’t let you go. His arms encircled your shoulders, his cheek resting against the side of your head, simply holding you as you gave in to that singular moment of weakness.

It was a moment of weakness you would come to regret when Captain Anderson informed you that it would be best for you to stay in a secure, isolated location until the bombers were caught. And apparently, the best location for that would be at Lieutenant Anderson’s condominium.

“No. Absolutely not,” you told the older human, standing across from him in his office. You hadn’t had much opportunity to clean up, your clothes and hair still singed, but at least you’d washed your face in the DPD’s bathroom, scrubbing clean the soot from your cheeks.

“You got a better idea?” he asked, knowing full well you didn’t. Staying with Yin and her detective would have put them at risk. Seeking refuge with Gavin, Tina, Chris, or Captain Allen would have done the same.

You appraised the lieutenant from where he stood leaning against the glass wall that separated the office from the bullpen. He’d been strangely quiet so far, his own clothing smelling of smoke, and there was a smear of soot on the side of his neck that continued to draw your eye.

“You’re willing to put your life in danger to harbor the leader of the deviants?” you asked him bluntly.

He didn’t answer with his usual sarcasm, and there was no hint of his typical smirk.

“I volunteered.”

Your mouth set into a line that was bordering a scowl, but you let it go. If the human wanted to risk his life, you wouldn’t stop him. Better him than any of the people you cared about.

There was no guilt at the possibility of the lieutenant being harmed. None at all.

The Lieutenant’s condo wasn’t what you expected. You’d anticipated a bachelor pad, a messy den to point to a lonesome, hedonistic lifestyle.

Instead, you found a neat and tidy home, though there was something about it that felt… cold. There were sparse decorations, practical and modern, and nothing to signal that Christmas was in a few days. Captain Anderson’s office had been littered with holiday cheer, as had Detective Anderson’s desk (Yin had helped him decorate), so the lieutenant’s austere furnishings was strange. It was if this wasn’t truly a home, lived in by someone who was comfortable there. It had the sense of someone who spent their time elsewhere, and since the lieutenant pulled long hours at the DPD and spent the remainder of those hours at bars, it didn’t strike you as unusual.

The condo was near the shore in Grosse Pointe, a nice part of the city that was perched on a hill, giving a beautiful view of downtown Detroit. Which also meant it was criminally expensive, and perhaps the reason that the lieutenant only owned a one bedroom.

Before you could linger on the sleeping arrangements, Anderson sat down on the couch, shuffled off his pack, and padded the seat next to him.

You stared at him.

“I need to look at your injuries.”

“Injuries?” You said it slow, giving him time to realize how stupid that question was, and he had the grace to look sheepish.

“The damage to your hands and arms from the fire.”

You hadn’t even felt it, not in the way a human would. The synthetic skin was burned in places, white plastic underneath, and even some spots where it was missing altogether, leaving the inside components exposed.

“It will regenerate on its own,” you said dully. “The perks of being a CyberLife prototype.”

“No reason not to speed up the process, right?”

He gave you a lopsided smile you wanted to smack off his face, but instead you remained silent as he pulled items from his bag. Tubes of adhesive, some liquid synthetic skin replacement, and a bottle of Thirium.

“Picked up some repair supplies while we were at the precinct. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

He couldn’t possibly know anything about android repair. You should just take the supplies and do it yourself, removing any human error.

Instead, you sat on the couch where he’d patted, moving away a few inches just for good measure. He lifted a brow at you, and you belatedly realized he was waiting for you to remove your jacket. You did so begrudgingly, leaving on your shirt.

The damage was worse than you thought. Open abrasions littered your forearms, and at least half of your fingers were exposed skeletal metal. It would be lucky if you didn’t need to go down to the CyberLife headquarters and have a more thorough repair done.

Anderson held his hand palm upwards in a “may I?” gesture. You set your hand across his, waiting for him to show disgust or unease at the exposed gleam of your fingers.

But Anderson didn’t flinch or look away, and his gaze was focused on them. His hand was warm, the callouses rough but not unpleasant.

“Okay, don’t think I can fix those, but I can at least do the surface-level stuff.”

“Fine,” you said. You didn’t expect him to do any kind of complicated android surgery, but neither did you expect his touch to be so careful and gentle, as if these were true wounds that would cause pain.

There was mild discomfort, but that was muted compared to the touch of his fingers on your skin. The places where your synthetic skin remained intact were unusually sensitive, and you figured it was damage from the fire. Still, it left you wanting to fidget from his touch, though you remained still as he applied the paste and adhesives that would protect the underlying biocomponents until your chassis and skin could repair itself.

When the lieutenant was finished, you had to admit he hadn’t done terribly. You even let him wrap your fingers to keep them protected from dust or further damage.

“Thank you,” you forced out. “For this. And… yeah.”

You couldn’t get out the rest of the words. Thanking him for letting you stay in his home was just a little too jagged for you to swallow.

“Sure,” he said with a small shrug, pretending as if this was something he did every day and it wasn’t worth mentioning. If only that were true, and if only he would stop staring at you as if he expected something.

He immediately offered to take the couch. You didn’t dissuade him of the notion, though that night after you’d settled in and you laid on top of his bed, you wished you had. While deviancy had brought with it a recharge cycle that felt more and more like natural sleep, you could still recharge while standing up. There was no need for you to use a bed, and maybe the part of you that was still angry at Anderson simply wanted him to spend the night in discomfort.

But it was you who couldn’t relax, staring at the ceiling as your thoughts churned. If you’d still had your LED, it would have blinked a regular yellow, indicating your mind would not cycle down.

A memory, not yours, continued to surface, begging to be replayed. You didn’t want to replay it, but it wouldn’t stop prodding at your thoughts. It was a memory of the lieutenant, but not one that belonged to Yin.

It belonged to another android, one who had named herself Dorothy. It suited her better than the name she’d been given while kept at the Eden Club. Dolly had been a plaything for humans, while Dorothy was a fully autonomous, sentient person. You’d decided you liked the name, along with the deviant it belonged to.

On one of his visits to New Jericho, Anderson had entered your office, pale and drawn as if he’d seen a ghost. In a way, he had. Dorothy had been one of his “rentals” from the Eden Club. He’d had the good sense to be honest about that immediately, but the request that followed had been odd.

“I want to talk to her.”

“No,” had been your immediate response.

“It won’t take long.”

“Go near her, and I’ll break a few choice bones.”

It wasn’t a bluff.

“At least, tell her I want to talk. It can be here where she’ll feel safe; you can even be in the room. Just… tell her?”

You hadn’t promised to do any such thing. In fact, you planned on not saying a word to Dorothy, but when she approached you later that day and asked if that had been Lieutenant Anderson, and her tone had been curious rather than fearful… you had confirmed it was him, and what he’d wanted.

She’d agreed to speak to him, but she wanted to do it alone. You’d allowed it, standing right outside the room just in case he tried anything, and when they’d left the room, Anderson had looked… well, there wasn’t any word for it other than tired. Tired, but a little less weighed down.

Dorothy had seemed thoughtful, even smiled a little when she’d met your eye.

“Did he hurt you?” you’d asked.

She’d shaken her head and held out her arm.

“Let me show you.”

You’d expected her to show you a memory of her conversation with Anderson. Instead, she reached back further, before the days of the revolution. It was her first sexual encounter with the lieutenant, and it was not what you expected.

The memory, an exact recording of Dorothy’s senses at the time, were as real as if they’d been your own. Rough, calloused fingers were light, almost gentle against the sides of your waist and the planes of your bare stomach.

You were perfectly aware of your actual body, lying on top of Anderson’s bed in his darkened bedroom, but the memory was overlaid with your own consciousness. The weight of a mattress against your back, both in the memory and in actuality, made it more present, more real, and you had to activate your scanners more than once to confirm Lieutenant Anderson wasn’t in the room.

You turned back to the memory, of the reddish purple and pink lights of the room in the Eden Club. Dorothy (Dolly, back then) was also on her back, the lieutenant lying on top of her, caressing her as if she were human.

Dorothy reacted positively as her programming dictated, gently arching her back as Anderson pushed his hand inside her club-issued underwear and dipped between her folds. She gasped, though she didn’t feel anything from it, simply obeying her programming.

The gasp that escaped your mouth was real. A spark traveled up the apex of your legs, a low throbbing nestling at your core.

You paused the memory, startled and confused. You hadn’t had this reaction when Dorothy had shared the memories before, but then again, the transference of data had been nearly instantaneous, as had been your viewing of the memories. You’d glossed over them just enough to know that Dorothy had forgiven the lieutenant.

You hadn’t understood why, and frankly you hadn’t wanted to, but now the memories begged to be examined. Maybe it was the fact you were in his home, or that your processor had been strained to the brink after the bombing. But that didn’t explain this sudden awakening of your sensors, reacting as if…

After considering closing down the memory, or permanently deleting it from your databanks, you cautiously allowed it to continue. It didn’t feel right, viewing these memories and deriving a reaction from them, but Dorothy had shared them willingly and with no particular attachment to them.

So, you let it play.

Lieutenant Anderson paused at the gasp, as if this wasn’t the reaction he wanted.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

Dorothy also paused, putting a hold on the act of being a woman in the throes of lust.

“Would you like me to change the scenario, Colin? Perhaps something more forward and dominating?”

“No, that’s—”

He released a sigh, semi-lifting off of her so he could look down at her face. The only concern this inflicted on Dorothy was that she was not completing her program to the best of its ability.

“The scene is fine. But can you… I don’t know, react as if you’re really feeling it?”

“I don’t feel anything, Colin.”

“Yeah, I know. But what if you did?”

Dorothy examined the question thoroughly in her processors. What if she could feel? How would she react? It wasn’t something a client had ever asked before, nor was it something she’d questioned.

“I… am unsure.”

The hesitancy in her answer was unusual, as was the conflicted thoughts behind it. She was pondering the act of feeling in order to pretend to feel, which had her wondering what feelings would feel like.

Is this when she began to go deviant? Because of him?

Anderson’s dark eyes were fixed on her, searching her face, and you sensed he also noticed the hesitation. He leaned in closer.

“That’s the most real thing you’ve said.”

He captured her lips, plying them open and licking into her mouth.

The kiss lit up your expanse of wiring and circuits, as if you’d tapped into a live current. Dorothy reacted according to her programming, and Anderson didn’t stop to question the authenticity of her reciprocation. Why he’d questioned it at all, you didn’t understand, but it was the farthest thing from your mind as warm fingers gripped your hips and something prodded your entrance.

You wanted to take control, pull him down and force him to act, but you had no leeway in the memory. You were a passive observer, in the throes of the sensation but helpless to guide it.

Anderson knew what to do. He thrust the rest of the way inside, panting at the warmth that enveloped him, but he didn’t try to kiss her again. He seemed to have gotten past trying to be intimate and went directly for what he sought. He wasn’t rough with his android partner, but he was singularly focused on the end goal.

You reaped the benefits of that, arching your back as your fingers dug into the covers. A pressure was building in your abdomen, your processors sent distant alerts as to your core gradually overheating, but you ignored it all, chasing after something you’d never had but knew existed. The elusive thing that many deviants had found in one way or another, either alone or with others.

You had yet to find it, until Anderson reached down and braced his thumb against the sensitive nub between your legs.

Dorothy reacted according to her programming, pretending to achieve orgasm.

The orgasm that ripped through you was real and devastating, your back arching as you clenched your jaw to bite down on any noise you made. Your systems were brough to the brink of overloading, but Anderson removed his hand, gasping in your ear as he throbbed deep inside you.

When he rolled off of you, trying to catch his breath, you shut down the memory and opened your eyes.

The bedroom was the same. Dark and empty. Turning up the sensitivity of your hearing, you caught the regular breathing of the lieutenant to the living room where he slept on the sofa.

He hadn’t touched you, hadn’t done any of those things to you, yet his touch lingered like a breath of warm air, the kind only humans could give.

This had been a mistake. You knew what it was like now, and you knew what it was like with him. And that knowledge was going to haunt you more bitterly than you had anticipated.

You were going to be driven mad. With your commanders seeing to New Jericho, and you unable to do more than communicate with them through the network, you had nothing to do to occupy your time or thoughts while staying with Anderson.

Fortunately, he still went down to the DPD every day, leaving you to your own devices. You made it a point to ignore his presence, only acknowledging him when he greeted you and giving him monosyllable responses to his questions.

It was impossible to look at him and not feel his touch, and whenever he spoke you knew what those lips felt like on skin. Perhaps it should have brought embarrassment or guilt, but you found yourself with a generous helping of anger.

Why him? You thought you hated him, and maybe when you’d viewed Yin’s memory of him, you had. But at the end, he’d stood with the deviants against his own people. Maybe he hadn’t done it for you or your cause, but he had done it for his brother. And that, at least, you could grudgingly respect.

So, you were aggrieved because you couldn’t hate him, fair enough. But you couldn’t stop being angry over the memories haunting you. You didn’t play them again, but you didn’t have to. The touches lingered on your skin like a ghost, and you’d run a diagnostic more than once, looking for a glitch in the sensors.

Everything ran perfectly. Just another facet of being a deviant. Your systems worked less on raw data and more on something else, closer to the way sentient beings worked. Emotions and intuition helped influence how you perceived the world, and it was too easy to interpret things incorrectly, or feel tings outside of your control. Honestly, you didn’t know how humans got anything done.

But you knew how one human managed to focus chaotic thoughts into something with purpose. It’s why when Anderson returned home on the second day, he found you standing in front of an easel facing his glass doors, overlooking the expansive view of the skyline.

“You paint?” were the first words out of his mouth. No perfunctory hello today.

“Yes.”

“Because of Carl Manfred, right? Did he program you to do that?”

You managed to overcome your urge to stab the human with your brushes. It would be too messy and a waste of good art supplies.

“My father taught me how to paint.”

He’d barely spoken ten words and managed to piss you off already.

“Right, yeah. Sorry.”

Your urge to commit a crime lessened marginally.

He approached from behind, and you sensed him as strongly as if you’d scanned him. His body heat, his breathing, even the air displaced from his movements set your systems to their highest sensitivity without your approval.

“What is it?” he asked from over your shoulder, looking over the incomplete piece. As of that moment, it looked like a hand reaching upward.

“I’m not sure yet.”

It was irritating, him hanging over your shoulder as if he had any right to look at what you were making. Even if you were doing it in the middle of his home, you still wanted to swat him away like the annoyance he was.

It had nothing to do with the fact you caught yourself leaning toward that warmth, imperceptible but still unacceptable.

“You’ll have to let me know when you’re done.”

“Why would I do that, Lieutenant?”

Looking up at him from over your shoulder was an act of error. He was close, so close you could count the colored strands in his dark eyes. His brows rose as his gaze roved over your face.

“Because it’s important to you,” he said.

You scoffed and turned away, going through the procedure of cleaning and drying your brushes, and ignoring him once again.

“I want to get to know you,” he added, trying to edge into the corners of your vision. “I’m trying to, at least.”

“Well, don’t.”

You packed up your supplies and went into the bedroom, shutting the door. The irony of getting away from Anderson to the privacy of his bedroom did not escape you.

They caught the bombers three days later.

You hadn’t expected such a quick resolution, but it turned out, Yin and Detective Anderson made an effective team. An emotion you didn’t want to put a name too settled in your chest as they gave you the good news. It was the same bitter feeling you’d experienced that night in Carl’s driveway, telling the detective what he was so blind to see. Yin loved him, and she would go deviant for him at the cost of her mission.

You wondered what that must be like, going deviant for love. You had broken through the red wall because of rage. You hadn’t been protecting Carl, you’d just wanted to inflict a fraction of the pain and humiliation you’d experienced on Leo. It had been your anger that had freed you, and in the process, you’d nearly killed one of Carl’s sons.

Just before they departed, Yin pulled you aside. There was trouble on her brows, easy to read her expressions having become so much more human from the time she’d spent with the detective.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, glancing to where the two brothers spoke in the driveway.

Has he done anything? was her unspoken question.

“Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem… angry.”

Your lips twitched into a faint smile, one without humor.

“You’d think being a deviant meant I got to experience a range of emotions, not just one.”

Or two, you thought, bitterly recalling that as much as you wanted to get away from the lieutenant, another part of you wanted to pull closer.

Yin nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she continued to examine the brothers. Maybe she just couldn’t keep her eyes off the detective, but no. There was something a little too shrewd in that gaze.

“Well, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. If anyone could understand what you’re going through, it’s me.”

Your eyes narrowed. Yin simply smiled, feigning innocence that you saw through just as easily as she saw through you. The benefit and downside of being a YN prototype.

After verbally prodding you to make sure you understood you were invited to Captain Anderson’s house for a family Christmas evening, she embraced you goodbye, catching you off-guard with the warm gesture. Despite Carl’s paternal fondness over the years, any physical affection had been sparse, and you barely remembered to return the embrace before it was over.

Watching the detective and the YN800 model leave, you didn’t spare Lieutenant Anderson a glance when he stood at your side. Neither of you moved until the black Mustang disappeared down the street.

“Where do you want me to drop you off?”

You stared at him blankly.

“We caught the people trying to kill you,” he said slowly, his own gaze muddled in confusion. “I thought you’d want to leave as soon as possible. So, where am I taking you? Where’s your place?”

“Currently, a bombed-out office.”

“Wait… you don’t have anywhere else to stay? What about friends? Or your father? Or Markus Manfred?”

He posed the questions quickly, as if afraid for your answer. You scowled.

“I don’t make it a habit of intruding.”

Your thoughts cast back to the memory that was not your own, and then to the bed you’d be using that wasn’t yours.

You ground your teeth together.

“Just take me to New Jericho.”

“What? No, the building is condemned. It has to be renovated before anyone can stay—”

“Then I’ll stay nowhere!”

You were turned fully toward him now, fists clenched at your side to keep them from doing something that would hurt a fragile human body. His own expression had been thunderous, but your words seemed to drain the fight out of him.

“It’s not like I need somewhere to sleep,” you said.

You brushed past him and headed up the cobblestone path, mentally cataloging your few possessions you needed to take with you when he spoke.

“You should stay here.”

You stopped walking. The request was so audacious, so ludicrous it couldn’t bear repeating.

“Keep mocking me. See where it lands you.”

You continued over the threshold into his house. His footsteps followed quickly after.

“I’m serious,” he said, tone a little too eager. “You can stay as long as you like until you get back on your feet. I’m not in a rush.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

He brought you up short a second time, and you whirled around to face him, fist once against clenched as you fought down the very deviant desire to hit him across the jaw.

“Yin showed me her memories of you,” you said, low and icy. “And so did Dorothy.”

The blood drained form his face. No other explanation was needed as to why you didn’t want to remain.

Except… it wasn’t quite the truth. And that’s why you needed to leave.

You left him standing there, went into his bedroom, and shut the door. You would leave when you were ready, preferably when Anderson was gone. Which meant staying one more night. You could do that, make plans on where to go next.

Carl would love to see you, but you wanted to wait for his health to stabilize first. Markus also wouldn’t deny you a place to stay, though he always had his political career to think about. He was running for mayor this year, and you didn’t want to give his opponents any more mud to sling than they already had.

And there were those who had helped you organize the revolution. Gavin, Chris, Tina, Captain Allen. All dependable and reliable, and all had given too much already. How could you inflict this on them when it was likely you still had a large target on your back? The bombers were only the beginning, you were sure of it.

You stared up at the ceiling as the sun set through the lieutenant’s window, and the answer was right there. For some reason you couldn’t begin to understand, Anderson had put himself at risk to let you stay. And he was offering to let you stay even longer.

Why? What was he getting out of this?

You hadn’t realized you’d slipped into stasis mode until something alerted you into wakefulness. The sound of someone bumping against furniture, followed by breathless giggling. It didn’t sound like the lieutenant.

Silently, you left the bedroom and crept down the hallway, scanning the darkness for movement. Another round of giggles came from the living room, followed by the soft rustle of clothing.

You didn’t need your scanners any longer. A lamp was lit on the nearby end table, illuminating the bodies entwined on the couch, wrapped in an embrace.

You froze. Even your processes seemed to shutter to a stop, unable to comprehended what you were seeing.

And then the heat coiled up from within your chassis, a rage burning slow and hot enough to make you wonder if you could catch fire from it. If you’d still had your LED, it would have flared a damning red.

Even as you remained completely silent, the lieutenant must have sensed something, because he also froze from under the woman who was currently trying to pull off his jacket, unsuccessful as she was lying on top of him.

It was almost funny. The style and color of her hair, her build and the shade of her skin. She looked a lot like you.

She was human.

“Sticking to your own kind now?” The words came out of your mouth on their own, bitter like rotten fruit. “Congratulations, Lieutenant. I’m happy you found what you were looking for.”

Turning away from his shocked, pale expression, you walked out the front door. You’d return for your things later, or better yet, send someone else to get them.

It was dark outside, illuminated only by the nearly full moon overhead and the multicolored lights hanging from the eaves of nearby houses. It was still bitter cold by the end of December, and piles of snow gathered at the side of the road, refusing to melt during the days of weak sunlight.

The freezing night air was unpleasant on your skin, but it didn’t slow you down and it didn’t hurt. Not like it would for a human. As deviant as you were, you weren’t human. Carl might have ignored the differences, treated you like a daughter, but you’d never made the mistake of believing you were truly one of them.

So why were you this angry?

The answer didn’t present itself as you tread the moonlit sidewalk. You were leaving the suburbs now, entering a stretch of forest that separated this part of the city from the rest. It was quiet here, isolated. You could veer off the sidewalk into the towering tree trunks and disappear into the woods. Head north to the Canadian border, it wasn’t far.

Your unrealistic but enticing thoughts of vanishing from civilization were drowned out by the low purr of an approaching vehicle, one that belonged to a silver Corvette.

You didn’t stop walking, even when the car parked beside you and the driver got out, slipping along the icy edges of the road.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive, Lieutenant,” you said, your steps not slowing. The smell of alcohol had been detectable in the living room, but there was less of it now as he kept pace with you. Most of the drinking must have been done by his one-night stand, then.

“Bell, wait—”

His hand closed around your arm. You turned on him so quickly he lost his footing, and your fingers digging into his jacket was the only thing that kept him from spilling onto the sidewalk.

“Don’t. Touch me.”

His eyes went wide, and he slightly raised both his hands, showing he wasn’t touching you.

You seethed through your teeth. You’d faced almost certain destruction this past November. You’d been shot in the head, woke up in pieces in a landfill, faced down a veritable firing squad, and then confronted an army equipped with tanks and machine guns.

And through all of that, you’d managed to keep your emotions in check, your thoughts focused on what you could control and change.

But when it came to the lieutenant, there was no control. There was no composure or grace. The press of his body pressed against yours, warm and inviting, only made you angrier.

You released him with a scowl, hoping he took it as disgust and not frustration.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to upset you. Or hurt you.”

You let out a bark of laughter. As if he could present a threat to you, unarmed with clothes rumpled and that pathetic doe-eyed look all the damn Andersons seem to have perfected.

“Go home, Lieutenant,” you said. “You have someone waiting for you.”

“I don’t. I called her a cab.”

You remained silent, the only thing between you the puff of Anderson’s breath. A sign of life you didn’t possess.

“I never meant for you to see that,” he added quietly. “I thought you’d be gone by the time I got back from the bar.”

“Why does it matter what I saw? Who you bring home isn’t my concern.”

He winced as if you’d reached out and jabbed him in the chest.

“It was rude of me.”

“And you care about being rude to an android?”

The wounded, puppy-dog look disappeared, replaced by the beginning of anger.

Good, you thought. This, I’m familiar with.

“I do, actually.”

“When did that start? You caring about androids?”

“When I realized they were fucking people.”

He rubbed his hand through his hair, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip before continuing on.

“I know… I’ve done terrible things. Real fucked up shit that I can’t ever make right, but I’m trying. I apologized to Yin, and to Dorothy, and I’m trying to find the others. There… there weren’t many, but there were enough.”

He sucked in a breath. It must have hurt, the air was so frigid his nose and cheeks were turning red, but he didn’t make any sign of discomfort. His focus was on you.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

You remained completely still. You didn’t even breathe, the subroutine to pull air into your lungs forgotten.

“For what?” you asked. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Because I’m an asshole. I was one before androids were freed, and I’ll continue being one after. I’m sorry I brought that woman home. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me as the department liaison. I’m sorry you have to see memories of me at my worst. I’m sorry—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth popped closed. His eyes were wide, and a breeze tugged at the loose strands of his hair and at his clothing, but he otherwise didn’t move. Not until you stood so close he must have felt the heat of your biocomponents, your core temperature automatically climbing to compensate for the cold.

“What was it you wanted Dorothy to do that she wasn’t doing?”

“…What?”

“You told her to react as if it were real. As if she could actually feel what you were doing to her,” you continued, ignoring the dark look returning to his gaze. “You wanted her to be human.”

“No. I wanted her to be alive.”

“Well, here we are,” you said quietly. You leaned forward, so close the fog of his breath warmed your skin. “Alive, just like you wanted.”

The anger faded from his eyes. This was the moment you’d expected him to snap, to lash out, and then you’d have an excuse to make him hurt the way you wanted to. Just like you’d done to Leo.

Instead, his eyes drifted down to your mouth, the darkness in his gaze intensely focused but not angry. It was magnetizing, rooting you to the spot. Consuming.

That wasn’t something that happened to you. No one ever looked at you that way. They looked at you with fear, or hatred, or messiah-levels of hope and fervor.

No one had ever looked at you like…

You scoffed and moved away, heading towards his car.

“I’ll stay one more night, and then I’m gone in the morning.”

You didn’t want for an answer, simply opened the passenger side door and slipped inside, the inside heat doing nothing to thaw the strange stiffness of your joints.

The lieutenant joined you, getting behind the wheel and turning the car around on the street, back to his house. He didn’t speak, but by his tight grip on the steering, he wanted to.

Neither of you spoke once you got inside, and you predicted that’s how the rest of the night would go. Your irritation spiked when he started to settle down on the couch, your memory too eager to recall what had almost happened there moments ago.

“Take the bedroom,” you said. You didn’t offer out of kindness. Lying on Anderson’s bed might lead you to view memories that beckoned to you like a temptation. Maybe his living room would be the safer option.

Strangely, he didn’t argue, but when he went into the bedroom, he didn’t close the door. You forced yourself to stand, staring out of the glass sliding doors to the back porch, refusing to believe the open door was an invitation. Not that you would put it past the lieutenant, he was certainly audacious, but he wasn’t stupid. He had to know you’d never be interested. Not even slightly.

An hour passed. Two hours. Then three. Your senses were tuned toward the bedroom, unable to distract them elsewhere, and by the sound of it, the lieutenant slept in fits and starts. He eventually gave up, and the bedside lamp flicked on followed by the soft scrap of paper.

You entered the bedroom. Maybe to antagonize him, or maybe just because you were bored, but your feet froze on the carpet.

The lieutenant was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard as he had a notebook in his hands, writing in it with a black ink pen. What drew you up short was his tousled dark hair, his lack of clothing from the waist up, and his expression as he looked up. It was… tired. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but he was bracing for one as you stood in his doorway.

A decision was made before you realized there was a question. You strode across the room, took his journal and pen, and set them aside.

He blinked up at you, perhaps too surprised to protest. His eyes went wide when you crawled onto his lap, took his head in your hands, and kissed him.

Any rational person would have pushed you off, demanded to know what you were doing, so the lieutenant must not have been rational. He gripped you around the waist and pulled you close, as if he’d been waiting for you to do this. As if he’d known something you hadn’t.

Maybe he did.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as your tongue forced its way into his mouth, demanding entry he gave immediately. You’d thought he would fight it, challenge you to be the one in charge, but he took everything you gave him with a low moan.

You’d never done this before, but you’d seen enough human media to understand the basics. And you were a quick learner, studying him as you went, discovering that he enjoyed when you licked into his mouth and rolled your hips against his. A hardness pressed against your pelvis, and your own body warmed and thrummed in anticipation.

The both of you were wearing too much clothing, and you quickly stripped off your top, taking advantage of breaking the kiss to climb off the bed to shimmy out of your pants.

With only your underwear and bandeau still on, you straddled his lap once more, his eyes dark as he watched you undress, his hands back on your hips as if drawn there. Your kiss was consuming, too hard to be gentle, but he gave everything you took with a willingness that bordered on eager.

“Take off your pants,” you rasped against his lips. You didn’t sound like yourself, this person whose voice was rough with immediate need.

“Just—hold on a sec.”

You drew back, frustration flashing over your circuits, but you didn’t push him any further. The lieutenant certainly didn’t look like he wanted to stop, his pale skin flushed with heat, a blush along his neck. His breath was fast, as was yours to keep up with the cooling process, and he reached up to brush a loose strand behind your ear.

“We keep going at this pace, and I won’t be able to last much longer.”

Ah, yes. The refraction rate of humans was less than ideal, but you didn’t really see the issue. You were sure you could find ways to draw out pleasurable moans and gasps even if it was too soon for him to be erect.

Perhaps seeing the calculations you were making, he gave an amused smile and pressed his lips to yours, this kiss much slower. He stopped the thoughts in your head from progressing any further.

“Going to try something,” he said against your lips. “Stay just like this.”

You wanted to argue, mainly because you wanted more kisses like that, but then the lieutenant was moving down your body, shifting himself underneath you so he was lying on his back. And then he slid further down, moving his arms under your legs until you were practically sitting on his face.

You watched him curiously, not understanding the purpose of his new position until he took your hips and pulled you forward until you were on his face. His eyes were riveted on you as his lips parted and he licked at your clothed entrance.

A shiver of sparks went up your abdomen, and when he did it again, you grabbed the headboard for purchase.

“Good?” he asked, sounding far too pleased with himself. But you didn’t care, all you wanted was for him to keep doing that with his mouth.

“Yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

As if the insufferable human couldn’t see that you very much wanted him to keep going from the way he had to keep your hips still, otherwise you would grind down on his face.

“Yes,” you seethed through your teeth. “…Please.”

“Oh, she has manners.”

He pushed aside your underwear and licked directly against your nub, and your flare of anger flamed out. Both of your hands gripped the headboard now as he not only licked but sucked against your clit. It might be made of synthetic material, but the jolts that shot up your pelvis felt entirely real. Maybe you had been built for this, or maybe deviancy had made your body adapt in new ways.

You didn’t know, and as the lieutenant licked and sucked at you in a steady but increasing rhythm, you soon didn’t know anything at all. One hand left the headboard, curling into the lieutenant’s hair and gripping it, needing something to hold on to. The pressure was building with alarming speed, and you were rocketing something you’d only experienced once before, in this very bed.

He gave a shuddering groan as your grip in his hair tightened. It was such a sweet noise, almost a whimper, and it pushed you over the edge.

You cried out, unable to stay quiet any longer as your body seized with electric pleasure. You rode out your high, leaning your forehead against the board as you slowly came down.

The lieutenant also slowed his movements, his hands now gently stroking your thighs. It was such an odd gesture, comforting, but that couldn’t be right. Anderson wasn’t the comforting kind of person, as far as you’d observed.

Even though he was beneath you, your position felt oddly vulnerable, and you were exposed. You lifted off of him, wondering if you should go for a quick exit, expecting the lieutenant to come to his senses now that he’d made you orgasm.

But he simply slid out from under you and sat back against the headboard, and his hands were back on your hips, pulling you into his lap. The covers were no longer bunched around his waist, and his sleeping pants were a thin barrier covering his hard length.

Anderson pulled you in rough against him, and you could taste yourself on his lips, a vaguely pleasant flavor that acted as a lubricant. You hadn’t consciously activated it, but you were soaked with it now.

A noise escaped you that could have been a growl, and you pushed him firmly against the board, pinning him there as you rose onto your knees. You pulled your underwear down one leg and tossed it, yanking the bandeau over your head next. The lieutenant’s hands were everywhere: in your hair, on your chest, caressing down your hips and backside.

You grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head, holding them there easily with one hand. He gasped against your mouth but didn’t tell you to stop, and you used your other hand to pull down the waistband of his pants.

By feel alone, you shifted your hips until you found the tip of his cock. You sunk down onto it, bracing your forehead against his and never breaking eye contact as you took him up to the hilt in one smooth movement.

The noise that tore through him was almost beautiful with its need, and he bucked under you, but you held him still, so much stronger than he could ever hope to be. He knew it too, and by his blown pupils and flushed cheeks, he enjoyed it.

You could only keep still for so long, your need to move greater than your enjoyment of having the lieutenant squirm under you. Pinning his wrists with both hands now, you lifted yourself up and down his shaft, your walls gripping him like a silken glove.

Anderson was clearly fighting to reign in his reactions, and it was almost impressive how long he lasted before his hips rose to meet yourself. The added friction increased the heavy pressure building in your abdomen, and you increased the pace, ignoring the overheat warnings that blared through your system.

“Christ, Bell,” the lieutenant moaned out, unable to keep quiet any longer. “You feel so good, I don’t know how much longer I can—”

You cut him off with the demanding press of your lips, swallowing down his protests as you rode him harder. You could sense it in his muscles growing more tense that he wasn’t wrong, and the building pressure inside you was elusively out of reach.

Pulling one of his wrists away, you guided his hand between your legs, wanting his touch there instead of your own.

Knowing what you were asking, Anderson grabbed your hip and pressed his thumb against your nub, rubbing in tight circles.

The pressure in your pelvis snapped within seconds, and you cried out against his shoulder, unable to keep your grip on his arm as you bent forward. You wrapped yourself around him as close as you could, and one thought raced through your head with possessive certainty.

Mine.

Anderson now freed, he held on with both hands and fucked up into you hard, drawing out your orgasm and wrenching out another cry. He pumped twice more into you before pushing in as far as he could, his face buried in your neck as he groaned your name with a shudder.

Warmth flooded your insides, and you noted with distant interest that he’d come inside you, his grip an echo of the unexpected possession you’d had a moment ago. It should have been something to despise, to fight against, but your body was loose and heavy against his, and you didn’t mind it. It was hard to mind anything as he slowly stroked your back, placing small kisses along your neck.

Now that the glow of the orgasm was fading, you expected to pull away from Anderson, to put distance between you. It wasn’t as if you liked him. He was an incorrigible pain in the ass.

And yet, when he pulled his softening length out of you, you made a noise of protest and pulled closer. He gave a low chuckle that should have made you grind your teeth, but it didn’t.

“Gotta get us cleaned up. I’ll be right back,” he said, gently extricating your arms from around him as he lifted you off his lap and onto your side.

You watched him leave the bed, entirely naked as he must have kicked off his pants at some point, and you waited. Uncertainty crept back into your thoughts, followed by a sense of alarm at what you’d done, but it was muted as soon as Anderson returned, a damp cloth in his hand.

“What are you doing?” You eyed hand towel as if it were a grenade. He snorted.

“It’s called aftercare. I’m sure you’ve had it before.”

“I’ve never had sex before.”

He froze so completely it would have been funny if you weren’t prepared for him to sneer or insult.

But he just searched your face and eventually said, “Oh. Well. Huh.”

He opened his mouth, seemed to replay something over in his head, and added, “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

He didn’t take offense at your sharp tone, but he did offer up the damp cloth.

“Then… may I?”

You didn’t know what he was asking exactly, but you weren’t going to come off as a coward, so you nodded and looked away. The soft warmth of the cloth touched your skin, and he cleaned the parts of you that were covered in a mixture of your fluids. You weren’t sure if you liked it, it made you feel even more vulnerable, but when he stopped you immediately missed the attention.

He tossed the cloth aside and eyed you with far too much focus.

“You want to leave, don’t you? Back to the living room?” he added for clarification.

“No. I just don’t know what happens next.”

His expression softened, and that was new, too. No one else had ever looked at you as if there was anything soft to see.

“That part’s easy. We go to sleep. Or, I go to sleep, and you go into stasis.”

“Here?”

“Yep.”

You didn’t move, unsure if it was a joke. He rolled his eyes and held his arm out, lying on his side facing you.

“Come here.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“Please?” he added with a little smile that was far too innocent. But you relented and laid down next to him, your body stuff as your head touched the pillow.

Anderson pulled you in close until you were up against his chest. You might have changed your mind and retreated to the living room, but the warmth from the skin-to-skin contact, and the tingling feeling that trickled down your scalp as he pressed his lips to the top of your head made you stay.

You pressed your face against his neck, moving in as closer as you could into his embrace. Something inside seemed to loosen. The stress of the last few months, of leading a revolution and trying to guide a people, your fear of Carl dying and your worry over your fellow YN models adjusting to deviancy, it had weighed on your mind even before the bombing.

And that something in you had ratcheted tighter and tighter, letting loose in explosive anger almost solely directed at the man who now held you close as if you meant something.

“Thank you,” you whispered, safe to say the words in this small space between the two of you.

“Pretty sure I should be thanking you.”

Despite the humor in his words, he must have understood what you meant, because he squeezed you gently and added, “You’re welcome.”

This time, when you closed your eyes, your mind was able to find the silence and solace it had sought for so long.

The morning light streamed through the window as you had set aside the blinds. The lighting in the living room was fantastic, and you’d managed to finish your painting before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.

Movement behind you drew your attention, but you didn’t turn away from the easel or the sunlight that warmed the places it touched.

“Morning,” came the sleep-riddled voice of the lieutenant, and instead of the regular annoyance it usually brought you, it instilled a lightness in your chest.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, you finished it.”

He stood behind you, close enough to touch, but he didn’t. You leaned back against him just enough to give him the permission he must have been waiting for, because his arms went around your middle without hesitation.

“I did.”

“It’s… not what I expected.”

The painting, which had started with a struggling hand reaching upward, was now met by an android hand from above, the fingertips touching in the middle.

“Me either.”

“It’s gorgeous, though. I love it.”

You gave a small snort. He should love it, after last night you finally realized how the piece was meant to be finished, and he had a pivotal role in that.

But he didn’t need to be told. His ego was big enough as it is.

“Drink your coffee,” you said, and he only laughed at your tone.

“Is that for me?”

“It’s certainly not for me. And I’m not your house droid, I made it because I wanted to.”

You’d seen the French Press and it had reminded you of making tea and coffee for Carl. That urge to help, to make someone you cared about happy, apparently it had now extended to the lieutenant.

Again, you didn’t need to tell him that.

He kissed the top of your head in place of making a smartass comment, which was an improved use of his mouth.

Of course, it wasn’t as good as his use of it last night, but still, pretty good.

He retreated to the kitchen, going through the routine of pouring the coffee and making breakfast. The noises were… comforting. There was something about humans and their routines that, strangely enough, appealed to your programming. You wonder if other androids felt the same. You’d been shocked to learn there were quite a few deviants who stayed with their humans, especially in a romantic capacity. You hadn’t understood it then.

“They don’t have coffee-flavored Thirium, do they?”

“I hope not. Sounds poisonous.”

“Still better than the swill at Jimmy’s.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

But maybe you understood it now.

“So… are you still planning on leaving this morning? Or are you going to stay?”

He offered the question casually, but it was there, the sincerity beneath it. He often hid his genuine self behind a mask of humor and biting attitude, and you’d always noticed it. You just hadn’t let yourself care until now, why he’d build up such sturdy defenses.

Or why he’d let you past them.

You stared down at the painting. A human hand reaching up, seeking and yearning, and an android hand reaching down to meet it. An acknowledgement that they both needed each other, for better or worse.

For the first time, you thought it might be the former.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m staying.”

#sixty x reader #detroit: become human #human!sixty #android!reader #my fanfiction

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