Love How Casually Leigh Did This Reveal 😄😄

Peter Hayes x Reader || Drabble

*Yep, more Peter! I love him a lot and I just got a burst of inspiration for douche-boy.

Plot: You have a complicated relationship with your roommate from hell, Peter, who you most definitely hate. This is a sort of throw back to an old multichapter story I made for Divergent- there was this whole Enemies to Lovers thing with reader and Peter that was deliciously slow burning and I'm still kinda in love with it even though its so terribly written XD So I wanted to write something a little better for it.

Warnings: Love/Hate relationship, and you have a bullet wound. Unedited as of now...

When you, Tris, Four, Marcus and The Bastard got to Amity, since you and Peter (The Bastard) were badly injured what with his busted arm and your shot hip, you were allocated a room together, in the Hospital bay.

It was the worst thing ever to happen to you.

All day every day, you two argued. Sometimes it got physical, being Dauntless and having gotten used to sparring- him grabbing you with one arm and throwing you against a wall one time when you were hobbling to the bathroom and said something snotty to him, and you bending his fingers painfully back another, when he came over and patronised you. You slept in beds opposite each other in the little room, only a metre or two between your feet, which meant you were in each others faces throughout bed rest.

It was h e l l.

And you tell him so- "This is hell, Hayes."

"Back atcha, pansycake."

You flash him your best greasy, at that, from where you sit with your legs spread out straight in front of you upon your bed; Bored out of your mind as you're still in bedrest. "You are so hateable."

At that, he just flashes you a finger gun without looking up from the book he's flicking through. Huffing, your cross your arms. For a few moments you try to stay silent, and think about something else... but god you're just so bored. "- Why are you even here? You aren't on bed rest anymore. You can leave, you know."

He hums, turning another page. "I like to bother you, its one of my very few entertainments in this place."

Immaturely stick your tongue out at him. Then you calm down, pursing your lips and tilting your head in curiosity. "So... what're you reading?"

Peter rubs his face, and shrugs. "Ahh, its about- "

"Y/N? How are you going?- " Tris suddenly comes in, looking morose as ever and only looking at you; Ignoring Peter's existence.

"OH TRIS! Hi!~ I'm good, great, wonderful, how are you??" You immediately smile, acting like you weren't just about to engage in a domestic moment with your most hated rival. You'd rather die then let her know that happens... often... Peter looks bemusedly at you, before shaking his head and turning to Tris himself- just as happy for the entertainment.

"I'm... good... " She responds, looking at you weird. She glances Peter's way, and scowls. A scowl she can only ever muster the magnitude for, for Peter. "Has he been bothering you?"

"Not anymore than usual. But lets not talk about him- come here! Sit, talk, tell me what's happening outside of prison."

Tris chuckles, shaking her head and sitting down gently. "This isn't prison, Y/N, they're healing you."

"Yeah, but I'm stuck here with him."

At that, Peter perks up. "- Can I say something?"

You and Tris both say 'No', before turning away from him again. Tris sighs, and Peter raises his palms up like he's some victimized pup, behind her. "... I guess I'm just wondering how long it'll be until we get to leave. I don't know how much more of this I can take... "

Snorting good naturedly, your pat her hand. "I figure Amity wasn't one of your factions."

She smirks, and shakes her head, silently.

Frowning, you look down at your hip. You don't think you can travel with it like it is just yet... But you take a deep breath anyway, about to say you're ready to go whenever she is because you're a good friend damnit, but an unwanted voice speaks up, first.

"- You talkin' about the pansycake's hip, Stiff?" Tris and you both turn to him with another glare, her from hatred and annoyance, and you from confusion and annoyance. What is he doing? "Yeah that's still totally fucken stuffed. We're not going anywhere for at least another couple weeks."

WHY!? Your eyes widen, and you look back to Tris who's looking at curiously, worry etched in her eyes as she searches you, for the truth. She certainly isn't going to take Peter's word, and you're so thankful for that. "Is that true? you said you were getting better."

"I am." The words come out firmly, flashing Peter a Shut up kind of stormy look. He narrows his eyes, back at you.

Then he shrugs, casual. "Just ask the doc. Y/N still needs help taking a shit."

Your face goes up in flame, at that. "I do not!" You exclaim in a high voice, then turn back to Tris; Shame written all over your face. "He just helped me to the bathroom a couple of times and it got to his egomaniacal little head. Please believe me, I'll be fine if you want to go! If you really aren't happy here, I'm ready to- "

Tris just looks increasingly confused as you try to assure her. "He helped you?- "

"She needs a lot of it. Actually they're pretty much a dependent."

"Peter!" You exclaim, just needing him to shut the hell up! Like, that's all you want. Why is he doing this? What's his stake!?? Looking around, you search for something. Something to throw, something to throw, something to throw...

Meanwhile Tris looks quite alarmed, as she gets up from your bed. Reaching for her, you try to make her come back, but she steps back. "... I think I'll talk to the healer."

"Yeah, Stiff, you do that." Peter nods, looking back to his book like he never did anything. Tris turns, and you're just thinking about how bizarre it is that Tris is following Peter's advice on something; Dumbfounded.

She leaves the room and you're just watching her with dropped jaw... before gathering your senses and turning to glare daggers at your roommate from hell.

At first he ignores you, but you persevere, darkening your glare and strengthening it, and making it an supreme glare, until finally he looks up; Brows raised up his forehead towards his brown hair, like, what?

WHAT!?

"Something you want from me Y/N?"

"Something I want from you!?- YEAH. I want to know why you decided to lose your ever loving mind for too many moments there, and look out for my health of all things!?- "

The evil boy with the innocent face, shrugs. Quietly, he responds with; "Someone has to."

For a moment you have no idea how to even respond, to that. But, forcing a dry laugh, because you're shocked, you shake your head. "Yeah! But not you... "

You continue to stare, full of shock, at Peter. Waiting an answer, but this time he doesn't respond.

~

Its not until late that night that you speak again; Until you gather the courage to go and do what you've been doing every night since basically you moved into this hell-place. Because suddenly it's odd... weird.

It should have been those things the whole time, but it is only now, for some reason. The only thing that's clear to you is that that reason is not the one it should be.

Taking a deep breath in, you slip out of bed. As soon as your feet touch the floor, a strike of pain flashes through your body coming from your hip and you wince- but gather your crutches anyway and continue on.

You cross the room, which is quite a familiar journey at this point, quite carefully; Basically sliding across the smooth hardwood in your socks, to keep from changing the amount of pressure on your hip too much, too often.

You get to Peter's bed in a minute or so, and cross your arms over your stomach after leaning your crutches against the wall. Worrying your bottom lip, you wonder whether you should even do this tonight. Whether the whole thing is just fucking up your feelings about each other too much and soon you wont be able to remember that you hate each other... or why you should hate each other.

Because you do, indeed, hate him. Of course you do. He's an ass and he's crass and he's rude- all of which he is on-purpose, for some reason.

You have to hate him... don't you? That's why you want to throw things at him, and glare in his face, and spit venom-words him way.

The only thing you don't know, is why you sleep with him in his bed every night. Why you need to, or you cant sleep at all. Or why he likes to be like that with you.

Sighing, the idea of slipping in and falling asleep too good to pass up now that you're close, you drop your arms and pat his arm. "Up, Peter. Coming in." You whisper, and see him roll over to face your way, making room for your body to curl into his own.

Its a bit of a struggle to get in, but he helps you but pulling your body from the edge, into him. Then, as you're sighing against his chest and closing your eyes, relaxing, Peter hikes your leg (The one on your injured side), up over his hips- as its better for your injury, to be elevated during sleep.

Getting comfortable now, you wrap your arms up around his neck, as his arms go around your waist; Its all muscle memory now, going to bed with him.

And this is how you sleep. Together.

Every night.

No words are spoken except your knee is digging into me's, or maybe a half-hearted i hate you, as you fall asleep safe, in a much-too intimate position for most hated rivals to enjoy. And then, before you wake up a little early, the both of you say goodmorning, bane of my existence, and you sneak back to your own bed before anyone comes in to check on the two of you- because no one in the world, can know about this. For obvious reasons.

Which is the only agreed upon term you've come up with together concerning your should-be illegal cuddling activity.

Tonight is slightly different, though, as you open your eyes again. You cant help but think about what he said earlier, about taking care of you. Should you ask...?

Looking up at him, you wonder if you really should, but he opens his own eyes under your gaze and you immediately look down again; Pretending in vain to be asleep.

Damn it!

"Y/N... " Peter mutters, shifting against you.

"Oh," You say back, awkwardly. "We're... talking, now, are we? We're doing that?"

"Nah," He chuckles, before adding; "I am."

Oh.

"I just feel like I kinda gotta tell you something." Here it comes, you think, dread and... something else, filling your chest. Something unfamiliar, not to you in general but... having it be connected to Peter. THAT's unfamiliar. "While you're all tired and quiet, and only minorly annoying."

At that, you pull back and open your mouth to retort something, as you're quite outraged, but he just smirks at you; And its so soft, it stops you in your tracks. You promptly close your mouth again, looking at him and paying attention.

"You're still a huge pain in my ass, but whether you like it or not I'm going to keep you safe in all this bullshit." His face goes serious. That dark, cruel look he gets when he's about to do something horrid on his face- and you know he's got something up his evil sleeve. "I promise."

"How am I supposed to trust you... ?"

"I'm not asking you to trust me. Just telling you how it is, okay?"

You feel dread fill your chest, but also... warmth. Because if anyone's going to be looking out for you, you're oddly glad its Peter. He's a familiar evil, at least, in a war full of unknown before you. You feel like you wont ever be surprised, by him. Because you expect the worst. And he knows you well- After all; He is your roommate from hell.

- And also, maybe, you've really enjoyed your cuddles with him- more then you're ready to let on.

You find yourself nodding, back at him. "I'll keep you safe, too."

... At which he scoffs, rolling his eyes and tucking you back against his chest. "Yeah, right."

You punch him in the gut- gently, though. Just enough for him to know you hate him.

In the Dark, Dark Woods

-> Summary: On a dare from your friends, you search the woods surrounding the city of Detroit for the infamous werewolf.

-> Pairing: Werewolf Android! Connor x Human Fem! Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> WC: 5.2k

-> Warnings: blood, violence, tension, abo dynamics (from connor), knotting, claws, monster! Connor (but still mostly human looking) smut, kissing, biting, Connor’s claws cut r but she likes it, eating out in both places, r is mentioned to have smaller boobs but I think it’s only mentioned once, love at first sight (kind of), mdni

-> Notes: this is my first abo fic, and it’s actually more werewolf! Connor and not abo in the sense that no other android/humans have an abo designation lol. If you’re not into this sort of thing, don’t read it. And no I do not care if the geographical stuff (like the cave) is wrong. Anyways, please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed! not proofread

The rickety branches of the sprawling trees above creak in the howling wind. There was a sense of unease in the forest tonight, as if it was being disturbed, seen by unworthy eyes. And it was. 

You shouldn’t be here. 

You don’t belong in these woods, surrounded by wary glowing eyes of critters in the shrubs and encased in a barrier of twenty foot tall trees. And yet, here you are. 

Searching for the “monster in the woods”, as your friends so eloquently put. Brent and Josie, your best friends, had dared you to search the forest outskirting the city of Detroit. 

The monster? A seven foot tall werewolf, if the cryptid websites were to be believed. 

Let’s hope they’re wrong, you think. 

Your hands have long since become numb in the chilled Autumn breeze, and you can just barely see your breath billowing in front of your lips. It curls up like smoke from a dragon, before you can no longer see it due to the dark sky. You flick your little flashlight to the left, the light illuminating a pair of glowing eyes — before they suddenly disappear. 

What the fuck? Just a rabbit…, you hope to yourself.

A branch snaps behind you, and you whirl around, coat flaring out at your sides. You beam the flashlight every which way, but you don’t see anything of note. 

A burst of wind tickles the back of your neck, hot like steam.

Wait, hot?

You lunge forward, but you hit a rock and tumble to the cold forest ground. You hit your stomach hard, and quickly scramble to your back to see what was breathing down your neck. 

Your eyes sweep across a chest and strong arms that end in clawed hands, and then — you suck in a sharp breath. Strong jawline, full lips, and an aquiline nose. Eyes that seem to glow in the dark. You can’t see much else due to limited light, but you know one thing. This is the werewolf that haunts the woods. 

And he’s beautiful, devastatingly so. 

“Why are you here?” A deep voice, raspy from disuse, cuts through the silent night. 

You gulp, mouth suddenly as dry as cotton balls. 

“I-I… are you… going to kill me?” You ask. 

You notice a blue circle flick to blood red on the side of his right temple. An illuminated circle that looks strangely familiar to the androids — the ones that chose to keep them after the revolution, back in the city. But this man — creature? — couldn’t be an android, could he? 

“Kill you?” He tilts his head to the side. “No… no. Not unless you give me a reason to.” 

His voice hardens at the end of his speech, and he spreads his legs apart more, ready for a battle. 

“Why are you here?” He questions. 

You cautiously stand on unsteady legs, “To… to find you, and looks like I have.” 

A snarl curls his lip, and you hear a low mechanical noise coming from his throat, almost like a growl? He launches at you, so fast you have no time to react. In a second, you’re on the ground again, pinned down by the strong legs and arms of this man. So close, you can see the glow of his eyes. Like burning amber, they lure you in. You can also smell him; He smells like a breeze that blows through the surface of a lake, and you find that you don’t… hate it. His hair is shaggy, down to his shoulders and hanging like a curtain between you. 

His fingers grip your throat, claws digging into the delicate sides. You can barely breathe, and your fight or flight instincts kick in. You choose to fight. Your legs kick out as best they can pinned by this man, and you bring your hands to his broad shoulders, pushing and pushing. He doesn’t budge, only digs his claws in deeper. You feel blood drip down the side of your neck, leaving a hot trail. 

“P-Please!” You barely get out, fingers clawing uselessly at his hands. Something flickers within those amber eyes, and his grip loosens, slightly. 

“Who sent you?!” He growls, low within his throat. 

“What?! Just… my friends!” You cry, tears biting into your cheeks. He’s not making any sense, but nothing is really making sense to you right now. 

“Don’t lie!” 

“I’m not! M-My friends w-wanted me to - to see if the m-monster in the woods was real!” You barely manage to get your words out, vision dotting around the edges. You suppose, if you are to die, dying at the hands of a hot man would be your ideal way. Just when you think you’re going to pass out, the werewolf releases his grip. Air rushes to your lungs, and you suck in greedily. It burns, but you don’t care. You could have died!

The werewolf examines you, eyes glowing… beautifully in the moonlight. You gaze back, smoldering in anger and… desire? He leans in, a furrow between his brows, wrinkling the skin there. You have an impulse, that you just barely manage to control, to smooth your finger over the area. 

His LED goes back to blue, and he grunts as he gets off you, offering his hand to help you up. You debate flipping him off, but you don’t. He pulls you up without much struggle. 

“What’s your name?” You ask, brushing leaves off your ass and coat. 

“Connor.” 

Not much of a talker, you muse.

You state your name in reply, and the two of you stand in awkward silence. 

“Your… friends told you to find me? Why?” 

You start to say something, but a shiver wracks through you, and you can see his LED flare red at the movement. His eyes scan your form. 

“You’re cold?” 

You nod, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to get feeling back. The werewolf, Connor, gently takes your hand, and he starts leading you deeper into the woods. You should feel scared, but you don’t. Your heart isn’t racing anymore, and you feel calm. Like you’ll be safe with him. 

“Where are we going?” 

Connor’s brown hair reflects in the moonlight, the glow surrounding him like a halo. 

He looks like an angel.

“I have a house, you’ll be warm. Safe.” 

You quirk a brow even though he can’t see, “A house? Here? How has no one found you?” 

He’s silent the rest of the way, soon leading you into the mouth of a cave. It’s dark, and you shuffle closer to the tall man. Connor releases your hand, cold sweat breaking down your forehead at being alone — but then, light. 

“This is hardly a house,” you snipe. 

“It’s been my home for more than four years; I’m sure you’ll manage for one night.” 

Connor kneels in front of a fire pit, the rising flames illuminating the cave walls and the man in front of you. Warmth seeps into your bones, and you almost let out a moan at how delicious it feels. While you get heated up, you take in Connor, who has once again turned to face you. 

His tall form is clarified from the firelight. His hair is brown, falling to his shoulders in luscious waves that make the tresses look silky soft. Your fingers twitch, itching to run the appendages through the hair. 

Continuing down, his chest is broad, with sparse black hair on his pectorals, running down his stomach. The hair under his bellybutton trails down, down, down to… oh fuck, he’s very naked. And very endowed. 

That’s fine, totally fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before, you think, but it feels different this time. And you’re not sure why. For now, you’ll just ignore his lack of clothing.

The werewolf is silent in your perusal, and you’re extremely curious, so you continue. His thighs are thick, hairy, and his feet are clawed. Other than that, along with his wicked sharp fingernails, he looks almost… normal. 

Your eyes skid to his, surprised to see them boring so intently on your form, as well. You’re not naked, and your thick jacket hides much of your body, but that doesn’t seem to stop Connor.

You cross your arms, inching backwards to the entryway. Connor shifts forward. 

 “I promise I won’t tell anyone about you, but you need to let me go,” you demand. 

“It’s going to storm soon, best if you stay here.” 

You quirk a brow, “And how do you know that?” 

Connor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I can smell much better than a normal android.” “How can I trust that?” 

“I can smell the moisture in the air signaling rain coming, the perfume you’re wearing from here, the sweat on your neck, the mud and grime on your clothes, and the fact that you’re arou —.”

“Okay! I get it!” 

Your body heats up more at the knowledge that he can smell it, and you shift from foot to foot. Why are you so attracted to him? 

“Don’t you have any clothes?” You ask, sniffling.

“I have no use for such things,” he replies. 

It’s gotten a lot colder in the cave, wind billowing inside and making the fire flicker. You half worry that the wind will blow it out completely. 

Then, you hear it. 

The pitter-patter of rain droplets, before it intensifies. Looks like Connor was telling the truth. 

“If you won’t let me go, at least tell me what you plan on doing to me.” 

Connor sits by the fire, placing his hands open palmed in front of it, even though he can’t feel temperature change. 

“Nothing. When the weather clears, you’re free to go.” 

“Just like that?” 

Connor nods, sending you a tight lipped smile. His expression is solemn… like he doesn’t want you to leave. If he’s been here for a while, he must be lonely. You purse your lips. 

“There’s a small spring further in the cave if you want to… wash off. You smell filthy.” 

You bark a laugh, a bit offended, but finding it amusing nonetheless. You reach to your shirt, sniffing it and recoiling at the smell. Mud and twigs latch onto your pants and coat. You could definitely use a bath, but do you trust Connor enough to be that vulnerable when he’s around? 

“Okay. Where is it?”

Your words surprise you, but in your heart you know he won’t do anything. 

He stands, and without a word starts walking further into the cave before abruptly stopping, causing you to bump into his back. 

“It’ll be dark. I forgot humans can’t see without light. Do you still have your flashlight?” 

“No, I dropped it when you rushed me,” you mumble bitterly. 

Connor grabs your hand, his large fingers curling around yours. He radiates warmth, and you shuffle closer. 

“Will the water be cold?” 

“No, this cave has an abnormal amount of geothermal heat the further in you go.” 

You don’t speak after that, relying on Connor to guide you. It’s so dark, and so quiet, you can even hear the soft whir of Connor’s mechanisms in him. It’s strangely comforting, and subconsciously your fingers tighten around his hand. Connor stops, and you look ahead at the sight before you. 

Moonlight streams through a small opening in the ceiling, highlighting a small spring that looks just deep enough to submerge your body. It’s beautiful. Your mouth parts in awe, having never seen something like this. Stalactites hang from the ceiling, just barely visible because of the light. 

“Wow, would you look at that? It’s gorgeous.” 

Connor smiles, releases your hands, and turns to face you. 

“Yes, it is. I come here often to meditate. The smell of the water is soothing to me. Honestly, I haven’t seen much of the world, but it’s the only thing I find beautiful,” he shyly glances at you. “Until now, that is.” 

You rove your eyes over him again, before stopping to look into his glowing eyes. You’re speechless at this moment, overcome with longing. Longing for what, though? 

Connor seems disappointed when you don’t say anything, mouth turned into a little frown, and eyes seeming impossibly wider. Puppy dog eyes. 

Which is fitting. 

“I’ll bathe here, then,” you say, mentally facepalming. Where else would you bathe? But Connor seems pleased, nodding before heading back the way you both came. You inhale, before shucking off your clothes as fast as you can, and take a step into the water. It’s warm, and you groan at the sensation. It feels heavenly on your stiff muscles. 

You scoop up some of the clear water, pouring it over your hair and sighing in bliss. You make sure to wash the dried blood from your neck, and under your arms and privates. You don’t know how long you stay in the water, long enough for your fingers to prune. Just as you’re about to get out you hear footsteps behind you, and you tense. 

You turn your head so you can peer over your shoulder, hands coming up to cover your breasts. Connor stands at the edge of the spring, a furrow between his brows and a frown on his luscious lips. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been here for a long time,” he asks. 

You breathe a sigh, the tension leaving your shoulders. He’s just worried about you, which is much more appreciated than the thought that he was finally coming to off you. But somehow you know he would never do that. 

“The water is relaxing.” 

Connor nods. 

“I suppose I should get out now, though. Could you turn around?” You say, voice barely above a whisper. 

The android turns without a word. You get a delicious view of his taunt ass, and you smile at the mole that’s smack dab in the middle of his left cheek. You raise your foot on a ledge that juts out, but the water makes it so slippery, and you fall into the spring with a yelp. 

Strong arms are around you in seconds, and your head breaches the surface. You gasp for air, fingers coming to rest on Connor’s broad shoulders. 

“I’ve got you, relax!” He yells, pressing you tighter to him when you shake. Truthfully, the water isn’t deep enough for you not to reach the bottom, so you’re fine, and you don’t need Connor to hold you. But his arms feel so nice around you, and your heart is racing, and you can’t help but moan a little and arch into him. With how close he is, you can feel every inch of him. His strong thighs, chest, and his erect cock. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be… be aroused, I just,” he fumbles, and tries to release you from his hold. But this feels like it was meant to happen, and you can’t deny the way he’s made your heart race with something since you’ve met him. You’re attracted to him, and you think he’s attracted to you, as well. 

“It’s okay, I… liked it.” 

You step from his arms, backing up a little. You note that you immediately miss his warmth and hard press against your soft body. Connor’s LED flashes yellow, and he tilts his head in that adorable fashion. 

“You did? I thought — thought you were scared of me? Disgusted by me…,” he mumbles the last part, and whatever shell you had around your heart breaks. 

Ever since he brought you here he’s been nothing but kind and considerate. He built you a fireplace, gave you shelter against the storm (even if you didn’t know it was going to storm. Thanks, weather app), and led you to the one place he finds beautiful. You might have been scared of him, but you never thought he was repulsive. It’s time you said that. 

“Connor, I don’t know why but… I feel this pull to you. This connection. I may have been scared,” hurt flashes across his face. “At the start! But I never thought you were disgusting. In fact, I’m quite attracted to you…,” you’re mumbling by the end, embarrassed. 

But Connor looks like you’ve hung the sun and the moon for him, and he steps towards you, and you think he’s going to kiss you. Instead, Connor wraps his arms around you, and squeezes you as tight as he can without breaking your bones. You feel tear drops hit your bare shoulder, his body shaking imperceptibly against you. Raising your hand to his hair, you gently stroke the strands, resting your forehead against his shoulder and giving the skin there a kiss. Connor leans back, staring into your eyes before slowly trailing to your parted lips. You lick them unconsciously, and Connor narrows in on the action, pupils blowing with lust. 

You barely have time to breathe before he’s surging forward and capturing your lips with his. Vibrant colors burst behind your eyelids at the sensual strokes of his lips with yours. 

His lips are soft, which would have surprised you had you not known that androids were built to imitate humans and what made them human. You press your lips firmer against his, moaning when Connor brings his large hand to encompass your small breast. He squeezes firmly, thumb running over your taunt nipples. Breaking from the kiss, you gasp for air. 

“Connor, fuck!” 

“Do you like that?” He whispers, LED yellow and eyes focused solely on you. He lowers his head further to your neck, running his nose on the slope of skin. He inhales your earthy scent, cock hardening even further. Was that even possible? Since he had laid eyes on you in the woods, stalking you from afar, he knew something was different about you. 

You whine at his question, back arching. Water sloshes between you two, and it’s then that you remember you’re in the spring still. 

“We sh-should get out,” you whisper, hands pressed to his shoulders. He nods, and within seconds you’re out of the warm liquid, and he’s leading you back to the fire. It hasn’t dimmed in the time away, and you notice an animal pelt on the ground. You must have missed that earlier. 

Connor turns your head to look at him, and you lean up to kiss him. You can’t get enough of him; he’s everywhere all at once; His taste, his feel, his scent, washing over you and grounding you. 

Swiping your tongue along the seam of his mouth, Connor grants you access. His mouth tastes like nothing, and you notice that his tongue has hard bumps on it, but they aren’t unpleasant. You tilt your head to the left, curiously running your tongue over those bumps. 

Connor pulls away, heaving for breath even though he doesn’t breath, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I was built for a specific purpose, but I never made it far enough to learn what that was before the revolution. They’re my sensors,” he explains, but you’re given no time to digest that information before he’s gently guiding you to the ground, and kneeling over you. 

“S-Sensors?” You mumble, curving closer to him and his touch. 

“I’m equipped with over a million sensors that give me real-time data, I’ll be able to taste everything that makes you, you.” 

Oh god, you think, chest heaving at the thought. Your cunt clenches around nothing, and all you can think about is his thick tongue thrusting into you, tasting you. How much would he be able to taste? 

“Connor, please… touch me,” you cry, trying to press your thighs together to relieve some of the ache growing in your core, but his knee stops you. 

“Where… Here?” He says, running a featherlight fingertip across your collarbones, staring with his golden eyes into yours. 

You notice that they’re mostly brown, but flecks of amber that seem luminescent glow within the depths. They momentarily distract you, luring you in like a moth to a flame. 

Connor pinching your nipple snaps you out of it. 

“How about here?” 

His voice is so deep, so light, it fills your head and makes you float through the air, never wanting him to be silent. You’re dizzy, pussy soaking wet and aching for his touch. 

“N-No, please, lower,” you sob, undulating against his knee which is pressed against your bare sex, but it’s not enough. No matter how you move your hips, press your folds and clit against his skin, it can’t quench your thirst. 

Connor let’s out a dark chuckle, and you catch a glint of fangs before you’re lost to your lust again at the trail of his fingers down, down, down. 

His fingers slide along your sticky folds, wet with your arousal. He parts the flesh, fingers teasing your opening. Connor’s finger dips just barely into your cunt, and you shake with such desire it’s almost palpable. You can feel his claw skirt gently against you, and although you know there is no way he could have his fingers in you with those claws, that doesn’t stop you from begging. 

“Pleaseplease Connor!” 

Connor tilts his head, shaggy hair dancing in his eyesight. He’s leaning against one forearm above your head, and you can see a cruel smirk on his face. Connor uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit. It’s so much, too much, and already you’re on that precipice — you want him to take you past that edge, past the cliff that you’re teetering over. Something that no man has been able to do before. 

Connor can smell your arousal wafting from your cunt, and you smell so good and wet, he just wants to devour you. But not yet — he won’t give you that until you’re begging him to taste you. 

“What do you need, love?” He murmurs in your ear, trying with all his willpower not to flip you around and breed you on his cock. He wants this to be about you, not him. 

“Fuck, your tongue, your mouth, everything, taste me please,” you beg, eyes scrunched shut and hands fisted in your hair at the intense pleasure his thumb is giving you. But it’s not enough, you need to be filled. But one glance down at his erect cock and you know you won’t be able to take it without being stretched. And since his fingers are no use… 

Your breathing stops when you notice a bulge at the base of his cock, on the top side. Those aren’t his balls, so what are they? Connor follows your gaze, and his chest rumbles in a laugh. 

“My knot.” 

“Your what?” You ask, a bit incredulous. Your head is swimming. He is so different from other androids, but even though he has so many unique qualities, none of them scare or disgust you. They just make you curious. 

Connor, unfortunately, thinks the opposite. His LES flashes red, and he leans off you, bottom lip tucked between teeth. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s… unsightly. I don’t have to use it on you, if you don’t want to. I don’t even know if you can take it…,” he mutters. 

“No! No, I want to, to feel all of you. I want you to give me everything. Please,” you whine. You breathe a small sigh of relief when his LED goes back to that beautiful blue. 

Connor doesn’t wait, positioning himself between your legs and throwing your legs up and over his shoulders, lower half of your body raised so your twitching cunt is directly mouth level with him. 

You watch as Connor just stares and stares and stares. Your cheeks burn, and you try and you shift in embarrassment. 

“Don’t just s-stare,” you whisper, and his eyes hone in on you. He looks angry, and you gulp. 

“Why shouldn’t I worship a work of art?” 

Your heart stops at his words, overcome with such… happiness.

Connor dives in, using his tongue to lick through your folds. It feels strange, those bumps of his giving his tongue an even more rough feel than a humans, but you find that you don’t hate it. Connor groans loudly, whispering something reverent into your cunt, before he’s pressing you closer to his face, claws digging into the skin of your thighs. You can feel the sharp sting as they cut through your skin, but you don’t care. You like it. The cutting pain mingles deliciously with the pleasure his tongue is stealing from you, and you buck your hips against him — clit bumping into his nose at the action. 

“Connor, Con, Con,” you beg, tears of rapture spilling down your hot cheeks. He ignores your pleas, focused only on bringing you to that edge and well past it, again and again. 

He’s like a man starved, lapping and suckling, scraping his teeth against your clit. Connor licks at your folds and draws that sweet nectar from your core, and you almost die when his lips trail past your opening, and down to the puckered hole of your ass. No one has ever touched you there, but you aren’t nervous. You weren’t lying to Connor when you said you wanted everything he would give you. 

The first flash of his tongue on your hole is strange, different. 

The second is like an aphrodisiac. 

And at the push of his thick muscle in the tight entrance, earth shattering. 

“Oh god!”

Connor smirks cockily, and you can feel it against your skin. His tongue is lazily thrusting in and out, and he brings a hand up to rub your clit, occasionally dipping ever so delicately in your drenched opening. Your bundle of nerves is pounding like it has its own heartbeat, it’s so stimulated you’re not sure how much more you can take, all thoughts filled with the werewolf in front of you. 

You come hard and fast, a steady pulsing in your clit as he keeps on circling it. It’s like he knew exactly when you were going to come undone, because one minute his tongue is inside your ass, and the next it’s inside your cunt, while your slick floods onto his mouth. You can see his eyes roll back in his head. 

“You taste so good,” he murmurs into you, and you’re so overstimulated that you have to physically drag his face away from your cunt. 

“Too much, too much,” you cry, but you can feel your pussy still clenching, still aching with the need to be ravaged by him. 

Connor smiles warmly at you, bringing your fingertips to his lips to press hot little kisses against them. Your heart thumps faster, you feel so loved and cherished, and you know that should freak you out — you haven’t known this man for long, but you don’t. It feels right, perfect. 

You’re overcome with the need for him, and — surprising both of you — you take your hand and snake it between the two of you, grasping his hot cock and aligning it with your entrance. 

Connors’ eyebrows are raised, and he looks at you for confirmation. 

“I’m sure, I want you. So bad, please,” you say. 

Connor leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that curls your toes. 

“It might… hurt, tell me to stop if it does, and I’ll stop,” he says, and your heart swells at how much he cares. This whole time, it’s been about you — the fire, the spring, getting you off so many times before he even thought about his own pleasure… 

You nod, and then Connor replaces your hand on his cock with his, and slides his cockhead up and down your slit, smearing the cum. He presses his hips forward, and his cock squeezes through the tight ring of muscle at your entrance. Already, his cock is splitting you open, and you can’t help but tense. 

Connor, sensing your tight walls get even tighter, uses his thumb to rub circles into your clit, and bends to capture your left nipple into his mouth. He suckles the taunt bud, grazing his fang against the skin and grins when he can feel your walls relax, and a breathy moan leaves your plump lips. His cock slides in even more, and you cry out in pleasure when he pinches your clit. 

“Keep going keep going, fuck fuck,” you whimper, eyes screwed shut. You plaster your hands on his biceps, bucking your hips to try and take more of him. Finally, after what feels like forever, he bottoms out inside you. Connor’s hips are flush with yours, and his fingers still against your bundle of nerves while you both take deep breaths. 

He slides out half way, and shallowly thrusts back in, testing the waters. You moan in unison, your blunt nails digging into his biceps. It’s not enough force to make his skin fade away to the alabaster shell beneath all androids have.

“You feel fucking — divine,” Connor gulps, undulating his hips in more forceful drags. You’re a blubbering mess, chanting his name before switching to oh god, oh god. 

Connor impales you over and over again, cock hitting you in places you never knew existed. He’s like the puzzle to you, completing you and making you whole. 

“Gonna come, wanna knot you, please, can I?” Connor strains out, cheeks tinted blue and biceps bulging with restraint. 

“Yes, yes fuck, knot me Connor,” you airily say, and Connor drives his cock all the way inside you opening catching on his swelling knot. It’s a tight squeeze, but he forces the bulge through your opening, and stats burst beneath your eyelids at the pleasure of it. You feel thick ropes of artificial semen paint your walls white, and when you shift your hips, you find that Connor physically can’t move from your cunt. He’s completely tethered to you, and it’s that knowledge that brings you to a crescendo, before you drop off the edge. You come loud and abrupt, throwing your head back and spine arching off the stone floor. 

After, you’re both breathing heavily, but you can still feel Connor coming inside you and locked from that knot. 

“How… how long will it last?” You ask, eyelids heavy. 

Connor slumps against you, forearms resting on either side of your head. He kisses you softly, gently running his tongue along the seam of your mouth before he answers. 

“A few minutes.” 

You nod, resting your arms around his neck. In the afterglow of sex, you have time to think of all that happened. You don’t regret it, far from it, and you want to continue to see Connor… but how would the world react to an android like him? 

“Are there others like you?” 

Connor shakes his head, hair tickling your neck and making you giggle. 

“Not that I know of, why?” You can see his LED flicker to red, and you know he must be feeling anxious. 

“I just… want to continue seeing you, but I don’t want the outside world to hurt you, once they see that you’re not a ‘human’ android,” you ramble. “I mean, uh, if you wanted to… live with me, or something. You could stay here, of course!” 

Connor raises his head to grin at you. 

“You want to see me again?” 

Of course that’s all he got out of that. 

You roll your eyes, but nod with a smile. 

“I do.” 

“Then we’ll have to figure something out, won’t we?”

i don't WANT to read smut right now

i WANT to read a passionate, poetic, jaw dropping, tears streaking down my face, heart wrenching, giggle inducing, feet kicking, cringy yet amazing, gorgeous story written by someone who apologizes for english not being their first language(they're the best writers ever) which has 4 chapters and then makes me scream because it hasnt been updated in months and the author is mia

Monday Coffee

Connor (RK800) x gn!Reader | 0.9K | 18+

Connor finds out you’re into dirty talk and manages to slip it into your conversations at work.

A/n: this is one of my old fics from wattpad that i’m posting here to keep safe!

You couldn’t have anticipated it if you had been an android with the capabilities of judging the probability statistics. Couldn’t have dreamed it up if you tried. But one fateful morning, when the caffeine in your piping coffee hadn’t yet hardwired your brain into work mode, his lips had grazed your ear like a passing breeze, his non-existent breath fanning a phantom chill down the side of your neck.

“Your place or mine?”

It had startled you, but being half asleep you had reacted slowly, turning around the see Connor’s face, his lips barely tugged into a half-cocked smile.

“Excuse me?” You stammered, trying to get your mind to process what information had just slid into it like a freighter truck with broken brakes.

“Would you prefer for the witness to stay at your apartment or mine?” Connor continued. “The witness protection, remember? The safe house has been compromised.”

“Oh,” you blew out a hot breath, “right.”

“Yes. As I was saying, my quarters are not exactly suited to human living, as I don’t have the appropriate amenities, but I understand if you would feel uncomfortable housing a witness in your own home.”

You nodded, taking a sip of your coffee. Slowly the world was also waking around you, with officers perking up in their chairs, also feeling the artificial energy hit.

“There’ll be a watch on 24/7 no matter where the witness is staying, right?”

“Right.” Connor nodded.

“Then I don’t mind if they stay at my place.” You answered.

Keep reading

Anything II (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper. The altercation ends in your hospitalisation and when you've finally recovered, Price assigns the same man who destroyed you to teach you how to never let it happen again.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I genuinely hope this isn't dog shit and a complete letdown.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD episode, graphic description of unintentional self-inflicted injury.

Previous Chapter

You had thrown up. Twice.

Pressure snaked its way from your chest to your throat and nausea gripped your stomach. You felt deeply unsettled. Your fingers shook, your face was gaunt- you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were a mess.

All because of him.

You cussed beneath your breath, bouncing on your toes lightly. You were due for another training session and considering you’d bailed on the last one, you couldn’t afford to skip it again. You’d received an earful from Price for walking out after your conversation with König.

That fucker had reported back to the Captain that you’d simply ‘discussed the terms of the agreement.’

You slapped your thighs. Then, you hit them harder. The sharp pain jolted your system, and you used the distraction to force yourself out the door. The more you dwelled on it, the more you needed to vomit again.

This time, König was waiting for you.

He sat on the bench, legs spread and his head down. He was fidgeting with his gloves and, had you not known any better, you’d have thought that maybe you’d snuck up on him. But you did know better. König was aware of your presence the second you entered the hallway.  

You sucked in a breath as he finally looked up, pretending that he’d only just noticed you. His features were obscured by his hood, giving you no indication of his reaction. He felt inhuman, there was no tug of his lips or twitch in his cheek- only an emerald gaze that stripped you of your courage. 

“Birdy,” König tipped his head in greeting, your name soft on his lips. Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. You hated when he spoke like that, low and from his chest. You wished he would yell, you wished he would be boisterous— anything to drown his promises of death in your ear. 

“Your fight is finished.” 

You didn’t acknowledge him. You didn’t say his name. Instead, you slowly entered the room and moved to the farthest side from him. Your heart beat wildly against your ribs and the nausea you’d felt earlier was back in full swing. 

“The sooner we start, the sooner you can leave,” König reminded you, flicking his gaze across your attire. 

“Then start,” you snapped. The man blinked at your aggression and his fidgeting fingers fell still. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. That emerald gaze was pinned to your figure, steady and inquisitive and terrifying. He straightened up from where he was slouched over, his seated form already taller than you standing. 

“What can I do to make you more comfortable with this arrangement?” König spoke slowly, each word enunciated with careful control over his tone. Your heart dropped to your stomach, he was getting frustrated. 

You wanted to spit at him that the only way you’d ever be comfortable was if he were to leave. You wanted to shout at him to fuck right off back to KorTac and never show his face again; that’s what would ease your mind. 

But, as he held his body deathly still, that stare trained on yours- you reminded yourself of what he was capable of. 

“The mask,” you whispered, cursing yourself for the way your voice shook. 

König finally moved, leaning back into the bench as he took in a long breath. He waited for you to continue, to pitch your proposition, but your mouth had gone dry and your tongue had fallen limp. When he realized that you weren’t going to offer anything more, he nodded his head, clasping his hands together tightly. 

“You want me to…” König bounced his leg, clearing his throat as he sat up straight. “You want me to take it off?” 

You nodded your head. König said nothing. The sinking feeling that he just might reject your request began to worry you. He could say no and there would be nothing you could do to argue that, you were still required by order to do these training sessions regardless of whether he agreed to your requests or not. 

You swallowed thickly, scrubbing your nose to break the eye contact between you both. You couldn't stand it. 

"I can't do this if you're wearing that thing," you waved vaguely at his face, keeping your eyes low. "It- I just-" 

Frustration burned in your chest as you flailed to articulate your feelings. You couldn't tell him outright that his stupid fucking mask plagued your dreams every night. You couldn't tell him about the terror that gripped you by the throat whenever you laid eyes on it. 

König didn't let you finish, anyway. He reached for his hood, swiftly pulling it from his head and, again, you were thrown off kilter by his appearance. 

His brows were furrowed as he observed you from beneath his lashes. "I know." 

He knew what you were trying to say. 

"Shall we start?" He asked, slowly standing to his feet. And, despite it being painfully obvious that he was keeping his body language open, you still took an inadvertent step back. You cursed beneath your breath when he straightened up to his full height, the urge to run from the room was almost overwhelming. König triggered your fight or flight response and your body was a slave to its survival instincts. 

You sucked in a breath, forcing yourself to stay still as he approached. 

"What are we doing?" You forced the question from your throat, trying to distract yourself from the hulking figure moving closer. 

"Ground defence." 

Your heart seized in your chest. 

"I don't want to do this," you said as calmly as you could. Your pulse climbed rapidly as König's gaze softened. 

"I know," he murmured. "But neither of us has a choice." 

You didn't give a fuck about him or his choices. You couldn't care less whether he was here of his own volition or if he'd been ordered to take care of your training; you only cared about the fact that he was twice your size and had nearly murdered you once before. 

You couldn't believe that Price was allowing this. 

Betrayal stung in your chest. 

Actually, what you really couldn't believe was how this cunt was even allowed to be here. 

Clearly, you were dispensable. 

Maybe you had overestimated your importance to the team, maybe you had misunderstood the bond between you all. You'd been replaced by your own aggressor and Price had allowed it. 

Clearly, you hadn't meant as much as you thought to the 141.

“Birdy.” 

You jumped, tripping backward into the bench behind you. You stared wide-eyed at König who was equally as startled by your reaction. 

“What?”You snapped, straightening up as though nothing had happened, as though he hadn’t almost frightened you out of your skin. 

He hesitated before continuing, the side eye he shot you was clearly one of concern. Disgusting. “I need you to lie on your stomach.” 

“No.” The word fell from your mouth before you’d even realized it. 

König raised a single brow. “You want this to happen again?” 

He gestured at your swollen cheeks, the fresh scarring from your stitches that littered your face. The man referenced you like an artist would show off their masterpiece. 

“Only to you,” you said, your voice sickly sweet as you forced a bitter smile to your lips. The fluid in your cheeks felt like liquid fire beneath your skin at the movement, but the way his expression fell made the pain worth it. 

“Then get on the floor so I can teach you how,” König crossed his arms, carefully schooling his features to give away nothing- but it was too late. You saw that you’d hurt him with the comment, or at least affected him enough to feel satisfied. 

Your small victory gave you enough courage to lie down. 

Your logic reminded you to immediately regret it. 

Konig’s knee came into your vision as he knelt by your prone body. You couldn’t see his upper body, you couldn’t see where his hands were. He made no noise to indicate what he was going to do and your spine seized along our back.

You didn’t want to do this. 

Not again. 

“König,” you rasped, pressing your hands into the floor. “König, I don’t want to do this.” 

Your breath was too fast, you felt like you were channelling air in through your mouth just to be sent right back out. It was as though you were rapidly suffocating, not getting any oxygen to fill your lungs, the room spinning from where you lay. 

“Birdy, you need this,” König reminded you from above. The words sounded distant and muffled like someone had placed their hands over your ears and spoken softly.

You gasped loudly as the man behind you straddled your back, the mass of his body resting against the lower half of your extremely fragile spine. You wanted to buck and kick and scream until he was forced off of you but your mouth was dry and words evaded you. 

“I want to teach you how to spin onto your back first,” König said, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “You can’t win from your stomach.” 

You couldn’t win on your back either. 

“No,” you said firmly, twisting experimentally from beneath him. “No, get off. I’m not doing this.” 

There was a sharp sigh from behind you and instead of moving from his position, König began applying pressure. Your chest sunk into the ground as he leant just a fraction of his weight onto your body. 

“Then get me off.” 

The floor was hard against your body, it felt like your ribs were collapsing from beneath you. You could barely breathe as it was and now you were gasping like a fish out of water. There were so many things he could do to you from this position, so many ways he could torture you and you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself.

You tried to press upwards with your hands in an attempt to relieve the pressure from your chest. It was fruitless considering the 130 kilograms of muscle pressing your face into the floor, but you tried again. Then again. 

You were beginning to sweat, your palms slipping on the floor. Your arms shook from the exertion and you could feel your resolve slipping, your control spiralling from your grasp. 

“Get the fuck off me,” you wheezed, that same ugly pressure clawing its way up your ribs and into your throat. “König, I’m serious. Get off.” 

“Listen to me and I’ll teach you how to get out of this yourself,” König’s voice was firm. There was no room to argue, the bite in his tone enough to put the fear of God into you.  “Pull your knee up beside you, slide forward to get up onto your knees and roll me off to the side.” 

You followed his instruction, forcing yourself to breathe as evenly as you could. Your skin burned where he touched, your body screaming at his presence atop of you. 

Get him off, off, off. 

The weight of his body eased as he let you perform the maneuver. He was too heavy and you were too tired to pull that move off without his help, but you didn’t care anymore. You’d do anything for him to get the fuck away from you, you’d do anything for him to never touch you again. 

Konig rested his weight back down, straddling your hips as you lay on your back now, facing upward. 

The exact same position of that night. 

Your breathing picked up and your hands began to tremble. The sensation of excess adrenaline flooding your body, a feeling that you were familiar with, rendering you shaking but incapacitated. 

The hood was on his face again and his eyes were wild and manic. You’d never seen that look in a mans eyes before, you knew then that he was going to kill you. The emerald glint of his psychotic glare was all that you could see. It was so dark and he was so fast, you weren’t able to predict his moves because you couldn’t fucking see them. He was a shadow, he was death incarnate. Your body was on fire, your lungs screaming from within your chest. 

The monster’s eyes drifted to your chest and you followed his gaze. The handle of a knife jutted from above your breast bone and you snap your eyes back to his. Blood sprayed in the space between the both of you as he twisted the knife in your chest. You’d forgotten the noise that it had made, your punctured lung sucking air from the bloody wound with a wet gasp. 

König’s eyes were hard as he reached for your face, fingers outstretched and closing in across your vision. 

Not again. 

Not again. 

“Birdy!” 

You bucked, you heaved, you fought off his grip. You knew what was going to happen, you knew what came next. This time, your brain matter would be smeared across the floor, this time he would finish you off. 

You clawed at the fingers wrapped across your face desperately, trying to draw enough blood for him to flinch away. You ripped at his skin as hard as you could manage, screaming against his palm. 

“Birdy, stop!” 

Nothing was working, nothing could stop him. You dragged your nails across his fingers, driving them into the divots of his cuticles in an attempt to deglove his skin from bone. 

“Jesus Christ, get a fucking sedative!” 

When König smashed your head into the concrete, you were grateful for the darkness that ensued. 

You didn’t have that privilege last time. 

____

The first sense you regained was smell. 

And, by God, did you fucking hate that smell. 

The scent of disinfectant flooded your olfactory system so viciously that you were forced up in your seat. You scrubbed at your eyes desperately, praying to whoever the fuck was listening that you weren’t where you thought you were. 

White lights flooded your vision and you cringed back into the cushions, pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“Easy, Birdy. Easy.” 

That familiar cockney accent served as a warning. Gloved hands tugged your fists down from your face and you tried to regain control of your breathing, eyes squeezed shut.

“Ghost?” You rasped. Your voice was barely a squeak, and you realized with a frown that you’d lost it somehow. 

“Thought I’d come pay you a visit.” 

You slowly attempted to regain your sight, blinking away the blurriness and the harshness of the down lights. You gingerly observed your surroundings, heart sinking to your stomach as you recognised the room. 

You’d been on this bed for weeks during your recovery from the incident. 

Same hospital, same room, same bed. 

You felt nauseas. 

Swallowing the bile threatening to make an appearance, you dragged your gaze to the seat by your bed. Ghost sat so still you could have mistaken him for a piece of furniture had you not been actively looking for him. 

The man watched you carefully, his hoodie raised over his head and the balaclava perched firmly over the lower half of his features. 

“When did you get back?” You asked, cringing at the broken sound of your voice. Ghost exhaled through his nose and his eyes softened under your scrutiny, an expression you’d never seen before flickering across his gaze. You were disoriented, still unsure of how he had gotten there or what you were doing there. 

“Yesterday.” 

You froze, eyes widening as Ghost waited for you to come to the realization. 

“How long have I been in here?” You cried, the words gutted by your vocal fatigue. “What the fuck happened?” 

“You need to take a breath,” Ghost leaned forward, his hand pressing lightly against your shoulder, prompting you to lay back into the cushions. 

“No, you need to tell me what happened, Simon,” you reinforced, throwing a hand to your chest. You pressed against the skin, as though you could force your lungs to slow down with just a touch. 

Ghost made a noise from the back of his throat, strangled and uncomfortable. You could tell that he hadn’t expected you to wake up while he was there. 

“You…” And for the first time in nearly a decade, you heard Simon Riley hesitate. 

Your mouth was dry as you realised the severity of what had happened, the anxiety of not knowing what you’d done ripping at your chest. Your eyes were pleading now, begging him to just come out with it, to tell you the truth. 

That stormy gaze was sympathetic. It made you tremble. 

“You had an incident, Birdy.” Ghost said slowly, deliberating over his words carefully. “An episode.” 

“An episode?” You questioned, narrowing your gaze. “The fuck do you mean an episode?” 

Ghost didn’t shift in his seat the way König did when under pressure, he didn’t fidget or bounce his leg. Simon Riley sat still like a cold-blooded creature, watching you from the darkest corner of the room with a cool, steady gaze. 

“PTSD, Birdy.”

You blinked slowly. 

“During your ‘training’ with that cunt,” Ghost spat the words, his eyes shifting to the side as he centred himself. “We heard your screaming as we were on the way back in.” 

“We?’ You rasped, dread settling in your stomach. 

“Me and Johnny,” Ghost clarified. He exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You had to be sedated, kid.” 

The skin on your cheek stung sharply before you could process that bombshell. You frowned, attempting to ignore it in favour of uncovering what had happened. Ghost was never one to beat around the bush, always outright and as ‘blunt as a cunt’, in Soap’s words. 

So, why was he now omitting a key part of the story? 

The skin beneath your eyes stung again, this time demanding your attention. You began to sweat at the sudden severity of the pain, hands flying to your face to diagnose the issue.

Ghost moved before you could blink, striking out like a cobra. His hands gripped your wrists, keeping them from scouring over the skin. Your eyes were wide as you appraised him, bent over your bed, your hands suspended in his grip between the both of you. 

Your eyes narrowed. He mimicked the expression. 

You shoved at his body, ripping your hands from his hold. You needed to get to a mirror. Throwing yourself off the side of the bed, you gasped as your knees buckled from their sudden use. Simon gripped your bicep, pulling you upright with ease, but you tugged against him immediately. 

“Don’t fucking touch me.” 

He retracted his hand as though he’d been burned. 

You stormed into the bathroom, the door smashing against the rubber stop glued to the wall. The lights flickered to life as you bashed the switch with the bottom of your closed fist. 

You could have thrown up. 

Gauze pads covered both your cheeks, stained pink from what you realized was blood. Your face was bleeding. A whimper fell from your lips as you reached for the dressing, peeling it slowly from your skin. Your mouth fell open at the slow reveal of what hid beneath the gauze. 

A strangled cry ripped from your throat. 

Claw marks. 

Jagged, deep wounds, tearing down the length of your face; raw, bleeding and fresh. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

Distantly, you could see Ghost standing behind you in the mirror, his gaze solemn and his hands clenched. You couldn’t ask the question, couldn’t form the words but you didn’t have to. Simon had understood you back when you were eating from a straw, your eyes so puffy you couldn’t open them for days. 

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the only comfort he could offer as you stared at your mangled reflection, yet again. 

“You were screaming for him to get off,” Ghost began, his fingers tightening against your burning skin. “The fucker was standing next to me.” 

Blood dribbled down the distinct lines engraved into your flesh, tracing the length of your throat and disappearing down your hospital gown. The both of you watched it trail your prickled skin, but you couldn’t move, suspended in time and trapped with the image before you.

Simon’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke.

“You thought his hands were on your face.”

_____

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Switched On

Connor (RK800) x gn!Reader | 1.8K | SFW

You, a deputy at the Detroit Police Department, have been working closely with Lieutenant Anderson and Connor on their deviant cases. You have often witnessed Connor demonstrate his precise fighting techniques and wish to be coached on how to defend and apprehend deviants. Connor agrees to help you practice but finds himself surprised by the outcome.

A/n: this is one of my old fics from wattpad that i’m posting here to keep safe!

The room’s air was stale and smelt like dust, with dummies knocked over and left there for what looked like years judging by how mould had bloomed in spots. This old training room was left untouched since the opening of the new firing range in the warehouse across the street; these days the force wasn’t much concerned with taking on a foe in hand to hand combat than shooting them from five feet away. But now that the stakes were higher you felt compelled to take matters into your own hands.

You weren’t unfit by any standard, in fact you kept up with your exercise. You never knew when an ounce more strength could come in handy and possibly save your life or another’s. But reality faced you in the new cut that curved around your neck, luckily not deep enough to have killed you. An android had been the cause of your wound, which was now covered in gauze and ached like hell.

Fingers snapped in front of your face, the person in question coming into focus as he pulled his hand away.

“Are you paying attention, Deputy (L/n)?”

You shook your head, shoving away the scene. Trying to not picture the blade slicing through your skin as you were rendered totally helpless, overpowered and outmatched by the android’s perfect estimations.

“Yeah, sorry.” You mumbled, shaking your arms to get your blood flowing. “I just…”

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hellooo, your writing is amazing so far i love it 🫶🏼

Could you do one for Hobie x fem reader, where the reader is friends with SpiderPunk AND Hobie. But she doesn’t know they’re the same person. And one day lovergirl rants about her fat ah crush on Hobie to him??

First off, thank you for enjoining my writing, I try my best with what working brain cells I have left 🤣

Ooh I love this idea very much! But I might make it a two parter cuz I defiantly went off request…oops…

You were just minding your business, chilling on the roof top of an abandoned apartment complex, mind a million miles elsewhere on a certain somebody when a flash of red and blue caught your eye and before you knew it; you company of one had became a company of two.

‘Heya Spidey, how are things?’ You greeted.

He shrugs, ‘the usual but what about you lil missis,’ he playfully nudges you, ‘head so far off into the clouds I’m actually feeling a little neglected over here.’ You laughed, shoving him away by his arm. ‘Oh come off it, will you? I just been thinking about this guy I’ve liked for a while now.’ You admitted and Hobie’s interest was immediately peaked.

For as long as he knew you, Hobie could barely remember the last time you had ever admitted to him in fancying someone, besides from a couple of incidences from way back that ended up backfiring; but other then that, you kinda made it a point not to talk about it, maybe in due to him thinking that whoever you did fancy at the time weren’t worth the effort you’d give had you perused them. You had often called him overprotective whenever you tell him about your crush of the week but Hobie would defend himself by saying he was merely looking out for you and didn’t want you getting hurt by some douchebag.

‘You don’t have to defend me from everything Hobie,’ you once told him as you were patching him up from beating the breaks off of your last crush because they were chatting shit about you behind your back, ‘whilst as sweet as it is but you can’t always be there to look out for me.’

‘Watch me.’ He replied, his view remaining completely unchanged. You sighed, knowing that once Hobie’s mind was made up, nothing you nor anyone else could do to change that. He was an akin to that of an immovable object when it came to his beliefs and views and it was amongst the many things you adored and admired about him most.

‘Oh yeah? And who’s the lucky guy?’ He asked casually leaning back on his arms, watching as you brought your knees close to your chest before resting your chin upon them as your eyes gaze out at nothing in particular; something Hobie noticed you often do when you were particularly in your feelings and needed something to hold onto and ground yourself before you became adrift in your own sea of emotions. It was cute to see you tucked in on yourself so tightly that he couldn’t be more thankful for the fact that you couldn’t see how dopey he must’ve looked beneath his mask.

‘Hobie. Hobie Brown.’

He blinked twice, nah, he must’ve heard that wrong, surely, his hearing must be going all scewiff.

‘Hobie Brown.’ He said his own name as though it was the first time he was ever saying it. Upon seeing the way your shoulders drop and your body becoming at ease upon hearing his name, along with the way you smiled gently and how your eyes seemed to beam with newfound light which all had only helped In affirming to Hobie that he did indeed hear you the first time. ‘What is it about the guy that’s got you all up in knots?’ He asked, trying to act as though you didn’t just indirectly admitted that you’ve got a crush on him to him.

‘Where do I start.’ You started, unable to fight against your own feelings that were swelling up within your chest when an image of Hobie appeared in the forefront of your mind, he was sat on your bed, eyes closed as he allowed himself to get lost within his guitar rifts, his calloused fingers expertly transitioned from chord to chord as it were muscle memory. ‘He’s just so cool and awesome and so forthright and opinionated in his views and beliefs that he’s not afraid to back down from a fight should it come down to it.’ You tell him with a sense of fondness in your voice.

Hobie was quick to notice how your hand fiddle with one of the many handmade pins he’s made you that you always paired up with any and every outfit you ever wore, even if they styles did clash but you didn’t seem to care; Whatever the reason for you reaching for the pins were, whether it’d be out of a need to feel out the closest thing you had in regards to him or it was just something you did out of habit, made Hobie warm within his chest that soon spread throughout his body. ‘Sounds like me and this Hobie guy are more alike then I originally thought.’

Your fingers stopped their fiddling and you suddenly looked at him as though you were just now realising something with the way your eyes bore into him, Hobie thought that you might’ve developed the ability to see through the mask that withheld his identity and into him, so much so that he couldn’t help but make a comment on it, ‘stare at me any harder sweetheart and your stare might burn right through my mask.’ You must’ve been deep into your thinking as you didn’t seem to have noticed that he had spoken at all and Hobie was starting to think that he might’ve been too relaxed with you as Spider-Man that you might have started to have it pieced together in your mind; after all you were smart, more so then what you give yourself credit for.

‘Now that you’ve mentioned it you and Hobie do share some of the same attributes and habits, I’m also pretty sure your similar height wise and even though your mask muffled your voice, it fills me with a sense of familiarity that it’s hard for me to put a finger on.’ You said as you leaned closer to him until you were partially merely a breath away from each other. Hobie didn’t know he was holding in a breath until you shrugged ‘but I could just be grasping at a straws, so I won’t dwell on it as much.’ and moved away from him back to your previous position.

As much as he would’ve loved to have you figure out his identity on your own terms. Hobie would prefer it best if he were the one to reveal himself to you but the moments where he wanted to never felt right and he didn’t want to you in danger by doing so, but he knew that there’d come a time where he would be greeted with a choice in wether to tell you the truth as to who he was or continue living like he has currently and potentially loose your trust because of his lack of transparency; Hobie couldn’t bear to think of loosing your trust but just as he has always done since becoming your friend, he was merely looking out for you and for your safety as they were always his top priorities.

“Stop wiggling around, I’m trying to sleep! Wait… what’s tha… oh!”

Forced proximity with best friend Bob?

A chance to do friends to lovers with Bob? Say no more!

"Remind me to never let Javy book the Air B&B again."

Bob chuckled at your comment, despite agreeing, "Well at least we have an actual bed. Reuben and Mickey have bunk beds."

"So all the single people have to suffer?" You scoffed, continuing to shuffle through your luggage.

The annual lake trip was going well, until the room arrangements were revealed. It wasn't that you minded sharing a room with Bob.

It was the lack of a second bed.

Twenty years ago, when you were both eight, this wouldn't have been a problem. But then puberty, high school, and base camp occurred, which brought to light the crush you had been harboring on your best friend.

"We'll make it work. And if it's that bad, I can take the floor," he offered, always the considerate one. It was one of the many traits you adored about Bob.

"Robert James Floyd, absolutely not!" You scolded, eliciting a chuckle out of him. It was deep and low, just like his voice and you didn't want to admit how it made your knees nearly shake.

"I've slept in barracks before, it's the same thing."

The comment would have gotten a laugh out of you. In fact, you would have even made a remark back, probably about how you've also slept in truck beds and underneath a wide open sky.

But then Bob Floyd took his shirt off.

It wasn't even your first time seeing him shirtless, far from it. But now he had filled out, with muscle and a dusting of hair that trailed down from his chest, past his stomach.

God, was he always this hot? Had to be and somehow you just didn't notice it until later. Perhaps that was the worst part; you fell for him because of who he was. It wasn't as if he had some type of glowup over summer break, like you'd see so often in those stupid teen movies you'd watch to feel better about yourself. No, Bob Floyd was always a beautiful soul, inside and out.

And he wasn't yours. Couldn't be. The risk of him not reciprocating was too high. Plus, your family was friends with his'. That meant Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, hell, even fucking Memorial Day gatherings would be tainted. All thanks to you.

The pressure was too high, the risk was too great.

But you could look, right?

"Sunshine?"

Bob's childhood now turned adult nickname for you broke the spell. Your wide eyes met his oceanic's. His hair, which had gotten darker over the years and now had threads of early greys, was mussed from taking off his shirt, some curls over the front of his forehead, others to the side. White shirt in hand, highlighting how massive they were when clutching the alabaster fabric. Brow's knitted together, combined with his narrow eyes and titled head created a downright adorable look of confusion.

"You,,,," he briefly turned around, to see if there was something on the wall behind him and that's why you wouldn't look at him, "You okay?"

You nodded eagerly, probably too eagerly, "Yeah sorry....I uh spaced out. Probably thinking of ways to get back at Javy."

Bob smiled, despite it never reaching his eyes when he nodded. You had turned around so quickly, unable to make such an observation.

"I'm going to go take a shower," grabbing the top and bottom you could find the quickest in your suitcase. You avoided eye contact with him, too busy feeling shame for getting caught doing something so lewd.

Rushing, you turned the water on in the showers. Focusing on ensuring you grabbed the correct products. Get the water to the perfect temperature and pressure, it exists, it has to exist because if it doesn't then you'll think about the dark body hair that went past the waistband of his jeans.

For about twenty minutes, it worked. You did your skincare routine, brushed your teeth for nearly two minutes, even blow dried your hair. Applied a lip mask, that stupid lash and brow serum the worker at Sephora conned you into buying. Moisturize every inch of your body, even though it was the dead of summer and you would sweat it all off before sunrise. That stupid reusable eye mask that you got because it was on clearance. Have you done the Wordle today, you should do the Wordle. You should do anything other than thinking about sharing a bed with your shirtless best friend.

It worked. Even put on some music, not too loud, just enough to hear and hum along.

It worked. For a while. But then you had used nearly every product in your cosmetics bag and it was time to get dressed.

Fuck.

You could never match a pair of socks, not even if your life depended on it. But tonight, fucking tonight of all nights, you had to grab a whole matching set.

The pale pink lace trimmed cami, paired with joggers. An oversized T-shirt that went further down than the pair of matching satin shorts.

You had brought the set when you were talking to a guy and thought you would be able to move on from the wonder that is Bob Floyd. What a fucking joke.

Maybe you could wear them, run back out to grab something else and run back in to change. No, why would anyone do that? If anything, it'll just make it more obvious that you didn't want to wear it in front of him. But what if you didn't change and Bob thought you had worn essentially casual lingerie on purpose? What if he found that weird? What if-

"You okay in there Sunny?" His voice always calmed you, always able to break you out of whatever self inflicted spiral you were on.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded despite Bob being unable to see you, "Yeah, I'm good. Just developed a more extensive skincare routine."

A short burst of laughter was released on the other side of the door, "You don't need all that. Already pretty."

"Bob Floyd, you are....." Charming. Amazing. Too good to be true. The love of my life,

"....too kind."

"Just telling the truth," his feet audibly stepped away. The butterflies in your chest were still exploding from his words. He made you feel safe, that this was Bob you were talking about. He'd never think you'd do something lewd or negative on purpose. Bob knew your intentions to be good. After all, he was your Bobby.

Just not in the way you want.

Your head cleared long enough to walk out the door, into the well lit bedroom. When he first made eye contact with you, you didn't even falter, simply smiling at him.

But Bob didn't say anything at first. Usually he'd make a teasing but well meaning comment about you taking so long. His thin pink lips parted, yet no words came through.

"Are you okay Bobby?"

The concern in your voice broke the trance. His features soften, his lips quirking into a half smile, "Yeah, I'm good. Just gonna shower and then head to bed."

Tension had left the room. Flopping down onto the bed, you scrolled through social media, watching all the videos and photos the squad had posted today.

"Uh, Sunshine?" You turned and lost your breath. Bob's hair was freshly washed, ends beginning to curl. A white shirt that was barely translucent and grey sweatpants that hung low on his lithe hips.

Bob Floyd had downright slutty hips.

"I don't think the bed is big enough for both of us to lay down."

Your brow crumpled in confusion, "Javy said this was a queen."

"Javy thinks anything that isn't a single is a Queen." Bob explained, not phased at all by this mistake.

Clearly it wasn't the first time. But you were still going to kill Javy Machado tomorrow morning.

"Here, if we both sleep on our sides, it'll be good."

"Like spooning?"

"Uh yeah," a hand came up to rub the back of his neck, "That's one way to think about it."

You supposed it was better than feeling his ass against yours, "Alright, well....come on in, the water's fine."

It took some time to figure out the arrangement. What was one supposed to do with their other hand? The final agreement consisted of your hips flushed against Bob's, his arm slung over your waist.

Zero awkwardness in the air. It felt....natural.

"Night Bobby."

"Night Sunshine."

Things were looking up. There was no way this would change your friendship or threaten to reveal your well kept secret. Sleep was well within your reach.

Then Bob moved. And kept moving. Due to his closeness, you felt every maneuver, no matter how subtle.

"Floyd, do you mind?"

His movements continued, as if he was trying to avoid your body while somehow simultaneously hang onto it.

A loud huff left your lips, "Stop wiggling around, I'm trying to sleep! Wait, what's that...."

Oh.

Your hips were flushed against his, your ass perfectly fitting the space formed by his thigh meeting his hip. Right against his hardened groin.

The sweatpants were thin. He didn't have anything underneath. Thanks to the flimsy fabric of your shorts, you could feel him greatly.

You were in bed with Bob Floyd. Bob Floyd was in bed with you, rocking an erection. You were being held by Bob Floyd, in bed. Bob Floyd had a huge cock, a grower.

Silence filled the room, tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife. Neither one wanting to move, for fear of making it worse.

He let out a shaky breath. He developed a rhythm, almost imitating one sleeping.

You shifted, just enough for your thigh to rise, but subtle enough to play off as nothing.

His breath hitched.

Inch by inch, your hips began to gyrate, rubbing against his clothed cock.

"B-Bobby," you were panting, as if having run a marathon. His fingers sank into your hips, gripping the plush flesh as he flipped you onto your back, towering over you.

You moved to sit on your elbows, to raise yourself up to argue. From years of play fighting, he was fast as lightning, pinning your hands above your head.

Bob slowly lowered himself down until his nose brushed against your, his soft hair brushing your forehead.

"Twelve years." Was all he said, gritting through his teeth, squeezing your hands in hopes it would tethered him to Earth.

All that came out of your mouth was a hum of confusion. In the moonlit light, you searched for his eyes, trying to read them.

"Stuart Hendricks asked you to prom. You had been hoping all month he would ask you. Hell, I even helped him. Told him your favorite musical and which song to sing. I was excited for ya. And then you said yes to him and I wanted to punch him. I never had thought about fighting someone until then. Took me a week to realize why I was so angry."

Oh my God.

"Eight to ten years ago," you confessed. It was Bob's turn to knit his eyebrows together.

"Eight to ten?" He repeated, "Why is there a range?"

"I remember feeling....funny when you came back from boot camp. You had filled out a bit and had on those adorable military issued glasses. But it took me some time to accept what I was feeling," you explained.

How you found those glasses endearing was beyond Bob's understanding. But it didn't agitate him, it was just one of the many things he loved about you.

"That's a lot of time lost," his voice was barely a whisper.

You nodded, "Can we.....can we start making up for it?"

"Yes," he nodded, dropping his head lower, "one hundred percent yes."

His lips were like heaven. He molded his body to yours, chests flushed together, limbs tangled within one another. A hand that spanned the entirety of his neck, his thumb guiding your chin upwards so he could deeper explore your mouth.

"Heard you singing....and it just felt....felt like we were living together," he confessed in between kisses, "felt so right, like that's what it's supposed to be like."

Nodding feverishly, your hands found purchase in his thick hair. Tugging on the sun kissed locks, earning a groan from Bob that made your thighs clench.

"Can....can I touch you?" Always the gentlemen, your Bobby.

"As long as you don't stop."

"Wouldn't dream of it sunshine," his mouth latched onto your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the side, teeth gently grazing your sensitive skin. A hand grabbed your leg, hitching it to wrap around his waist.

Bob Floyd was fucking heaven.

credit to: @namedlunagoddess or bruised_peach on tiktok.