dbh_kinkmeme | PROMPT POST 1

PROMPT POST 1

MEME RULES
(lovingly adapted from

dragonage_kink)

Kink memes work like this: you comment to this post with a "prompt," asking for a specific scenario/ship/etc. Others, hopefully, respond with a "fill" of that prompt, either with fanfiction, art, papier-mâché, etc. Should you need a more in-depth explanation of the process, the Dragon Age meme has some excellent guides!

1. Prompt post subject lines should be formatted as: a pairing tag (Name/Name) for ships, character names for gen, and "any" or "everyone" for wild card pairings, and a short description of kinks/content, as well as any applicable trigger warnings.

Please use pairing tags instead of ship names, for clarity and ease of searching.
i.e. Kara/Luther, buying curtains, TW: VORE

2. Fill comments should be made in reply to the prompt, start with FILL, and whatever title. They can either be placed in the comments or linked to from another website (AO3, Tumblr).
3. No kink shaming. If something violates the rules, report it on the mod contact post. Otherwise, move on and let live.
4. This will not be a spoiler-free area. All readers are assumed to have consumed the entire game. Read at your own risk.

Anonymous comments are on. IP logging is off.

If there are any issues, you can contact your lovely moderator, Trek, at either my tumblr or my twitter.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A few days later, Connor arrived in the morning to another surprise on Hank’s desk. This time it was a glazed donut in a cellophane box wrapped with a neat white bow. There was also a card propped up next to it, embossed with the design of a daisy. So clearly the same sender as last time. Connor scanned the inside of the card. It read: “For you. Don’t get hungry. —From, Me” The same script as the previous card. Impossibly neat. It must have been written by android, there was no other explanation.

Connor sat at his desk and stared at the gift while he waited for Hank to come in. His responsive network—the place where all his free will and improvised responses came from, as well as his detective skills—came up with several scenarios for who could be doing this. Why. To what end?

What were the goals in this? Giving Hank gifts? Especially signing it just ‘me,’ indicating that this might become a regular thing. That they might attempt to become…familiar with Hank over the course of this.

Well. Connor folded his hands in his lap. If they wanted to become familiar they should just reveal their identity and talk with Hank. Being secretive and discreet was not the way to get attention from Hank. Connor knew that much! He’d been friends with Hank for a long time. The way to appeal to him was with honesty and transparency. Not with disguises and trivial gifts…

“What’s that now?”

Connor explained what he’d found to Hank, although he hardly needed to. The evidence was right in front of them.

Hank read the card over a few times. Checking the back and the front. “No number huh…” he said, almost to himself.

“And no fingerprints,” Connor added. Hank was distrustful of androids still. Yes, he was getting better, but Connor knew firsthand how deep Hank’s distrust ran. For that matter, he was distrustful of everyone! Humans and androids. There was no way Hank would think any of this was just an innocent gesture, a sloppy attempt at courtship. He’d see it as a trick—

And so, Connor set himself up for a harsh shock to the system when he saw Hank open the box and lift the donut to his lips. Ready to eat.

“Wait!” Connor reached for Hank’s hand to stop him, LED flashing yellow.

“…What?” Now Hank was looking at him with that look. That. ‘Fucking androids.’

Connor hated that look.

“I…have to scan it first. Check its contents for malicious additives….” He blinked and looked away. Unsure why his processors were operating at heightened speed, as if this were dramatically tense. A hostage situation. Or…

“Okay. So do it.” Hank held up the donut, giving Connor ample access.

Wordlessly, Connor performed the scan. The results were normal. All clear. For some reason, that didn’t make him feel any better.

“…It’s fine. Go ahead.” Not wishing to see any more of Hank’s looks, Connor turned to his computer.

“Good to know.” What followed were the sounds of Hank chewing. Gratuitously. Licking his fingers of any leftover glaze.

Connor silently lowered his auditory input. Not wishing to hear any more of that than he had to.

There was another feeling in his chest. Something he was becoming more accustomed to. Anger. Anger was the red of his LED, whirling and flashing. Fingers clenching, irrational orders from his primal drive spewing at rates too fast to process. Thoughts firing off in his head. Face tight.

Connor was angry.

He didn’t really know why. Who, or what, was he angry with? He couldn’t be mad at Hank for eating a donut. Especially a free one. And he couldn’t be mad at someone for wanting to give Hank gifts. Especially gifts that Hank enjoyed!

But…he was.

Hank should have been more responsible. He should refuse to take things from someone without knowing why he was receiving them. He should be more cautious! And…he should be more consistent. If Hank hated androids so much (‘Fucking androids,’) then he should act more like it. He should turn down gifts from androids no matter how delicious. And he should be more annoyed about getting these gifts in the first place.

Why wasn’t he more annoyed?

And this anonymous android! (If indeed it was, instead of a person using an android to send the gifts, which was unlikely these days.) If they cared for Hank then…they should give him a healthier gift! Donuts were high in sugar and fat content. Hank had enough of that in his diet! Didn’t they want him to live as long as he could? Furthermore, they should stop playing like this was some game. Hank didn’t have time for games. He was busy and he didn’t even like games…

Connor’s thirium turned to ice as he watched Hank pull a post-it from his desk and write the word, ‘Thanks!’ on it. He stuck it to the empty donut box and left it where he found it. The card he put in a drawer next to the bouquet of flowers he’d received previously.

None of these items were in the garbage. All of them were taking up space in Hank’s desk. As if they were important.

Hank must have thought they were important. This must have been a game worth playing. (Even though when Connor asked to play chess, Hank always said he was ‘too tired for all that shit. Why don’t you play yourself?’) He was beginning a correspondence with this person, leaving a return message where they would certainly see it. If they were looking.

Connor’s head throbbed. His processors were running so fast he couldn’t keep up with them. What…was this? A new emotion…? Like anger, but faster. Liquid quick. Running over every inch of him. Hot and cold at the same time. Pump beating and face slack, apathetic.

Connor searched his database for a word to explain this, but the parameters were too specific and unclear. Nothing came up.

Shit.

Meanwhile, Connor was left beating back irrational directives from his core.

Throw the box in the trash.

Check the security footage against Hank’s wishes and confront this person yourself.

Take the card from Hank’s desk and analyze it for more clues. Then destroy the card.

Confront Hank about his unreasonable behavior.

Refuse to allow Hank to accept any more gifts.

Then, quietly, at the very end of all the overlapping instructions:

Be happy for Hank.

Oh. Connor turned to the side as if he’d just heard that one aloud. Be happy for Hank. That’s what he should be doing, wasn’t it? They were friends. Friends supported each other in all endeavors, including romance. If Connor was Hank’s friend, then he should be happy for him and tell him to pursue the relationship as far as he liked. They were friends, weren’t they?

But where were all these irrational instructions coming from?

“Hey, Connor, I’m going to the store for some lunch.” Hank was on his feet. Half the day had gone by already. “You want anything? A magazine or something?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

He was fine. He really was. He’d run a diagnostic later tonight on the docking station in his own apartment and then…then he’d…well, he’d stop all these strange feelings. He’d be happy for Hank. Like a true friend.

Yes.

He was fine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, I think I'll post the rest on ao3. Or maybe just later lol.

Oh my god, I fucking love it. I love that Connor's first reaction to the gifts are not jealousy, but suspicion of foul play. But now that he knows it's of affection.... He's hoping for foul play. At least then he'd have an excuse to dump the damn gifts. XD

Amazing job! :D

Passerby anon loves it so far.

Oh oh oh is Hank's secret admirer the 'Traci' he called a lovely girl when turning her down during the Eden Club investigation? A rare - possibly the only - acknowledgement of her personhood before even she herself knew - who wouldn't fall for a kind soul like that? ~~Because Connor clearly has.~~

I'm so happy you guys are enjoying it!! This one gave me all the feels. OP, I feel you <3 <3 To that anon who asked for Traci as the other android, that's a great idea! I went somewhere more random with it, but I like your theory.

Here's the third part while I work on the rest. <3 <3 <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was already another gift the very next day. This time it was just two red roses tied together with a white string. There was a card attached, but this time it was sealed in an envelope. Formally.

Connor stood stock still in front of the desk and considered what he should do. What he should not do, of course, was listen to any of the directives his drive was spewing. No. That would have been very bad.

Still. Connor could not very well leave the card alone without a scan. For safety’s sake. So. He scanned it. Empty except for the intended card, no traces of anything harmful. Just a card. And well…he was already scanning the inside of the envelope, so he might as well look at the message…Connor adjusted his scanners and was able to rearrange the writing in front of him. He analyzed the script and added it to his database for easy processing. The handwriting was the same as before, but the message was a lot longer.

It read: “Dear Hank Anderson, Hello. I’m sorry to leave you so many anonymous messages but I was a little shy at first. I wasn’t sure how you would react to gifts like this. Especially when you found out it was an android sending them, which I’m sure Connor already told you.”

Connor paused for a moment. This card actually mentioned him by name. So. This must be an android they both knew…probably one who worked in the station. Or at least used to.

That was an important conclusion. He filed it away for later.

The note went on: “But since you’ve been accepting the gifts without ridiculing me, even though you don’t know who I am…well, I want to meet you. We’ve met already, but this time I want to meet privately. So I can explain myself and my feelings. If you’re at all interested, please come to the Coffee Bean on 54th street at 6:00. I’ll be waiting. —Yours, S.”

Connor read and reread the note several times. It was in his programming to look for a hidden meaning, some kind of code, so he did. But he found nothing. The words were just…words. They meant what they said.

This person, whoever they were, had clear feelings for Hank. Romantic feelings. A quick internet search for red roses produced nothing but romance-related results. There could be nothing else.

Fighting back more instructions that made no sense, (hide everything, all the evidence, before Hank can see), Connor put his hand on the flesh of the rose. The petal was so tender. Fragile under his hand. This person must have touched the petals in the same way and thought the sensation appropriate.

Was romance as fragile as this? Breakable from nothing but a harsh squeeze? Connor had no experience with romance or sexual attraction. He did his job. That’s what he was programmed to do and he did it well.

But…when he thought about this person, picking out flowers for Hank, Connor found that he knew how they must have felt. Unsure. Anxious. Excited. Wanting.

Want. Want was somewhere between yellow and red. Orange. Needy and demanding. Connor should know nothing of want, and yet…he did. When he imagined this person and these flowers he understood. There was want in these gifts.

Connor had want inside of him too, he realized in that moment. He must have had it for a long time but he just never knew the word for it. This want, this was all part of the way he felt about Hank. Comfort, security, familiarity, happiness, and want. It was there. As loud as any of the other feelings. Connor let himself feel it, starting to get overwhelmed.

I want Hank too.

At last the words settled in his head.

Now he saw his own want reflected back at him through the efforts of another person. It was right there. Red roses and beautiful words. That was want, or a type of it. A way to express wanting.

Connor wished he could find a way to express his own want. This feeling…it was beautiful! It must be shared! No wonder this person had written such a heartfelt letter! They could not possibly keep their want to themselves. It would be awful! Connor understood this person very well now.

They’d come to their conclusions about Hank much faster than him.

“More flowers?”

Connor whirled around to face Hank. His mind racing, Connor stumbled over several words inside his head. It was hard to get any of them out.

Want tell fragilefeeltellwant—

“Hank, I—”

“Oh and there’s a card this time?” Hank had not heard Connor’s outburst. Now he was already opening the card and reading it.

Connor watched his face as he read. For the most part it was blank. Then, at the end, Hank’s face went slack. Quietly thoughtful. He put the card back in the envelope and stuck it in his jacket pocket. A private, personal place. Over his heart. Before Connor even knew what was happening, Hank had gone to the break room and procured a vase.

Still Connor was standing there. Watching Hank put the roses in the vase, mixing them with the leftover flowers from the last bouquet. Weeding out the dead ones and clipping the live ones. Caring for them as he let the flowers breathe in the water. They’d soak up the sun on the farthest corner of his desk.

How long had Connor beed standing here?

“You alright, Connor?” Now Hank was looking at him. Not angry. Not even confused. Just looking. As if waiting for him to say something.

“I…”

I want you too.

He wanted to tell Hank. He should tell him. He should tell him everything—that the nights on the bench and the nights on the couch, those times when Hank came over Connor’s apartment with a DVD. Ancient technology, but something that Hank had a lot of. Something for them to watch. Connor loved all of that. He loved being at Hank’s side and helping him—his objectives now revolved almost entirely around Hank. And Connor wanted them that way. He wanted Hank in his life and he wanted…he wanted…

What? What else was there?

…Romance?

Connor looked at the flowers on Hank’s desk and was lost. He had no idea what it meant to be in a romantic relationship. Other than sex and physical touching, of which Connor knew very little as well. Overall, he had no idea what he could expect from Hank should they enter into a relationship like that. This note, these gifts…they were beyond Connor, in a way. He hadn’t thought to give them and he probably never would have.

And now. Well. Hank already read the letter. So.

It was too late.

Swallowing his regret and bewilderment, Connor forced himself into a seat. “…Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. It was never nothing. Did people always say ‘nothing’ when they meant the opposite? Now Connor was doing it too.

“Huh.” Hank was still staring at him. Unconvinced.

“What did the note say?” Connor asked emotionlessly. Hank didn’t know he’d read it already. Connor wouldn’t admit to doing it if he didn’t have to.

“The person wants to meet,” Hank explained. “The one who sent all this stuff. Sounds kind of like a date.”

A date. Connor ran an internet search even though he didn’t have to. He knew what a date was.

Holding hands. Conversation. An enjoyable, shared experience. Kissing.

Liquid, fiery cold something ran through Connor again. He wanted to go on a date with Hank. Didn’t he? They already had! More or less. They’d been alone and talked about personal mattes. Confidential things. Life and feelings. There’d never been any kissing or touching, but…once, Hank put his hand on Connor’s shoulder for a long time. If Connor recalled the memory he could still feel it there.

That was a date, right?

…That wasn’t a date. No. Meeting at coffee shops at a specific time agreed upon in advance, with gifts beforehand, that was a date. Connor had never been on a date.

“Are you going to go?” Connor asked, unsure why. The slick rage/fear feeling was only getting worse. “On the…date?”

Hank sucked on his top lip. “Who knows.”

Mostly likely, yes. “I see.” Connor turned back to his computer, pretending that his hands weren’t shuddering every ten seconds.

“Heh, a date. Can’t explain it for shit,” Hank said, shrugging his shoulders in that overwhelmed, put-upon way he had. He passed a hand over his face as if it were all too much.

Even so. The flowers were put in a vase with water. Kept on the desk. Tended to. Cared for with Hank’s own fingers.

And there was a certain kind of levity on his face. Not a smile per se, but. Lightness. Hank walked a little straighter the rest of the day.

Finally, Connor’s database was able to put a word to the feeling inside of him.

Jealousy.

And here's the link on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/15963296

^___________^ <3 <3

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

PROMPT POST 1

Re: Fill: Pining, jealous Connor

op here

Re: Fill: Pining, jealous Connor

Fill: Pining, jealous Connor (pt 3)

Re: Fill: Pining, jealous Connor (ao3 link)