Origninal Over Fakes (Connor X Reader)

Chapter 7

Connor's POV

Laying (y/n) down on her bed, I tuck her in despite the protests of being a grown woman. There is a light blush across her cheeks, looking adorable.

What has she done to me? I feel like she has been causing glitches in my system and malfunctions in my biocomponents. 

She snuggles into the pillow, turned to face me.

"Thank you again, Connor," she softly tells me, closing her eyes.

It seems like my pump is still racing. Taking a seat, I glance around the room noticing the broken glass. I clean it up, disposing of the shards before returning to her side. I take a seat on a chair, glancing over to her.

I don't know why, but seeing her hand, I grasp it. Her small hands. . . Pulling my synthetic skin back, I feel more sensitive, feeling how soft her hands are. There is a small squeeze, making thirium rushing through my face. Seeing her turn, my program can't think clearly-- panicking. Can she feel my hand? Does she not like it?

Feeling fingers laced themselves around mine, I smile a bit. There is another light squeeze before her hand relaxes. Is it uncomfortable for her arm to be back like that?

I think my questions can wait. Something tells me that I should ask (y/n) and not Amanda. Do I trust her more? My program usually tells me that I should ask Amanda, but now all that I can think of is to ask the young lady.

Closing my eyes, my system shuts down to hibernate.

I wake up, feeling a strange warm sensation through my hand. It. . . It pleases me to see (y/n) playing with my hand. Her thumb runs the back before shifting her position to lace our fingers together. A light squeeze and after? Her hand moves to hold mine with thumbs caressing my knuckles. She still seems asleep-- vitals in a relaxed state.

She looks. . . (Y/n) looks pretty-- perfect like an Android is designed to be.

When she squeezes my hand, I reciprocate the gesture. It makes a small smile form on her angelic face. Her eyes squeeze tightly before fluttering open.

"Good morning," I greet her.

"Good morning Connor." Her voice in the morning. . . It sounds. . . Nice? Perhaps pleasant? I wouldn't. . . Mind waking up each day hearing her speak like that.

A daze smile reaches her lips as she sits up, stretching. I can tell that she's thinking of something when she glances the window but quickly dismisses it.

"It's already nine?" She questions, getting out of bed. "I was supposed to go to the station for eight." (Y/n) rushes to grab her clothes and heads to the washroom.

When she's gone, I stare at my hand, the synthetic skin returning. Did I develop something for (Y/n)?

Standing, make my way to the kitchen to make her breakfast.

I find that I've been thinking a lot about (y/n) recently. I have other things that I need to pay attention to but then it's like she overrides my system.

"Wow, you didn't have to go through the trouble." Looking up, (y/n) is straightening up her clothes. "But thank you."

I feel like that smile is worth the so-called trouble. "You're welcome."

There is a smile on her face as she leans against the counter, picking up the fork. As she eats, I notice that her eyes flicker to me before looking away. That soft smile doesn't leave her face but. . . It's pleasing to see?

I feel like it's stronger than that.

"You're thinking very hard about something." Blinking, I realize that she is washing the dishes. "Want to talk about it? Or. . . Should I let you be?"