The Finale Of How About A Nuke Will Be Posted Today!! I Know It’s Pretty Soon After The Last Chapter

𖤓 - completed series

ʚɞ - smut

જ⁀➴ - personal favorite

✬ - series

𝕯 - dark

ׂ╰┈➤ HOUSE OF WAX

ೃ⁀➷ Bo Sinclair

bad day - part two 𝕯

one more spring 𝕯

ೃ⁀➷ Vincent Sinclair

bad day - part two 𝕯

ׂ╰┈➤ SCREAM

ೃ⁀➷ Billy Loomis

wicked influence 𝕯

ೃ⁀➷ Stu Macher

wicked influence 𝕯

the boy next door જ⁀➴

𝙴𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 - 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚊𝚍 𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

A/N: Ah, we've finally arrived. The last stop on this journey. I honestly thought I would feel more relieved saying goodbye to these two but it's a little bittersweet. Arthur is such an important character to me and one I've always held close to my heart. Being able to write this series for him is definitely one of my prouder moments as a fanfiction author. Thank you all for staying along for the ride and all of the love and support you've given me 🫶

Hell Hath No Fury Series (complete)

Summary: The past is behind you, all you have to do now is choose which path you'll follow.

The door before you is covered in a fresh coat of paint. An attempt at erasing the past that almost makes you laugh. There’s no amount of polish that can scrub away the memories and lives embedded in its frame. This estate, once pristine, holds no warmth for you, only the echoes of a childhood so distant you struggle to remember it. 

Still, you know there were moments, brief fleeting moments of happiness before you knew better. Before you understood that love only had a place when it was currency, when it was useful, before you learned that you were just another debt to be collected. 

The door creaks open, and a pair of green eyes scrutinizes you from within. “Mrs. Rowe?” The maid’s timid voice asks hesitantly. 

You don’t know her name, after a while, they all blurred together. Each of them became the same spineless, faceless shadows that bent to your mother’s every whim. You consider correcting her, telling her to call you by your maiden name, but the thought goes sour in your mouth. That name was your father’s, and he had owned you just as much as your husband. 

“Please,” you lift your chin, eyes narrowing at her, “I’m not Mrs. Rowe any longer,” you tell her curtly. 

The maid frowns and the door opens a tad wider. Her nose wrinkles in distaste, but she says nothing, not bold enough to speak out against you. Instead, she bows her head and steps aside, holding the door open to you. 

The scent of overpriced cigars and aged whiskey is thick in the air. Breathing in is like being thrown right back to days of racing through these halls, avoiding your mother’s scoldings and your father’s plotting. You almost feel the twitch of a smile as you peer up the banister of the stairs, where you know your old room is. 

The house remains unchanged, the same ornate rugs swallow your footsteps as you follow the maid down the hall. Chandeliers drip with excess in a way that you always thought was gaudy but your mother claimed show class. 

The maid stops in front of a familiar oak door, bowing her head once more before rushing off like a frightened mouse. Behind it, he’s waiting for you. 

You push the knob down and step inside, your father sits at his desk, posture relaxed as if he were expecting you. A half-empty glass of bourbon rests in his hand, swirling it lazily as he watches you approach. You notice grays in his hair that you’d never seen before, signs of age, and the truth that even money can’t stop the relentless passage of time. 

The lines around his face are deeper than you remember, but his eyes, still sharp and calculating, assessing you for your worth, haven’t changed at all. 

“When I received word from my daughter after nearly a year of believing her to be dead, I certainly hadn’t thought you would have become an outlaw.” You don’t take a seat and don’t say a word. Standing a few feet back from his desk, you keep your face carefully blank. “Van der Linde gang, wasn’t it?”

You don’t bite and ask how he knows, demand for him to tell you how he’s keeping track of you. It’s better to know less about your father’s reach and influence. Besides, little tricks like this haven’t scared you since you were a child. 

He waits for you to speak, huffing out a forced laugh when you don’t. “Finally returned back to me. I can only assume you want something.” He sets his glass down on his desk and leans back in his ornate leather chair. “I presume it has something to do with that outlaw lover of yours?”

Hands clenching reflexively around your purse and the revolver inside, your jaw clenches, the first tell you’ve given him. His lips curl, something cruel dancing behind his eyes. “If you hadn’t already been tainted by that useless husband of yours, I might just keep you here. Sell you to the next highest bidder.”

You don’t flinch and give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But you know he means every word. If you actually still held value or standing in society, he wouldn’t hesitate to put you back under lock and key, using any means necessary to cage you. 

“You can try,” you say smoothly, tilting your head ever so slightly. “But that worthless husband you picked out for me has left me as quite the undesirable.”

Something flickers across his face, amusement, maybe even appreciation for the bite in your tone. That’s the game he plays. He has no tolerance for disobedience and no respect for someone who doesn’t fight back. Perpetually dissatisfied. 

He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking over you. “What do you want, little bird?”

You take your time answering, stepping closer to the desk, glancing over the neatly stacked ledgers and letters. An old pen rests beside his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice the black ink staining his shirt sleeve. 

“I want Arthur Morgan and the others who escaped with him left alone,” you say, voice even. “The Pinkertons, Cornwall. Every last hunter that’s sniffing after them. I want them called off.”

He raises a brow, lips curling slightly at the corners. “What makes you think I have that sort of influence?”

Your lashes flutter innocently and a demure smile flits across your face. “I know about the deal you made last spring,” you tell him, watching as his face tightens with recognition. “The one that ended with all of those men floating face down in the bayou. You’re the one who taught me to be seen and not heard, father. I just learned to listen.” You let the weight of your words sink in, watching as something like a warning crosses his face. You lean against the edge of the desk, voice dropping to a whisper, “You’ll find the power, and you’ll get me what I want.”

A slow smirk tugs at his lips and you draw back. “I always knew you were observant, listening in when I should have stopped you. Call it fatherly indulgence, but I didn’t think it would turn you into someone so conniving. I could almost say I’m proud if you weren’t such a disgrace to the family.”

Fists clenching by your side, you bite your lip and keep yourself quiet. It’s a waiting game, drawing the prey in to get what you want. 

He drums his fingers against the wood, considering. Then, finally, he sighs, reaching for his bourbon. “Fine. The Pinkertons and Cornwall will lose interest in what's left of your little gang.” He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass. “But Dutch Van der Linde? The ones who followed him? I’m not lifting a finger for them.”

“Good, I wasn’t asking you to.”

That earns you a short, sharp laugh. “Cutthroat, I suppose becoming an outlaw finally gave you a spine. If only you discovered it sooner, it would have been much more entertaining to break you as a child.” 

You swallow hard, taking another step back from him before you feel the urge to put a bullet between his eyes. “What else?” He presses, setting his drink down. “I assume you didn’t come all this way just for that.”

“I need a few high-profile bounty hunting jobs- on paper.”

He arches a brow, “For Morgan?”

You shrug, not willing to give away more than you have to. “For a friend.”

Understanding dawns over his face, followed quickly by an all too familiar smirk. “The sheriffs won’t let a woman collect their bounties, is that it?” You don’t dignify him with a response and he hums, tapping his fingers against the desk as he thinks. “Done.”

Relief unfurls in your chest but you don’t give it away. Nodding, you turn away, but his voice stops you at the door. “You’re a fool for choosing this life,” he tells you, tone light but laced with something darker. “You could have had everything.”

You look over your shoulder, barely meeting his eye. “We have different definitions of what that means,” you tell him simply, “I’d rather be free than a miserable miser like you.” His jaw snaps shut, eyes going cold, and you walk out the door, leaving him behind. 

Arthur leaves Diablo to roam in the valley beside the cabin. When he’d gotten up this morning you were already gone, Lady nowhere to be found. He tried not to worry, he knows by now you’re smart enough to handle yourself. But there’s a lot of people who want to hurt you both right now. Not just the bounty hunters and the Pinkertons, but this land is infested with the Murfree brood. 

Coming back from his hunt now, he can already see Lady trotting up to Diablo, and there on the porch, you sit. Your back is to him as he approaches, fingers tight around a letter in your hand. He vaguely recognizes the handwriting, but not enough to identify the author. 

“Hey,” he mutters, taking a seat on the stoop beside you. You glance up at him, folding the letter away and smiling. “What’s that?” He asks, nodding toward the papers now tucked away. 

Your smile shifts into something a little sadder and you glance out toward the water. “Charles finally wrote me back,” there’s a tone to your voice he can’t recognize, it’s bittersweet. “I think it might be the last letter I receive from him. He has plans to move to Canada. To start,” you hesitate before smiling fondly, “he’s going to start a family.”

Sucking in a deep breath you shrug and look toward him. “How was your ride?”

“Fine,” he dismisses quickly. “Where’d you go this mornin’?”

Your face morphs into something careful, guarded. “I had some business in the city,” he knows you don’t want him to press you further. It’s clear that whatever you were dealing with was something personal. As much as he worries about you, he won’t press, even if the curiosity is gnawing at him.

“You know it’s risky to go out on your own right now.”

You smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Trust me, I won’t be taking any more risks.” 

The room is quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing beside him. Arthur lays on his back, eyes glued to the ceiling as his fingers drum a restless beat against his stomach. Moonlight spills through the window, illuminating the cabin with a soft silver glow. 

Sleep has been harder and harder to find. It’s never come easy before, but he’d hoped it might be different now. He’s spent too many years with one eye open, waiting for a knife in the dark or gunfire to crack through the night. Even now, with no enemies nearby, no barking orders, and no campfire flickering just out of reach, his body refuses to believe he’s safe. 

He supposes he isn’t. The Pinkertons will still be after him, he figures he’s probably got a hefty bounty on his head. Large enough for the more reckless hunters to go after him. Sometimes he thinks Dutch might even be out there, seething over Arthur’s betrayal, waiting to find him again. 

Arthur sits up in bed, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. He reaches for the sketchbook resting on the nightstand beside him and flips it open. A piece of charcoal is already wedged between the worn pages and falls into his open palm as he settles against the headboard. Idly, he lets his hand start drawing a far too familiar form. 

The curve of your jaw, the way your hair spills across your pillow, he barely has to look at you to draw it now. Still, he finds his eyes drawn toward your sleeping form, taking in the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. You shift, mumbling something incoherent, and sling your arm over his waist. 

Arthur huffs out a quiet laugh, the warmth of your touch grounding in a way. He runs his hand along your arm, lacing your fingers together as you shift even closer to him. There’s not long to savor the moment before a loud whooping laugh shatters the silence outside. 

His hand stills its idle sketching, body going rigid like a hunting dog who’s found his mark. He sits up straighter, ears straining to hear the night outside the cabin walls. The grating laughter moves closer, faster, and louder than he’s comfortable with. 

He hears the distant sound of a bottle shattering and a sharp crack echoing through the night. Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed, muscles tense, and catches the flickering glow of fire through the window. It almost sounds as if the horses are screaming in their pen. 

He’s on his feet in an instant, rushing to the door and grabbing the rifle resting along the wall. You shoot up in bed, blinking the sleep out of your eyes, and watch him throw the door open. “Arthur?” You call out, voice thick with sleep but growing more alert. 

“Stay low,” he warns you briefly, already moving through the door. 

Heat licks at his skin as he steps outside. Wildflowers near the fence are ablaze, the flames stretching dangerously close to the horses’ pen. Lady and Diablo run around wildly, bucking at nothing as the fire stretches closer. 

A group of men holler in the distance, growing closer as they circle around the property like wolves. Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, aiming the rifle at the closest one. Murfree boys, he should have known. 

“Should’ve never come on our land!” One of them shouts, lifting another fire bottle, his match dangerously close to the fabric inside. Arthur doesn’t hesitate as he pulls the trigger, the boy and the bottle falling harmlessly to the ground as he slides off his saddle. 

You rush past him, paying no heed to the men with their guns pointed at you. He tries to snatch your arm, but you’ve got a bucket of water in your hands and you’re trying to put the fire out. He sees the way you glance worriedly toward Lady as the flames consume more of the dry grass around you. 

There’s a moment of stillness, the men stop moving and simply stare at Arthur. “He killed Mitch!” One of them shouts, the rest shouting something incomprehensible in rage. Gunfire erupts and Arthur curses, grabbing you and ducking behind the wall of the cabin. Arthur peers around the side and takes another shot before he ducks back into cover, reloading the rifle. 

There aren’t many of them, and they aren’t good shots. But he’s worried about the fire, not the fools shooting at him. The fight doesn’t last long, a few more well-placed bullets and the last of the Murfree boys fall. The only sounds left are the frantic whinnies of the horses and the sound of water sizzling against flames. 

He grabs another bucket and dips it into the lake, stomping out dying embers and putting to rest the remaining fire. When it’s finally out, you slump against him, chest heaving. His heart is still pounding in his ears, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. 

“They’ll come back,” you mutter against his chest, voice quiet but sure. 

Arthur swallows, watching the darkened tree line. They’re not known for letting go of grudges or forgiving the killing of one of their own. “I know,” he tells you, arm wrapping around you and pulling you close. His mind is already made up, he’s taking you somewhere else. And soon. 

The wagon rocks slightly to the side as Arthur directs the horses over a small rock and you reach eagerly for the reigns. “Let me drive,” you demand, the same way he’s been listening to you do the whole ride. 

Arthur snorts, shaking his head and tightening his grip. “Not a chance.”

You lean back on the bench, crossing your arms with a slightly amused tilt to your lips. “Oh, come on,” you admonish, “you act like I’m a bad driver.”

He gives you a flat look, thinking back to the cougar that nearly had you running the wagon off the side of a mountain. “You are a bad driver.”

“Yeah?” You taunt, something challenging in the way you narrow your eyes at him. “Who was it that broke the wheel clean off the last wagon?”

Arthur refuses to make eye contact with you, steering the horses around a rut in the dirt path. He shrugs, “That was different.”

You scoff incredulously, shoving at his shoulder. “How?”  

Arthur shrugs, “That was Dutch’s wagon.”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head and leaning against his shoulder. “So? That makes it a bad wagon?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it makes it bad, I’m just sayin’ it don’t count.” You roll your eyes but he sees the fondness in your expression as you sit back. He knows you’re letting him win, you could argue with him for hours, running circles around him. Even though you are a bad driver. 

The thick line of trees lining the road slowly thins and opens up. A field of purple wildflowers stretching toward the horizon lay before you. A small stream glimmers under the light of the late afternoon sun and winds its way through. In the distance, at the end of the small trail, he can see John, Abigail, and Jack waiting for the both of you. 

Arthur makes his way up the rest of the off-road trail, nose already wrinkling in distaste at the spot John has chosen for him. He pulls the wagon to a stop and rounds the side, offering you his hand. You roll your eyes at the gesture, smiling playfully and letting him help you down even though you both know it’s unnecessary. 

Arthur adjusts his hat, leveling John with a skeptical look. “You sure this is gonna work?”

John exhales sharply, leveling Arthur with a flat look. He steps forward, holding out Arthur’s cut from what he stole from Dutch. “Why’re you always doubtin’ me?”

Arthur takes the money and crosses his arms, shrugging, “‘Cause most of the time, you’re doin’ somethin’ worth doubtin’.” Abigail makes a noise of agreement, cutting John a sharp glare. You shift uncomfortably beside him and he lets out a sigh. 

He’s never more grateful for you than when he watches John and Abigail interact. That woman wouldn’t be happy with him if he did do everything she asked him to, although he most definitely does not. She’s never going to trust that he can fully integrate into a normal life or make something of himself. Having someone behind you, always doubting you, always judging you, it would drive Arthur insane. 

As much as you’ve gotten angry with him over the stupid choices he makes, you’ve always trusted him. He’s given you plenty of reason to doubt him, and still, you stand beside him. Even when he told you he had some half-baked plan to start a ranch on some cheap land Marston found for him, you followed him. And you trusted him when he told you he could take care of you. There’s no constant scrutinization of the man he used to be. 

He lets Abigail and John bicker, looping his arm over your shoulder and leading you around them so you can get a good look at the land you’re about to be living on. You squeeze his hand, smiling up at him, and Arthur feels some of the weight on his shoulders ease. 

The fire crackles softly outside the tent, casting a flickering light against the canvas walls. This tent is bigger than the one he’d had in camp, more spacious, and with wooden poles to hold it up. It has to be better until the actual house can be built, it’s what you’ll be living in for a long while. 

You sit beside him on the cot, sewing up a hole in one of your pants while he looks through the plans for the house. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle drifts through the open flap along with the sound of the creatures in the forest beyond. 

“I went to St. Denis,” you tell him, and somehow, he knows you mean the morning you disappeared. 

Arthur’s expression pinches, he looks up from the paper, taking in the way your face is illuminated by the dim light. “Why?” He demands, frustration creeping around the edges of his tone. It’s one thing to have gone out on your own, it’s even worse that you went to a place swarming with Pinkertons and cops. 

 “I went to see my father,” you tell him, voice calm despite his tension. You place your sewing to the side and shift closer to him. “The Pinkertons, the bounty hunters,” you pause, eyes roaming over his face to gauge his reaction. “They’ll be leaving us alone now, all of them.”

Arthur rubs a hand down his face, biting back the urge to say something smart. It’s not as simple as that. Whatever you’ve done, whatever favor you’ve called on, men like your father don’t just let things go. He feels like he should be angry. Hell, a part of him is mad that you put yourself at risk. 

But he sees the quiet determination on your face. You reached into your past, took the pieces that could be used against you, and turned it into something that could finally give you both a true clean slate. Arthur exhales, shaking his head. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips and he reaches forward, tugging you closer to him. “A whole new life, huh?”

You smile at him, leaning in until your lips are nearly brushing against his. “Yeah,” you whisper, “A whole new life.” Arthur leans forward, lips catching yours as he tugs you onto his lap. Maybe you acted a bit like a fool, but he can’t blame you. He would have done the same thing if it meant another chance with you. 

A few years later

The morning air is crisp, as always it carries with it the distant scent of the animals around the ranch, and poppies and lilies. Boots creak softly against the wooden planks of the porch as you step outside, pausing for a moment to take in the sight before you. 

Arthur sits in his rocking chair, the slow, steady rhythm of its movements in time with his easy breaths. His gaze remains fixed on the pasture, watching as the horses move lazily through the field, the cattle grazing beyond them. The sun is already high in the sky, warming the porch under your feet. Its golden light spills across the land, lighting up the stream beyond. Every morning, he watches it rise. 

You move toward your chair beside him, settling into the familiar seat. He doesn’t look away from the horizon, but his hand finds yours, calloused fingers warm against your skin. His thumb drags slow circles over the back of your hand, a quiet steady reassurance. 

Neither of you speak as there’s nothing to be said. No threats hang over your heads. No weight presses against your shoulders. 

There is only this. The soft rustle of the grass in the breeze, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the gentle creaking of the rocking chair. And the two of you, the outlaw and the lady. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris @soupvender00 @warmsideofthepillow03

@whimsiwitchy @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @martinys-world

I have so many different fandoms I want to write for. There are years of main character syndrome and high school obsessions built up in my head.

Like the outsiders, HotD, GoT, The Boys, Narnia, about a hundred different small fandom video games like fable and bioshock. I need a button to press where I can just get all the fics out in one go.

(this is an encouragement for requests and convo btw)

I love u and ur writing!! I adore how you write flux maybe because i resonate with her so much and i've never felt more seen with the way you write her 🥹. I hope you get everything what you want in life because you deserve it and so much more 💖🫶🏻

I'm so glad you can relate to her as well. I try to keep Y/N characters relatively faceless/no physically identifying characteristics. But a lot of them times I project my own problems on to them as a way to regulate what I'm feeling and cope. Knowing that others can still relate to her means a lot to me and I'm glad you feel seen.

That's one improtant thing to me. This writing isn't just for me and my own betterment. I want someone to read what I write and have their day be a little bit better. Even if it's just one person, it means the world to me.

I hope you get everything you want in life as well. You're so sweet ily so much! 💞

It happened again

Had my first shift at my new job today

Manager is already trying to overschedule me

and an old man grabbed my arm in the creepiest way possible - he squeezed it, that's not necessary 😭

hoping to have something posted for you guys tomorrow

Broken Machinery

Pt. 7 (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: We’re nearly at the end, if you’ve stayed this long, thank you so much, this being my first fan fiction, these characters mean a lot to me.

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), Elijah Kamski and his greasy man-pony, Hank’s insult towards Perkins (that scene still makes me laugh), 

Word Count: 5.3k

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

You and Hank were standing side-by-side in the snow. It was the closest Connor had ever seen either of you, Hank’s phone was outstretched between you both while you leaned in to hear whoever was on the other side. 

Connor got out of the car and made his way over to you both. Your face was pale as you leaned against the car, disbelief streaking across your features. “Is everything okay?”

Stress levels were high for the both of you, Connor could only assume that whoever had been on the other side of that call hadn’t brought you good news. 

When it was clear you weren’t going to talk, Hank did, “Chris was on patrol last night. He was attacked by a bunch of deviants-”

“It was a peaceful protest,” you were glaring at Hank, you seemed more angry than concerned. 

“Well Chris was almost shot! Doesn’t sound very fucking peaceful to me!”

You scoffed and kicked off the car, “They shot first, and the deviants spared them. It sounds like the androids showed more humanity than the fucking humans did.”

“Chris just became a father, you want to be the one to tell his daughter that her daddy died so some robots-“

“That’s the thing, Hank, he didn’t die! They didn’t kill him, they spared him, have you ever taken your head out of your ass long enough to ask yourself if you’re on the right side of this war?” You gave Connor a long look before you started your way to Kamski’s house. 

Hank shook his head and kicked at the snow. “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

“Judging off your diet and exercise habits, I’d say a heart attack is the most likely cause of death.” 

Hank slowly turned towards Connor, murder in his glare, “The fuck, Connor?”

“Are you coming?” You were already at the door, waiting for them both. 

“Yeah, yeah, just having all my life choices judged by a fucking android.”

Connor ignored Hank’s anger, as he’s gotten used to doing and focuses on a strange feeling in his core component. It felt twitchy, wrong. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

It was too late, you’d already rung the doorbell and the door had already been opened. An RT600 was standing there, hair up in a pony and barefoot on the carpet. “Hi,” this was the most polite Connor had seen Hank. “I’m, er, Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police Department, I’m here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski.”

The android's face warmed immediately, “Please, come in.” You entered first, clearly eager to be out of the cold. “I’ll let Elijah know you’re here. But please, make yourself comfortable.” 

You took a look around the room at the art before throwing yourself down in a chair. “He’s so rich he has his own waiting room,” you scoffed and picked at the arm of the chair. Hank sat down in the chair next to yours, arms crossed and waiting. 

You turned slightly so you didn’t have to face him. 

Hank did the same. 

You both were behaving like children. Connor sometimes wished he had more mature humans. “Nice girl,” the comment seemed out of place for someone like the Lieutenant, who despised androids so much. 

“You’re right she’s really pretty,” and she was, but Connor found your features more appealing. He probably should have voiced the second part of his thought out loud because your stress level spiked immediately after his comment. 

“Gavin asked me out,” it was incredibly out of place in the conversation, but you were looking at Hank, not Connor. “Said he wanted to apologize for how much of a dick he had been lately.” Connor found his motivations suspicious, even when you two were arguing Gavin was highly aroused by your presence. 

“So he thinks schmoozing you with some cheap wine and a crappy Italian restaurant is gonna do that?”

You laughed and the previous irritation from your comment left Connor, slightly. What was this strange tight feeling in his chest?

“Jesus, how’d you know?”

“Please, I’ve been at this a lot longer than Reed has. I know all the moves.” 

You fake gagged and covered your ears, “I do not want to know about your ‘moves.’”

“Come on, you don’t want to hear how your old man used to be a lady killer?” There was an awkward stutter in his voice when he said ‘your old man,’ but Hank continued on. 

You were staring at Hank, heart beating faster and your eyes widened. You only allowed a moment to lull in between his sentence and yours. “Awkwardly calling the barista sweetheart, does not count as being a lady killer.” Your and Hank’s laughter filled the room after your comment, both of you smiling more than he had ever seen before. 

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

Connor stopped in front of the portrait of Elijah Kamski, his creator. The laughter had stopped a few minutes ago, the tension from outside trailing off with it. You didn’t know why you had gotten so angry at Hank out at the car. 

Maybe you were still a little emotionally frail, after telling Connor everything that had happened between you and Hank, the other night. You hadn’t been able to go back to sleep so he had offered to hold you and tell you a story, apparently he had thousands on file. 

It was nice listening to his voice all night, you didn’t even feel that tired after not getting any sleep. 

“How’s it feel, to be meeting your creator, Connor?”

“Kamski is one of the great geniuses of the 21st century. It’ll be interesting to meet him in person.”

The light aura surrounding the three of you left at Hank’s voice, “Sometimes I wish I could meet my creator face to face, I’d have a couple of things I’d wanna tell him.”

You’re not the only one.

Why had, whatever omnipotent presence watched over you, chosen to make you the way they had? Why give you trial after trial of hardship? Was it all to prepare you for moments like when you lost your legs, or Cole? Why even make you go through that in the first place?

Yes, you did come out stronger and more resilient. But you also became colder, lonelier, sadder than you had ever been before. You couldn’t open up to people, you couldn’t love people the right way. 

You’d rather put all your feelings into a machine rather than a human, because that would be easier. An android could never love you, and therefore never disappoint you. Your hopes would never be crushed under Connor’s feet because you had none. 

The girl chose the middle of your emotional crisis to call you back into another room. “Elijah will see you now.”

Two more RT600’s were talking together by the pool. Elijah was still swimming laps, you called out to him in case he hadn’t heard you come in. “Mister Kamski?”

“Just a moment, please.” Of course, rich bastards like him always had to flout their superiority over the lower class. You called us in here, asshole.

The RT600’s watched you carefully as you rounded the pool and waited for him by a set of chairs. Ew, is that a speedo? He took the robe from Chloe and wrapped his hair up in a pony. Double douche points. 

Hank seemed to be thinking the same thing, if his judgmental side-eye was anything to go by. 

Why were you even here?

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson, this is detective Y/L/N, and Connor.”

“What can I do for you, officers?”

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants, thought you might be the best person to ask about them,” Elijah gave you a look that reminded you a little too much of Gavin. 

“We know you left CyberLife years ago but I was hoping you’d be able to tell us something we don't know.” Elijah didn’t seem to be interested in what Hank had to say, he was more curious about Connor. 

“Deviants,” he started, “fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will. Machines are so superior to us, confrontation was inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall.” Jeehzus, this dude loves the sound of his own voice. “Isn't it ironic?”

Connor finally spoke up, he seemed to be the only one out of the three of you that really held Elijah’s eye.

His creator was… underwhelming. He didn’t seem much like a genius, more of a narcissist with enough money to feed all of Detroit. He also didn’t seem very concerned with the state of the world right now. 

“If a war breaks out between humans and deviants, millions could die, Mr. Kamski. It’s quite a serious matter.” He didn’t appreciate how flippant Elijah was being. 

“All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics. Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?” It certainly wasn’t good. 

“Listen, I didn’t come here to talk philosophy. The machines you created may be planning a revolution-”

You cut Hank off, “Peaceful, it still remains a peaceful revolution.”

Hank shoots you a look that keeps you quiet and he continues. “Either you can tell us something that’ll be helpful, or we will be on our way.”

Elijah was looking at you now, “Tell me, detective, do you empathize with the deviants?”

You straightened at his attention and held a defensive look on your features. “They haven’t hurt anyone, so far they’re the only ones being hurt. All I think is that perhaps people are twisting this story into something more evil than it is.”

Connor thought you were thinking with too much emotion, not enough logic. Androids didn’t get to disobey, they had one purpose and they carried it out, that’s all. 

The thought came unbidden and took him by surprise, that didn’t sound like his own thoughts. That seemed like something his programming was forcing onto him. 

Elijah nodded, “Empathy, it’s a tricky thing, give too much and it might hurt you, too little and it hurts others. What about you, Connor? Whose side are you on?”

Whose side was he on?

Connor looked to you, he wanted you safe. 

“I’m on the human’s side, of course.” You were shaking your head beside him. He thought you would be happy, why were you so difficult to read? 

“Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say, but you,” Elijah stepped closer and both you and the Lieutenant leaned in.

What did you humans want from him?

“What do you really want?”

“Im sorry, but I don’t see what you’re getting at,” he was sick of this. Break his programming, follow his orders. No one was being clear with what he was supposed to do and it was messing with his software. 

“Chloe?” The RT600 walked over, “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing test. Mere formality, simple questions of algorithms and computing capacity. What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy. I call it ‘the Kamski test,’ it’s very simple, you’ll see.” He faced the android, his hand trailing over her face and shoulders in a strange caress, and from the way your face was scrunching Connor could tell you felt uncomfortable by the display. 

“Magnificent, isn’t she? One of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife. Young and beautiful forever.” He released her face with a slight push and she looked right at Connor, staring deep into his eyes, he straightened his tie.

“Piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being,” Elijah bent down and pulled something out of the drawer between the two chairs. “With a soul,” he turned around hands in the air, and in one was a gun. He walked over to Connor and handed it to him, handle first, “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor.” He gently pushed Chloe into a kneeling position. He took Connor’s hand in his own and pointed the gun at the center of the androids forehead. 

“Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you all I know. Or spare it, if you feel it’s alive, but you’ll leave here without having learnt anything from me.”

“Okay, I think we’re done here.”

You followed after Hank, “Come on, Connor. Let’s go.” 

Hank waved at Kamski, “Sorry to get you outta your pool,” you both we’re ready to leave, waiting for him. But he was stuck, gun in hand, staring at Chloe. 

“What’s more important to you, Connor? Your investigation, or the life of this android? Decide who you are. An obedient machine… Or a living being endowed with free will…”

Hank was insistent on leaving, “That’s enough! Connor, we’re leaving.” But you, you were just watching him, staring at him with equal amounts of curiosity and apprehension, waiting to see what he would choose. 

“Pull the trigger.”

“Connor, don’t!”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know.” 

Two conflicting orders, Connor wasn’t sure what to do. He was lost, his LED circling a steady yellow as he battled between the two orders, he looked to you. 

It all stilled, he couldn’t hear Elijah or Hank, he couldn’t feel the gun in his hand. You were just standing there, waiting for him. “It’s your choice, Connor.”

He looked down into Chloe’s eyes, his finger on the trigger, but he stopped. There was something there, she was innocent in all of this, she had no say in what was happening. There was something in her eyes that reminded him too much of you. 

He handed the gun back to Kamski. “Fascinating. CyberLife’s last chance to save humanity… is itself a deviant.”

“I’m…” what? What was he? “I'm not a deviant.” Did he actually want to say that? Or was that just another program he was forced to follow?

“You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission.” He helped Chloe up to her feet with a care that wasn’t there when he had shoved the gun into Connor’s hand. “You saw a living being in this android. You showed empathy. A war is coming, you’ll have to choose your side. Will you betray your own people or stand up against your creators? What could be worse than having to choose between two evils?” 

Hank had wrapped an arm around you and was now wrapping one around Connor’s shoulders. “Let’s get outta here.” 

The three of you were at the door when Kamski spoke again, “By the way, I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know…”

He could feel the two of you watching him as he walked back towards the car. “Why didn’t you shoot?” Hank’s question caused him to think back to what he saw in Chloe’s eyes.

“I just saw that girl's eyes… and I couldn’t… that’s all.” Connor wasn’t sure if it was wise to tell you the exact reason he couldn’t, to tell you he saw you inside of her. Saw another version of himself leaving you behind to die on the rooftop. 

But you wouldn’t let up, “You’re always saying you would do anything to accomplish your mission. That was our chance to learn something and you let it go…” You and Hank were sharing another one of your irritating looks. 

“Yeah, I know what I should’ve done, I told you I couldn’t. I’m sorry, okay?”

Hank looked down at him, “Maybe you did the right thing.” You gave Connor a gentle pat on the shoulder as you followed Hank back to the car. Leaving Connor to wonder:

When did he start making his own choices?

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

TALK TO AMANDA

Something blue, in the distance, caught his eye. Connor walked away from the bridge that would lead him to Amanda and instead followed after the bright blue beacon. It was something that could almost mimic a shrine, a device sat in the middle, awaiting an android handprint. When Connor moved closer, the synthetic skin of his hand pulled back. The ground shook in the distance, but nothing else happened. 

He approached Amanda on the ice, it seemed to crack beneath his feet as he went. Logically, he knew he couldn’t fall through, but he was afraid of what the instability of the zen garden meant for him. 

“After what happened today, the country is on the verge of a civil war.” The androids had led a peaceful demonstration in downtown Detroit, one that quickly turned violent when SWAT teams in raid gear had started attacking them. It was the first time androids had fought back. 

You had been raving all this morning about how the news was twisting it around to make them sound like terrorists when all it had been was self defense. 

“The machines are rising up against their masters. Humans have no choice but to destroy them.”

“I thought Kamski knew something, I was wrong.” 

“Maybe he did… But you chose not to ask.”

Connor chose not to needlessly take a life. 

But the fact that he chose at all is most likely what has Amanda staring at him so distrustfully. 

“I chose not to play his twisted little game! There was no reason to kill that android!” Kill, when did Connor start thinking that androids could feel death? “Wh- Why did Kamski leave CyberLife? What happened?” His mind went back to the RK200 model, what were they hiding from him?

“It’s an old story, Connor. It doesn’t pertain to your investigation.”

“I’m not a unique model, am I? How many Connors are there?”

“I expect you to find answers, not ask questions.” Her head tilted as she examined him. “Have you experienced anything unusual recently? Any doubts or conflicts? Do you feel anything for these deviants? Or for Lieutenant Anderson? Or perhaps, the detective. She seems to cause a lot of malfunctions in your system. Is she the cause of all this turmoil?”

“I’m beginning to have thoughts… that are not part of my program.” He didn’t care if she knew the truth, he wanted to leave. He wanted to leave her and go find you, because the sudden interest she held for you was concerning. “Maybe… Maybe I’ve been compromised too…” he didn’t wait for her to dismiss him, he left. 

“You’re off the case. The FBI is taking over.”

“What?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“But we’re onto something!” Hank approached Fowler, more impassioned than Connor had ever seen him, “We- We just need more time. I’m sure we can-”

“Hank, you don’t get it. This isn’t just another investigation, it’s a fucking civil war!”

Your arms left their crossed position, you’d left the sling behind a few days ago. “So we’re gonna leave the fate of our country, our world, in the hands of some asshole like Perkins?! Fuck that!”

“Y/N, it's out of my hands! You think I don’t understand the enormity of this situation, we’re talking about national security!”

Both you and the Lieutenant were ganging up on him now, it was causing the captain's stress levels to rise as Hank approached. “Fuck that! You can’t just pull the plug now.” It was times like these that the similarities between you and Hank truly showed, perhaps not in looks, but he had clearly had a heavy hand in forming who you are as a person. 

“We’re so close!”

“Hank, you’re always saying you can’t stand androids! Jesus, make up your mind! I thought you’d be happy about this! And Y/N, you know the deal, you finished the case and you’d be transferred, shouldn’t you be happy about that?!”

Hank turned towards you, “Transferred?” It was clear he didn’t know about your plans on leaving. You winced as you looked away from him. 

Your voice was quieter than it had been the entire time you were in the office, “Gavin, would be taking over as your partner. I couldn’t do it anymore, Hank,” you turned towards him, “I just couldn't. It hurt the way you would look at me and not even see me. So, I requested a transfer.” You turned towards Fowler, stress levels at an all time high. “But that shit doesn’t matter anymore! So much has changed, I don’t want the transfer, okay? We’re about to crack this case!”

“For God’s sake, Jefferey, can’t you back me up this one time?”

Fowler shook his head, he seemed as disappointed as the both of you. “There’s nothing I can do. You’re back on homicide. And the android,” you moved defensively in front of Connor, “is to be sent back to CyberLife.”

You scoffed, “Yeah, when I’m cold and in the ground. Fuck that and fuck you.” You stormed out of the office, the door slamming behind you, Connor wanted to follow after you and check on you. But it would be smarter to finish the rest of the meeting. 

Fowler watched you go, a sad sigh leaving him. “I’m sorry Hank, I did everything I could, but it’s over.”

Hank pushed off the desk and followed behind you. Connor nodded a quiet goodbye to the captain.

TALK TO YOUR PARTNERS

He approached the desks where you and Hank were already in a heated conversation. “-Gavin! You were gonna abandon me to fucking Gavin?”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Hank? Look, you’ve changed, for the better, during this case. You- I feel like I can see my dad coming back to me, but before… Before, I hated coming to work everyday, knowing you would be waiting there for me. Waiting to hurt me and to blame me. How would you feel seeing the only person you have left blame you for the worst night of your life?” You didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “I’ll tell you how you’d feel, hopeless and tired. I was tired, Hank, okay? But I don’t want that anymore, I want to stay your partner, Connor’s partner! I’m not letting this go!”

Hank didn’t say anything, he just stared at you for a long while before finally pulling you into a hug. It was awkward, and he seemed unsure where to put his arms. But Connor could see you squeezing him tightly against you, a desperation in your movements as it seemed all the stress you carried on your shoulders melted away. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You shook your head against Hank’s chest, holding onto him a little longer before you both finally stepped back. There was a lightness to the both of you that Connor hadn’t seen before. Hank slumped in his chair and you took a seat on the edge of Connor’s desk, he joined you there. “We’ll be talking about Gavin, later,” there was a nearly audible gulp as you nodded your head in agreement. 

Connor looked towards Fowler’s office. “We can’t just give up. I know we could have solved this case!” You were picking at your hands again in anxiety, it was instinct for Connor to slap your hands apart and intertwine your fingers. 

Hank eyed your joined hands, “We’ll be talking about that, too.” He turned towards Connor, “You’re going back to CyberLife?”

“I have no choice-”

“Connor, they’ll destroy you! I’m not letting you go back!”

He tried to give you a comforting smile, but he was starting to feel a strange pressure on his chest that stopped it from being convincing. “We don’t have a say in the matter, Y/N. I’ll be deactivated and analyzed to find out why I failed…” Your hand grew tighter around his own.

Hank leaned forward in his chair, addressing the both of you. “What if we’re on the wrong side?”

You threw your free hand up in the air, “Now he gets it.”

Hank held up a hand, “Save the attitude. What if we’re fighting against people who just wanna be free?”

Connor understood where Hank was coming from, but this war was bigger than both of them. This was the fate of millions in their hands, this was your fate, in Connor’s hands. “When the deviants rise up, there will be chaos. We could have stopped it. But now it’s too late…” 

“When you refused to kill that android at Kamski’s place… You put yourself in her shoes. You showed empathy, Connor.”

Connor shook his head, “No, I saw Y/N,” your gaze turned towards him. “I looked into her eyes and I saw someone I-” You what, loved? You can’t love, you’re an android. “I saw someone to protect.”

You nudged his shoulder with your own, “That’s empathy Connor.”

Hank continued, “Empathy’s a human emotion.”

“I know it hasn’t always been easy… but I want you to know I really appreciated working with you,” he gave you a long look. “Both of you. That’s not just my Social Relations program talking,” you laughed, “I- I really mean that. At least, I think I do.” 

The doors opened and you all turned your heads to see Perkins walk into the station.  “Well, well, here comes Perkins-”

You cut Hank off in anger, “That motherfucker.”

“Sure don’t waste any time at the FBI.”

There was a new determination in Connor, he wasn’t ready to leave you and the Lieutenant. “We can’t give up. I know the answer is in the evidence we collected. If Perkins takes it, it’s all over.” He was getting worked up at the idea of getting one over on the FBI. His hands moving around as he spoke, taking your arm with him, unwilling to let go. 

“There’s no choice! You heard Fowler, we’re off the case.” 

You smiled at Hank, an insidious smile that held nothing but mischief behind it. “Unless… You could help us, Hank. All we need is five minutes. Five minutes to look at the evidence and get out, that’s all.”

“I know the solution is in there!”

“Connor-”

“If I don’t solve this case, CyberLIfe will destroy me.” That had the both of you tightening your hands around each other. “Five minutes. It’s all I ask.”

Hank looked between the two of you, anxiety pressing down upon Connor as he waited for a response from the Lieutenant. Finally he let out a long huff, slowly standing from his chair and moving towards both you and Connor. “The key to the basement is in my drawer. Get a move on! I can’t distract them forever.”

You moved forwards quickly grabbing a key out from one of the Lieutenants unorganized drawers. The both of you jumped in surprise at Hank’s next choice words, “Perkins! You fucking cocksucker!” Your head whipped around towards Hank, Connor was dragging you away as you tried to watch Hank beat up the FBI agent. 

“Y/N, we’re on a time limit!”

“Fine! You ruin all my fun! God I really wanted to be the one to beat that slimy motherfucker up.”

You led Connor towards the Archive Room, both of you checking over your shoulders. Just as you were at the door Gavin, of all people, walked in. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he stopped at the sight of your still intertwined hands. “What the fuck is this?” You both ignored him, your hand bringing the key towards the door. “I’m talking to you! Where’re you going?” There was satisfaction in Connor at the sound of the door slamming into Gavin’s face. 

You pulled Connor down the stairs, pulling the key out again as you were faced with a glass partition. Inside a large podium was waiting for you with a password. “Hank’s password, shit, I don’t know.”

Connor moved you aside and pulled up possible options, “What would a hard-boiled eccentric police Lieutenant choose?” Connor and you shared a look, “FUCKINPASSWORD.” Connor rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

“I should have known, he uses it for everything, he’s got no sense of cyber security.” You released each other to examine each piece of evidence. Connor scanned the androids, the deviant from the rooftop with the hostage could be activated, but he wouldn’t tell him what he needed to know. The one that threw you off the roof could no longer be activated, nor Carlos Ortiz’s, it seemed the only chance he would have would be the one from the broadcasting tower. 

Connor replayed the clip from the interrogation with Carlos Ortiz’s android, The truth is inside. He looked on the wall of evidence. What was it trying to tell me? His eyes landed on the statuette next to the tablet. When he shook it, it sounded hollowed out, and like there was something inside of it. 

Inside there was a map of the Ferndale neighborhood, it was somewhere inside that area. 

He began focusing on the one android that would be useful to him, the security technician from the broadcasting tower. 

Connor instructed you on the parts to bring him while he worked on getting it repaired enough to be reactivated for longer than a minute. When it’s LED finally turned back on Connor began questioning it, unsure how long it would be working for. 

“It’s dark… Where- Where am I?” It’s optical processors must have been damaged when Connor shot it, it was staring at him from unseeing eyes.

“I’m a deviant, like you. I need your help, I want to go to Jericho.” You remained silent as you watched the two interact, going through other pieces of evidence on the wall. 

“I don’t recognize your voice. You’re not one of us. I’ll never tell you where Jericho is!” Connor sighed and reached up to deactivate the android again. 

You waited until he had done so to approach him with the tablet that contained Markus’s voice. “You can change your voice, right? Like you do in interrogations?”

He almost kissed you, maybe some humans were smart. He copied Markus’s voice, your eyes watching him in wonder. He reactivated the android, “You did good.”

“Markus?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’re going to Jericho, I just need you to tell me where it is.”

“Of course,” the android offered his arm and Connor immediately took it, searching it’s memories for locations specifically in Ferndale. 

JERICHO LOCATION FOUND

“You’re not Markus!” Connor quickly deactivated the android, he turned towards you ready to share the good news when another voice rang out. 

“I’ve been dreaming about this since the first second I saw you…”

“Pretty pathetic, Gavin, sure you don’t have a crush on him?”

“Shut up, Y/N, don’t think you’re getting out of this by batting your eyelashes like you always do.” You rolled your eyes, but Connor could see your hand discreetly making its way towards your holster. 

“Don’t do it Gavin,” Connor’s hands were raised, hopefully placating Gavin. “I know how to stop the deviants!”

“You’re off the case. And now, it’s gonna be definitive.”

Connor ducked, yanking you down with him just as Gavin took his first shot. He managed to shoot him once before Connor disarmed him. He blocked his punches, striking Gavin in the face and knocking him down to the ground. But he wouldn’t give up, it seemed the only thing Gavin was willing to put effort into was taking Connor down. He slammed him against the podium, but Gavin managed to block his punch and shoved him back to the ground. 

Gavin had just managed to scoop his gun back up, but then he crumpled down onto the ground. You were standing over him, gun in hand, the handle facing Gavin. You’d pistol whipped him. “He was a bad lay and a worse cop. I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” You quickly helped Connor to his feet.

“So… You wanna go to Jericho?”

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

I feel like I have to get over this mindset of I need likes. Aside from my Fallout stuff, the majority of what I write is for smaller fandoms. I feel like I'm getting in my own head and ruining my love for writing by basing my writings worth off of how many likes and how much attention I'm getting.

Broken Machinery

Epilogue  (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: Roses symbolize forgiveness. 

 I started this story because I thought, if I actually want to start sharing my writing maybe I should start by writing something I don’t really care about. A throwaway story, so if people don’t like it, it won’t hurt me. Ten chapters later and 43.8k (and then some) words later, here we are. I love these characters, and its actually insane how the story developed. It felt like they were telling it through me, that it was the detective and Connor writing not me. I get what fanfiction writers mean now when they say it's hard to keep ‘Y/N’ a blank slate, it’s nearly impossible to stop a unique personality from growing. 

Thanks for making it this far, and thanks for taking care of them. 

“We’ve got to get you something other than flowers.”

“I have clothes.”

You groaned in exasperation. “Yeah! Hank’s clothes, because you refuse to let me buy you any, for some weird reason.”

Connor gave you a deadpan expression, “I like my flowers.” 

You waved him off, “I know, but I want you to be able to put your own touch on the place Connor. I don’t feel like you live here, I feel like you’re couch surfing.” Connor stood up from the couch and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace. 

“I’m still figuring out what ‘my touch’ is, Y/N, just be patient with me.” You pulled away and frowned.

“I don’t mean to make you feel bad, Connor. I just want you to feel like this is home.”

Connor smiled and leaned down, pressing a quick kiss against your lips. He pulled back quickly, knowing it was too easy for the both of you to get swept up in your love. Hank would be coming over with Sumo and Carla for dinner soon, he didn’t need him walking in on you two again. The last couple of times were so embarrassing for you, you hadn’t let Connor touch you for a whole week. 

He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, he could never grow tired of staring into your eyes. “You are my home, anywhere you are, is home to me. I don’t need a bunch of stuffed animals or knick knacks to know that.” He smiled, “You were my home before I even knew what that meant.” 

Tears lined your eyes and you let your head fall into his neck, “This mascara is really expensive, do not make me cry.” He laughed and squeezed you tighter. 

“Come on, they’ll be here soon. We should set the table.” You nodded and managed to steal one last kiss before you went off to go set the table. 

Connor looked out the kitchen window, out towards the garden. 

He had ripped out all the weeds, repainted the fence and planted each of the flowers. 

A warm feeling filled him as he stared at his favorite, a lone black dahlia surrounded by roses. 

“Connor,” he turned towards you. Hank had arrived while he was staring out at the garden. Carla behind him, holding Sumo’s leash. You were all waiting for him. He left the dahlia behind and made his way towards you. 

Towards his family.

Towards home. 

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

I'm addicted to your xmutant!reader now oml

I'm addicted to them too 💗💗💗💗

It's actually a problem I have so many WIPs + requests to get to

I was the person who requested the Logan saves Jean fic and THANK YOU.

I was wondering if you’re comfortable could you do a wilder one where Logan is more animalistic and he’s “hunting” the reader down in the woods? I was imagining mountain man Logan but it could be any. Can be noncon or fluffy and NSFW optional, depends on your preference.

Again, thank you so much! You’re fantastic!

Here you go: big bad wolf

I hope you enjoy this, I'm a bit rusty on smut but I tried lol