#clay miller one shot

[lacydollette]

CRYSTAL LAKE ⸻ clay miller

content / clay miller x fem!reader, reader replaces the character “Jenna”, stangers to lovers trope, love at first sight (kinda?), mentions of death, blood, kissing, slight gore??, heavily inspired by the original storyline of the movie, 5.4k words

notes / since I’ve rewatched I couldn’t stop thinking about him so I had to write this ! God, pls gimme a big boy like clay.. excuse the length, i literally did the whole plot of the movie lmao 😭

It was late afternoon as you and your friends pulled into a gas station on the edge of Crystal Lake, the excitement for the weekend buzzing in the car. You were heading to Trent’s family lake house, a place he always bragged about for its secluded beauty, though you were really only going along because of your friend, Bree.

As Trent’s constant flirty remarks were more irritating than flattering, mostly it was you brushing them off and rolling your eyes whenever he tried to catch your attention.

While Bree and Trent went into the gas station to grab some snacks, you stretched your legs and wandered over to a nearby notice board filled with missing persons’ flyers. One in particular caught your eye—“Whitney Miller, Missing” was plastered in bold letters over a picture of a woman. Your gaze lingered on it, a strange feeling settling in your chest, she was so young.

As you turned away, you nearly bumped into a guy who looked around your age, wearing a worn leather jacket and carrying a stack of similar missing person flyers. He had the same warm energy radiating off him as the girl in the photo.

“Oh, sorry!” You stammered, stepping back.

“No worries,” he replied, his voice calm but tired, glancing at the poster you’d been looking at. “That’s my sister. Whitney.”

The heaviness in his voice made you pause. “I’m really sorry. How long has she been missing?”

“Six weeks,” Clay replied, trying not to let the emotion crack his voice. “The cops stopped looking. Said she probably just ran off. But I know her. She wouldn’t just leave like that.”

There was a spark of determination in his eyes that struck you. “If you think there’s something more to it, you’re probably right.”

He nodded gratefully. “I’m Clay, by the way.”

“Y/N.” You smiled softly. “I hope you find her.”

Just then, Trent and Bree emerged from the gas station. Trent noticed you talking to Clay and immediately shot him a distrustful look, stepping between you.

“Y/n, come on, we gotta go,” Trent said, casting Clay a dismissive glance.

He didn’t seem phased though, only offering you a polite nod before heading into the gas station himself.

You all loaded back into Trent’s SUV and made your way to the lake house, the mood in the car lighthearted. But you couldn’t shake the thought of Clay and his missing sister, something about his story sticking with you.

The lake house was a massive cabin nestled among towering trees, with the lake just visible beyond the dense brush. The rest of the group settled in quickly, and Trent started showing off the place, clearly trying to impress you, though you were hardly listening. Bree caught your eye and smirked, mouthing, “He’s so into you.” But you just rolled your eyes in response.

The afternoon melted into evening, with the group grilling food and hanging out by the lake. But while everyone else was laughing and relaxing, you found your thoughts drifting to the strange guy you’d met at the gas station.

Just then a knock startled you out of your thoughts, opening the door just to find Clay standing there, holding a stack of missing-person flyers. The look of surprise on his face mirrored yours, though his was tinged with relief. You glanced back over your shoulder and quickly stepped out, letting the door close behind you to shield him from the others.

“Hey, uh, Clay,” you said, still a little taken aback. “You… you made it out here.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d try one more time,” he replied, offering a tentative smile. He held up the flyers. “I’m still looking for my sister.”

Your expression softened as you glanced at the paper in his hand, Whitney’s face staring back at you.

“You two have the same eyes.” You smiled softly, trying to comfort him as much as you could, knowing how exhausting it must be for him to still be searching, still not giving up hope.

“Thanks.” he muttered, feeling the ache in his chest deepen. You were trying to comfort him, and it wasn't much, but it was enough to make him feel a little less alone.

“You should come in,” you said. “At least warm up and grab a drink.”

Clay hesitated, but the invitation was genuine, so he nodded. As you led him inside, Trent looked up from the kitchen, his smile dropping the second he saw who it was.

“What’s he doing here?” Trent asked, folding his arms and eyeing Clay suspiciously.

“Trent, chill,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He’s just handing out flyers for his missing sister.”

“Yeah, and he’s been here all week. Just give it a rest already, man.” Trent’s eyes narrowed, his annoyance almost palpable.

Clay clenched his jaw but kept his voice steady. “I’m just trying to find my sister. And I don’t need some big town jerk telling me what to do.”

You could sense the tension building between them, and before it could escalate further, you stepped in. “Alright, enough. Trent, could you just give us a second?” You took Clay’s arm, gently steering him toward the door.

Trent huffed and threw his hands up, muttering something under his breath. Ignoring him, you led Clay outside, feeling the tension dissipate as soon as you stepped away from the house.

“Sorry about that,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Trent’s… well, a little possessive.”

Clay chuckled, though it was laced with frustration. “I get it. He’s not exactly subtle.”

You shared a small, knowing smile, both of you a little thrown by the strangeness of it all, yet there was something about Clay that put you at ease. And after the way Trent had acted, you felt more determined than ever to help him, if only to spite your obnoxious “friend”.

“Listen,” you said, turning to him, your expression softening. “I’ll help you look for her. I could use a break from Trent anyway.”

Clay blinked, a little taken aback by your offer, his face lighting up with gratitude. “You… you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I want to,” you replied, voice firm. “I could use some air, and it’s the least I can do after the way he acted.“

Clay nodded, clearly thankful for the company, and together you two headed into the woods, following the worn paths and looking for any sign of Whitney.

You dared to ask some questions as you walked, finding out more about the kind of person Whitney was—her interests, her plans for the future, her stubbornness that matched Clay’s in many ways. Clay found himself talking more freely than he had in days, feeling the weight of the world lift just a little.

“She sounds like an incredible person,” you said with a smile. “And you’re an incredible brother for going through all this just to find her.”

Clay shrugged, but you could see a hint of pride in his eyes. “She’s all I have. My mom isn’t around anymore, and I don’t really have anyone else. I can’t just… stop.”

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows that made the woods feel both beautiful and haunting. You found yourself sneaking glances at Clay, noticing his quiet strength and determination, admiring how he didn’t seem fazed by Trent’s earlier hostility or the weight of his own desperation.

“So… you’re not really into Trent, huh?” Clay asked, a hint of teasing in his tone as he looked over at you, his gaze steady.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Not even close. I mean, he’s… okay, I guess. But he can also be a huge dick.”

“I can see that,” Clay said, grinning as he relaxed a little, clearly happy that you didn’t buy into Trent’s charm.

Clay was guarded, you could tell, but there was a spark in his eyes whenever you exchanged those small, quiet smiles.

After an hour or so of walking, you came across an abandoned campsite littered with empty beer cans and shredded tents. You wrinkled your nose at the sight, feeling a chill creep up your spine.

“This… this place gives me the creeps,” you murmured.

Clay’s expression grew serious, his eyes scanning the area. “This is around where the last person claimed to see her. The police looked here, but they didn’t find anything.”

“Well,” you said, breaking the tension with a small laugh, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all the horror movies I’ve watched, it’s that creepy campsites are never a good sign.”

Clay chuckled, though he kept his eyes on the surrounding woods, his laughter fading into a quiet alertness. “Good thing I’ve got someone with horror movie knowledge by my side.”

You quickly moved on, picking your way through the dense trees, occasionally stopping to examine broken branches or overturned rocks. It felt strangely comforting to you, being out there with him, feeling like you had a common goal and something real connecting you, even if it was born out of tragedy.

But as the evening shadows deepened, a sense of unease grew between you. Yoy glanced up, realizing you’d wandered far from the main path.

“Let’s just check out the last cabin and then we’re out of here.” Clay said, voice low.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, good idea.“

You and Clay pushed open the creaky door of the last cabin, your flashlights illuminating the dilapidated interior. The place was more unsettling than any of the others you’d checked. Everything looked like it had been frozen in time decades ago, only to rot and gather dust. Old toys littered the floor, porcelain dolls with cracked faces staring at you from dusty shelves, the air thick and suffocating.

“Who would even stay here?” You whispered, feeling a shiver crawl up your spine.

As you stepped further inside, you felt the wooden floor creak ominously under your weight. You barely had time to gasp before the rotted wood gave way beneath you, and you started to fall, your flashlight slipping from your grasp as you felt yourself plunging into the darkness.

“Y/N!” Clay’s voice was panicked but steady. In an instant, his arms were around you, his grip tight on your waist as he hauled you back up, his strength catching you just before you could hit the ground.

For a moment, everything was still as you clung to him, heart pounding. Your faces were only inches apart, your hands gripping his muscular shoulders as he held you close. You felt the warmth of his breath, saw the tension in his eyes softening into something like longing. His gaze flicked to your lips, and you felt yourself drawn in, the fear and unease momentarily giving way to a connection you didn’t expect.

But just as your lips were about to meet, a strange, metallic scraping noise echoed from outside the cabin. The tension snapped, replaced by a sudden and intense need to get out.

You two shared a look of alarm, all thoughts of your moment forgotten as you turned toward the door, Clay taking your hand and leading you quietly but quickly outside.

That’s when Clay’s flashlight began to flicker, making him curse underneath his breath.

“Let me change the battery real quick.” Clay whispered urgently, tugging you toward the edge of the camp, before kneeling down.

Clay fumbled with his flashlight, frustrated as he tried to swap out the dead batteries. You kept glancing nervously over your shoulder, your nerves on edge after everything you’d seen at the cabin. Just as Clay finally clicked the batteries into place, a rustling sound echoed through the trees, followed by the slow, heavy crunch of footsteps.

Your breath caught, and without thinking, you grabbed Clay’s arm, pulling him behind a massive tree. You pressed yourself close to him, barely daring to breathe as you peeked around the rough bark.

Your heart raced, pounding hard against your ribs as yoy felt the warmth of Clay’s solid frame behind you, his arm protectively wrapped around your fragile body, trying to offer what little comfort he could in the middle of nowhere.

The footsteps grew louder, closer. In the shadows, a hulking figure loomed—a massive man with a blank white mask obscuring his face. He was dragging something behind him, a limp, unmoving shape that glinted in the faint moonlight.

You two watched, frozen, as the figure approached the cabin you’d just left, his slow, deliberate footsteps making the ground seem to tremble. He stopped, his attention shifting as he spotted something lying just outside the cabin door—Clay’s backpack, lying just outside the door.

The manly figure dropped the body he was carrying, and you had to stifle a gasp, clapping your hands over your mouth as you realized it was a corpse, the lifeless face staring blankly toward you. You couldn’t look away, horror and shock pinning you to the spot.

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding as you turned to Clay, your voice barely a whisper. “What do we do?”

Quickly Clay’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, grounding you in the chaos. He glanced around, his face pale but determined, “Run.”

As the stranger bent down to pick up the backpack, you moved, slipping silently through the trees, keeping low to the ground as you put as much distance as you could between yourselves and the terrifying figure.

The moment you were far enough away, Clay didn't hesitate. He pulled you closer and you broke into a full sprint, running through the dark forest, hearts pounding, breaths coming fast and panicked. Branches whipped against your arms, roots threatened to trip you, but you kept going, the sheer adrenaline of survival driving you two forward.

Finally, the lake house loomed ahead. You and Clay bursted through the door, slamming it shut, your breaths coming fast and panicked. Everyone inside looked up, startled by your sudden entrance. Trent’s face twisted with annoyance and confusion as he watched you rush to lock the doors.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, standing up, his hands on his hips.

“We have to lock everything,” You panted, eyes wide with fear. “There’s someone out there, Trent. He’s… he’s killing people!”

“Wait, what?” Bree’s voice was a mixture of shock and disbelief.

Clay nodded, his jaw set, his expression deadly serious. “We saw him. He’s real, and he’s dangerous. You have to believe us.”

But Trent’s face contorted with anger as he looked from Clay to you, suspicion and jealousy flaring in his eyes. “You two were out there for hours, some ‘Dora The Explorer’ shit, or what?” He laughed bitterly, crossing his arms. “Did you get what you wanted, Clay? Sure looks like you did.”

Clay's jaw clenched. He didn't want to argue now. He just needed everyone to listen.

“Trent, stop it,” you snapped, glaring at him. But Trent’s anger only grew, and he stepped toward Clay, his fists clenched.

“What were you two doing out there?” he demanded. “Is that why you ran off with him? So that he could fuck—“

Before he could finish, you slapped him hard across the face, eyes blazing with fury. “Are you serious, Trent? Do you even hear yourself right now? People are dying out there, and you’re worried about… this?”

Trent’s face reddened with embarrassment and anger, but he backed off, muttering under his breath. Clay took a step closer to you, relieved that you were standing firm, before you turned to the others.

“Look, you guys, this isn’t some prank. We saw him. We saw him carrying a body,” you said, voice wavering with the horror of it. “He’s got a mask, he’s huge, and he’s not going to stop. We need to stay together and keep the doors locked.”

Bree and Trent exchanged a worried look, their faces pale, while Lawrence shook his head, clearly still processing what you were saying.

“Wait, wait,” Lawrence said, holding up his hands. “Where’s Chewie? He went outside a while ago.”

The realization hit all of you at once. Your heart sank as you all glanced toward the dark windows, the unease settling even deeper.

“We can’t just leave him out there,” Lawrence said, grabbing a makeshift weapon from the fireplace. “I’m gonna go look for him.“

“Lawrence, wait!” Clay tried to stop him, his voice desperate. “You can’t go out there alone. He’s… that guy, he’s still out there.”

But Lawrence shook his head, determined. “I can’t just leave him. I’ll be right back.”

With one last determined look, Lawrence stepped out the door, disappearing into the darkness. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence fell over the house.

You all sat in silence, waiting, every second stretching into an eternity. You clenched your hands, barely breathing, mind racing with everything you’d seen. Clay was next to you, feeling the tension radiating off you, so he reached over and took your hand, pulling you into his embrace. You clung to him, grateful for his presence in the midst of the horror.

Minutes ticked by, and then—suddenly—a blood-curdling scream pierced the night, echoing from outside. Everyone shot to their feet, eyes wide with horror.

“Lawrence!” Bree gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

You rushed to the window just as Lawrence came into view, sprinting toward the house, his face a mask of terror. “Open the door!” he screamed. “Help!”

But before he could reach the veranda, an axe flew through the air, embedding itself in his back with a sickening thud. Lawrence staggered, his scream cut short as he crumpled to the ground, just feet from the door.

��No!” You shrieked, hands flying to your mouth as you backed away from the window, your heart pounding. Clay wrapped his arms around you, your body shaking uncontrollably in his grasp, trying to shield you from the horror outside.

“Oh my god,” Bree whispered, her voice barely audible. “He’s right there. He’s… he’s right outside. Where’s the fucking police?”

You all backed away from the window, breaths shallow, fear hanging thick in the air. No one dared move as you heard heavy footsteps approach the house, the sound slow and deliberate, each step like a death knell.

Trent, his face drained of all color, looked around wildly. “We have to do something! We can’t just sit here.”

But Clay held up a hand, his voice barely above a whisper. “Stay calm. Everyone shut up.”

As the killer's footsteps circled the house, Clay could feel the dread creeping up on you all. He wasn't sure how much longer you could stay hidden, but for now, he needed to keep you safe.

You could feel yourself trembling as you leaned into Clay’s embrace, his arms wrapped tightly around you. The sense of safety you felt with him was barely enough to keep your fear at bay, but it was something, and right now, that was all you had.

After what felt like hours, the footsteps faded into silence, leaving only the distant, eerie sounds of the forest. The room was quiet, each of you knowing that the danger hadn’t passed—not really.

Without warning, the window shattered, and the killers massive figure loomed in the broken frame. Bree screamed, stumbling backward, her face pale as the masked man climbed inside, his machete gleaming in the dim light.

Bree was frozen, too terrified to move as the figure advanced on her. Your heart sank as you watched your friend, knowing what was coming but powerless to stop it. With a swift, brutal motion, he brought down his machete, and Bree’s scream was cut short.

You choked back your own scream, feeling Clay’s hand grip yours even tighter as you two stumbled back, desperate to escape. He felt his stomach drop, but he couldn't let that fear consume him. Not now. Not when your life was at stake.

Before any of you could move, Trent lunged at the killer, yelling in a mix of fury and terror, swinging a lamp in a desperate attempt to defend himself. The killer, unaffected, grabbed Trent by the collar, lifting him as if he weighed nothing. With horrifying ease, he drove his machete through Trent, pinning him against the wall as the light in Trent’s eyes faded.

“Run, y/n!” Clay shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency. Without another second to think, he pulled your hand, and you dashed toward the back door, your bodies propelled by sheer survival instinct.

The night air hit you like a slap as you sprinted into the darkness of the forest, not daring to look back. Trees blurred past them as you ran, each step fueled by pure adrenaline and the knowledge that the killer was somewhere close behind.

Just as you thought you’d run far enough, an old white house emerged through the dense trees, its silhouette ghostly in the moonlight. Clay pulled you toward it, both of you hoping that it might be a place to hide, to catch your breath.

The interior was dark and filled with dust, every shadow seeming to hide another threat. As you pressed further in, a muffled scream reached your ears, coming from beneath the floor.

“Did you hear that?” You whispered, voice trembling.

Clay’s eyes narrowed, determination replacing some of his fear. “Sounds like it’s coming from down there.”

Both of you moved quietly, scanning the ground until Clay spotted a hatch concealed under an old, moth-eaten rug. With a quick glance in your direction, he pulled it open, revealing a dark, narrow stairway that led into a tunnel system below. Clay went in first, helping you down after him as you ventured into the underground maze.

The tunnels were damp and cold, the flashlights casting shaky beams across the stone walls. You held onto Clay’s hand tightly, the comfort of his touch a lifeline in the claustrophobic darkness. You walked slowly, every creak and drip echoing ominously, heightening your anxiety with each step.

And then, at the end of a narrow passage, you saw her—a frail, neglected figure huddled against the wall, her eyes wide and haunted.

It was Whitney, chained and broken, but alive.

Clay’s breath caught in his throat, his face softening with relief as he ran to her, pulling her into his arms. Tears streamed down his face, and Whitney’s voice was a mixture of shock and joy as she clung to her brother, while he tried undoing the chains around her wrists.

You couldn’t believe it—after all the horror you’d endured, you’d found Whitney. For a brief, fleeting moment, hope filled your heart, a glimmer of something beyond survival. But just as quickly as it came, the hope was shattered by a loud, bone-chilling thud echoing from above.

He had found you.

“We need to go,” you whispered urgently, glancing at Clay, who nodded, his face pale but resolved as he helped up his sister.

With Whitney leaning on him, the three of you moved quickly, retracing your steps through the tunnels as quietly as possible. Every sound felt amplified, every footstep a potential signal to the killer who lurked somewhere nearby.

As you neared the hatch where you had entered, a shadow passed overhead, blocking out the light. Your blood ran cold as you realized the killer was directly above you, his heavy footsteps thudding against the wooden floor. The floorboards creaked ominously, as if he knew exactly where you were.

Clay motioned for you to stay quiet, his finger pressed to his lips as you huddled in the darkness, barely daring to breathe. The tension was suffocating, the air thick with terror as you waited, hoping he would move away.

But instead, the footsteps grew louder.

The floorboards above you suddenly splintered, and with a deafening crash, he broke through the ground, his massive form landing in the tunnel only feet away. His mask was eerily expressionless, but the menace in his stance was unmistakable.

You, Clay and Whitney didn't hesitate—you turned and ran, your footsteps echoing wildly through the narrow stone passage as the killers heavy tread followed close behind.

Panic threatened to overtake you as you turned corner after corner, every step feeling slower than the last, knowing the killer was gaining on you.

Suddenly, Whitney stumbled, her ankle catching on an uneven patch of ground. She fell forward with a cry of pain, her body slamming against the muddy floor. You came to a halt, immediately kneeling beside her. "Come on, Whitney!" You whispered frantically, grabbing her arm and trying to help her up.

But before you could get Whitney back to her feet, a terrifying blur of movement appeared in the dim tunnel just ahead. The killer lunged at you all, his enormous hand reaching out and grabbing Whitney by the leg, yanking her back with terrifying strength.

Your eyes widened, horror freezing your in place as Whitney's terrified face met yours.

"Run, Y/N! Go!" Whitney screamed, her voice raw with fear and desperation. Before you could react, the killers hand shot forward, gripping his machete with brutal intent. With a sickening thrust, he drove the blade through Whitney's chest, silencing her screams in an instant.

"WHITNEY!" Clay's voice shattered with anguish as he watched his sister fall limp in the killers grip, her eyes glazed, her life extinguished. He staggered forward, reaching out instinctively, but you grabbed his arm, pulling him back as he screamed for his sister, devastation in every note of his voice.

"Clay, we have to go!" You shouted, voice shaking but determined. You knew the heartbreak he was feeling, but there was no time to mourn. You had to survive.

Ignoring the horror behind you, you pushed Clay forward, forcing him to leave Whitney behind as you scrambled through the narrow passage, your hearts pounding with fear and grief. You rounded another corner, seeing the faint glow of moonlight from an exit just ahead. You burst out of the tunnels, gasping for breath as you emerged into the cool night air.

Without a word, you sprinted across the open ground, the silhouette of an old barn looming in the distance. It was dark and decrepit, but it was your only hope for shelter. You and Clay ducked inside, slamming the heavy doors shut and barricading them with whatever you could find—rusty tools, loose boards, anything that would hold.

You backed away, breaths coming fast as you listened to the silence outside, hoping desperately that the barn doors would hold. But the peace was short-lived. A loud thud echoed through the barn as the killers brutal strength tested the doors, each blow rattling the walls and shaking the barricade.

As the relentless pounding against the barn doors grew louder, Clay turned to you, his face set with fierce determination. “Y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and emotion. He gently cupped your face, his eyes scanning yours as if he were memorizing every detail. “I need you to hide. I need to know you’re safe.”

Your eyes filled with tears, a mixture of fear and sorrow tearing at your heart. You didn’t want to leave him; the thought of Clay facing Jason alone filled you with dread. But before you could protest, he leaned in, pressing a desperate, tender kiss to your lips. You clung to him, your hands on his shoulders, pouring all your unspoken fears into that kiss, a silent promise that this wouldn’t be the end.

“Please, Clay,” you whispered. “Don’t let him take you too.”

Clay’s hand lingered on your cheek as he nodded, his own gaze wavering, he needed to come back to you, whatever it took. “I won’t. I promise.”

Reluctantly, you slipped behind an old row of machines, crouching low as you struggled to keep your sobs silent. You watched through the rusted metal as Clay grabbed an axe, his frame tense and ready to face the monster that had brought so much horror into your lives.

A moment later, the doors burst open with an explosive crash, and the killer stormed inside. His dark figure loomed large in the dusty moonlight filtering through the barn, his machete gleaming in one hand. Clay didn’t hesitate; he charged forward, swinging the axe with fierce determination.

The clash was brutal, each blow echoing through the barn as Clay and the killer fought with raw strength and desperation. He was a towering force, but Clay was quick and strong, his tall frame unyielding as he met his attacks head-on.

The fight felt nearly balanced, each of them refusing to give an inch. But as Clay swung the axe once more, it lodged into the wall, stuck fast. He tried to pull it free, but the killer seized the moment, his powerful arms wrapping around Clay in a crushing headlock.

Clay's heart raced, terror and desperation clawing at him. He couldn't let the killer win—not this way.

He forced Clay toward a wood chipper that sat at the back of the barn, its old blades rusted but still deadly. His gloved hand reached over and flicked the switch, the machine roaring to life, its metallic grinding sound filling the air as it waited hungrily.

Your heart pumped like crazy as you watched, terror squeezing your chest like a vice. You couldn’t sit back and watch Clay be pulled to his death.

You knew you had to act.

Grabbing a nearby iron bar, you crept forward, eyes never leaving the killer. Summoning every ounce of courage, you shouted, “Hey!” Your voice was filled with defiance as you swung the bar with all your strength, smashing it into his masked face just as he turned toward you.

He staggered, his grip on Clay loosening for a brief moment as he reeled from the blow. Clay took the chance, scrambling forward to grab a chain lying on the ground. In one swift motion, he looped it around the killers neck, pulling it tight. You watched, heart hammering in your chest as Clay threw the other end of the chain into the wood chipper.

The machine’s teeth caught the chain, beginning to pull it in, dragging the killer closer and closer to the spinning blades. He struggled, his massive frame jerking violently as he fought against the relentless pull, his boots scraping against the ground.

Both you and Clay watched as the killer was slowly dragged toward his end. But in a last desperate lunge, he managed to twist just enough to shove you backward, sending you sprawling to the ground.

Your head struck a hard surface, and your vision blurred, darkness creeping in around the edges. The last thing you heard was Clay screaming your name, his voice filled with panic and desperation as he ran to your side.

Through your fading vision, you caught a final glimpse of the killer, his body pulled inexorably into the churning blades. With a final, blood-curdling crack, he was gone, disappearing into the maw of the wood chipper.

And as the darkness took you, you felt Clay’s arms wrap around you, his face close to yours, his voice trembling as he whispered your name, pleading for you to hold on.

Soft beeps and the faint hum of hospital machinery pulled you from your forced slumber. Slowly, you opened your eyes, vision hazy as the sterile white ceiling came into focus. It took a moment to remember where you were, but then your hand registered a warmth—a hand holding yours, firm and steady.

Clay was there, his face pale with worry but his eyes intensely focused on you, he’d been watching over you for hours. His grip tightened the moment your fingers moved, and his face flooded with relief, his shoulders sagging as if he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

“Y/n… thank God,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He leaned closer, his other hand coming up to gently brush your hair back. “I was so scared,” he murmured, his voice choked with emotion.

You managed a small, tired smile, your heart swelling as you looked up at him. “Clay…” you whispered, voice barely a breath but filled with warmth. You felt safe, the chaos and terror of the last night drifting away as you held his gaze.

He squeezed your hand again, his thumb rubbing softly over your knuckles, grounding himself to you, reassuring himself you were really there.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “And you’re okay. We’re safe now.” His words were soft but full of determination, a promise that you would never face anything like that alone again.

Clay’s smile grew, eyes shining with a mixture of happiness and tears as he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he whispered, his tone soft but fiercely protective.

You let yourself sink into the comfort of his touch, your fingers tightening around his hand. You’d both lost so much, endured so much horror, but right now, with Clay by your side, you knew you’d finally escaped.

You’d made it through. And no matter what the future held, as long as you two were together, you knew you would be okay.

i feel like acting in a slasher movie would be so fun !!

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated.

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @nuemanfilms @beausling @angelicjackles @starkeysprincess @rafesangelita @sammyluvr @nxptvn @samwinchesterswifu @cherrygirlfriend @chevroletdean

[lillaydee]

Hope

Joel Miller / Reader

When life gets away from you, you can only hope.

WARNINGS:

BFFs, Angst, Pining, Life Gets in the Way, Soulmates (No, not THAT KIND of soulmates)

Hello!

I've been having some trouble saving my work lately, so I'm gonna upload this now just to keep it safe.

This is what happens when the much feared mind worm attacks and wouldn't leave. You type it out instead of working on your WIP or do your work or household chores like a normal person. Who needs a clean house and fresh laundry anyway?

Might stay a one-shot, might be extended one day. Like way, way, waaaaaaayyyy in the future.

Hope you like it.

---

“Ellie, you cannot have Jello for lunch.”

“But I like Jello.”

“I know you do, but you need to have something else before the Jello. That’s a dessert honey.”

“Dessert is food too, Mrs Adler said so.”

“Just because Mrs Adler said so, doesn’t mean you could only eat Jello for lunch.”

God, she looked scary when her eyes rolled so far back, only the whites of her eyes showed.

“Come on, Ellie, your mom would kill me if she found out I only fed you Jello for lunch.”

She contemplated your words for a minute, and then, a lightbulb moment.

“If they make it here on time, I will eat a plate of Ravioli too. If they don’t, then I get to eat two cups of Jellos for lunch,” she said, eyebrow raised, hand stuck out towards you to shake on this heavily skewed deal she had somehow thought you would ever agree too.

You cocked your head to the side, hands on your hips, cursing your sister for leaving this ballsy little five year old with you while she went off gallivanting in some country to play with clay and bones.

“Come on Daddy! They’re already here!” Sarah’s little squeal floated into the cafeteria, her little body doing all it could to pull her Daddy in with her, the man having an eye on the phone in his hand. He finally put the phone away and searched the cafeteria for you and Ellie, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he greeted, bending a little to give you a small kiss on the cheek, as Sarah climbed on your leg like a hungry kitten to get a proper hug, and you wasted no time in snuggling the little girl in your arms, kissing her all over the face until she pushed you away.

“Hey Old Man,” Ellie gave him a small kick on his shoe, hands in her pocket, before she began squirming in his arms when he picked her up for a hug and a wet smooch.

“Hah, they’re here, so Ravioli for lunch?” you asked her as she wiped her face off of Joel’s scratchy, wet kisses, a playful disgust on her face.

“Nope, two Jellos. You didn’t shake on it!” she ran off to the line to get the Jellos, Sarah following faithfully.

“Jellos only for lunch again?” Joel asked you, chuckling a little, pulling a chair on the newly vacated table next to you.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down, opening your purse to get your card for him to get your lunch along with his.

“Nope, you paid yesterday, my turn,” he said, “The usual for lunch?” he asked, an eyebrow raised at you. He never missed an opportunity to make fun of your predictability when it came to your lunches here.

“Actually, I’m feeling a bit adventurous today. I think I’ll take the penne instead of the spaghetti,” you said, rather defensively, already seeing where he was going with this.

“Wow,” he said, eyes wide, a faux impressed look on his face. “And should I change the sauce to Alfredo instead?” he asked with a smirk, already knowing your answer.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.”

He guffawed, shaking his head as he went to get your adventurous lunch for you, penne pasta instead of spaghetti today, but with the usual red sauce.

The four of you had your lunch at that cafeteria every single day. At least you had been, for the last 273 days. Ellie and Sarah would eat and fight, you and Joel would talk and laugh. Sometimes, it would just be the two of you, the kids either at a playdate with some of the neighbourhood kids or out for some activities you would rather not know about with Tommy.

It wasn’t as if you couldn’t spend time together at other places or times, it’s just convenient. The only time in your busy schedules where the both of you were available. Plus, Sarah and Ellie gave the two of you the run for your money, far too active and happy for either of you to actually sit still and think, let alone talk like adults. At least here, they would be confined to the cafeteria.

So yeah, this was the only time the two of you could catch up. He was telling you about some problems with some wood supply, some specific order Tommy had managed to screw up, yet again, and you were telling him about your sister’s call that morning. She had broken up with her boyfriend, again, and was tearily telling you the tale. Oh, and a new batch of interns came in, one particularly good looking, she had managed to insert through her sobs, making Joel choke on his water.

The two of you met years ago, when he had just started his business. He renovated your parents’ house, and got along so well your friendship extended all the way beyond the job. You were so young then, just starting out in the world, and the two of you somehow managed to navigate through life together, job changes for you, flipping houses for him, moving to a neighbourhood you both loved, dating, marriage, your sister’s antiques, and eventually, Sarah and Ellie. But as it always did, life got overwhelming and busy, so these quiet times, just the two of you in a noisy cafeteria were very much welcomed, even if there were two screaming girls sat in between.

“Any progress today?” he asked, signalling the end of the happy, laughter-filled afternoon, as he pushed his plate away, taking Sarahs to place on top of his.

You shook your head, smiling a little. “You?” you asked, doing the same with your plate and Ellies, the now empty little cups of Jellos sliding as you moved the plate to put on top of yours.

“Nah, more of the same,” he said, unscrewing the cap to the water he was holding, coaxing Sarah to drink some more.

“Can we go play on the slides?” Ellie asked, looking at the plastic mini playground at the corner of the cafeteria, now devoid of players, lunchtime now over.

“Yeah, just 5 minutes okay? We need to go soon,” Joel said. The two of you watched as the two of them ran over to the site, holding hands, gleeful at the small window of opportunity to slide a full yard down from the wobbly structure.

“How’d therapy go today?” he asked, head down now, too.

You shrugged. “Same old same old. Dive deep into what I’m really feeling. If I knew, I wouldn’t need fucking therapy,” you answered, eyes making sure the kids were nowhere near to hear your choice of language.

“I know, it’s just something we have to go through. It’s a process,” he said, eyes looking up to look into yours. But you looked away.

“Are we going to be okay?” you asked, head down, playing with the wet wipe you had used to wipe Ellie’s hands.

“Hey,” Joel placed his hand on yours, moving to the chair Ellie just vacated, “We’ll be fine. We cannot give up. Not now. Not yet,” he coaxed, his massive hands sandwiching yours, lifting them up to kiss your knuckles.

“It’s just…” you started, the words lost in your thoughts, your tears pooling in your eyes.

“Hard, I know. But we’re working on it, right? We’ll be okay. One way or another, we’ll be okay.”

“One way or another?” you asked, tears now falling on to your cheeks. He cupped your face in his hands, wiping them away with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound that way, but we have to be realistic. So yeah. One way or another. Either things go back to normal, or they don’t. But we will be okay. Either way. I promise.”

The idea that things may not go back to normal choked you. You started sobbing, and he surged forward and took you in his arms, kissing your temple, your hair, shushing you, coaxing you, all the while letting you cry into his shoulder.

You calmed down in his arms. He had always managed to soothe you, whatever the circumstances. That was how you knew you could depend on him, ever since he managed to keep you calm even as he was literally ripping the wall in your parents’ kitchen down. Throughout your relationship, every heartbreak, every failure, every drop of tears, he was there to calm you. Even when you got married, he was the calming presence in your life.

Joel found himself calming down as he held you, having hidden his own anxiety at the situation from you. You may not realize it, but in calming you down, he always found himself being calmed down by you. You always told him how he was the one person who could calm you down, and never believed him when he told you that you did the same for him. But you did, and he kept on telling you that, even if he knew you would never, ever believe him.

He held you until you stopped sobbing, breathing in the smell of your hair, while you breathed in his shoulder, careful not to turn your face towards his exposed neck, knowing that that was a line you shouldn’t cross.

He pulled back, hands on your face again, wiping your tears away. He studied your face, his eyes full of sadness and regret, flicking towards your quivering lips, just as your own did the same to his plush ones.

“We shouldn’t,” you whispered.

His chest tightened, but he nodded, agreeing with you. He settled by kissing your forehead instead, taking in deep breaths to keep stock of the way you smell, as you did the same to the whiff of his familiar smell that was invading your senses.

He let go of your face, taking your hands in his, getting up, pulling you up with him as he did so. “Come on girls, time to go,” he said as you gathered your stuff up.

The four of you walked to the elevator, silent now, the fun time over. Even the girls understood it. They held your hands, walking along without giving the two adults any trouble, following obediently, standing still in the elevator as you rode up the floors.

You walked along the corridor, you and Joel giving each other resigned looks, before stopping between two doors.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

You nodded, “Same time tomorrow.”

With that, the two of you separated, you with Ellie, him with Sarah, going into the two rooms, closing the doors behind you.

A man and a woman laid unconscious in the two respective rooms, surrounded by wires, feeding tubes, breathing tubes, everything calm and quiet save for the machines beeping, and the heavy breathing from the patients.

Joel stood next to his wife, taking her hand in his. “Hi Carol.”

You took your husband’s hand in yours, caressing it. “Hi Dave.”

“How are you doing today sweetheart? You feel like finally waking up?”

---

[jeewrites]

jee | writes periodically | throws clay regularly

she/her. 40's. infj. asian american.

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[stevesbestgirl]

Grumpy - Part 1/2

Joel Miller x Reader

2514 words

Warnings: Jackson era!Joel, mutual pining, infected attack (reader gets scraped up but mostly unharmed), gun use, implied character (animal) death (spoiler alert, its me), vague references to reader’s past trauma, alcohol consumption

A/N: I’ve just really wanted to try writing my hand at writing Joel. I want to do another part eventually, but I’m trying to stop hoarding things because they aren’t finished, so please be patient  ❤

"Would you leave that thing alone?" Joel gave a long suffering sigh as you knelt and held out a friendly hand to the grizzled-looking tabby cat. 

"He's not a thing." You shot Joel a glare in return before returning your attention to the skittish feline sniffing your fingers. It had taken months of leaving food and wearing gloves to get this close without a scratch, but now the cat shoved its weight against your hand, the deep rumble of purring starting up like an old engine. "No one else minds when I stop. It's just for a minute."

"One more minute we don't need to be outside." He was such a stubborn bastard. 

With another withering look at Joel, you stopped scratching and dug in your bag for the food you'd brought, setting it out and giving him a quick head pat as you stood, "Sorry sweet boy, I have to go. Take care of yourself, okay?"

The walk back to town was quiet until you felt like you had to defend yourself, "I just like knowing he has something to eat."

"Other animals could smell what you're bringing him-"

"Would you stop it?" It was more of a plea than anything. "I-" You swallowed the surprising lump in your throat; it was harder to talk about these things with Joel. "I know it's silly, when everyone has lost so much, but I miss my cat. And everyone deserves to have someone look after them."

Joel surprised you with a dry chuckle, making your heart flip, "Some of us are more the looking after type, darlin'."

You lowered your gaze to your feet in the snow, pretending to focus on your footing instead of answering. You knew that. That was why Joel always got you flustered. Hell, it felt like half the town must have figured out how you felt about him based on how often you tripped over your words after getting caught stealing glances. 

The rest of the walk back was spent in silence, as it often was with Joel. He left you at your door next to his own after asking if you'd be working the bar later that night. You were, and you promised to see him later before you disappeared inside. 

***

Shifts at the bar tended to pass quickly- a hell of a lot faster than patrol anyway. There was always work to be done around the settlement during the day, but unless you were on guard duty, most nights were spent at the Clay Pit drinking the homebrew Tommy and the other guys were so proud of. You'd still kill for a wine cooler, but it was better not to think about it too much. 

By the time you realized Joel hadn't come in, it was almost ten. Tommy had come in an hour or so ago. You knew Joel would be annoyed if he knew you were worrying about him- he always raised a fuss if you tried to look after him. But still, you hoped he was okay.

It was half past eleven when Joel finally climbed onto his usual stool and tipped his chin in a greeting. You couldn't help the smile that brightened your expression when you saw him. His mouth turned up at the corner in what you always assumed was Joel’s version of a polite smile.

You set his drink in front of him, "Late night?"

He grunted something that might have been a halfhearted laugh, "Game night with Ellie."

"Boggle again?" Ellie loved to brag about beating Joel.

"Nah, I'm teaching her poker."

"Got tired of losing, huh?"

"If I had it wouldn't matter. She's already shaping up to be a mean card player."

You smiled again, "She's a smart girl."

"That she is."

You bustled off to bus tables, leaving Joel to nurse his drink. You'd heard people- other women who thought he was handsome mostly, complain about how short Joel seemed, but you never minded. You weren't much for small talk either, although you were happier than Joel to oblige when someone wanted to chat. 

You did always wonder what he was thinking. It was no surprise Ellie could read his stony expressions, since she knew him better than anyone, except maybe Tommy. But to you, Joel was like a brick wall. 

You had thought he’d been flirting with you once- one of the bar patrons had stood up unexpectedly as you were walking by and you’d nearly gone down on your ass, if not for Joel’s palm on the small of your back. It was the soft grumble of, “Careful darlin’,  fall in my lap and I might not let you go,” only loud enough for you to hear, that had your breath catching and a tidal wave of flustered apologies tumbling from your mouth. 

But as quickly as it happened, it was over. When you’d offered to make dinner for him and Ellie as thanks- the closest you’d come to asking him out on a real date- he’d waved it away. And you’d decided then that trying to decipher Joel’s feelings for you would only end up leaving you disappointed. You wanted to think he was interested and you would likely find any evidence you could to support it. But more likely than anything, the man just wanted some peace with his kid. 

*

Deciding that Joel deserved his peace was one thing, but getting your silly crush to go away, that was another. And it seemed like as time went on, you were assigned more and more patrols with Joel until you were going out together at least once a week. But Joel hadn’t complained again about stopping to visit your feline friend.

“Why do you call him that?” Joel’s voice surprised you; usually he leaned broodily against a tree, silent while you visited. 

You looked over your shoulder at Joel, the cat still brushing against your shins, “Sweet boy?” Joel nodded, his gaze still on the trees, ever diligent in keeping watch. “Because he is.”

That pulled a dry chuckle from him, the sound startling the cat, “Didn’t you damn-near need stitches the first time you got near him?”

“He was scared,” you defended. “But now that he knows I’m safe, he’s a total love bug.” You shot him a teasing smile, “Kind of like you with Ellie.” You knew no one at the compound would believe it if you told them, but Joel’s cheeks seemed to darken, even beneath the several days-old scruff on his cheeks.

You didn’t call attention to it, digging in your bag for the food you’d brought. Once he was happily eating, you gave him a pat and said your goodbyes, prompting Joel to speak again as you started the rest of the walk home, his voice low, “You don’t wanna give him a real name, do you?”

You thought about lying; it was even harder to be vulnerable when Joel was asking for it- it threw you off guard. “Not particularly. Makes it harder if something does happen to him.”

“Why don’t you bring him in if you worry so much?”

You didn’t bother to suppress a soft sigh, you’d gone in circles about it, “I don’t know how he would do. If he would stay. How he would be around so many people. I don’t want him to be unhappy.”

Joel let it be after that, waiting silently each time you stopped after that. Until the day you stopped and made the chirping sound like usual and your friend didn’t come trotting out from the trees. Heart stuttering, you rolled your tongue again, a bit louder, but there was no sign of him. 

"Sweet boy?" You stepped a bit deeper into the woods and clicked your tongue again, waiting. Your heart was beating in your ears, breath getting stuck in your throat. 

You were waiting for a comment from Joel- an "I told you so," or an empty reassurance, but neither came. 

You tried to call out again, but your voice broke. You squeezed your eyes shut to stifle the tears trying to well up. 

"Darlin'-" You heard the scuff of a boot on dirt and then, "Shit- move!"

Even with your eyes closed, the shadow was still discernible; you stumbled out of the way just in time for a snarl and a swipe at your coat sleeve. There was a sharp bang, then two more in quick succession. You were mid-kick, ready to fight a follow up attack that never came; the zombie crumpled to the ground as you fell backwards, your palms scraping the dirt. 

After a beat of silence, you whispered, "Fuck." Then tears spilled over into your cheeks as you stared numbly at the corpse on the ground. 

Then Joel was grabbing your arms, his face blocking your view, "Are you alright?" The way he said it made you think it wasn't the first time he'd asked. 

"I'm fine." After a beat of deciding whether to accept that, Joel hauled you up by the forearms. You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, mindful of the scrapes on your palms; you needed to pull yourself together until you were home. Until Joel wasn't around to see you cry. 

But Joel refused to leave you at your door like usual, "Lemme help you get cleaned up." 

You didn't have it in you to argue. So you ended up sitting on the closed toilet lid while Joel knelt in front of you, your first aid kit open on the counter. You didn't flinch when he disinfected the scrapes, drawing a raised eyebrow, but no questions.

Once you were bandaged up, he rumbled low, brown eyes boring into yours, "You sure you're alright?" He was still holding your wrist.

You nodded numbly, "Just shaken up." You broke eye contact, "'M sorry."

He tapped his thumb on your chin, urging you to look at him, "What're you sorry for?"

"You were right. I shouldn't have stopped. I probably got him killed. Almost got myself killed, if not for you." Saying it aloud made the tears spring back up.

"None of that was your fault." The way Joel's expression softened would have melted your heart on a normal day. Today it made you feel like an idiot. 

"Thanks. But I think I need to be alone for a little bit." 

If you didn't know better, you'd think you caught him by surprise. But he recovered quickly, his thumb brushing over your wrist as he stood. You followed him to the door, “Thanks for the help, Joel.” 

He nodded, but he hesitated for a moment before he left, his fingers wrapped around the open door. He glanced at you again and practically grunted, “You’re welcome.” Then he stepped through the door and hastened off the patio. You had been kind of rude; you couldn’t blame him for being annoyed. You closed the door quickly; you would feel guilty for your rudeness later, but you needed to be sad in peace.

*

“Surprised you’re working tonight,” Tommy commented when he came into the bar at half past nine. 

You glanced at him in the middle of bussing the bar, “Better than sitting home. Joel told you?”

“Had me out practically ‘til dark looking for that cat.” He gave a chuckle to show he held no real contempt for his brother, but your throat felt a bit tight.

Finally you mustered, “That was nice of you both. I wouldn’t have expected you to find anything, but I appreciate it.”

Tommy glanced down at the bar, clearing his throat, “We, uh, actually did find something.” Somehow your heart sank even lower. “No body, but there was some fur- a few different colors not far from where that infected was.” 

You nodded, struggling to stay dry-eyed, “Thanks for telling me.” You tipped your chin at the room, “I should do a round.”

Tommy nodded and freed you to check on the other patrons; you made sure to keep yourself busy until you locked the door behind you. You’d been dreading the end of your shift. 

Even though it was the same as always, your empty house seemed to magnify the loss inside you. If you said it out loud, it would sound so silly to be so upset over a cat- one that wasn’t even really your pet. But it really felt like the nail in the coffin of loss; your parents, your boyfriend, your sister. You’d bourne it all without a fuss. Survival had taken priority. But Jackson had made you soft- made you feel safe. Now this one little thing without even a proper name felt like the straw to break the camel’s back. 

You took your blanket out to the swing on your front porch- Joel had helped you fix it- and wrapped yourself up. You huddled up to block your cheeks against the chilly air, but it was worth it for the view of the stars. The chilly night air in your lungs and the bright sparkle of the sky with tonight’s clear sky helped to clear your head.

“What are you doing out here so late?” Joel’s voice broke you from your stupor. You must have visibly jumped because he quickly added, his voice a bit softer, “Sorry darlin’, didn’t mean to spook ya.” He walked halfway up your front sidewalk and paused.

“That’s okay, I should probably go inside anyway.” 

You didn’t make any move to get up and Joel came closer, leaning against the rail post, “You’ll get sick sittin’ out here dressed like that.”

“The cold doesn’t actually make you sick, you know.” You surprised both of you by sounding more like your normal self. 

“You sound like Ellie.”

“Like I said before, she’s a smart girl.”

That pulled a curl from the corner of his mouth that looked suspiciously like a smile in the dim light. He wasn’t going to let you joke your way out of the conversation though. “You alright? Actually?”

You nodded, “I’m okay. Just needed some air.” There was a pause, then you added, “I appreciate that you went out to look for him. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’m still hopin’ he’ll turn up.”

You glanced away, “It’s okay. Tommy told me about what you found.”

“That jackass. I asked him to wait until I was sure.”

“I’m sure enough,” you said. “It’s too dangerous to be out there looking for him.” You offered a sad smile, “You don’t have to take care of me because you feel bad. I’m alright.”

Giving a sardonic chuckle, Joel raised an eyebrow, “I don’t look after anyone because I feel bad for them.”

“And yet, you’re here, making sure I go inside and get warm before you go home.”

He shook his head, “And you’re still here, probably freezing.” He tromped up onto the porch and offered you a hand up. You reluctantly accepted and let him steer you to the front door. He tugged the blanket up more tightly around your shoulders, “Get some sleep, alright?”

You nodded, “Good night, Joel.”

[twins-write]

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[colleenmurphy]

"I don't think you understand why we reacted the way we did when we couldn't find you, Lib..."

Charlie was cut off by the distinct ring of the landline phone in Colleen's office. The Bat Signal as Caroline and James their eldest two children had taken to calling it. While Caroline was not Charlie's biological daughter he helped to raise from the time she three, stepping up to fill his best friend Hank's exceptionally large shoes so when he heard the "Hang on baby, Mama's coming." it stopped his heart momentarily. A whirl of Jasmine Vanilla scented fury stormed into the room searching for it's car keys and the nearest blunt object she could get her hands on.

"Mama panics when she can't find you. Libby June, I love you more than anything and right now I want you to know I'll be home as soon as I can. Listen to your Daddy and go on and cuddle Goose."

Goose, the large blue grey hunting dog perked up from his spot on the leather couch and wandered over to Libby's side resting his head on her lap giving her his 'c'mon kid scratch my ears.' look.

Planting a kiss on the top of Libby's blonde head she grabbed Charlie's collar and kissed him deeply. Rubbing Goose's ears she gave him a look. 'Behave and I'll be home.' Leaning over to the locked end table drawer she gently turned Libby's head away as she grabbed a pearl handled something from the past. Charlie knew that Col had known her away around firearms but he'd never actually seen her use one. God willing she wouldn't have to tonight.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at my Mama's getting my hair done. I'm taking the truck and I'm taking Red."

Red was the downright vicious to anyone except the core Wilbury family but he had been Hank's prized hunting dog and Caroline's steadfast protector when she just toddling around so it was fitting that he would ride shot gun to maul the human trash that tried to hurt their Caroline.

"We're goin' hunting again, Red."

The ancient bloodhound's ears perked up and a new sense of youth had overtaken him. The front door burst open and Goose galloped towards them intent on helping them as a pack. Opening the door to the truck both dogs piled in looking at her urging her to hurry up. Firing up the engine she sighed deeply and headed south towards the covered bridge that led to the older part of the holler. The backroads soon turned to a one lane path that opened up to Miller's Creek, a spring fed creek that lead into the Copperline basin. Killing the headlights before she passed the mile marker sign, she remembered traveling these roads by moonlight with Hank many moons ago. There was a difference, she had wanted to be here. Caroline was terrified and as Colleen pulled up it looked like Jacob Northup's Trans AM was rocking softly. Sliding the truck into park Goose and Red waiting and watched, growling softly.

Gripping the hand gun in her right hand and the door handle in her left Colleen got down very softly and walked toe to heel she reached the driver's side door and opened it swiftly.

"Get out and get on your knees, boy."

The pock marked face of Jacob Northup turned in complete surprise his mouth opening awe before Colleen made a grab for his shirt collar. He let out a yelp as his head connected with the roof of his own car.

"Get on your knees and don't you dare move a muscle."

"Please...please.."

"Caroline you're safe. Please c'mon out. Your uncle's one of the Benson boys isn't he?"

The shape of his face and the color of his eyes gave away his answer before his mouth could even form a word.

"I'm letting you off with a warning. Don't go talking to Caroline ever again. If I see you anywhere near my property I will shoot you."

Cocking back her hand she brought it down onto his left cheek the full weight of her wedding ring set and the weight of a loaded heavy handled handgun came down and sent Jacob Northupp's world into a severe bell clanging tilt as he fell face first into the dirt. A swift kick to his ribs and he groaned into the red clay.

"I suggest you go and talk to your uncle on how this town operates. Do anything like that again and I'll make sure you end up on a milk carton."

Swiftly looking over towards her wide eyed bruised daughter Colleen attempted to keep herself together. Stepping over the man child that lay in the dirt pissing himself she tucked the hand gun into the band of her jeans and pulled her daughter in for a bear hug before wrapping her oversized sweater over Caroline's slender shoulders and setting her in the passenger side of the pickup truck. The old '70 F body was painted a cheery sunshine yellow that would always remind Caroline of her mother dressed in her 'backwoods tuxedo' of worn jeans and denim flannel lined barn coat her red hair thrown up into a wild bun. Her boots had sunflowers etched into the leather.

"I'm sorry Mama..."

"You haven't got anything to be sorry for, baby girl. Nothing at all. I know you fought him off I'm sorry it took me forever to get here.."

"He didn't...do anything...but I think I sprained my wrist punching him..."

"We'll get you checked over. We're going to Pop's to file a report about this..."

Harvey Starling was the sitting Chief of Police in Sloughbridge County so Colleen figured this was a matter of public interest to have another violent Benson related individual out and about in their small community.

"I can't let Granddad Harvey see me like this."

"I know...but it has to be documented. God forbid he moves away, sure he's out of our hair but what about his next girlfriend?"

Caroline considered this, for the first time in her nineteen years it dawned on her that trouble just didn't stop when it left town never to be seen again. It could come back somewhere else twice as bad.

"Only if you teach me how to use that thing. Is the safety on? I don't want you hitting a bump and the next thing we know that thing goes off..."

Caroline's ramble assured her mother that her daughter, while shaken was very much herself. The safety was indeed on. She passed it out to Caroline to put in the glove compartment.

"I'm not touching that thing!"

"The safety's on! Just put it in the glovebox please. It's easier for me to drive with it out of my pants. Oh hush up."

A shuffle and sigh as the glovebox popped open and a scent hit the two of them making Colleen chuckle at Caroline's face.

"Not only does she play with gun she smokes pot!"

"Hurry up and close it and for the love of god don't tell your granddad."

"Noted. No narcing on Mom."

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible by J.R. Miller

Refuge from the Hurt of Tongues

"In the covert of your presence will you hide them from the plotting of man. You will keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues." – Psalm 31:20

“You shall hide them in the secret of Your presence from the pride of man; You shall keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues!”

The writer of this Psalm had suffered from people’s talk. It had broken upon him like missiles of war, like arrows shot through the air. The evil that is in the human tongue is described in the Psalms in very strong language. “Under his tongue is mischief and vanity .” “Your tongue frames deceit . ” “They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent .” The writer had heard the slanders of many who took counsel together against him. He speaks here of the “strife of tongues” a continual warfare of words going on about him.

“The strife of tongues!” How expressive the phrase! We all know more or less about it. Few people escape the hurt of tongues in their own life. Who is there that is not hurt at some time by slander! No name is pure enough to be forever safe against vile insinuations, cruel aspersions. Even the Lord Jesus, whose life was perfect, holy, harmless, did not escape the slanderer’s tongue.

It is strange how many bitter and unloving words are spoken in this world. The tongue is a little member but it is a source of much evil! James tells us that while all kinds of animals have been tamed no man can tame the human tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison! We do not live long in this world, until we find that this is true. On the smallest provocation, men become angry and speak violent words. There are homes in which the chief talk is strife the strife of tongues. There are children, children with gentle souls, who have to grow up in the midst of such a strife, hearing scarcely ever a loving word. The hurt of such sharp, bitter words is very sore!

“The ill-timed truth we might have kept Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung!”

Even the truth about us, may be so told as to be inhumanly cruel in its effects. Then, often, it is falsehood which barbs the arrow. The human tongue often secretes gall. You have heard envy talk. You have heard the mad ravings of jealousy. You have heard the invectives of anger. You have heard the bitter threatenings of revengeful passion. And every word is a damaging missile .

There is a strife of tongues about us even when the words are not spoken against us. Think of all the speech one must hear as the days go by speech that is not loving, not helpful, not encouraging, not comforting. The gift of speech is one of the noblest that God has given to man. It was meant to be loving, true, wise, enriching, and full of blessing. God gave us our tongues that with them we might speak to Him in praise and prayer and to our fellow men in love, in hope in all gracious, helpful, encouraging words.

But what is the major part of the conversation that goes on in parlors, in clubs, during walks and rides? Is it wise, good, wholesome, useful talk? Does it instruct, edify, inspire, uplift? Is it upon important subjects? We know how idle much of it is. People chatter on forever and say not one wise word. How much of the social talk of any day or evening, is worth writing down, worth remembering, worth printing? Yet we cannot get away from this strife of tongues .

The speech about us is full of misrepresentations, too; reflections on others, innuendos, suspicions, criticisms, censures. It is strange how much of the talk we hear is about the absent and with what ruthless abandon, do people say evil things of those who are not present. Characters are discussed and dissected, as if they were nothing more than bits of clay. Names are taken up and gossiping tongues whisper their hints of scandal, even concerning those whom an hour ago they were speaking kindly to. It is the rarest thing that a full, hearty, honest word is spoken of any absent one. Evermore this sad and cruel chatter about people, goes on in society. You cannot but hear it, for you are not deaf. But if you are honorable, true-hearted, and charitable, these words hurt you, and you need a refuge from them.

“The pride of man and the strife of tongues!” How truly these words picture the life which is about everyone of us! And men and women with sensitive spirits grow weary of it, and long to flee away to some quiet retreat, where they shall no longer be hurt by the unending strife of tongues. They grow weary of angry words, of false words, of censorious words, of words of suspicion and backbiting, of words of wrangling and quarreling. So much inharmonious talk hurts us. We grow tired of hearing criticism and faultfinding. It worries and frets us to be nagged at continually.

The words of the Psalm tell us of the refuge we want from all this strife and confusion of words: “You shall hide them in the secret of your presence from the pride of man: you shall keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues.” A refuge has been provided into which we may flee, where we shall not be hurt by this strife. How may we find it?

It is not by falling in, ourselves, with all this stream of talk that we escape its hurt. That is our danger. When we are with those who have only idle words, empty chit - chat forever on their tongues it is easy for us to join them in the frivolous speech. When we hear others gossiping about their neighbors, telling bits of news, repeating derogatory stories, hinting suspicious things we find it very natural to find a sort of pleasure in it all, and then add our portion to the common stock. When we are with people who are saying unkindly things of someone, casting arrows of censure, sneer, or aspersion at the good name of an absent person, making his faults a subject of conversation, holding a sort of clinic over his character and dissecting it for their own cruel delight how easily we slip into the same groove of talk, unless we are most watchful!

Have you ever caught yourself doing this, even laughing at the things people were saying about some dear friend of yours, and even adding little savory bits which your confidential relation of friendship had permitted you to learn about your friend? Or when you find yourself among those who are wrangling about questions, or quarreling about creeds, politics, or something else it is not hard for you to take a side and contend and wrangle as vigorously as the others.

In a home where there is strife, we are always in danger of taking part in it and adding to it the bitterness of our own excited and exciting words. This is not the refuge from the strife of tongues which God provides. It is no refuge at all. It may be the easiest thing, just to drop into the stream and drift along with it; but we are only hurt if we join in sin ourselves, to save ourselves from the evil of other men’s sins. This is only deserting our colors and going over to the enemy. It pleases the evil adversary but it grieves the gracious Savior.

Then we may not seek a refuge from the strife of tongues, in indifference and contempt. If the talk we hear concerns ourselves and is critical and condemnatory, we would do well first to ask whether it is true, or whether the things said of us may not have at least some shadow of truth in them. There is an element of wholesomeness in living in an atmosphere of criticism. Too much praise is not good for us. If everyone always spoke well of us, commending and flattering us continually, it would make us proud and self-conceited. It is well that there always are those about us who are ready to see our blemishes and to expose them. We would never know our faults if this were not so. Francis Quarles said: “If any speak ill of you, flee home to your own conscience and examine your heart. If you be guilty, it is a just correction; if not guilty, it is a fair instruction. Make use of both. So shall you distill honey out of gall, and out of an open enemy create a secret friend.”

Further, the divine refuge from the strife of tongues is not found in flight from the living world. Men have run away to the covert of the rocks and the caverns, to the monastery, to the hermit’s cell to escape the strife of tongues. But that is not the way God wants us to do. He wants us to be in the world and yet not of the world. He needs us in the midst of society, for He desires us to witness for Him. We are to let our light shine upon the world’s darkness, to dispel it. We are to live among those who are ungodly, to show them a pattern of true and beautiful living. Our duty bids us stay where we are. We have a mission there. God needs us in the place where He has planted us. Refuge by flight would be fleeing from duty and we would both prove disloyal to our Master and fail in our search for shelter, by such a course.

But there is a shelter that we can find in the very midst of the trouble. “You shall keep them secretly in a pavilion, from the strife of tongues.” They tell us that when the terrible cyclone sweeps over a country, there is a spot at its very center which is so quiet and still that a leaf is scarcely stirred, where a baby might sleep undisturbed and secure. So at the center of the sorest strife of tongues you may find a pavilion, a place of peace, where no hurt can come to you.

Take the case of one who must endure abuse, reviling, unjust and bitter words in any form. Few of us go through many years of life without meeting experiences of this kind. Some time the tongue of the slanderer will assail us. There is a story that once three young Hebrews were cast into a furnace of fire but came from the flames untouched, not carrying on their garments, even the smell of fire. That was better than if God had kept them altogether out of the fire. We may not keep ourselves from the furnace of burning words but God will keep us from suffering harm in the furnace if we will accept the refuge.

Part of this refuge must be in the consciousness, that we are blameless of wrong. This is a wonderful secret of peace in the heart, in the time when others are speaking evil of us. If the things they say are true, there is no refuge save in the mercy and grace of God. But when our own conscience testifies that we are innocent, there is a secret peace in our own heart which no false words can destroy.

Another element in this refuge, must be the keeping of love in our heart. Slander or bitter words of any kind can harm us only when we yield to the feeling of resentment and anger. So long as we continue loving through all the strife of tongues we are hidden away in a safe refuge. It is impatience that opens the door of the refuge and lets harm in. Sin is not in being tempted but in yielding to temptation. Our Lord taught us to pray for those who despitefully use us and persecute us. While we pray for them their cruel words have no power to hurt us.

In no other way can this lesson he taught so well, as by looking at the example of Christ. Never about any other life, did the strife of tongues wage as it did about Him. Men’s cruelty knew no limit. Poisoned tongues emptied their envenomed bitterness upon Him. But none of this rage and bitterness disturbed Him. You know the secrets. There were two love and peace. His heart was full of love, and the peace of God guarded Him.

We should understand these secrets. If we truly love men we will not be affected by cruel words. They will hurt and sting but they will not embitter us. We will forgive injury and wrong. We will answer back hate with kindness, rudeness with gentleness. Then if we have love in our heart we will seek ever to allay bitterness in others. One of our Master’s beatitudes is, “Blessed are the peacemakers .” We can do much to lessen the strife of tongues, by always speaking gently ourselves.

Parkhurst, in his little book on “The Sunny Side of Christianity,” tells this story: “One day on a trolley car there was a door. .. that squeaked every time it was opened or shut. A man, sitting near it, noticed this. Rising, he took a little can from his pocket, let fall a drop of oil on the offending spot, and sat down, saying, ‘I always carry an oil can in my pocket, for there are so many squeaky things that a drop of oil will set right.’ “

Love carries an oil can and is ready everywhere to lubricate squeaking things. We all know a few men and women who are ever dropping oil to soften friction, and smoothing and quieting strife among others. They have some gentle word, some happy suggestion, some bit of humor, some way of changing the subject, when there is danger of strife. Blessings on the people who carry oil cans in their pockets! Not only do they add immeasurably to the world’s sweetness but they have found a refuge for themselves from the strife of tongues. Love is the secret. It was Christ’s secret. Amid hate and cruelty He loved on. If we keep gentle, patient, sweet, forgiving, and loving the wildest clamor of harsh and angry voices will not disturb us. Our soft answer will turn away wrath. Your good will overcome evil.

The Christian way to resist the strife of tongues is with love. If anyone speaks evil of you say something good of him in return. If the other person is angry keep patient and sweet. If another has bitter words to say of an absent person your task is to say a kind word of him. It was said of Starr King that if anyone did him an unkindness, or said a hard or bitter word of him that was the very man he loved. His heart went out to him in yearning, and he would find ways to conquer him by love .

That is what it is to be a Christian. That is the Christian way to quarrel throw roses for stones; overcome evil with good. O for a Church that would honestly try this way of living with people! If your rights are not quite respected why, it does not really matter! Just keep on loving. Love is the great secret refuge from the strife of tongues.

The other secret of Christ’s quiet was the peace of God in His heart. Nothing unkind or cruel could reach Him, hidden away as He was in the bosom of His Father, in the secret place of the Most High, under the shadow of the Almighty. When the winds are wildly raging over the sea far down beneath the surface is a place where perfect stillness reigns.

“You shall hide them in the secret of Your presence from the pride of man; You shall keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of tongues!”

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

A Bucket of Blood

“Ring rubber bells! Beat cotton gongs! Strike silken cymbals!” Shooting in five days with next to no budget, Roger Corman made a better comedy horror film than many big-budget production companies have made in months. For a rush job, his A BUCKET OF BLOOD (1959, Shudder, Prime, Tubi) has an amazingly consistent tone and point of view. He and screenwriter Charles B. Griffith borrowed plot elements from MYSTERY OF THE WAX MUSEUM (1933) and threw in their observations of the California Beat scene to create a film that mocks artistic pretension while also taking on the generations of wannabes who think they can win the prize without any discernible effort. If you made it today, you’d have to create a cameo for one of the Kardashians.

Walter Paisley (Dick Miller) is a busboy at The Yellow Door, a Beat hangout. He dreams of becoming an artist like his beloved Carla (Barboura Morris). When he accidentally kills his landlady’s cat, he covers the body in clay and passes it off as a sculpture. And he doesn’t impress just the pseudo-artists whose coffee cups he collects. He also has big-time art dealers and critics falling all over themselves. To maintain his pose, he has to start killing people, creating a series of murderous abstracts.

Corman has called Miller “the best actor in Hollywood.” His Paisley seems a little overstated at first. If he slouched any more in his first scene, he’d be dragging his chin on the floor. But he finds a style for the performance that fits Griffith’s screenplay. He’s seriously goofy. When he tries to create a sculpture based on Morris’ photo, he throws clay at the thing while shouting, “Make a nose!” Corman, who knew how to pace a horror film shot on a slender budget, also turns out to have great comic timing. After one murder (of future game-show host Bert Convy), Walter stashes the body on the kitchen ceiling, and as his landlady barges in, an arm drops down at just the right time. After she leaves, the dripping blood accelerates at the perfect pace to make Walter’s soliloquy screamingly funny. Corman and Miller also pull off the incredible feat of keeping things buoyant even when Walter starts killing people intentionally. The shots of him grimacing seriously as he wrings a neck or saws off a head are beyond silly. Corman also gets good work from his supporting cast — the beatific Morris, Anthony Carbone as Miller’s corrupt boss, Julian Burton, who seems to be channeling Laird Cregar as a Beat poet, and Ed Nelson, who has great line readings as an undercover cop. Cinematographer Jacques R. Marquette captures some great nightmarish shots of Venice, CA, at night. Jazz great Fred Katz did the score.

[zachdempseyownsmyheart-blog]

hey guys

So I’m basically new to this whole stuff (even 13rw lmao i’ve been living under a rock) but I’ve been writing for quite a while now and decided to give it a shot and post my stuff on here. Hope you guys will enjoy spending time on here and it will bring you smiles to your faces!

You can request anything from imagines to self-ships (which I’d love doing, so I guess I should start with that one?). I write for any gender, so everyone is welcome here!

Have a great day and an even better week!

Love you

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Found (Outside the Screen) (CC!Dream x GN!Reader) Part 2

Request: That dream angst fuckin wrecked my heart..any chance for a part 2 with comfort(im not the og requester so if not thats fine its just OUGH my heart)

I have written this three times over because tumblr didn’t save it. THEN. Tumblr doesn’t show it to ANYONE unless they check my account. This happened to my Ranboo fic as well... I will honestly cry if no one sees this.

Once again. This is a completely fictitious story and version of Clay.

TW: Panic attacks, self deprecating thoughts,

"(Y/n)!"

His voice echoed through the house as you scrambled around corners to escape the possible wrath of your boyfriend. Or maybe even soon to be ex boyfriend.

Despite living in this house with him for a little over two years, it was beginning to feel like a maze. You couldn't tell which way was left and which way was right, your head spinning with panic as you gasped for breath.

He's gonna find you...

The house wasn't even that big, and quite an open concept, so you had no idea why you were finding it so confusing. All you knew at the moment was...

Get out.

Once your eyes landed on the door that lead out, you made a beeline towards it and flung it open. Maybe you should've known better than to attempt to run from the manhunt god...

The footsteps pounding against the floor not too far behind you startled you enough to jump outside and slam the door behind you in hopes of giving yourself enough time to run farther.

There were plenty of things failing to register in your mind as you ran down the empty sidewalks. Such as the poor choice (or lack) of shoes you were wearing, or even the heavy night rain pelting down on your shaking body.

Your lungs were burning.. But your brain had thrown itself so far into fight or flight mode that you had no care for anything around you, hardly blinking twice as the signs of unfamiliar street names flew past you.

Eventually, when you physically couldn't breathe any longer, you sat on a bench and took awhile to think. The consistent rain pelting down on your head was actually a decent grounder to help you snap yourself out of it... But that only caused more confusion and another wave of panic to wash over you.

Where... were you?

Doesn't matter. Don't go back.

Oh God... He hates you..

Why wouldn't he..?

He was too embarrassed to show you to his chat!

What did you do that was so embarrassing?

God.. What was so wrong with you that he stayed in his streaming room for days on end!?

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you choked back a few sobs, trying your best to keep what was left of your composure. Very quickly, however, you gave up on trying to hold yourself together and broke down, hiding your face in your knees.

Time seemed to pass by way too quickly but also way too slowly at the same time.. Like time itself was giving you the one finger salute. When you finally stopped crying, you leaned back against the back of the bench and gave a shaky sigh before you decided to attempt to think rationally again.

You had no clue where you were. Nothing looked familiar. What time is it? No clue, you don't have your... Your phone!

You quickly scrambled to your pocket to pull out the cellular device, and stared at the black screen for a few seconds. Anxiety was the reason for your hesitance as you stared into your reflection, frowning slightly. Without thinking twice, you pressed the button and the screen lit up with various arrays of colours.

78 Missed calls from Clay💚

2 Missed calls from George👓🇬🇧

7 Missed calls from Sapnap🔥

Was... He so mad that his friends were trying to yell at you too? You tilted your head slightly and scrolled through the other notifications on your lockscreen.

Twitter seemed to be losing their minds over your boyfriend's stream and wondering who the stranger was. Seeing the headlines flooded you with immeasurable guilt and you almost put your phone down again, if your phone didn't start buzzing.

You glanced down at the screen and say Clay was making call number 79... Man, he was persistent.. and he would probably continue to call until you answered...

Your finger hovered over the decline button, before slowly moving over and landing on the green one instead. "...Hello...?"

"(Y/n)...?" Had... He been crying...? "Oh my god! You're alive!" He gasped out with glee before giving a few sobs of... relief...?

"...You... Aren't... Mad?" You whispered very softly and hesitantly, your voice scratchy and sore from crying.

He sighed and there was a little bit of shuffling as well as a few male voices in the background. "No. Not in the slightest... Where are you? I want to apologize in person.. And when it doesn't sound like you're in a hurricane.."

You lifted your head up to look at the rain that was continuing to pelt down on you before looking around. "..I'm not sure.." You heard your partner echo your statement in question form as you looked for street signs through the rain. Glancing back at your phone, you saw the screen light up again, this time it was a warning label.

Your battery was almost dead...

"C-Clay.. My phone is going to die.." You murmured softly, your heart filling with dread as you turned down your brightness and closed any unnecessary apps.

There was a little bit of clattering and shuffling on the line as Clay hurriedly walked from the windows to the door, trying to see you from the home. "G-give me landmarks! Hurry!" He practically begged as you shot up from your bench, ignoring the burning soreness in your legs.

Spinning around quickly, you began listing off a few company buildings you saw, trying to shout over the rain and a few cars driving by. "Yeah-yeah! There's also that little sushi place beside the restaurant too.."

You heard the furious typing of his computer before another almost sob of relief. "You're on Rosewood Avenue... How the hell did you run that far? Okay, you're going to walk in the opposite direction of the sushi place until you reach a road called Miller Road, got that?" He waited for a verbal noise of agreement before continuing, "Once you get there, turn left and keep walking straight until you get to a steakhouse. I'll meet you half way, if you don't see me there, don't move unless you have to. Got it?" He asked firmly, with a small hint of desperation in his tone.

You rubbed your face as you mentally repeated the directions to yourself. "Yeah.. Yeah.. I got it." You began to walk along the sidewalks, your shoulders beginning to tremble from the water induced shivers trailing up and down your spine.

"..(Y/n)?"

"Yeah?"

"I lov-"

Your phone died..

Pulling the device away from your head, you pressed the buttons a few times before groaning and shoving it into your pockets as you began to walk.

Your mind was blurry but also hyper aware along the walk to the road where Clay told you to go. 'What was he going to say? If... He doesn't hate me... was he going to say- No.. no. He hadn't said that line in over a few months now.. No reason why he would say it now..' You mentally scolded yourself.

The rain didn't seem to be too keen on letting up as you walked through large rippling puddles. Your clothes were soaked, your hair completely drenched and you were pretty sure you were gonna need to buy a new phone with how much your current one was getting waterlogged..

You rose your arm to shield your face from the onslaught of water that a car had caused by driving through a large puddle before running your hand down your face.

Part of you was still a bit.. angry... at Clay... He had ignored you for so long and wanted nothing to do with you.. Then suddenly you spill hot coffee on yourself and then boom, you have the man more focused than when he has a good speed run seed. What about all those times you were begging him to come to bed, or at least eat dinner at the table with you? Did you only matter when you were in pain?

Biting your lip, you shook off the thought as you looked up again to see the steakhouse that you were directed to go to, the signs glowingly and people shuffling in and out through the doors...

Then there was another man, standing under a large black umbrella wearing a damp lime green hoodie...

Only you'd recognize that face anywhere where others wouldn't.. Standing in the street lights perfectly was your boyfriend, Clay.

Your heart trembled but also melted slightly upon seeing that he wasn't paying attention to his screen anymore. You. He was focused on finding you...

As you began to walk closer, you saw him lift his head and stare at you for a few seconds before dropping the umbrella and lunge forward to wrap you in a loving embrace. "I'm sorry.." Was the first thing he whispered, his voice almost as hoarse as yours. "I know.. that a simple apology will never excuse what I put you through... You cared for me, and even after a stupidly ignored you... You still didn't leave, or get angry. I don't deserve you, I know that, and you have every right to be upset, angry or whatever you're feeling right now.. Please, it doesn't matter how long it takes... Just let me make it up to you and let me prove myself worthy of your love again.."

Your lips parted in surprise as you stared at him, the streetlight poorly capturing his normal beauty, but still doing it well enough that you felt your heart soar. "Clay..." Your eyes traced his features, his puffy and reddened eyes and his cheeks stained with tear tracks, "You have a lot to work and make up for... I'm not going to forgive you immediately, but I'm not going to leave you.. We can work things out.. Together, okay?"

He eagerly nodded and gently held your face in his hands before pressing a light kiss to your forehead. "I'll break away from video editing and streaming for a while.. So I can focus on repairing things with you.."

You buried your face into the male's sweater, that was beginning to become soaked as well from the rain and you, and closed your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him.

"(Y/n)?"

"Mm..?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Clay."

[theysayitscrazy]

Eliminated

@rebelwrites​: FanFic Friday Week 3

Full Metal x Reader

Full Metal has a sister

Inspiration Photo:

 Scott “Full Metal” Carter stared at the burning wreck in disbelief. His sister’s 2011 Toyota Corolla was wrapped around a light pole. The body in the driver’s seat was charred beyond recognition after the explosion that engulfed the vehicle in flames.

Bravo stood in a half circle behind him, all silent, while watching the car burn. The fire department was waiting for the accelerant to burn down before putting the vehicle out completely. Then they’d begin their investigation into the crash and explosion before they removed the body from the front seat.

Metal reached for his phone and hit her contact again. He pressed his phone to his ear and listed to it ring and ring and ring before it went to voicemail.

“Hey this is Y/N, leave a message and I’ll call back as soon as possible.”

Metal squeezed the phone and swallowed. This time he left a voicemail. “Y/N, I need you to call me,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Y/N, please sister. Just please call me.” He was past of caring if Bravo saw him beg.

~*~

Bravo Team is sitting around Metal’s living room, watching Metal pace back and forth. There were no identifiable features on the body in the car. Until the police were able to match the dental records, there was no way of knowing if it was his sister or not.

He tried her cell again. Straight to voicemail.

There was a knock on the front door and Metal’s head snapped up. Ray grabbed the door and greeted the two plain clothed detectives with a nod and invited them in. The two men glanced around the room, taking in Bravo Team sitting around.

“Looking for Scott Carter,” one of the detectives announced.

“You got him,” Metal stopped pacing and nodded at the officer. “Have you identified the body yet?” Metal asked.

The blonde-haired man before him shook his head sadly, “Unfortunately dental records will take several days. But we have been looking into your sister’s background. It looks like the car was reported stolen last night.”

Metal’s heart pounded in his chest, and he reached for his phone again. He called again and growled when it went straight to voicemail.

“We also found a restraining order placed earlier this week against a Dylan Myers,” the dark hair detective stated.

Scott narrowed his eyes on the Detectives. “Her ex,” Metal nodded. “So, what are you saying? Are you suggesting foul play?”

“We believe it’s a real possibility,” the detective nodded solemnly.

Metal felt his blood run cold. Bravo shifted in their seats around the room.

“We’re trying to put together a timeline here,” Blondie continued. “Last week police respond to Y/N’s residence for a domestic violence call. Two days later, Y/N files a restraining order against her ex-boyfriend. Then last night she reports the car stolen. We have reason to believe that the ex-boyfriend is somehow involved. When’s the last time you saw your sister?”

Metal runs a hand over his hat covered hair. “Uh, I’ve been out of the country for a couple days. Maybe Wednesday?” he asked or told. He didn’t even know which at this point.

~*~

You sigh as you pull into the driveway of your brother’s ranch style home. It was modest and quaint. Simple really. It suited Scott perfectly. All he needed and then some.

You saw the unmarked parked on the street the moment you turned down the road. Scott had taught you to always be aware of your surroundings. Your job had taught you to recognize even the most subtle hints to an undercover car. And this one was clearly a mod job, taken out of the impound lot after a mark failed to post bond.

So, detectives were in the house. As was all of Bravo Team, from the looks of all the other vehicles.

You turn off the engine to Harvey’s Aston Martin and slowly climb out of the car. Your legs and feet are aching. You were on your feet in the courthouse all day. You reach over and grab your stilettos and slide them on your feet. The idea of walking into the house, not fully dressed and pristine to greet the Detectives has you straightening your expensive suit and skirt.

A quick pat to make sure your chignon was still pristine, and you strut up the front walk to the house. At least one of the detectives was looking out the window at you.

You open the door, and the room engulfs in cheers.

Scott storms between the two Detectives and push them out of the way to pull you into his arms. “Y/N, Jesus. What the fuck? Why the fuck haven’t you answered my calls? I’ve been calling all day?”

You embrace him, happy to see him, even if he’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. You close your eyes and rest your head against your big brother’s chest. He’s always had a way of calming you down. You take in his rapid heartbeat and breathe in the masculine scent that is all Scott Carter.

“Y/N, where the hell you been?” Scott demanded in a tone that brought back growing up with him. That, I’m older than you, so I know more, tone that grated on your nerves and shot you straight into bitch mode.

You pull away from instantly and snap your eyes to his. Both hands go to your hips, and you can feel Bravo’s eyes on you as you stare down your brother, Clay’s are especially glued to you. “Excuse me?” you demand.

“Y/N, they found your car with a body in it!” Scott shouted. “I watched it burn on the side of the fucking road! So, where the fuck were you? I called you a million fuckin times today!”

You tilt your head to the side and observe your brother for a moment. He is utterly distraught. He honestly believed he lost you today. It rattled you to see your strong and “I was at work…” you begin slowly, know the detectives were right behind you, taking in every word. “I’ve been in the Court Room all day on the Sanderson’s trial. I lost my phone. I think it might have been in my car when it was stolen. I sent you an email this morning.”

Scott stared down at you utterly speechless. That was a first.

“Ma’am,” one of the Detective’s cut in.

You glance away from Scott and look at the blond-haired Detective over your shoulder and raise an eyebrow at him. He was interrupting personal family time. You wait, eyebrow raised, for him to continue.

“Would you mind answering some questions for us?” Blondie continued.

You turn your body to him fully and cross your arms over your chest. “And who might you be?” You give him a stare that would send a lesser man running.

Blondie’s eyes narrow on you slightly, assessing.

Yeah, pretty boy, I’m more than just a pretty face, you think.

“Detective Adam Ruzek and this is my partner, Detective Nick Kincaid,” Blondie introduces.

“I’ll need to see some ID’s,” you hold out your hand expectantly.

Again, blondie, or rather Ruzek, eyes you momentarily. You can see the wariness in his gaze. You hold off a smirk, and wait, hand extended. Kincaid hands you his badge and police ID first, slapping it in your hand while you have a stare off with Ruzek.

You glance down at the ID and nod. “Detective Nicholas Kincaid, badge number 684923,” you drawl out slowly to the roomful of very intelligent Navy SEALS.

You hear Clay’s cough to cover a laugh and have to fight a smirk. You look up at Detective Kincaid and nod in thanks as you hand him back his badge and ID. “You’re the Captain’s son, correct?”

Nick Kincaid looks you over, assessing his opponent now that it was his turn. “That’s right,” he nodded slowly.

You nod thoughtfully. “I’m actually having lunch with him tomorrow,” you explain and cross your arms over your chest again. “He’s a key witness in the Sanderson Trial.”

You watch Detective Kincaid run his eyes over your face, trying to place your face with a memory. You can see the moment recognition dawns in his eyes. “You’re Assistant District Attorney Y/N Carter. The ADA that put away, Sean Calloway. I didn’t know the DA’s office was working the Sanderson Trial,” Kincaid states.

You smirk then. “It’s not. I’ve moved on from the DA’s office. Private sector pays more.” You eye Ruzek, taking in how he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. Studying you. “Your ID please?” you put your hand out expectantly again and tilt your head at him.

There’s a slight glare in his eyes as he watches you, but still reaches for his badge and ID. He places it in your hand, and you ignore him completely as you look down at it. “Detective Adam Ruzek, badge number 796842,” you drawl again to the room.

“Ma’am, we’d like to ask you a couple questions,” Ruzek cuts to the chase as he pulls his badge out of your hands.

You raise eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest again. “Alright Detective,” you eye him contemplatively. Scott shifts behind you, and you can feel the anger radiating off him. He didn’t like this Detective anymore than you did. “How can I help you?”

Before Ruzek could ask anything, you turn to Sonny and give him a soft smile. “Hey Sonny, can you grab me a beer please?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sonny drawls with grin and gets to his feet.

You take the time to survey the rest of Bravo. They’re all nervous smiles for the most part. Not one of them seem to like the vibes the Detectives, namely Ruzek are giving off.

Sonny presses a beer into your hand, and you nod gratefully. You take a swig before you turn back to the Detective. “Your questions?” you ask.

Ruzek looks annoyed. “How about you walk us through your day. Start from last night, when you reported your car was stolen until now.”

You give him a grin and tilt your head to look at him. He was getting flustered, if his slightly red face was anything to go by. Sometimes, it was too easy to rile them up. “I don’t have to do that,” you state, watching the anger simmer under the surface. “You can read about it the report filed last night. I will tell you what I did today,” you smirk slightly, enjoying the torment you were putting the detective through.

You pause and take a pull off the Miller Lite bottle.

“So today?” Ruzek huffs.

Scott shifts behind you, but stays quiet. He knows you can handle yourself.

“I left here at 6 am. I took an Uber to my office downtown, had coffee with my business partner Harvey Specter,” you drawl and eye him steadily. The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grinds his molars. He looks up from his notepad and meets your gaze. “You’re from Chicago,” you state, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Ruzek’s eyes darken as he watches you.

“Worked in Intelligence with Hank Voigt, correct?”

Ruzek shifts and straightens. “Your point?”

“Oh, no point,” you smile. “I did my undergrad at Northwestern. I used to intern at the 21st.”

Ruzek eyes you warily.

“What brings a Chicago boy out here?” When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “Perhaps Voigt’s brand of Old Chicago Policing rubbed off on you,” you accuse. “Perhaps you gotta a little too comfortable and did something even Voigt couldn’t look away from?”

“Or maybe my fiancé’s family lives here, I transferred for her?”

“Maybe,” you nod. “And maybe that police brutality case sitting on my partner’s desk, goes away.”

There was a ripple in the room as every man went completely still.

The threat was loud and clear.

The smirk on your face never wavered. Your head was tilted slightly to the side, your arms were crossed casually over your chest.

You can see Ruzek thinking quickly behind those chocolate eyes. Finally, he straightens and closes his notepad. “So, you took and Uber to your office and had coffee with Harvey Specter,” Ruzek says.

You nod. “We went over notes and met with Captain Kincaid for breakfast. Afterwards, the three of us headed to the Court House. Where I spent the next six hours in court. We broke for lunch. Ate at the food cart in front of the courthouse. Where we ran into District Attorney Jessica Pearson. She’s my old mentor, it was great to see her and catch up. Then I was back in court again for another grueling six hours. But at the end of the day, I won my case and won my clients a glorious seven figure payout.”

Ruzek ground his molars again. “Came straight home?”

“Had dinner with my colleagues, Pier 31,” you name the fanciest steak joint downtown.

“And the car?” Kincaid asks, nodding out the still open front door to the Aston Martin sitting in the driveway.

“Harvey so graciously let me borrow it. He really is such a good friend. I dropped him off at home, and then headed here.”

Ruzek nodded once. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

When both Kincaid and Ruzek are out of the house and down the street, you let down your hair and pull the dress shirt out of your pencil skirt. You don’t even care that Bravo is watching your every move. “That was scary, even for you,” Jason chuckles.

You grin at him and shrug.

You can feel Clay’s eyes on you, burning into your skin as you unbutton your dress shirt to reveal the skintight tank beneath. You pull off the shirt and toss it on a chair, leaving your bare arms covered in beautiful ink on display.

You glance at Clay to see his blatant pursual of your body and ink and smirk. He doesn’t even notice. You look up at your brother.

Scott is not amused. “You laid it on kind thick there,” he points out.

You nod speculatively and shrug a shoulder before you take a long pull from your beer.

Scott reaches out and rubs his thumb over your cheek, grazing your black eye. Even though you’d caked on the make up that morning for court, he could still see it up close. “I wish you would have told me.” He sighs.

You shrug a shoulder. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle myself.”

He nods. “And the problem?” he asks.

“Eliminated,” you reply.

“Good girl,” Scott grins and pulls you into his arms.

“Girl is fuckin scarier than him,” Sonny grumbles.

You grin and glance at Clay. He’s still watching you of course, like you knew he would be, but there’s a hunger blazing in those baby blues that hadn’t been there before.

So, baby boy wants to play with fire? This could be fun.

[icarushasfallenfromthestars]

That dream angst fuckin wrecked my heart..any chance for a part 2 with comfort(im not the og requester so if not thats fine its just OUGH my heart)

So both you and the og requester asked for a part 2, which means I'm definitely gonna do it! (I'd do it even if the og didn't ask so lmao) I HAD TO REWRITE THIS 12 GOD DAMN TIMES BECAUSE TUMBLR IS SHIT AT SAVING THINGS

I'm honestly so glad people enjoy my writings! Feel free to request more! My inbox is open and I have no requests lined up yet!

Once again. This is a completely fictitious story and version of Clay.

TW: Panic attacks, self deprecating thoughts,

Part one

Found (Outside The Screen) (Dream x GN! Reader) Part 2

"(Y/n)!"

His voice echoed through the house as you scrambled around corners to escape the possible wrath of your boyfriend. Or maybe even soon to be ex boyfriend.

Despite living in this house with him for a little over two years, it was beginning to feel like a maze. You couldn't tell which way was left and which way was right, your head spinning with panic as you gasped for breath.

He's gonna find you...

The house wasn't even that big, and quite an open concept, so you had no idea why you were finding it so confusing. All you knew at the moment was...

Get out.

Once your eyes landed on the door that lead out, you made a beeline towards it and flung it open. Maybe you should've known better than to attempt to run from the manhunt god...

The footsteps pounding against the floor not too far behind you startled you enough to jump outside and slam the door behind you in hopes of giving yourself enough time to run farther.

There were plenty of things failing to register in your mind as you ran down the empty sidewalks. Such as the poor choice (or lack) of shoes you were wearing, or even the heavy night rain pelting down on your shaking body.

Your lungs were burning.. But your brain had thrown itself so far into fight or flight mode that you had no care for anything around you, hardly blinking twice as the signs of unfamiliar street names flew past you.

Eventually, when you physically couldn't breathe any longer, you sat on a bench and took awhile to think. The consistent rain pelting down on your head was actually a decent grounder to help you snap yourself out of it... But that only caused more confusion and another wave of panic to wash over you.

Where... were you?

Doesn't matter. Don't go back.

Oh God... He hates you..

Why wouldn't he..?

He was too embarrassed to show you to his chat!

What did you do that was so embarrassing?

God.. What was so wrong with you that he stayed in his streaming room for days on end!?

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you choked back a few sobs, trying your best to keep what was left of your composure. Very quickly, however, you gave up on trying to hold yourself together and broke down, hiding your face in your knees.

Time seemed to pass by way too quickly but also way too slowly at the same time.. Like time itself was giving you the one finger salute. When you finally stopped crying, you leaned back against the back of the bench and gave a shaky sigh before you decided to attempt to think rationally again.

You had no clue where you were. Nothing looked familiar. What time is it? No clue, you don't have your... Your phone!

You quickly scrambled to your pocket to pull out the cellular device, and stared at the black screen for a few seconds. Anxiety was the reason for your hesitance as you stared into your reflection, frowning slightly. Without thinking twice, you pressed the button and the screen lit up with various arrays of colours.

78 Missed calls from Clay💚

2 Missed calls from George👓🇬🇧

7 Missed calls from Sapnap🔥

Was... He so mad that his friends were trying to yell at you too? You tilted your head slightly and scrolled through the other notifications on your lockscreen.

Twitter seemed to be losing their minds over your boyfriend's stream and wondering who the stranger was. Seeing the headlines flooded you with immeasurable guilt and you almost put your phone down again, if your phone didn't start buzzing.

You glanced down at the screen and say Clay was making call number 79... Man, he was persistent.. and he would probably continue to call until you answered...

Your finger hovered over the decline button, before slowly moving over and landing on the green one instead. "...Hello...?"

"(Y/n)...?" Had... He been crying...? "Oh my god! You're alive!" He gasped out with glee before giving a few sobs of... relief...?

"...You... Aren't... Mad?" You whispered very softly and hesitantly, your voice scratchy and sore from crying.

He sighed and there was a little bit of shuffling as well as a few male voices in the background. "No. Not in the slightest... Where are you? I want to apologize in person.. And when it doesn't sound like you're in a hurricane.."

You lifted your head up to look at the rain that was continuing to pelt down on you before looking around. "..I'm not sure.." You heard your partner echo your statement in question form as you looked for street signs through the rain. Glancing back at your phone, you saw the screen light up again, this time it was a warning label.

Your battery was almost dead...

"C-Clay.. My phone is going to die.." You murmured softly, your heart filling with dread as you turned down your brightness and closed any unnecessary apps.

There was a little bit of clattering and shuffling on the line as Clay hurriedly walked from the windows to the door, trying to see you from the home. "G-give me landmarks! Hurry!" He practically begged as you shot up from your bench, ignoring the burning soreness in your legs.

Spinning around quickly, you began listing off a few company buildings you saw, trying to shout over the rain and a few cars driving by. "Yeah-yeah! There's also that little sushi place beside the restaurant too.."

You heard the furious typing of his computer before another almost sob of relief. "You're on Rosewood Avenue... How the hell did you run that far? Okay, you're going to walk in the opposite direction of the sushi place until you reach a road called Miller Road, got that?" He waited for a verbal noise of agreement before continuing, "Once you get there, turn left and keep walking straight until you get to a steakhouse. I'll meet you half way, if you don't see me there, don't move unless you have to. Got it?" He asked firmly, with a small hint of desperation in his tone.

You rubbed your face as you mentally repeated the directions to yourself. "Yeah.. Yeah.. I got it." You began to walk along the sidewalks, your shoulders beginning to tremble from the water induced shivers trailing up and down your spine.

"..(Y/n)?"

"Yeah?"

"I lov-"

Your phone died..

Pulling the device away from your head, you pressed the buttons a few times before groaning and shoving it into your pockets as you began to walk.

Your mind was blurry but also hyper aware along the walk to the road where Clay told you to go. 'What was he going to say? If... He doesn't hate me... was he going to say- No.. no. He hadn't said that line in over a few months now.. No reason why he would say it now..' You mentally scolded yourself.

The rain didn't seem to be too keen on letting up as you walked through large rippling puddles. Your clothes were soaked, your hair completely drenched and you were pretty sure you were gonna need to buy a new phone with how much your current one was getting waterlogged..

You rose your arm to shield your face from the onslaught of water that a car had caused by driving through a large puddle before running your hand down your face.

Part of you was still a bit.. angry... at Clay... He had ignored you for so long and wanted nothing to do with you.. Then suddenly you spill hot coffee on yourself and then boom, you have the man more focused than when he has a good speed run seed. What about all those times you were begging him to come to bed, or at least eat dinner at the table with you? Did you only matter when you were in pain?

Biting your lip, you shook off the thought as you looked up again to see the steakhouse that you were directed to go to, the signs glowingly and people shuffling in and out through the doors...

Then there was another man, standing under a large black umbrella wearing a damp lime green hoodie...

Only you'd recognize that face anywhere where others wouldn't.. Standing in the street lights perfectly was your boyfriend, Clay.

Your heart trembled but also melted slightly upon seeing that he wasn't paying attention to his screen anymore. You. He was focused on finding you...

As you began to walk closer, you saw him lift his head and stare at you for a few seconds before dropping the umbrella and lunge forward to wrap you in a loving embrace. "I'm sorry.." Was the first thing he whispered, his voice almost as hoarse as yours. "I know.. that a simple apology will never excuse what I put you through... You cared for me, and even after a stupidly ignored you... You still didn't leave, or get angry. I don't deserve you, I know that, and you have every right to be upset, angry or whatever you're feeling right now.. Please, it doesn't matter how long it takes... Just let me make it up to you and let me prove myself worthy of your love again.."

Your lips parted in surprise as you stared at him, the streetlight poorly capturing his normal beauty, but still doing it well enough that you felt your heart soar. "Clay..." Your eyes traced his features, his puffy and reddened eyes and his cheeks stained with tear tracks, "You have a lot to work and make up for... I'm not going to forgive you immediately, but I'm not going to leave you.. We can work things out.. Together, okay?"

He eagerly nodded and gently held your face in his hands before pressing a light kiss to your forehead. "I'll break away from video editing and streaming for a while.. So I can focus on repairing things with you.."

You buried your face into the male's sweater, that was beginning to become soaked as well from the rain and you, and closed your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him.

"(Y/n)?"

"Mm..?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Clay."

[hazzoranstories]

THE WHITE SUN AT MIDNIGHT | J.BLACK Ch. 24

Mark Consuelos as Mika Miller

Jhonattan Burjack as Dakoda Withler

Vito Basso as Shawne Perce

~:*:~

"Hey, Paige, I- oh," Bella announced her entrance as she walked through Paige's bedroom door without a single knock causing her great embarrassment when she saw Paige and Jacob making out. They quickly disconnected, and Jake cleared his throat awkwardly as Paige got off him.

"Yes, sister?" the Claymore questioned while playing with her fingers.

"I was going to say that I was going over to Jake's, but I guess he's here already . . . . which I'm going to ask about later," the brunette replied, and Paige nodded swiftly.

"What do you need, Bells?" Jake cut the awkward tension.

"Erm- oh right, I um- can you like investigate my room? Like pick up a scent or something?" the older sister asked kindly, and the werewolf nodded. He got up, and Bella led him to her room.

"You do realize that you have a werewolf right here, right?" Paige stated, gesturing herself. Jake chuckled as he opened the door but howled when he smelled the obnoxious scent of a vampire.

"Wow," he gasped, and Paige covered her nose with her shirt to block the intoxicating odor. Both wolves began trying to lock the scent into their heads, and when they were certain they could remember it, Bella guided them outside. Once they saw Edward standing near his car, the imprints scowled.

"Whoever it was, he left his stink behind. It'll be hard to miss when we cross it again. We'll handle it from here," Jake hissed to the vampire.

"We don't need you to handle anything. Or anyone," Edward cut him off.

"We could care less what you need," Paige snapped.

"All right, we're done here," the bronze-haired boy grabbed Bella's arm and was going to drag her to the car when Isabella yanked her arm away.

"No, you're done here," Jacob barked, edging closer to Edward.

"Stop! I'm tired of this. From now on, I'm Switzerland, okay?" the Swan snarled, and the supernatural creatures glared at each other.

"Screw you, Vamp," Paige muttered with venom glossing her tongue. She walked off into the woods; Jake merely looked at the couple before racing after her.

~:*:~

"Paige!" Seth exclaimed to the imprints who had entered Emily's house to visit the pack. The young shifter got up from the couch where he was doing his homework and ran up to the blonde. He hugged her warmly, and she returned it. They heard a low growl escape Jake's lips, which earned a playfully shove from Embry, who entered behind them along with Paul, Jared, Sam, and Quil.

"Oh, calm down, Jake. It's not like Seth could ever get a girl like that," Jared joked and smacked Seth's shoulder.

"Like that? Am I supposed to be offended?" Paige crossed her arms.

"Depends," Quil shrugged, and Paige glared at the two smirking boys.

"I'm about to beat you two, just so ya know," the girl threatened.

"Oh please," Paul scoffed.

"I would recommend you three start running," Sam advised, and they all looked at each other before sprinting out of the house. Paige kissed Jake's cheek before running after them.

On his way to the woods, Jared tripped over a branch and stumbled before getting up and continuing. Paige took this chance to tackle him to the ground. He let out a cry almost similar to a whine of desperation, and Paul and Quil looked back at him.

Everyone in the house went outside to enjoy the show, and it was definitely worth it. Paige had Jared's hands held behind his back as he wiggled from under her.

"Oh, come on, Jare!" Paul scolded him. With all his strength, Jared rolled him and Paige over and pushed her away. He tried to join his two friends, but Paige yanked his shoulders back and flung him in the air, causing him to phase.

Everyone froze as Jared growled at the female wolf. "Nice phase, Jare," Paige teased, and Jared snapped his jaw at her, making Jake step forward, but Sam placed a hand across his chest. The Alpha grit his teeth at his "leader" and stepped back.

Paige sniggered and was deciding what to do with the agitated shifter when Leah burst from the woods. "Sam! Wolves . . . . trespassing . . . . boarder," she yelled through pants. Everyone shot alive and quickly followed Leah to the La Push borders.

It was almost an hour of heavy breathing and sprinting later until the pack arrived there to see five other shape-shifters standing proudly on the Quileute's land. Three of them were huge, with the height of Sam and the build of Jake combined; they looked almost too big to be werewolves. One of them was the average body type, but still bigger than Seth and Paige's small wolves. And the last one was hidden between two large wolves. Paige could tell it was a she, and her form was tiny and cute.

'What do you want? Why are you trespassing on our land?' Sam showed his pointed teeth as he tried to converse with whoever was the Alpha in this pack. But no one responded. His dark eyes narrowed once he sensed no Alpha's presence besides Jacob's beside him.

The burliest of the pack stepped forward with its eyes darkening and leered at Paige. The two wolves continued to stare at each other until Paige stumbled over her feet as she tried to step back. Mika. Why was Mika here?!

'I'm here to take you home, Eva. Kambie is not pleased with you,' the Miller soothed in his calming and flowy voice.

Paige shook her furry head wildly, and the Uley pack all looked between both wolves. 'No, Mika. I can't. Kambie is going to have to extend the stay or something, please. I imprinted on someone and don't plan on leaving. Please, Mika. For me,' the girl begged with a small whine escaping her lips.

'You don't have a choice, Eva. Don't make this difficult for you and your friends,' a lower voice hummed into the white wolf's thoughts, and she looked over to the wolf beside Mika. It was Dakoda Withler, a childhood friend of Teydon's.

'I can't! Just give me a year, and then I'll come back, please. Let me finish school, spend some more time with Bella and Charlie, and wait for my imprint to leave school. Then he and I will go-'

'He can't come with. Kambie won't allow any imprints to penetrate our behavior. He banned them all from our land . . . . it'll be safer for everyone if you just come with us,' Mika cut Paige off.

'Just do it, Clay!' Chloe's squeaky voice whined, and the Claymore looked to the smallest wolf, then back at Mika and Dakoda, and finally at the Uley pack. Jake looked beyond worried and frustrated that he didn't know what was going on. Paige huffed and glanced at her friends from Washington one more time before heading over to the Anderson pack. God, she hated saying or even thinking about that. It was just another reminder that her father is dead and Kambie is her leader now.

Her head was down as the new Beta - Mika - nudged her forward, and Dakoda grabbed her by the skin on her neck with his rather dull teeth compared to Sam's or Kambie's. Jake let out a roaring growl as he advanced despite Sam's orders to stay put.

'Can you please at least show them your faces?' Paige pleaded to Mika, who looked down at her.

'Why? So your imprint can hunt us down? No, thank you,' Dakoda barked, and Paige glared at him. He always annoyed her with his arrogance. She liked to tease Teydon that that's where he got it from since Dakoda was a couple of years older than her past crush. Mika gazed at his deceased best friend's daughter and slowly nodded to the bushes. The Anderson wolves slowly hid in the shrubs and unphased, changing quickly. The Uley pack saw this, and Sam ordered Jake, Embry, Jared, and himself to change while Seth, Paul, Leah, and Quil remained as wolves to be cautious.

They all emerged and what they saw made the Uley pack almost stop in their tracks. There stood their neighboring wolves, Ryland and Chloe, along with three other men. They were all strong and muscular, but the smallest was easy to point out. He had shoulder-length brown hair accompanied by his tan skin and tattoo of mountains with a bow and arrow drawn on his collarbone. Paige only knew his name, Shawne Perce.

Dakoda had his short curly black hair like he always did, a complete mess. But it worked for him since he's had more success with girls than most of his friends. Including Teydon. He wore the same tattoo that Shawne had on his left bicep that marked the wolf pack. And finally, there was Mika. He was extremely good looking for his age of forty-six and was almost a whole 10 years older than Kambie, yet he had only managed to get as far as Beta in the pack.

With his tensed shoulders and growing scowl, Sam neared the Anderson pack with Jake and Jared by his side. "Let me ask you this again. Who are you? What do you want? And why are you trespassing on our land?" the Alpha hissed, and Mika stepped forward, pushing Paige behind him slightly.

"I am Mika Miller. You may know my children," Mika pointed to Chloe and Ryland. "We mean no harm to you or your land. We just came here to pick up Paige. She is part of our pack and needs to come home under Alpha's orders," Jake was close to losing it and choking this Mika guy for trying to steal his imprint.

"Well, you can't have her," the werewolf sneered.

Dakoda leaned down to Paige's ear and whispered, "imprint." Paige nodded, and he raised his eyebrows with a look of pride.

"I'm sorry, but we must take her home. If not, then it puts both her and your pack at risk. If the Alpha of our pack finds out she stayed here when she was supposed to leave right after she phased to stay with an imprint . . . ." Dakoda trailed off then sighed. "All hell will break loose."

"Who is the name of your Alpha?" Sam questioned.

"Kambie Anderson. He was formally the Beta when Chayton Claymore was Alpha. But he's recently passed, and Kambie is a brutal Alpha who shows no mercy to the unwanted," Mika uttered with disappointment for his best friend.

It was silent for a while as Sam pondered over the overwhelming thoughts and decisions. Jake was screaming at him on one side of his head while his other side tried to think. "All right-"

"No! Sam, you aren't going to let them take her! She belongs here! With me!" Jacob shouted, and Paige tried to quiet him down, but Ryland grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Jacob!" Sam interrupted, and Jake's chest was heaving up and down in anger. "Is there any way for her to stay here and for Kambie to remain contained in his land?" Sam asked, trying to find some way to keep Paige there. He knew that if this were Emily, he'd do everything in his power to keep her with him, so he tried to show some sympathy for Jacob.

Mika sighed and rubbed his temple. "I could tell him that we couldn't find her, and she was no longer in Washington. It'll lead him away from here, but it won't be long before he finds out I lied to him. Once he does find out, which he will, he'll be furious and will come for her himself," the Beta explained.

"What's so important about Paige anyway?" Jared inquired, then added, "no offense, Paige."

"None taken."

"Paige is the only person who can overthrow Kambie as Alpha. Since she was not only the Alpha's daughter but the chief's, nonetheless, she can become Alpha if enough of the pack agrees, which is highly likely based on how Kambie treats them. So Kambie wants the one thing that makes his Alpha position at risk to be gone," Ryland cut in for the first time.

"He's not killing my imprint," Jacob hissed through his locked jaw.

"If he finds her and she is too weak, then yes, he will," Dakoda crushed Jake's determination. He was about to leap at Dakoda in fury, but Jared and Embry held him back.

"Jake," Paige whispered, and Jacob looked at her with fiery eyes. His muscles immediately softened once he looked at her, and he pulled out of Jared and Sam's grip.

"I'll tell Kambie that she left Washington and is somewhere unknown," Mika told the group, and Sam nodded. "You'll have about a month before he finds out-"

"That's it!" Jake roared, getting his immense anger back. Mika's lips fell into a straight line, and he shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do. Why wouldn't I want to protect a girl like a daughter to me?" with those words, the Anderson pack walked away.

"Wait!" Paige called, and they all looked back. "Tell . . . . tell Kaimbe that I will overthrow him. He deserves to die after what he did to my father," she choked out.

Mika smiled softly at her. "Agreed."

[ziraley-j-crow]

‘The Way You Look Tonight’ - Crowley x Aziraphale

Author’s Note: Hello! I haven’t written anything in a long time, but after being in the Good Omens fandom for nearly 4 months, I’ve finally caved.

This is simply a one-shot/short story. This is my first time writing Crowley and Aziraphale, so let’s see how that goes, shall we?

Also, I know we don’t exactly get to see Crowley’s lounge in the show, so using the description from the book, I try to conjure up my own vision of his lounge as if it was set in 2019.

Below is a link to the song that inspired me to write this. I can’t help but think of them dancing together to this. Please give it a listen!

https://youtu.be/gsALgi5yM_A 

  London

2 months after Armageddon.

~

It was always The Ritz. 

They celebrated here after stopping Armageddon a couple of months ago. It wasn’t so hard to tempt Aziraphale to afternoon tea there in between. It was almost routine.

They’d always walk out together and get into Crowley’s car. Crowley would always remember to hold open the passenger door for Aziraphale before getting in himself. When Aziraphale asked him why he did that, Crowley would just shrug him off or change the subject. 

Then, Crowley would drive Aziraphale back to his bookshop, stopping outside and cutting out the ignition. They would sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, before Crowley would say something along the lines of:

“Well, that hit the spot. Same time next week?” 

And Aziraphale would nod and smile.

“Sounds absolutely wonderful. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” 

He’d get out of the Bentley, walk through the old doors of the shop, and turn to give one last small wave to Crowley before closing the doors softly. Crowley -  usually needing five minutes to collect himself - would wipe the fog from the driver’s window where he was staring out from before anyone could see how infatuated he was.

It had been like this for the last 2 months.

This evening was going to be different, though. It had to be.

***

As always, they walked out together, the sunset casting a calm glow through the quiet, Sunday evening streets. 

“Splendid as always!” said Aziraphale blissfully, as they walked to Crowley’s car. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed,” Crowley said, as they put on their belts. “Where do you want to go now?” He turned on the car, music playing from the radio. He’d never usually ask that.

“I assume to the bookshop, but I suspect you have another place in mind?” Aziraphale inquired, watching Crowley as he turned down the music. Crowley raised his eyebrows, and began to drive. 

“I was thinking... We could go back to my place? I have some old bottle of wine lying around, if you want to try. Leroy Rich, or something...” he trailed off. But he knew the name off by heart, of course. It was-

“Domaine Leroy Richebourg Grand Cru? Oh, I’ve heard that is a fantastic wine! You know, there are only 700 bottles made each year. How could you possibly have got your hands on that?” Aziraphale asked, sounding quite impressed. 

“Wasn’t too difficult,” He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Just knew some people, is all.” he replied, trying to sound suave. 

“Well, I suppose I will take you up on your offer, Crowley. I believe I have to see this wine for myself.” admit Aziraphale, and Crowley shot him a quick glance, the angel not noticing. He nearly hit the curb.

“R-Really? Great! It will be a relaxing evening then. Cool.” he tried to compose himself, and ever so slightly applied more pressure to the accelerator pedal.

***

“You can sit anywhere,” Crowley gestured to the living room of his flat. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

Crowley had made himself a nice and modern home. Dark interior, not a spec of dust on any surface. It was as if he had just bought the place, furnished and spanking new. The living room was spacious, a dim lighting causing shadows to seep into the room. A long white leather sofa faced a wide flat screen TV, which was perched up on the wall, a pristine electric fireplace underneath it. 

“Thank you. I must say, you have this place kept immaculate, Crowley!” stated Aziraphale, removing his coat.

“Not much a miracle can’t do, angel!” Crowley said. “I’ll get the wine. Here, give me your coat, I’ll put it away.” Crowley vanished to the kitchen, leaving Aziraphale to have a nose around the room. His attention was drawn to a rather tall display cabinet. It was black, with glass doors, so you could see what it entailed. There were some small bronze statues, collectibles perhaps. Some CD’s lined up together, music Aziraphale hadn’t quite heard of.

“Oh, that looks familiar...” he muttered to himself, inspecting a smooth, round cup, looking like it were made from brown clay.

“That cup is from Italy. 41 AD, if I’m not wrong.” he said, inspecting another artifact. 

“That cockade is from Paris, in 1793. I wore that..” he trailed off when he realized something.

In the cabinet were tokens that Crowley had taken from every moment in history they were together. There was the coin Crowley used when they met William Shakespeare in 1601. Beside that was the tartan flask, lid and all from 1960.

There was something from every moment with them.

His attention was pulled to the sudden sound of music coming from a corner in the room. Surprised, he looked around, and sat by the window was what appeared to be a gramophone, but was neater and rather modern. An upbeat, foot-tapping song flowed softly from the speaker, unmistakably retro swing music. 

“Hm, that’s not very Crowley, is it?” Aziraphale thought, amused. Just then, Crowley had returned. Two wine glasses in one hand, bottle in the other. 

“Ah, Crowley. I was just admiring your gramophone! Quite a lovely thing.” Aziraphale said, walking over to the couch, and sitting himself down. 

“Yes, handy little thing. Wine?” Crowley handed a glass to Aziraphale, who took it from him. He poured them both a drink, settling down onto the couch too.

“This wine is simply divine! Mind if I look for the date?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, who nearly choked on his drink.

“Date?” Crowley quickly trying to compose himself, clearing his throat. Aziraphale looked puzzled.

“Yes, on the bottle of wine?” asked Aziraphale, not picking up on the reason for Crowley’s behavior. Certainly not noticing how Crowley’s once pale complexion, had now turned rather flush.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Here.” Crowley handed Aziraphale the bottle. The music was still playing quietly in the background, setting a relaxed mood to the apartment.

“Ah, 1940... I remember that year like it was yesterday.” said Aziraphale wistfully. He concentrated on the bottle for a moment. “Do you remember that time? When you saved those books for me?” he asked Crowley, perhaps nostalgic. 

Of course Crowley remembered that moment. The memory played out in his mind as clear as anything. Aziraphale needed help, so he was there. He’d lost the books, what would be easier than a *snap* and a little miracle? How much he wanted to say “Oh, don’t worry, angel, I’ve got you covered!” when Aziraphale was obviously troubled. Maybe he could have lingered for a second longer when handing the books back to him. Maybe “Lift home?” could have meant something more?

It was iconic. Like ‘Casablanca’.

“Yeah, I remember.” He paused for a moment. “Messy night.” He took another drink.

“Indeed it was. But I’m still glad you saved those books. I’ve cherished them ever since that night.” said Aziraphale fondly, having a drink too. 

Neither of them shared a word between them, the music filling in the blanks. Glen Miller’s ‘In The Mood’ played smoothly from the gramophone. The sun was well gone by now, and the room was set with an orange aura. The glow softened both of their features, making them look relaxed. 

“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up, really.” Aziraphale confessed, sinking into the sofa. He looked at Crowley, with genuine gratitude.

“I dunno, you could have pulled an MacGyver on them?” he said, humor in his tone.

“Um, who is MacGyver? One of yours?” asked Aziraphale, confused. Crowley was astonished.

“Who is MacGyver?!” 

***

The wine bottle was empty after less than an hour, and the lounge was full of laughter from Crowley and Aziraphale. The two were sharing stories of deeds they had done over the years. Well, the stupidest ones. 

“Wait, so you deliberately stuck the £2 coin to the ground? As one of your schemes? Why?” Aziraphale was quite entertained by Crowley’s story. 

“Yes, because who doesn’t see a £2 coin and want it for themselves?” Crowley said shamelessly, finishing off his drink.

“But you tried to pick it up. You tempted yourself, Crowley.” said Aziraphale, feigning shock. “You could have...” The wine had gone to both of their heads by now. “Oh look, now I’ve forgotten my words!”

“Discorporated!” Crowley exclaimed, lifting his arms up for dramatic effect, nearly dropping his wine glass. “Oop, better put this down.” 

“Yes! Very much so! Not a nice place to be.” grumbled Aziraphale, a small pout forming on his lips. He stared into his wine glass, not much left now. Crowley’s tipsy mind remembered Aziraphale’s discorporation, and racked itself to distract him from that memory. 

“I suppose it’s not.. Sorry, angel.” he said, looking at Aziraphale, a tone of regret in his voice. Coincidentally, not even a second after saying that, another song had begun to play on the gramophone. Crowley knew just which song to ‘miracle’ onto the gramophone.

“Oh my goodness! I absolutely adore this song!” Aziraphale piped up, an almost child-like excitement filled him and his face was washed with a distant longing. Of course, the sight of this nearly made Crowley cry with pure adoration for the angel. But all he could do was sit, stare, and take in the beauty sat in front of him.

***

The song Crowley chose was “The Way You Look Tonight” by Fred Astaire. 

Why? Simply because one night after dropping Aziraphale home after their traditional rendezvous, Aziraphale had forgotten his reading glasses in the car. He likes to use them when reading the menus at The Ritz.

“You know, if you didn’t want the trouble of glasses when you read, you could just... Miracle them away.”

“Yes, but, well... I think they’re rather nifty!” 

On this particular evening, Crowley had driven well away from the bookshop before he actually noticed them on the passenger seat. The Bentley’s tires nearly produced flames from the sudden skidding halt, thanks to Crowley. He picked them up carefully.

“Holy shit, he forgot his glasses!” Crowley exclaimed, removing his own sunglasses to get a better look at the spectacles. They were delicate, small and round. 

Like the angel.

The hasty beeping of a car horn pulled Crowley away from his thoughts. With a scowl, he quickly swerved his car around, miraculously not hitting anything or anyone, and made his way back to the bookshop.

He pulled up outside the bookshop once more, noticing a light was on upstairs in the building. He needn’t worry about his sunglasses now. It was late, dark, and he doubt he’d run into anybody. Carefully, he put Aziraphale’s glasses into his coat pocket, and made his way over across the road. He knocked on the bookshop door, and waited for an answer. 

If you listened very carefully, you could hear the muffled sound of music coming from the bookshop. It was distant, but Crowley found himself being pulled to it. He followed the song, opening the door of the shop quietly. He closed the door behind him, scanning the room to bear his surroundings in the dark.

The song was clearer now. It was a swing song, the type that made you feel floaty when you listened to it. He noticed a warm light at the top of the stairs, presumably where Aziraphale was. He sauntered over quietly, so as to not frighten the angel.

“Uh, hey, Aziraphale, you forgot these...No. Hey, angel, these are yours, I think? No, that’s too obvious, of course you know.” Crowley was practicing what he would say when he gave Aziraphale back his glasses as he crept up the stairs. As he made his way up, Aziraphale came into view through the staircase, the music flooding the room. Crowley stayed low, observing. Listening.

Aziraphale was, as usual, organizing his books. But he looked.. Alluring.. Beautiful.. Captivating. He had removed his coat, which was likely to be hung up neatly somewhere. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, an almost daring look for the angel to pull off. His bow-tie was removed, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. His brown vest was snug on his hips, and when he reached up to place a book on the shelf, a little bit of his tummy showed. He was quite relaxed, doing what he loves to do the most.

Internally, Crowley was screaming. His heart was beating in his ears right now, and he almost couldn’t hear the music that was describing his feelings for the angel. Aziraphale was singing contently to himself. Or so he thought.

“...yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm. And your cheeks so soft. There is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight.” Aziraphale sang softly, examining the couple of books in the crook of his arm. Crowley didn’t want to move. He wanted to savor this scene for eternity. But he knew he couldn’t stay and watch how the light made his figure glow, so angelic. How he sang so heartfelt and almost waltzed across the room to retrieve more books to stock on the shelves. How he put so much care into his skill, when he looked fondly at each book, perhaps a thoughtful memory springing into his mind each time. 

The song was coming to an end, and Crowley took that as his que to leave. He miracled Aziraphale’s glasses onto the table with the books, placed so that Aziraphale would see them in plain sight. He took one more loving look at the angel, taking him in as he took a deep breath, and then proceeded down the stairs quietly.

At his car, he looked up at the window where Aziraphale was working. He thought about him. How he felt about him. How he made him feel. 

The light suddenly switched off. 

“Must have found his glasses.” Crowley said to himself, and got into his car.

***

“Oh my goodness! I absolutely adore this song!” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face light up with bliss, the song working it’s magic. 

“Some day, when I'm awfully low, and the world is cold...” Aziraphale sang, perhaps not as well as when Crowley first heard him, but Crowley found it quite endearing to see him so happy.

That’s when Crowley plucked up his courage.

He stood up from the sofa, as casual as he could - in this case he hoist himself up, his hands held out at either side of himself for balance - and made his way over to the gramophone. He turned up the music, not blasting, but just so that it felt like the music was wrapping you in a reassuring hug. Almost so that Fred Astaire himself was saying “You got this. Go get him, kid.”

Crowley turned around to see Aziraphale tapping his foot to the music, humming contently to himself. He walked over to him, stopping in front of him and put out both of his hands in front Aziraphale.

“...There is nothing for me but to love you, just the way you look tonight...”

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, confused. “Are you.. Do you want my glass?”

“No, Aziraphale. I... I want to take your hands... If that’s alright.” Crowley said, shyly. He wasn’t his usual confident and bold self right now. He was nervous. Aziraphale’s eyes opened a little wider, and Crowley looked away, thought about snatching his hand back and saying “I’m sorry, forget I did that.”

“Yes... Yes, of course, Crowley.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his - soft and warm to touch, a gentle grasp - and Crowley felt electric shocks shooting up through his arms.

“..With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart, and that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart..” 

Crowley looks at Aziraphale, not believing the words he was hearing. Aziraphale was holding his hands. In Crowley’s flat. They were in Crowley’s flat holding hands.

“Okay... Can we... Can we try something?” Crowley asks, leading them away from the sofa, to the middle of the room. Aziraphale follows him.

Crowley was going to try and dance with Aziraphale. He’d seen lots of movies, he’d seen how they do it, the music was perfect. Except, he had never actually danced before. 

“Lovely...Never, ever change...”

They both stood together in silence, still holding hands. Aziraphale giggled sheepishly, his eyes trying to meet Crowley’s. Crowley had never been close to Aziraphale like this. His sunglasses had slid down his nose, so he could see Aziraphale’s stunning cornflower blue eyes, quite possibly the most beautiful  shade of blue he’d ever seen. The lighting of the room would give you the impression that they were glowing. It would be stupid of anyone to not be nearly intimidated by how striking they were.

He didn’t even notice Aziraphale was doing the same. With his sunglasses no longer shielding his eyes, Aziraphale could appreciate how Crowley’s eyes were the color of the finest whiskey money could buy, with the sunlight shining and rippling through it. He thought if he stared for much longer, he was sure he would melt. They were always covered, so he was savoring this moment for as long as he was allowed to.

“What were you planning on trying, dear?” Aziraphale asked, not breaking his gaze. Neither was Crowley.

“Hm?” Crowley asked softly. He wasn’t too sure if he heard Aziraphale actually say something. He didn’t want to move.

“...Keep that breathless charm... Won't you please arrange it?...'Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight...”

“You wanted to try something? What was it?” Aziraphale asked, batting his eyelashes. Crowley woke from his trance-like state.

“Oh, yes. I'd like to dance with you, if that’s alright?” Crowley asked, hoping he sounded somewhat like James Dean, but really sounded more like he was asking his date to dance at their high school prom. 

“Dance? Of course, that sounds really wonderful, Crowley. Do you mind me asking if know how to dance?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley shook his head, feeling rather foolish, come to think of it.

“Well, not to worry, we have already accomplished one step. We're already holding hands!” Aziraphale chuckled, easing the mood. They both looked down at their hands, cheeks almost burning. A sobering moment. Cliché, but their hands fit together. 

“I think have to... If you don’t mind?” Crowley began, taking his hands from Aziraphale. He quickly adjusted his sunglasses, and placed his hands gently on the angel’s hips. Aziraphale took a deep breath to himself, and nodded.

“Y-Yes, that seems to be right.” said Aziraphale, feeling his heart beat faster with every passing second. He could have nearly passed out from the overwhelming bliss. “And I think that I-I have to put my hands..” he gingerly placed his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “Here?”

Crowley gulped, and nodded. “Yes, that’s.. That’s good.” 

“...Oh won't you please arrange it?..'Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight...Just the way you look tonight...”

The music blended effortlessly into another repeat. Perhaps another sneaky doing of Crowley. 

“We have to move, that much I do know.” Crowley said, earning a smile from Aziraphale.

“Well, yes. That is how one dances.” Aziraphale giggled.

“Oh really? I wouldn’t have known!” Crowley remarked, sarcastically, a charming smirk on his lips.

“Oh come now, Crowley. Don’t be like that, my dear! Just... Follow my lead.” Aziraphale began stepping from side to side, Crowley following suit.

“See? This doesn’t seem too bad, does it?” Aziraphale said, finding he was getting into the swing of things.

“...I will feel a glow just thinking of you...And the way you look tonight...”

“No, I guess not.” Crowley replied, his hands relaxed on Aziraphale’s hips. 

They swayed together with the music, familiarizing themselves with how the other moved and felt to touch. They stole a few quick glances at each other, nervousness made clear through their laughter.

The music helped them relax. There was something about that piano that made their steps feel lighter than air. There may very well have been no ground beneath them, their elated states were enough to keep them airborne. They could endure this dance for eternity. Nobody could take this bliss away from them.

“Crowley? Can I ask you something? And by all means, I don’t mean this to come off as impolite.” Aziraphale asked, softly.

“Sure, angel.” Crowley said, his brain casually rattling for whatever question Aziraphale could possibly ask him at this moment.

“If it’s alright with you, I would love to see your eyes again. Could I look at them while we dance?” Aziraphale asked, almost bashful at the question. Crowley raised his eyebrows. This wasn’t any of the thousands of questions he’d conjured in his mind. 

“Oh.. Yeah, sure.” Crowley reached up to remove the sunglasses, his eyes averting Aziraphale’s gaze. He put them into his pocket, and placed his hands back on Aziraphale. “There.” 

“Crowley, you can look at me. I.. I love your eyes. I always have.” confessed Aziraphale. Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, and he was sure he heard the angel gasp.

“They’re... They’re simply breathtaking, Crowley..” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley, not used to such words of affection about something he considered an imperfection, was now blushing furiously.

“They’re nothing, really. I mean, everyone’s got ‘em. Eyeballs, I mean..” Crowley was trying to take the attention away from himself. He noticed Aziraphale had stepped a little closer. Perhaps to get a closer look.

“No, really. They’re as warm as the first rays of a new day. They’re as beautiful and radiant as the freshest marigolds of the new season. They’re dangerously hypnotizing. But I am willing to get lost in them, if you’ll allow me to.”

Crowley couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, his eyes opening wider with astonishment. All he could do was smile. A smile that grew bigger as his mind repeated the words Aziraphale had just said. 

“...Oh but you're lovely, with your smile so warm...”

“You really think so?” Crowley asked, nearly nose to nose with the angel. Aziraphale nodded, adoringly. 

“Without a doubt.” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley found his focus being dragged to Aziraphale’s lips. He couldn’t help himself.

“What else do you think, angel?” Crowley asked, a slight change in his tone, shifting his focus back to Azirphale’s eyes.

“What else do I think?” Aziraphale repeated, Crowley nodding. But of course, Aziraphale understood. The feeling was obviously mutual. Just in case that wasn’t so obvious from the start.

“...There is nothing for me but to love you...Just the way you look tonight...”

“Well, your hair resembles the fiery autumn leaves, radiant in the warm, evening sun. Bold and striking to the naked eye, and.. If I may?” Aziraphale signaled with his hand, and Crowley nodded. Aziraphale slowly reached his hand up to Crowley’s hair, and took a sharp intake of breath, finally touching it.

“Delicate and feather soft to touch.” he sighed. “Light between my fingers like fresh blades of grass.” Aziraphale was now slowly brushing his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Crowley closed his eyes, a guttural moan erupting from him. The sensation of pleasure was almost overwhelming to him and he stepped closer to Aziraphale to feel more. His hands had snaked their way around the angel, pulling them closer. They were now flush against each other, neither one minding the lack of personal space.

“Go on...” Crowley’s voice was throaty, eyes on Aziraphale again. Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s eyes were more yellow than usual. They were fascinating. Aziraphale wasn’t startled or frightened. He knew what it meant.

“What else is there left to say about one so... Elegant... Radiant... Magnificent..” Aziraphale’s attention was tied between Crowley’s full yellow eyes, and his parted lips. Both equally tempting. 

Which is what happened. 

Time came to a halt when their lips first met. Their eyes closed upon contact, the urgency evident between them. Their lips soft, melting together, finally unifying them. Crowley pulled Aziraphale impossibly closer to him securely, breathing him in through his nose like he was fresh air. Aziraphale was gripping Crowley’s vest, almost clinging for dear life. 

“..Lovely never, never change... Keep that breathless charm...”  

Aziraphale’s hand found it’s way back to Crowley’s hair, soft and familiar, something Aziraphale swore he’d never get tired of. This made Crowley suddenly moan into the kiss, a sound that thrilled Aziraphale. A sound that made him grip Crowley’s hair just a tad to see what would happen. Crowley pulled away, stopping the kiss. Aziraphale’s eyes shot open in a panic, pulling his hands back to himself.

“O-Oh dear, Crowley, are you alright? I thought I was doing something right a-and-” Aziraphale stammered, his breathing a little rapid and cheek flushed.

Crowley’s eyes were still closed. “Angel..” Crowley’s voice was scratchy. “I think it’d be very wise of you to do that again..” He opened his eyes now, brilliantly gold, with full blown pupils peering at Aziraphale through half lidded eyes.

“Again?” Aziraphale repeated in a near whisper. Crowley nodded, stepping over to Aziraphale, who stared back in complete wonderment, bright blue eyes fusing with dazzling amber hues. 

“Again.” Crowley said softly, “And only if you want to, I mean-” Aziraphale didn’t know where the confidence came from, but just knowing he made Crowley feel this way, it gave him a sudden drive. He didn’t waste time, catching Crowley off-guard. 

“...With each word your tenderness grows... Tearing my fear apart..”

Their lips met again with a ravenous force, a flame ablaze they undeniably yearned to quench. Hungry hands roaming each other freely. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheeks in his hands, kissing him deeply. Anything to have him closer. There were no prying eyes on them. Once more, Aziraphale’s fingers brushed through Crowley’s hair, earning a very satisfied purr from the demon. Almost mischievously, he gently tugged Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley released a suppressed moan, a sound Aziraphale could only describe as euphonious. Almost like an instinct, he nipped the angel’s bottom lip, causing Aziraphale to wince slightly. Crowley was about to stop to ask him if he was alright, but Aziraphale instantaneously pulled him back into the kiss, knowing just what he had to do to make him do that again. 

“My dear... I’m not made of glass... I won’t simply crack.” Aziraphale breath was raspy between kisses. Crowley’s hands then trailed down to the angel’s back, and he deviously grabbed his buttocks, giving them a tender squeeze. It was Aziraphale’s turn to moan, a sound so blissful it made Crowley dizzy with lust. 

Crowley gently guided them towards the couch, never parting for a breath. Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch, dragging Crowley down with him. The demon straddled his hips, completely flush against Aziraphale. 

“Better be careful, angel.” Crowley growled playfully when he noticed Aziraphale was attempting to remove his vest. But he needn’t stop him.

“Mm? Why?” Aziraphale asked, not opening his eyes. Crowley pulled away from the kiss briefly, his lips trailing down to Aziraphale’s jawline, peppering along it with light kisses. Aziraphale’s head hit the top of the couch with a soft thud, giving Crowley more access to his neck. He stopped fumbling with the vest, giving in to the immense pleasure. They were breathing quicker, more excited at every touch, sensation.

“To put it simply... If a foul fiend were to see something... As painfully tantalizing as you...” he said between kisses, “Something ghastly may happen..” Crowley’s lips made their way to his neck, obviously a sensitive area for the angel, who let out a pleasurable gasp.

“Ohh, whatever might happen to me?” Aziraphale played along. Something in the way Aziraphale sounded turned Crowley on even more than he thought was possible. Of course, it was made obvious through his effort.

“Nng.. Oh you wouldn’t like to find out, angel.” Crowley tried to restrain himself.

“Oh... But I really do, my dear- Oooh, Crowley!” Aziraphale whined, cut off when he felt Crowley’s hips grind painstakingly slow onto his as he kissed behind his ear. He was worshiping him. 

“A demon might possess you, Aziraphale.” Crowley growled into his ear, returning to Aziraphale’s lips for a heated kiss. Aziraphale pulled him closer, gripping his thighs, letting him know that he very much liked what he was doing. 

“If I may... I’m willing to be yours to possess, Crowley.” Aziraphale insinuated during a breath. A devilish smile spread across Crowley’s lips, and nothing but adoration filling his eyes.

“~Oh, angel~.”

[0vorenation0]

The Island (series #3)

(This might look like a peaceful island, but step on within and the shadows with creep out. This part in the series is made with the help by @thecorruptisland and his magical island. The island is his original idea from a while ago. He posts about the island and I wanted to feature it in my series. Thanks for allowing me too and enjoy the posts, I will be making a two part for the island. Enjoy.)

Friday 1:00 pm (Streets of VoreNation)

“As the parade continues down past the famous saloon that Cal designed for preds. We should be able to see the king any moment” an announcer says as the parade passes. I walk out on the balcony and an eruption of cheers fills the air, I wave to all the amazing citizens and travels of VoreNation. The celebration comes to a halt in front of the building and I walk up to a microphone. “Hello great citizens and travelers of VoreNation, we are here to celebrate the Minister of War. MOW Nightly has served his nation proud and deserves a great celebration and promotion. I could think of no man greater, who I trust more to earn such a title of MOW. With that enjoy the day, and let’s get the parade rolling!!!!” I say with vigor and excitement and sit back done in my chair. The parade goes on with MOW Nightly on the first float, he saluted me as he went by. At the end was a float commemorating Private Scotty, for his bravery and abrupt end. His family would be well taken care of by the city.

As the festivities continue, I turn to Corey, I was happy to hear he could make the event. It’s always nice to see an old friend like him, apparently, he made a lot of changes to his own nation and requested I come see them sometime. I obligated and said it would be an honor, once the festival was over. At that moment my top researcher came in and told me it was urgent. Dr. Miller sounded excited so I assumed it was good news. Miller had been the head of the researching team for under a year now with one mission. Find an ancient land and civilization my grandfather used to tell me about as a kid. The citizens of VoreNation knew this place only as a legend but I had reason to believe it was real. I recently uncovered some ancient ruins before the construction of VoreNation. Hidden beneath the dirt and rock, was a clay pot. It contained ancient scrolls and texts, which were dated back before the rule of my family.

One of the scrolls contained details about this ancient land that was once legend. Even some coordinates but sadly hale of the text was damaged and couldn’t be salvaged. That’s when I tasked a research team to find the mysterious lost land. So I was excited and left immediately with him. “Corey I’m sorry, I’m going to have to reschedule. Important stuff has come up, thanks for coming” I said to Corey as I shook his hand and left. We entered the elevator and went to the research lab, once on the floor we went to a massive futuristic map lay out that was 3D. It was an island to the west of the city, it was mountainous that led in a valley and then a forest. It was a huge island, that looked uninhabited. I turned to Dr. Miller and spoke, “ congratulations Dr, you have found it. I couldn’t have done it without you. Task a team of you and two on your brightest researchers. We leave in the morning. I’ll have my ship out at the harbor and we will depart at sunrise!!”

The following morning.... 6:00 AM

“Hello Dr. Miller, did you bring your researchers? I hope the island hasn’t been a waste of time. You know my grandfather used to talk about it all the time. He even said that the royal family originated from there. When I asked however about why they left the place, he had fear in his eyes. This expedition must be classified” I told the Doctor as I waved my hand to the captain to get a move on. As we set the course, we went over the island layout. The island was massive and surprisingly not on any modern world maps. This was strange to me because I had many people map out the world years ago. Made the island was dangerous, I thought as I ponder what could have made my family leave there home. We were preds after all, nothing really was above us in the food chain.

“CAPTAIN SHIP DEAD AHEAD” a shipmate yelled through the intercom. I ran up the stairs and saw a massive ship, not bigger then mine though. It was head right for us and I told the Captain to halt and keep guns pointed at the ship. “Stay the props, keep all weaponry aimed at the ship. No one fires with out my orders.” I spoke through the intercom to the ship’s defense team. That’s when I saw a flag being raised, colored bright blue. The international sign of peace, I was relieved. Must be a cargo ship, but where was it going. We were very close to the island as it looked like it can out of nowhere but in the direction of the island.

We dropped anchor, watched as the ship did the same. After a few minutes, a small passenger ship came out and headed towards us. It docked by our ship and a man walked on the boat up to me. He was escorted by my men and stoped right in front of me and said “ Hello I’m Saladin, nice ship you have here. You look like a very important person. Might I ask who you are?” He greeted me and asked. I put out my hand and shook his before saying” Hello my name is Cal, I’m the ruler of VoreNation and it’s a pleasure to meet you. Might I ask why you are out here and where you can from?” I asked curious about this man before me. He began to tell me he was out here with his research team, studying and researching rare sea creatures. “Ohhh Wow it’s an honor to meet your acquaintance, your majesty. I live on a massive island about 30 minutes In that direction.” He said casually. I was shocked he was an inhabitant of the island. Come to find out he is a researcher of not just creatures but history as well. He asked if I would like to come visit the island and I obliged. He stayed on my ship and I told him about the scroll I found and about my grandfather's stories. “Wait it can’t be, your apart of a tribe that left the island hundreds maybe thousands of years ago. I must take you to the ruins where our ancestors used to live.”

“Wait are you serious? This can’t be real, I knew nothing about my family’s past. They lived here on the island, my grandfather was right? This is amazing I can’t wait to see the ruins.” I said seemingly as happy as when Dr. Miller told me he found the island. The ships docked at a harbor, the island was massive and looked like a continent. Turns out the island was full of life, there were even cities. They weren’t as advanced as VoreNation but it was still impressive. We got in vehicles and drove to the site. We passed so many strand animals and plants. One plant even looked more then alive but carnivores. “ Haha yeah be careful some of these plants are actually carnivores. They will eat any livening thing even you. So the island is supposedly older than all other lands but has never been altered by evolution. What I mean is the island is so what prehistoric. I’ve been studying it for years and you wouldn’t believe the stuff I’ve found. We’re actually going to a research facility set up right outside of the ruins of your ancestors old tribe.” Saladin spoke as he drove through the vegetation. I was completely shocked but also thought that maybe one of my land surveyor teams came across the island and never got out. That’s why the island was never mapped. We pulled up to this facility creepy looking but me and my guards went in and we headed down.

“So what do you know about monsters?” Saladin asked me as we went down the elevator. “ hahaha monsters, and here I thought you were a scientist. Monster is legend, not real.” I said joking around. The door open and we stepped inside. That’s when I saw it, a massive box. Inside was a massive wolf like man. It was asleep but realized it was sedated. “You think monsters are legend now, Cal? This massive werewolf was captured by me 2 years and I’ve spent the last two years conducting vore tests on him. Apparently he is extremely powerful and can swallow anything. That’s not the amazing thing though, what’s fascinating is that I’ve developed a serum from him. It allows the victim to be swallowed but once digest water by stomach or cock can regenerate into there original form once out of the werewolf or a man.” He told me as he handed me a shot of the serum. “ this is amazing I never knew this was possible, and werewolves and pred plants. I mean what is this place, it’s so fascinating. Wait where did you capture the werewolf again?” I asked curious. “He was right out of the edge of our family’s ruins. I assume that’s why your family left, the pack of werewolf’s ravaged this twin and vored most everyone in the town. The few survivors left for new land, never to come back again.” He said

A little time later....

“Cal I suggest you drink that serum just in case this island is very dangerous. I should know, I’m a descendant of the original founders of the island. Werewolf’s still run around, and other creatures. This werewolf is actually the last one of the alpha originals pack. There are no more like him on the island. I’ve been researching these ruins for ages and studying the ancient family who lived here. I’ve found texts about what happened by a survivor. I assume they left it so one day someone would find it and know what happened here. If you want to explorer feel free to, I know there’s an old grave yard up the hill passed the well.” He told me and he showed me a map layout of the ruins. I was nearly bursting with knowledge, it was so much to process. I need to be by myself for a minute, plus I wanted to explore the ruins.

[deviationdivine]

Deviant Heat • Connor x Reader

DBH After Dark Series

8.2k words

tw: language, smut • rated m/explicit

a/n: 1st full dbh after dark one-shot for 300 followers celebration. This milestone is past but finally have something for it. Thank you loves. Also this includes a nod to an original aesthetic idea used exclusively in a discord server rp involving a murder case detailing the Detroit Ripper. This original story line might creep into other fics down the road. Are you ready for some sin?

“Everything is secure.”

Officer Miller gave the android the all clear despite their sporadic correspondence throughout the day. Let’s say he heard some things while holding down the fort. After their officers left harbor docks, Chris was saddled with evidence compiling. He and a few of the others had to deal without the major detectives especially the RK800.

“Nothing on the inside as you know. Looks like our killer just left that unpleasant surprise on the door.”

Connor’s brows knit together. Surprise is inadequate to describe having evidence smeared on his door. This killer came too close. Imagining you home without him sends a ripple of stress through his tall frame. He holds composure stiffly. His shoulders are tense, eyes fixing on open door. Cleaned by forensics he understands you wished to handle the process in the lab but he already handed it off to someone else. This is far different.

“Has there been any more reported correspondence from them?” he tilts his head as he ponders aloud.

The last message he personally received pointed to him not able to protect for long. A taunt made to illicit a specific reaction. Nothing will prevent him keeping you safe.

Connor’s posture is wound, defensive while in wait. Resembling that of a rearing lion, only the ruffle of a mane shows his inner protective instincts. Churning inside, a blip of fire clouding LED and the android will circle in a predatory thrall. The need outweighs any other parameters as he constructs his own. He will stay up tonight, forego stasis and make sure nothing gets through. As long as you sleep soundly, hopefully you will not worry then.

“Nothing new,” the officer responds with a shrug. “Been quiet since –”

Miller scratches under his cap awkwardly. “Hey, Connor. How’s the lieutenant? I mean really?” He heard about the accident. Spread pretty quickly through department but it’s Gavin who decided to shout it from the rafters. Was anything else to be expected? Reed has a big mouth.

“Hank is doing as well as can be expected.” Explaining the lieutenant’s condition, Connor cannot help but feel responsible. If only he had been there. This murderer will not get away with this. Injuring his partner is only one small step towards the RK800’s true defensive nature.

Deviant or not he still carries those instincts pitting him against his foes with the utmost proficiency.  He will forever remain a skilled killer with combat prowess. There is no turning back the tide on what he is. He was made this way. However, he is also very much alive. Even as he debates this internally, realizing that he wishes to tear this killer apart piece by piece. Connor’s attention is elsewhere, distracted. This is no good for him. He needs to focus.

Life is different for him following the revolution. Deviancy is a blessing but can also be a curse. Emotions are an intricate web. Each one threads as a silky string stronger than it appears. Tendrils glittering, holding weight of emotional surges as dangerous as a tight rope act.

Still this sensation sparkles anew, fresh with those revitalized days since fracturing barriers. His wall is no longer keeping him at bay. Lost in a sea of free will, thought and drive pushes him beyond intricacies of code. It pushes him to you.

He inhales, nodding his head to Chris Miller as he wraps up with the few remaining DPD personnel. They have been coming and going through this high rise all day. Luckily they live on the bottom floor.

Connor finally enters. Shutting and locking door, the android presses palm against security scanner. Skin melts away revealing white plastic, his eyes blinking in succession with panel connection; he primes it for added protection, gaze softening at you near window.

Seemingly staring at nothing in particular through pane, everything is tense around your figure and it pulls him away. Moving up behind, sliding his bare fingers in a glide against your neck, his head drops down breathing beside ear.

“Y/N.”

Smooth white digits, his husky voice make you shiver into him. Already sweeping arms over waist, he tugs close to hold you safely and full of this burning need. He always wanted you but most importantly he needs you. Tonight you need him it is abundantly clear.

“Everything will be all right.” Whispering close allows lips to brush warm skin.

Data analysis screams out your anxieties and his arms tighten, snug, a warning to that fucking killer; Connor’s jaw tightens, falling into his deviant emotions, ruthless edge of negotiator presents itself at full light. His can be a blind side as he turns to those machine instincts. They will complete his mission.

He vows as certain as emotional ignition sparking his system anew. A way to fix, prevent these grisly murders gripping Detroit. Anyway he can and stopping this Ripper will end this.

“Please, calm down,” he advises, processes data compiling. “Your stress is far too high.”

It riddles him too but he masters a determined expression, a brave face. As the humans are prone to say and Connor kisses your jaw, massaging long fingers down against hips. A huff of breath lurches up his throat in a cradled pull of synthetic heart.

Sensors are high in his artificial epidermis, digging deep below its pale tissue. Even unto the wholly plastic frame hidden beneath he is a living being. Sentience is more than what is built in him. Adaptable to environment as he and transmutes solely of machine, biocomponents to particles of his humanity. Subatomic in system, unknown to naked eye but inside he feels them grow. As true, alive he grows since revolution’s end.

“Nothing can hurt us together, love.” Oaths are still new to him. Even as he understands, learns to accept this deviancy. “I will never let anything happen. I love you. And no murderer will change that. I will tear them apart before I let them hurt you.”

Shelter. It is the best way to describe how Connor's arms feel encircling, protective and full of unparalleled affection. Amounts are light at times. A gentle breeze cresting through windowpane and he is that natural airy scent that comes with it.

Others are electrified turning him into that whirlwind that swept his way through DPD. Little did you realize when he first came but then – How naïve is that when first seeing him you felt a thud in your chest? Just his cute little bobs of head while contemplating, brows furrowing, and the proverbial puppy dog look. You knew now how spontaneous it was for him. He never truly knew how well that expression would make someone cave. Honestly, you recall a little incident with him and Hank during one of their early cases. Connor needed more time. There came the puppy dog look of doom. He obviously knows now. There is so much more humanity in him.

You shiver oh so pliable to him. Clay to mold and your body does transform upon each touch. Feeling his unique warmth, innate husk and lips move in a promise against flush skin. Sounds are sweet and real as real as these vows spoken between you. Vows never once expected in your life but with him - oh with him this is beauty. He is beauty, in physicality and soul, in a dark world. Yes a soul because they are mated, entwined in one cradle.

Soul mates, he told you early on he admired the concept. Now he says he breathes it. Your Connor is alive. To hell with anyone who still thinks otherwise. It never mattered that he was an android. Never in your heart and it never will. You just want this to be forever. In Connor's arms eternity blooms colorfully fragrant in his petals caressing even with a murderer stalking the city.

Biting bottom lip at his fingers running in a slippery caress, you inhale sharply. Nestling your back to his firm chest, his body cages around and locks you away from this. It only could.

“Connor.” A quick breath, cherishing his gentleness despite his other violent skill sets, you pull away. Enough to twist around and face him now, eyes train up onto his: a sea of chocolate, steamy coated in luscious caramel. His eyes are burnish hues, loving but also hardened in worry. He wants to kill this Ripper. That you understand. Just from a look both soft in his love but also smoldering. He is forever made to kill.

Connor was originally meant to be Cyberlife’s killing machine and becoming deviant didn’t erase what he’s capable. Instead he became a hero. He freed his people; he-he became a friend, lover.

You swallow now thinking of the Ripper’s agenda. Android-human couples and those two women they were both married to their respective android partners. One of the androids she was murdered too. How easily could this person do that if they too did not have an advantage? Could they be dealing with an android that kills?

Shaking your head you are unable to hide these thoughts twisting in the mind. How can you hide from an advanced boy like him? He reads it easy. He scans always making sure that you’re OK. But when do you get to make sure he is too? Just like when you first met. When he was still trapped?

“How can everything be all right, Connor?” Huffing at him, clear about how messed up this is, you cross arms over chest. “When that fucking maniac came here! They were here, Connor! And we didn’t even know it! What if they’ve been here before? How many other times and we didn’t know?”

Before he even attempts to reach out you move away from the window. Picking up a few digital magazines left sitting on coffee table distracts. You should just clean up some anyway. Not that there’s much to clean. Connor’s pretty pristine that way. Besides the fact he’s an android but it’s not exactly known that he’s messy.

Occasionally clothes will be strewn in extra piles. That’s when you can’t wait. The urge to claw at each other, rip off accessories and… another huff, more intimate as this begins to burn, setting those data pads in a bookcase. A mix of new tech and old physical books nestle together. You study spines of those paper copies seemingly so ancient compared to new technology. Funny how quickly items become so obsolete in a short period of time. Nothing in this can be antiquated. Never these in a moment of pure terror but subtly you sink, twist to look at him.

He cocks his head, lips drooping as his mouth does that crooked thing you love. This time it doesn’t do anything to paint a smile to your face.

“I haven’t been this scared since…” A heavy almost sad breath tinges verbal thought. “When I thought I lost you, Con.” Softer than a feather it falls. Briskly you feel it run down deep to your core. Those memories paint a profound image. Who needs perfect memory when it is one strand in a timeline full of pieces? They all connect. Everything is always connected.

“Jericho. On the news. When they raided, that explosion,” trailing slightly, it is a strong case. Admitting it is too easy because it was the only truth you knew. “I thought you were gone there.”

Shaking your head it’s something discussed before. All of it, everything because opening up was another part of him adapting to his emotions. You never felt so full, so whole until he came into your life. This fear brought it all back. “But that wasn’t anything compared to Cyberlife Tower or-or that fucking program. Trying to take control of you, to hurt you again!”

Tears glisten, cascade in a torrent of ache moved beyond. Surviving all of that to potentially lose what you fought to keep to some maniac – hurts. Watching innocents terrorized, lives taken for who they wish to be with stabs you just as deeply. It is personal because you are like them. You are with him and you squeeze eyes shut. Naturally your body leans into his when he is there.

Quicker than anything he’s always here. As you were for him, reminding each time that he is so worth it. He only ever deserved to be free and happy. Connor is everything in a vast expanse of the world. Your world is much more colorful since him.

“Con.” Breath staggers at his touch. Thumbs rub affectionately against your cheeks. Displacing unwanted, angry tears you shiver at the colder digits of white. The skin of his right hand remains deactivated but feels so right, good against human skin.

Tilting your face into the smooth palm, you slide fingers atop his large hand. Kissing at his thumb, pushing his fingers close for your mouth, a tiny moan creeps up throat as you begin sucking on his index. Swirling tongue between his fingers, leaving a glistening sheen of saliva on smooth plastic, your body presses into his. 

Leaving wet trails over the stark beauty beneath his synthetic palette, you grind hips knowing how it feels without. All over his body, you’ve experienced raw desire as himself. He was worried the first time because he didn’t think it would be comfortable.

Oh but was he wrong. With skin, without skin, he fucks you to the moon and back.

“Connor,” a whisper, pleads for him as he holds you tightly by hips. “I want you. I need this. I need you, Con.” 

Kissing up at his jaw sets his body tense. Moaning that nickname now, you fall into his strong grab. Sliding arms up over his broad shoulders after he slides off and drops jacket to floor, your legs find a way to wrap around his waist. A sharp exhalation slithers past lips when he hoists you up with ease.

Tangling fingers in his hair, lips fuse together as you give into his prodding tongue. Allowing him entry, tasting his otherworldly tang it is intoxicating. His tongue slides, caresses wet and hot metallic. Filling your mouth up with quick darts, sensual flicks, you feel it bubbling. A sweet burn in your stomach is a confessional. To every part of him you demand to be against every part of you.

Connor forces you against the wall. The push is smooth but direct in where he wants you. Still attached to him, legs clench as it hits in a wave. You whimper at the hot pulse. Already needy in a shiver his muscled body rubs up against your softer flesh. 

Digging into the nape of his neck, you drag another hand to savor him. Beneath white buttoned shirt his toned body is a godsend. All it does is warble senses. The haze is thick just as thick as him grinding, straining to free himself. You just fucking want him out of those clothes.

“Connor, yes.”

You encourage his move to remove your shirt, gasping into his mouth at the rip he tears at the fabric. Sucking in a breath you lift arms to get the article off. His mouth is there. Kissing atop exposed skin Connor buries his face into the crook of your neck, his large hands brace against wall. Purposely he keeps you upright with the feral, hungry press of his body. Instantly your head drops back, lips parting to suck in breath at his grinding. 

“Please, fuck me, Con.”

Connor’s groan is a sharp answer. Building up from deep in his chest it unleashes this carnal side. A scalding fire broils in his stomach. He feels every part of you in his deviant skin, shell and all matter in between. Thriving on pleas, digging his wires deep into bones of your vessel, he lifts his head. Hair is a mess. Rebel strand flops greedily for your fingers. Twisting and tugging at his strands, he engulfs lips with his. Muffling pants drawn up his throat and sighs slipping out from you, Connor deepens the kiss.

The android slides tongue slowly mimicking the passionate tango of lovers. Data blinds him momentarily. Tasting what makes up your DNA, sweetened and ethereal; he gasps equally ravenous, hips pressing hard into your groin.

“Love,” he whispers, cupping face to force those lively eyes of yours onto him. The way they light up in a covetous spark.

Warm brown darkens to devour every last piece in return. Begging him to take you in this mess of emotions, stress and anxiety, Connor cannot deny. He never has denied you anything not since he first walked through those DPD doors.

 As much as he strives to hold together, not allow these murders to cripple his levels, he needs this. He needs you. Connor aims to show each time why he became deviant. While he mastered through the first stages of it there are still times of overwhelming battles. You become too upset. He never wants to be the reason you shed tears. Even for his life in danger.

No. You will be happy. He vowed to make it so because you have made him feel this blossom of emotion. That is all he could ask to be accepted despite what he truly is.

Seizing you in a burning gaze, Connor haphazardly unbuttons shirt and rouges shoulders to get the constricting clothing off. A new pile begins. He reaches for your thighs. Squeezing them in a maneuver to unwrap them from his waist, he catches you to steady balance when feet return to the floor.

Tugging buckle loose, Connor pushes jeans down and indelicately kicks shoes from feet. Matching frantic actions to shed every last stitch, he helps in this task as he unbuttons yours, pushing them down past hips and undressing in a complete flux. He follows your exposed form now with hands, skin stitching back over fingers.

“No,” an immediate protest quivers through separated lips. “I want to feel your fingers without.”

Connor swallows. Arousal grows tight. Processing needs, analyzing to satisfy, he will give whatever you want. An act of love bonds you further into each other’s worlds. Existences twine, nurture and build together. He makes love to someone so humanely warm, so alive that the RK800 forgets for a moment that he is a machine. With you he is no longer sent by Cyberlife. Past and won in their favor, Connor always looks to the future with you in his arms. 

The moment he first kissed you surrounded by new fallen snow, crisp winter air the android found his meaning in humanity. With his friend, soul mate, love of life he is a man. Somehow even he can believe that.

Lifting his hand, twisting fingers to draw your eyes, Connor deactivates his skin up elbow. He leans in close. Gliding and gripping with the plastic of his fingers grants him natural, raw possession of you. 

Hoisting you back up to him, bodies plastered together intimately, Connor carries you through apartment. Squeezing eyes shut under the soft moist touch of your lips, he backs blindly into couch. Jolting a bit, his arms tighten their hold.

You simply gasp. Expelling sweet breath into his mouth makes him lightheaded in circuits.

Connor thrusts you against the corridor wall, pinning, writhing together with your form glued to him, limbs wound to tie him to your softer body. He groans in appreciate of how you feel. “I am about to wreck you.”

Growling, tapping into his negotiator side, the one that still drives him in work, the RK800 aggressively bites into your neck. Scraping, licking over teeth marks and Connor sucks at the tender flesh. Nibbling at that sweet spot sends a rush down to his groin. His cock pushes against boxers aching. He aches to be inside of you. No longer can he wait and from those stuttered gasps neither can you.

The bedroom door bursts open in frantic movement. A tangling kiss crashes hard as your bodies drop. Bed creaks beneath the sudden drop of weight; Connor falls sideways to prevent his heavy frame crushing. That would not be romantic in the slightest nor pleasurable.

Pushing you up and back down atop soft coverlet, white and black patterns of trees stitch in quilt. A bright aesthetic decorates this room. Tall sheer curtains cover windows in an off white flutter. Equally soft is the sheer hanging twisted at each point of four poster bed.

Already you’re a mess atop pillows, chest heaving from his ministrations. He relieves tensions, paying attention to the quiver of skin beneath his lips. Kissing along the length of your neck provides him with a moment of calculation. 

Spontaneity is still something he is working on. What can be more spontaneous than fucking you during a serial murderer case? Possibly not the best thing to analyze while preparing to, as he has heard from some colorful people, fuck you senseless.

A torturous glide brings hand down, sticking his bare white fingers into his mouth. He narrows eyes onto you while sucking. Letting you watch while getting rid of his boxers in one shift he moans around his slick digits. A shudder of relief unmakes his sturdy frame as he springs forth. His cock twitches at the sight of you arching upon the bed, licking and biting your lips. 

Resting palms atop each knee separates them. Immediately he lurches forward to give a lick between thighs. Data streams in a nibble on inner thigh, biting hot skin but your jerk of hips stops under his strong hand.

Connor smirks. Knowing your body all too well it’s the quiver in anticipation for him instead of a human man that does things to him. You chose him as much as he chose you. No, he was blessed with this, with you and these sensations.

Leaning atop your supine figure shifts his hair across forehead. A messy chocolate oh how you want to eat him like a Hershey Kiss. Better yet rich Swiss chocolate creamy and smooth as his pale skin shimmers in freckle highlights. His torso is like a bust chiseled out of marble. Artistic and delicious are the adjectives of love. Tonight he is all those things. All of this dies in a fog of lust when his hand thrusts between your thighs.

He rubs, swirls and strokes, eating your moans. He builds a bridge with the rise of your body. The bone of your human structure strengthens to his craftsmanship. As quick as he erects this empire he burns it down in your honor.

Teasing further along, Connor stops to lick the plastic digits clean. He moans at the taste. Hovering above your awaiting, burning body, lithe and muscled, he dips his head to suckle warm skin.

 A symphony of gasps moans, scratching of nails into synthetic skin eggs him on. How he craves your marks. Littering him until healing wipes them away but Connor loves them as much as he loves giving them returning the favor. When he sheds all of his skin and you press kisses all over the white shell of his body; Connor gasps, gripping himself in hand as the fantasy manifesting in his processors produce a leak of precum.

Dots of light blue stain the bed between you. He kneels in front, positioning to slide his cock in sweet friction. Hips grind atop yours searing, pulsating drawing your arousal to its peak. A soft whine is already out of your mouth. Verbally begging him now the impatience is beginning to kill you. Connor readjusts. Sliding the thick head in a tease, he watches your lips separate, parting to release a string of sharp breaths, eyes on his. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip lowering eyes and you follow.

You watch, rubbing against his length with fingers formed in a V, biting lip; haze of sex floods his sensors. Natural perception overtakes every impulse in his hovering frame becoming an archway above your quivering foundation. Witnessing the hungry look on your face but it’s your eyes becoming heady; lids droop in a canopy of need as that beautiful cock snaps to action. He thrusts forward.

“F-fuck.” Connor curses, gripping onto your thighs and holding legs up, yanking you down to fit himself all the way. He cannot go any further, cock twitching in the squeeze of you hugging him in a loving embrace. 

“Y/N...” His head hangs back, pale neck stretched as far as it is functionally able. He remains that way a minute allowing time to adjust but your needy whines bring the android back to life. His current mission is set: fuck you until you cum the way you deserve. The android does just that.

Moving hips, pulling back to slide back out, Connor pivots waist for the next thrust. Rearing up with a deep growl ripping from up his torso, he pulls your legs up to prop them against broad shoulders, snapping hips hard. The gasps slipping up your throat make him shiver in a pleasant glitch. His LED is scarlet, wet gush of flesh sinking, swirling together filling audio processors. And Connor finds himself no longer part of his body. Connected with you, digging nails to hips, scratching and claiming the RK800 transcends being a machine. As he fucks to the rhythmic tune of his and your moans, he is alive in your universe.

“Connor!” Whipping head back to pillows, twisting covers in fingers, your eyes squeeze shut lost in the building ache. Fluttering in the pit of your stomach it grows, spreading fire through extremities. Each thrust fills, bottoming out in his luscious raw power. You are so full of him. God. Please.

Craving how good, thick and beautiful this man’s cock is sends you somewhere else. Yes, a man. He is yours, your sweet, romantic Connor. Balancing out his cool, killer instinct paints him as a complex being. There are two parts two him. Different sides of a coin and tonight he shows his humanity. A single look from those gentle brown eyes makes you feel like you can travel the universe. He ignites as a supernova. For him you burn as a glittering star and he swallows vast, endless in his love. With each snap pushing his hips flush you fall at his mercy pushing to claw up at him. You need to touch him.

“C-Con…”  Oh how sweet that nickname. How fluid it breezes past your lips glistening as tongue swipes across your bottom. Muscles scream out in tiredness, legs going completely lax propped up against his shoulders. The position strains muscles but it’s a sign of raw lovemaking.

Nights can be soft, sweet but others-others are like this. An oncoming storm battering your fragile shelter and Connor is that gale that first blew into the DPD. He is everything made to be perfect, efficient but in your eyes? He wasn’t a mere construct. You fell in love with him for who he truly is. He deserves all that love. After being shunned by society, hurt by some evil master program; you’re happy to see him accepted. Watching him get actual praise for doing his job? No longer seen as a tool but an active member of the DPD? 

It’s a pleasant flutter in your stomach. Connor is one person who deserves everything. Yes, he is person, he is so alive.

Moaning his name, rolling your head lazily atop pillows, you huff as he allows your legs to shift off from his broad shoulders. Falling down against you, chest squished under his, breath stutters at the friction of synthetic skin rubbing against your hot flesh. It’s a sensitive but delicious sensation. Trapped beneath his muscled frame, pale skin a starry painting and each freckle you longs to kiss. Of course you already have.

Exploring him that first time was just as good. It was more than sexual. Every emotion pours from him when he connects with you in the most intimate ways. This is all still new for him but being deviant opens up avenues he originally denied. 

Of course you realize this but each day makes him just a bit more human. What better way than showing, sharing as you consume every part of him as he’s done to every inch of your body. You both know each other like no one else. This never changes. You always come undone, surrendering for him.

The deep glide of his cock forces your back to arch. Planted between thighs now, legs full of needles from his slamming strokes, he rears his body above now, feral and growling. Those inhuman sounds are enough to make you shudder. 

Fuck. That husky snarl!

Immediately you grab onto him. Raising knees up beside his hips, you squeeze them against his body. Nails scratch into his chest as he pushes up now. Blue trails etch under clawing passion. The same motion along his exposed white arm simply scrapes without leaving marks on stark plastic but he shivers all the same. He perceives underneath the epidermis with every sensor going off in his body.

“Connor,” a whimper, eyes hazy, walls clenching down as he fills you all the way again. “I want to see more…of you.” Sharply those breaths invade the room. 

Silhouettes tango in rhythmic shadow, the android arching his back as he fucks you the way he knows you prefer. No one could ever make you howl with such need. No one could fulfill, morph you to complete putty in their hands like Connor.

Everything transforms in his possession. Nothing compares and you know this with each fiber of being.

“Oh, Con…”

Taut, sinewy his muscles ripple in synthetic harmony, body sliding against yours. Blue floods veins pumping consistently at the friction between you both. Connor groans sharply. His eyes lock down onto yours glittering in a wave of sin. An ocean he drowns in but ultimately skims along calm seas.

A gasp spills deliciously up throat. Trembling beneath his frenetic energy is an urgency to have him connect on a deeper level as it paints stars in your eyes. Long fingers interlock through yours. They curl over to clasp atop knuckles his large hand engulfing your own. Pushing your arm down holds it there but still your free fingers trail up against Connor’s back. Following the curve of his spine, digging nails this time, you rake scratching glowing blue in a pattern to his lower back. Finding purchase upon his ass gives a squeeze. Toned perfection that he is drives wild desire.

Encouraging his hard thrusts, sticky flesh melding, sinking his cock, so snug, completely stretching out it draws tears corners of eyes. You bite down trying to stifle the obscene sounds lurching up throat. Yet it’s too late. Each moan every gasp grows louder, catching in your throat and keening in luscious waves. 

How does a body become a tidal pool? A sensual stream of water shifts in a ripple beneath him. How deep does he dive? Enough to submerge into your abyss he sinks to the deepest trench. Dark and hidden it is more when you are together.

Your voice becomes a filthy soundtrack to his husky groans. Listening to him lose control, peeking up through half lidded eyes, it’s the sight of his handsome face twisted in love and lust that builds you to completion. Seeing your Connor shed his collected demeanor and become that fearsome negotiator, unleashing the strength he knows he holds but never would he hurt you.

Even when you want him to just rail you without consequence, craving that internal bruising that leaves you wrecked for days. Connor makes sure there isn’t any lasting damage. You can have hard, rough sex or just slow loving. The options are endless. This is endless.

You want him every which way. He wants you the same. Each time with the RK800 is like the first and he, this beautiful boy you love more than the whole universe always will shatter your resolve. You’ll always want this.

He shares this with you. Never questioning emotions because they are his now. With you he can be himself. Disabling skin, smooth layer disappearing stitch by stitch leaves stark white entwined you’re your human digits. The warmth of you is still tenfold. Even more Connor feels whenever showing his true self. He will only ever show this to you, he only ever has.

The android moans into your lips. Soft and boyish and everything you crave. He gives it willingly. Just as he as craves and needs you, Connor devours those sharp breaths. His lithe frame shudders, grinding hips against yours and it begins driving you crazy how slow he’s going now.

Desire swells up his torso. Fingers produce a soft glow against yours in another bind of this union. It’s hue is beautiful. He is so beautiful: with or without his skin it doesn’t matter. Connor is Connor. He’s the only thing that makes you happy. Why deny that? Why deny something so real even if others view him as not?

Huffing desperately snaps hips up into his to make him move faster. A cry falls so sweet impaling yourself up onto his cock. His is animalistic. Yet, he still gives you his gentle loving side. 

Caressing your cheeks with his thumbs, swiping off those tears of desire, you smile, listless. His return smile makes your heart pound. Even as he fucks you senseless he cocks his head, rebel strand of hair flopping cute and innocent like his expression. Soon it twists again, hungry as he drives himself deep.

“Please,” you beg, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m so close.”

Sensing it already, it doesn’t take you revelation. He knows your body more than you know it yourself. Moaning into his lips as he kisses you deeply, sensual stroke of tongue invading mouth, your kiss is wet, passionate. Your whole body trembles. Feeling his cool thumb rubbing down between the snap of his hips; without skin it’s slippery, sliding and circling in time with the plunge of his cock hitting all of those glorious spots. 

You squeeze legs around his waist, wrapping them, threading ankles together to clench tightly. Arms wind around him to hold on as your body shivers, thighs rippling despite their lock. Beside your head Connor growls viciously, a sharp rip right next to ear.

The fabric fall loosely against your neck tickling but you ignore what your android lover did to your bedding. Instead you fall, in a quaking mess; neck stretched back with head dropping back, crying out his name in that glorious snap that floods vision. Everything becomes a low roar washing away all feeling. Momentarily blinded, eyes shut in your release; the knot finally dissipates as everything floods. 

You gasp at the warm gush. Hot, full and creamy, Connor follows through soon after and he pushes to the hilt a final time keeping himself snug.

The sensation of his cum soaking, spilling every last drop he dribbles out between legs. Always you want him to finish sheathed inside. Needing his cum desperately, leaking out in a beautiful hue of light blue; your lips are moist as you kiss, his cock pulling out slowly.

Heaving in sharp breaths, fingers still attached to his white arms, you watch his head dip down to watch the spill of his artificial seed leak out. A genuine fascination he always gets, eyes alight in that boyish curiosity. He looks so cute it’s melting you on the spot. A big contrast to how dominant he was railing you against your bed.

You stretch fingers up to his chiseled cheekbone and his eyes snap up from studying the delectable mess he made in and around your inner thighs. This time he leans forward into your lips and your arms snake around his neck kissing him just as soft.

A quiet moan gives away Connor's true feelings even after becoming liquid above you body. His inorganic frame melts against yours. Balancing himself with palms flattened to mattress, he squeezes eyes shut to savor the sweetness of your mouth. He groans rougher the deeper it crests mingling with his orgasm. 

Coming down from the shiver of human physicality leaves the android spent of energy. He can easily make love to you multiple times over but he reads the exhaustion. You are content holding on and caressing him both synthetic and his bare plastic.

Focusing on his skin activates the cells in a wind. Covering his arms once again, he cups your face with his fingers just as they return to their human state. He leans to nibble on your bottom lip. Tugging the plump flesh with teeth ends in a smirk. Sharp breaths and thudding heart sends him a beautiful analysis. You are stunning. “I told you I would wreck you, Love.”

Connor's barely there smile is teasing. A natural aesthetic makes his smooth face livelier if only for a brief moment. He leans his cheek into the warmth of you. As you reach up to stroke, trace his cheekbones your heart races. An equal smile if not in its full flavor but loving and gentle from his love thrums deep in chest. His synthetic heart, the thirium pump that regulates his tempo chugs in sync.

“I love you,” he whispers husky beside ear. “No one will hurt you. I won’t let them.” Connor's tone is firm in his determination.

Taking you now to show, to share what keeps him grounded in this life he chose; he needed this as much as you did. A reminder to what you both overcame and no fucking murderer will touch you.

Sensing worry return as you hold onto him, he trails fingers down your side. Rubbing soothing circles against thigh, Connor shifts. This time he straightens up in a seat edge of the bed. His eyes narrow on the shredded pillow. During his loss of control he tore the fabric sheath. He cocks head back to you. His hand folds atop yours where it rubs up his forearm.

He teases next, “I will draw a hot bath for you to soak in. If you so require.”

Caressing flush skin with his thumb he means to keep you occupied from everything. The glow of his LED shifting from calm blue to processing amber shows where his mind is. Deviancy grants him everything he will never want taken from him. It also compromises the android exactly what this Ripper is hoping. Their killer knows more about androids than they realize.

 SEVERAL HOURS LATER

protect while you can droid...

 A flutter blooms, flashing from internal messaging system. Forcing Connor’s eyes to pop open out of a short bout of stasis draws his head up from pillow. His jaw tightens.

Receiving the unexpected transmission leaves a bad taste. If he could readily taste beyond data analysis; his arm shifts from around your waist. Your body nestles beneath coverings in a spooning embrace from his protective caution. Now he breaks out of low power mode with another taunt from their killer.

The android gauges your current status. Breathing softly, finally asleep after a long bath, he soothed whatever worries you had left. They are not completely gone. His stress spikes now. It is enough to protect. He fought to protect during the revolution. Even when he was still machine each thread of instability attached itself to you. You were courageous. Anyone who wishes to risk well being for something not alive is brave beyond a doubt. He is alive. He has you and Hank to thank for that.

Connor untangles from you. Sitting upright, narrowing eyes on open door, his defensive protocols activate. He leaves the bed, quickly striding out of the room.

Lights illuminate the central space of expansive apartment. His steps are bare, determined to check entrance. Calculations suggest their killer will not make another appearance. After the hospital but – can he be sure? 

Listening to percentages is not always the correct answer. If he had listened while chasing the deviant on the roof, Hank may have fallen to his death.

Deactivating security lock, Connor sidesteps through door. Corridor lights illuminate his pale skin, exposed in a state of half undress. Even then he would tear this fucking Ripper apart.

Everything in his system screams out in stress. As the senior deviant detective he is better acquainted with emotions. Threats against those he loves cripple the android’s composure. He already lost his temper at Reed. This investigation must be completed. Before more lose their lives –

Connor reenters, securing your home. He knows that you would like to live in a house. It has been a dream of yours. Ever since opening his eyes he has shared this. His gaze shifts across living room. Falling on curtains covering glass, he inhales unnecessary but inspects quickly. 

Tugging them open, scanning, all he sees is an empty night. The wall is glass pane, an aesthetic you found pleasing allowing natural light inside. All the android can see it as is a weak point.

His head cocks to the side, audio processes picking up click of door. He drops the curtains in place and frowns. “You should be sleeping.” Connor’s eyes snap onto your bare legs, trailing up to the buttoned shirt you hastily put on after bath. One of the android’s shirts - obviously.

Funny that he'd say that. You'll sleep when you’re dead. The idea squirms in stomach. Bad choice of words lately. All of this is just...

Forgetting for a while being completely entwined with him made you feel safe. He only ever made it that way even when he was struggling. It makes you somewhat happy to have this much peace. Can't have too much apparently. Look at these murders, everything falling apart and…

“Well, I woke up cold.” You tease him. Putting on a smile is equal to having a brave face. Slinking over to Connor, you slide a palm flat against his bare chest. Leaning up on toes to meet him closer as he dips his head down, you brush lips sweetly into his. A pair of strong hands clutch at your waist. You huff pleased with his touch and tap tip of a finger against his chin.

“I was waiting for a certain android to turn up his system heat.”

Smiling up at him, a sigh escapes, swallowing after shifting back from him. Pretty obvious what he's up to. Doesn't take a rocket scientist. Being with him might've been blissful but waking up alone like you did, half asleep, you thought something – happened.

Never mind what you thought. He's here. One thing you’ve known ever since they met is he'll always be here. “Con, I know what you're doing.” You slip back and sit down.

Curling up on couch, you idly run a hand against the creamy upholstery. “Don't think you can hide it from me. Think I've had a good grasp of your quirks since the first time I saw you at the DPD. And do you want to know what I thought? That you were the cutest thing. For a badass detective.”

Connor cocks his head with a smirk. “Am I not still 'cute' for you, Love?” Joining your bundled perch it is easy to read. You are deflecting. He understands why. Hiding his actions has become less successful. He only does so to protect, alleviate whatever worries there are. You went through just as much because of this relationship. Falling in love with someone like him but he fell in love equally. There is no one else he will ever want to hold, cherish in his arms. The message from the Ripper only pushes this parameter in his protocol.

Missions are his to own in deviancy. His mission is to serve and protect. Most importantly he will do everything in his power to shield the one he has come to love.

The android swirls his thumb atop exposed skin. Dragging fingertips along your leg, you stretch out, sliding limb to hang over his knee. It draws you in a close cocoon with him. Comforts of home are shattered after the vandal. He knows you are afraid.

“You know what has happened as well as I do. As much as I want to shield you from this I also know how strong you are. You made me see. When my people were hunted down, captured and-and I will fight for you now.” Connor leans close, fingers sliding down your neck, pressing forehead lightly against yours. 

He inhales the scent of you in a sense of feeling. “You caught me, Y/N. I was checking the apartment. My stress levels have been higher.”

Never can he lie. You have opened up so much to each other. You are soul mates in ways that even he could not initially comprehend. Connor bathes in your words, christening him a beautiful soul and the RK800 believes you. He believes in this because it makes him alive with every artificial breath, every synthetic beat of his heart. Nothing will take away what you have built, continue to build together.

“And I have done something I shouldn't have.” Connor confesses his stress. It is strange for him still to admit all of these emotional surges but he owns them. “I lost my temper with Reed. While I should be the one keeping everyone calm, focused. I lost my focus. All of this discourse in the DPD will only make it easier for this murderer.”

Swirling a fingertip along the circumference of his indicator is a sign of acceptance. Oftentimes you brush lips to his temple. Kissing the very android part of him shown outwardly to the world; you slide fingers through his rich coffee strands. 

Massaging his scalp, pecking little kisses all over his face, caressing each mark of beauty he was constructed with. Freckles paint his entire body and make him so uniquely handsome.

“Connor, please don't worry so much about me. If it means raising your stress... You know it scares me when you mention that.” A light laugh breezes past lips despite the confession. Is this you trying to remain calm or at least distracting? It sounds ridiculous that's all. Of anyone Connor can handle anything. He's strong. Always has been but losing him now will utterly destroy. You won't be able to.

“Con,” you whisper, pressing forehead back to his. “I doubt losing your temper with that asshole is the end of the world.” No surprise to you because Gavin has that effect on people. “After what he tried to do to you? Don't you even think you did something wrong. Besides, everyone wants a shot at him at some point.” You smile. Brightly this time but – “What's happening, Connor? Why? This maniac loose in the city. Why would they do this?”

One of your friends is dead. This monster came back to finish the job! That wasn’t all. This murderer has killed androids too. The idea of Connor winding up that way hurts. Cupping his cheek against palm, you lean up, brushing lips in a sweet lock. He's the only one that would ever hold the key. 

“I can't imagine being left alone. I can't imagine anything without you.” Holding it in streams this fear. It shivers right down to the core. Even as Connor pulls you flush against his chest nestled in his strong embrace; he rests his back to couch arm. You shift atop him. Resting in a tangle, cheek pressed beneath his chin and you plant a kiss onto his synthetic skin. 

Nibbling up along the pale column of your lover’s throat, sliding body atop his firm muscled frame props you up to reach his lips. A sigh slips out at his cinched arm hugging tightly.

“I love you, Connor.” Your breath hitches. “I just want to wake up from this.”

“I love you.” Softly he confesses. Just as the first time following his break into deviancy he gives you this. It is what you deserve, what you both deserve. All the love he can muster and Connor craves. He longs, needs you as he needs thirium to power his biocomponents. You are the calm in his storm. A safe harbor for him to rest his weary mechanical bones after grueling days, cases pushes his stress.

Connor is not one to complain. He has adapted easily in this free will, shedding Cyberlife, escaping Amanda via emergency exit. All of it led him back to your arms. Jericho was the moment he knew. Listening to Markus' words made him snap. Everything he said was real. Just as being alive is real and Connor holds you close.

“Shh. Be still, My Heart.” Whispering husky, comforting, he holds no answers to why. Why do murderers terrorize the innocent? In this dark time in Detroit you will never be alone. He made that oath when he first told you his true human feelings.

Twining fingers with yours now draws your ring up for his lips to touch. The gold band on his melds in harmony as fingers engulf in his large grasp. “Sleep, Y/N. You need it for tomorrow.”

Making a choice to stay here, stroking your back, he listens to your breath grow shallow. Connor's eyes shift to ceiling as you fall asleep lying atop him on couch. Guilt flutters in a scarlet blip as he keeps this killer’s message to himself.

Anything to protect and this time you do not need to hear tonight. He simply watches over you.

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