#unless i spelled something wrong..

[jalo-parker]

My laptop charger got accidentally left at my other parents house for the week so all I have is playboy bunny outfit helsknight.. 😁😁 I am so normal and sane i promise <- hes very clearly lying

I have no explanation for this.. hope you fellow helsknight fans enjoy..?

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

not enough discussion about the gavins' complicated relationship with feminine-coded/beauty products, i don't think.

[martitheevans]

So I made this post and people seemed to like it so I did a little bit of a drabble thing for it. It's nothing much I just thought it'd make a cute little vignette

(Not really set in any particular episode, probably about Season four or five)

The Impala began to drift towards the centre line on the road for what had to be the fifth time in since they began driving, Sam sighed and clicked his fingers in front of Dean’s face. His eyes flew open and he swerved the car back on track. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned up the barely audible tape in the deck. “Nodded off.” 

“Just pull over, man,” Sam suggested, too tired to drive himself. “It’s late, nobody’s going to find us. We’ll be fine.” 

“There’s gotta be a town soon. Get the map out,” Dean replied, Sam wasn’t entirely sure he’d even listened to his suggestion. “A motel. I don’t know about you, but I could go for a slightly warm soda from a vending machine right now.”

“Dean,” Sam insisted. “Stop the car.” 

“Stop your face,” Dean retorted, sighing dramatically. 

“Look,” Sam pointed over to a wooded area that was cleared up for hikers and families, complete with a car park. “Park there. We can sleep.” 

“It’s always nag, nag, nag, with you,” Dean commented and tutted, but he began to turn into the parking lot. “Yes, honey, I'll pull in right here, is that alright?” 

Sam tsked at him and they pulled in. Dean announced their arrival by braking abruptly, making Sam nearly headbutt the dashboard. He looked proud of himself then got out. Sam glared at him as he went. 

“You sleeping in the front or the back?” he asked.

“I’ve been too tall for the back since I was fifteen,” he replied. Dean opened the boot of the car for the blankets the kept for times like these. “But you, on the other hand, are just the right size for it. Hell, we could put you in the glove compartment.” 

“I'm not even that short-!” 

“Where’s the other blanket?” Sam interrupted when Dean pulled out one old, polyester blanket. Dean narrowed his eyes and searched around some more, then sighed. 

“Remember when we had to camp overnight for those vampires?” he asked, Sam groaned. “And somebody had to put out the campfire with it because they set the fire up somewhere it would easily spread-” 

“And that was nothing to do with the fact that someone had the genius idea to throw ‘just a little bit’ of gasoline on it because it ‘wasn’t lighting fast enough’ for them?” Sam retorted. “Nobody does that, Dean! That’s insane! You nearly lit the whole place up!” 

“Look, the point is,” Dean began waving him off. “We have one blanket and two of us.” 

They glared at each other for a seconds, before silently agreeing to a rock/paper/scissors battle. After a tense few seconds, Sam used rock, Dean used scissors. 

“Always scissors,” Sam jeered. Dean glared and shook his head. 

“Best of three,” he suggested. Sam sighed but obliged him. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot. Dean used paper, Sam used scissors. 

“And whenever I point it out you always switch to paper,” he continued. Dean groaned, they needed to figure out other ways to figure out stalemates than a game which is impossible to play with people you know too well. 

“I hope it’s filled with bedbugs,” Dean grunted, tossing the blanket at Sam’s face and closing the boot. The chill in the air already starting to get at him, no doubt beginning to have its affect in the car. 

He climbed into the car and curled in on himself in the backseat, keeping his jeans on, as uncomfortable as they were, to stave off the cold. He wished Sam night, and tried to get to sleep before the temperature fully set in. 

Even as his mind began to fall asleep, he was still aware it was getting fucking cold. He was shivering and his sleep was far from sound. Why was it so damn wintery in May anyway? 

Cas appeared in the car, which was stationary in a parking lot outside of a forest. He looked around in the dark for who he had come to see, spotting Sam first. He was stretched out as much as the footwell would allow him in the passenger seat. Dean was lay to Cas’s side, with his head pillowed on Sam’s empty, rolled-up canvas bag. 

Human sleep cycles were a mystery to Castiel, they seemed to waste so much time with it, or maybe it was just the Winchester’s that were so peculiar. Rarely they were ever asleep when it seemed to be the ‘appropriate’ time of day to do so. 

Something he did know was that when you wake a human, they become slightly hostile. So, he quickly decided that whatever he had come to tell them could wait, it wasn’t very time sensitive. Plus, he had been watching over Dean periodically since he had last seen him, he had to have been exhausted. 

He was about to leave when he cast a cursory checking glance at Dean and noticed his shaking form. He wasn’t awake, but he was cold, a sensation Cas had never felt but understood as unideal for sleeping conditions. Castiel couldn’t just leave him like that. 

Quietly, he shouldered off his trench coat, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm. He placed his over him, tucking it around him with the utmost gentleness so as not to disturb him. Dean seemed to almost immediately become more comfortable in it.  

Cas decided he quite liked the sleeping version of Dean, not any more than the awake version. It was pleasant to see him uninhibited by the literal weight of the world on his shoulders and lacking in the bite and sharpness that seemed etched into his sense of self. He was calm, and Cas liked seeing him calm. 

Then, he composed himself. Dean Winchester was an enigma to him. but he ought to remain that way. If being an angel as long as he had been had taught him anything, it was that resisting temptation was often the best route to take. He needed to remain professional if he wanted to keep his place. 

He left Dean wrapped in his coat, resolving to get it back the next day when the two brothers were awake, and disappeared. He didn’t stay around for the next morning, when Dean found himself strangely comforted by Cas leaving his coat to keep him warm. The feeling welling up something warm in his heart he hadn’t felt in a very long time. 

[localguy2]

Seeing Jaya angst where Jay is being extremely hurtful to Nya and sorta taking advantage of the fact that she can't bring herself to fight him is sad, but also so fucking funny

Like bro, have you seen how this guy acted when he met Bonzel and she literally immediately knew that he didn't like his job or the fact that they're hunting Zane (without knowing that ofc)

[beneaththebloodylake]

i get english names are harder to get puns but whats with 'gregory'? if there is a meaning its not one normal people know and the point isnt you have to look up some obscure origin. in japanese it is a bit obvious its 信 (shin) literally 'belief'. but also works cause to die is 死ぬ (shinu) and can conjugate to 死んだ (shinda). if he was introducing himself in a way im pretty sure is possible he could say 御剣信だ (mitsurugi shin da) which sounds like 'mitsurugi died'

[mikkouille]

wait actually connecting the dots was the guy telling us the fight would go well when we were half a party of first timers also the one who forgot to lb3 us like bro was a tank one of em. jffjjssn he forgor.

[spilling-blood]

The thing with a purge type situation is that even if you want to kill people you have to contend with the fact that they can try to kill you back, or that you could be a target to someone more out of control than you without being aware of it until it is too late.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Maid x Vampire!Reader

A/N: If you wanna know more about the levels, check this post :)

Warning: Not nsfw, but suggestive. MDNI. Butler (side character) calls reader “Mistress”

Danger level: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Submissive level: ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♡ ♡

Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.

Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy's shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.

Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.

Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”

Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.

...

Don't drink from anyone else, ok?

[keferon]

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________ Part 2->

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞

[dexteri0us]

i think i'm 'bout to explode, i can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air

pairing: dexter morgan x f!reader

warnings: hints of fluff, smut - unprotected sex, slight spanking (hand and belt), oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, slight choking, biting, dom!dexter, blood (i mean, obviously, he's a freak); sassy dexter

summary: requested: "...morning sex with dexter before he goes to work..."

w/c: around 5k

a/n: your wish is my command. thanks for requesting! :)

You and Dexter were perfect for each other – or close enough. You loved his bluntness, his dry sense of humor (which wasn’t always humor) and his demons, whatever they were. You had your suspicions, but you had yet to muster the nerve to ask him directly about them. It was so frustrating, because you prided yourself on opening controversial or inappropriate topics. You kept telling yourself that you were just afraid of losing the tension between the two of you once you’d call him out on his nocturnal disappearances.  

Some nights, he’d come home at an ungodly hour, collapsing into the bed beside you like gravity finally caught up with him. Occasionally, you’d wake to his stubble brushing your cheek as he laid kisses along your face. More often than not, you were too tired to make something out of it, and usually, you also assumed he’d just gotten off on something else, because he would sigh and nuzzle into you like he was still riding en endorphin rush.

You rarely engaged in a sex in the middle of the night, unless he demanded it. Once, you told him he could do whatever he wanted with you. Yours and Dexter’s sex life had its own intricate taxonomy:  I am objectifying you right in this moment and want your body sex or my hormones are acting up sex. The list was long, really, but at the very top was something went wrong sex. That was your favorite, but too bad for you, because it wasn’t very often that you got to experience it. Dexter is very careful and focused most of the time. He doesn’t make mistakes. The bright side of that: you’d never ever get tired of it. Those nights felt like Christmas. No. Better than Christmas.

One evening, he came home earlier than usual (you weren’t even asleep yet). He was so angry. So frustrated. And you wanted to help. You set aside the book you were reading (it was about a woman who fell in love with a sociopath. safe to say, it was an intriguing read) when he stormed into the room. You crawled to the foot of the bed, watching his sharp movements with wide eyes as he took off his army green shirt.

You’d always imagined yourself grinding on him while he wore his uniform. And that time was no different. But that night wasn’t about you. It was about him. Well, partly.

“Can I help?”

“No.” his tone was clipped as he continued to move frantically around the room.

You weren’t sure if you should push his buttons. Your heart beat out of your chest from the nerves. Part of you thought maybe you should back off; the other part – it thrived on the uncertainty, the thrill of not knowing how far you could push before he snapped.

“I could make you something to eat…”

Horse shit. You couldn’t cook to save your life, and he knew that. But he just scoffed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smirk.  

“How about a bath? I could light those lavender candles and throw in one of my bath bombs.”

“I said no.”  

You were still kneeling on the bed, dressed in your checkered shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top. Trying to act as innocently as possible.

“Do you want–”

He finally charged toward you, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Do I need to spell it out?”

Finally. Bait taken.

You looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, slowly rising to your knees. The top of your head barely reached his chin, forcing you to tilt your neck to meet his gaze.

You started placing kisses along his collarbone, trailing up over his shoulder and to his neck. Your hand rested on his chest, palm splayed over his heart.

“Any chance I can sub in for one of them tonight?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin.

His brows furrowed and then shot up. “Them?”

You felt the sudden quickening of his pulse beneath your hand. You nibbled on your lower lip as you nodded.

“Who’s them?”

Instead of answering, you tanhled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. It was a reassurance, a promise that you’d always be there. Okay, maybe you did it because you didn’t want him to leave you. You didn’t want to activate a chain reaction.

He leaned into you, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you. When your lips parted, your forehead rested against his.

“You tell me, Dexter. Or don’t. I don’t care. But I want you to be happy. Do whatever you need to me if that’s what it takes.”  

Pathetic? Most definitely. But who cares? He secretly loved it when you got like this – whiny, needy, entirely his.

His hand cupped your right cheek, his thumb brushing a faint vertical line against your skin, the nail scratching just enough to leave a fleeting mark. But his gaze darkened again, pupils dilating, like he was replaying unhappy memories.

He kissed you then – hard and insistent. His hand circled your neck, his thumb pressing just underneath your ear, while the rest of his fingers gripped the other side, his pointer brushing against your earlobe. Your hand instinctively shot up, clutching his forearm as if steadying yourself for what was coming.

Long story short, he fucked you that night, like never before. And since then, you’d been relying on your own version of Thorndike’s Law of Effect: if you wanted to ignite that fire in him, to get destroyed by him, you had to be a brat. Acting like you had control was the fastest way to make him prove otherwise. Sometimes you suspected he loved control more than he loved you. You’d told him that once, and he’d said you were being dramatic. Again. Well, you could still weaponize it.

The problem was, Dexter was otherwise a calm and patient boyfriend. He tolerated your antics with an almost infuriating ease, whether it was leaving the windshield wipers on long after the rain stopped or overbuying carrots at the farmer’s market only for him to help you eat the whole bowl of carrot salad. He even helped you find reliable owners for the stray cats that always “followed” you home. He was so good to you, and that’s why you always had to wait for something to go wrong. That’s when he was at his weakest and that’s when you struck.

Today’s the day. It was Friday and you didn’t have any classes, so you hadn’t set an alarm. You usually managed to wake up before 8 am – not too early, not too late. But this time, it wasn’t the sunlight or your internal clock that stirred you awake. It was the sound of chewing. Muffled munching, punctuated by the occasional scrape of a fork against a plate.

You cracked your eyes open, squinting as the golden rays of the early Miami morning sun flooded the room. You groaned softly and turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. 7:42. Acceptable.

Blinking the sleep away, you shifted your gaze to Dexter. He sat propped against the headboard on his side of the bed, a plate balanced on his lap, spearing pieces of egg and bacon with his fork before shoving them into his mouth.

What the fuck?

He never ate in bed. One time, when you’d brought a bowl of popcorn to share during a movie night, he’d almost thrown you out.

“I’m not a clean freak. You just can’t even drink out of a bottle without spilling it all over the place,” he’d said. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but you’d managed to convince him anyway.

Now, though? Now he was the one violating the sacred no-food-in-bed rule.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still groggy as you reached for him.

He paused, registering your movement, and turned to you. His fork hovered mid-air as his gaze softened, just enough for him to take your hand and press a kiss to your knuckles. It was a gentle gesture, the grease from his lips lingered on your skin.  

“Hey,” he said, offering a weak smile. His voice carried a strange edge too, almost shaky.

You watched him carefully, he turned back to his food and with a quick flick of the remote, he raised the volume on the TV you hadn’t even noticed was on.   

The screen showed a reporter standing in front of a crime scene, her voice urgent as she rattled off details about a recent incident. They flashed an image of a man – the criminal – and then back to the reporter.

Your eyes darted from the TV to Dexter. His brow was drawn low, his stare almost predatory as he watched the broadcast. His jaw tightened and released, the muscles flexing as he chewed. Occasionally, his teeth ground together, producing a faint, grating sound.

He was in the mood. And it hit you.

He never ate in bed. He wanted you to provoke him. A slow smirk curled your lips.

“Careful, Dex. You might intimidate the reporter through the TV.”

His grip on the fork tightened and chewing came to an abrupt halt. He exhaled sharply through his nose, not amused.

“Not today.”

“Did someone leave a typo in their lab report or what?”

He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth without so much as glancing at you.  

“Drop it.”

“Oh no, did Masuka out-gross you again?”

The plate clattered onto the bedside table with a force that made you flinch. Before you could react, he was on you. In a flash, his hand gripped your cheeks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

That was easier than you thought.

“Funny? No. I think I’m just observant.”

His eyes narrowed, dark and unrelenting as he studied you. His grip on your cheeks tightened just enough to make your lips purse.

“Is that what you call running your mouth until you get yourself in trouble?”

You couldn’t help it. Even with his face inches from yours, his hand firm on your cheeks, you smirked. “Please, Dexter, you’re all bark and no bite.”

Now you were just being annoying. He was actually all bite and no bark. His jaw ticked anyway, a muscle jumping just beneath his skin. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips as his nose brushed against your cheek.

“You really want to test that theory?”

You tried to shrug, but his grip on you made the movement awkward.

The air between you was thick, electric. His eyes searched yours, and you finally saw that primal tweak of his.

Then, without a warning, he released your cheeks and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your head. His strength was effortless, his movement precise.

“If you don’t come at least four times until I have to leave for work, I’m not gonna let you come for four weeks at all.”

Shit. Four weeks is a long time. That’s a whole month!

“Now you’re setting ultimatums?”

“Your time is running out, you sure you want to talk back?”

And that was your cue to finally keep your mouth shut.

“Good girl.” He said, the words sending a jolt straight through you, and you became acutely aware of the wetness pooling in your sleep shorts.

“On your knees. Grab the headboard.”

You obeyed without hesitation, pressing your chest into the mattress as you shifted onto your knees, sticking your ass into the air. You felt the fabric of your shorts clinging to your slick pussy in a way that was both uncomfortable and relieving.

Dexter moved behind you, his hand brushing over your hips, the touch almost gentle before he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugged them down, watching the material stick to your pussy, making his cock twitch in his pants. You squirmed under his fingers as they brushed against the skin of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Jesus, you’re sopping wet. Am I even surprised?” He said, bringing his fingers to your cunt and skimming them along the center from your hole, down to your clit. As he grazed that little spot, you bucked your hips into his hand, only for him to retreat it and bring it down in a swift move, slapping your clit and sending a tingling into your stomach. You moaned, not expecting him to get rough so soon.

Then, he kneeled next to you. You were too afraid to turn your head, but you could see with your periphery vision the tent in his pants. He brought the middle finger and the ring finger of his left hand to your mouth, and you opened without hesitation, wrapping your lips around them as he slid them all the way in. For you, it was awkward from that position, the fingers hooked in the corner of your mouth, forcing it to tilt slightly.

Once he decided that they were wet enough, he removed them and the same arm reached under you, his forearm touching your stomach as his fingers, now slick with your saliva, reached your pussy. They slid between your folds with ease, the two fingers pinching your clit between, before rubbing circles into it.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter with each movement. You squirmed under him, needing more than he was giving you, and he knew that. But when you started moving too much, he slowed, barely grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Dex,” you whined, your hips moving, trying to chase the friction he was withholding. But his only answer came in a form of a slap to your ass. Your mouth opened in a silent cry, and your hand instinctively let go of the headboard and reached for your cheek in order to sooth the pain. But before you could touch your own skin, his free hand was wrapping around your wrist, holding it high and causing your muscles to strain.

“Don’t make me tie you up. You don’t have time for that.”

You nodded in silent obedience, and you gripped the headboard again, focused on not letting go. His hand was still teasing your clit while his other hand reached from behind and played with your hole, your slickness sticking to his fingers. For a moment, he was enjoying the feeling of it, of you on his fingers. Then he spread the wetness up and over your asshole. He only teased your back entrance, returning to your pussy and plunging his fingers inside, making your grip on the headboard tighten, as well as your walls around his fingers.

Dexter’s fingers worked you expertly, curling upward to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. The movements of both his hands were in sync, the combination driving you to the edge as he upped the pace, relentless and unforgiving his fingers thrusting deeper, while also pinching your clit harder and occasionally grazing a nail over it, sending shivers down your spine.

The room was filled with the sounds of your gasps, Dex’s occasional grunts and most importantly, the squelching sounds of your drenched cunt. You were almost embarrassed by it, and Dexter made sure you felt that shame.

“Listen to yourself. So messy.”

Your response was a broken whine, your body trembling as his fingers curled just right to hit that devastatingly perfect spot again and again and again. His other hand maintained its tormenting rhythm on your clit, switching between sharp pinches and soft, tantalizing circles as your juices dripped from your hole to your clit.

Your knuckles became white from the hold you had on the headboard, your focus on not letting go and letting go at the same time. The pressure pulled you further under, and when he felt you clench around him, he pressed harder, his fingers moving with even more intensity.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes,” you whined, your body shaking with the overwhelming sensations.

“Don’t forget your manners, sweetheart.”

The pressure was unbearable now, your release so close you could taste it.

“Please, can I come?”

“Go ahead.” He growled, his fingers resuming his relentless pace, the wave of pleasure hitting you like a tidal force, crashing through every nerve in your body. You cried out, your body convulsing with the intensity of your climax. Your thighs trembled and your grip on the headboard faltered, but you were quick to remember to hold on, otherwise he wouldn’t let you ride it out.

Dexter worked you through the aftershocks, his fingers slowing but still keeping you riding that high until you were an overstimulated mess beneath him. When he withdrew his hand, you thought he’d give you a moment to gather up, but instead, in a quick motion, he was behind you, spreading your ass and burying his face between your cheeks.

Your body twitched as you felt him press his tongue flat on your puffy clit, shaking his head from side to side before catching it between his lips and sucking on it. The stimulation too much, you even tried to pull away even though you didn't really want to. It was to no use anyway, he followed you and his hands pushed against the small of your back, limiting your movements. He kept sucking on your bundle of nerves, his nose nudging your wet opening.

The thought of him being this messy alone made you so fucking horny and needy, as if you weren’t at the maximum capacity to feel those things.

Dexter pulled another whine out of you when he tugged on your clit with his lips, pulling back until he let go with a pop.

“You get so fucking sweet when you’re on your on your knees.” He said before returning his tongue to your pussy, running it flat up and down your lips, spreading your cunt and mixing his spit with your juices before he slurped it all up.

Your hand itched to let go of the headboard and cover your pussy to give your swollen clit a rest, but you were afraid of what he might do if you disobeyed again.

Besides, eating you out was his favorite thing in the world, and bad things would happen if you deprived him of his favorite activities.

One time, he’d made you ride him for so long until it was physically impossible for you to lift your ass. He’d proceeded to call you lazy, and had you dared, you would have slapped him.

Now, too much was at stake. He flicked his tongue against your clit repeatedly before finding your entrance and plunging it inside, the wet muscle massaging your walls. He loved your taste, he loved how you squirmed, he loved how slick and sticky you were. And you loved how animalistic he was about it, and how he didn’t care that you were overstimulated.

He dragged his tongue in and out of you, and then finally, it returned to your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot. And the slightly sharp sensation was all it took to send you over the edge again. Your pelvis twitched against him, his hands squeezing the flesh of your ass, dragging his nail against you aggressively and leaving red scratch marks behind.

You loved them more than bruises. You could get bruises anywhere, sometimes they appear, and you don’t even know how. That's a common knowledge. But chafed, irritated skin? You know exactly how it gets there. You remember it. It evokes memories.

He hummed against your hot, wet flesh, the vibrations only accelerating your orgasm. You mewled, almost screamed, but you didn’t want to seem overdramatic. Your cum spilled straight into his mouth and he drank it all down as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. He caught it on his tongue, licking you through the orgasm. Your upper body felt so numb, while down there, it was like fireworks. And when you finally started coming down, he slowed down, laying kisses over your pussy lips and your butt and your thighs. You felt the wetness his mouth left behind, your slick slowly drying on your skin. It was almost comforting, feeling him be so soft. You felt like curling up to him, falling asleep in his embrace.

“Three to go. You think you can make it?” He asked, and you heard him move behind you, followed by the sound of his buckle as he removed his belt.

You looked at the clock. 8:02. You didn’t think you could, but even if you did, it was in his control. He was just manipulating you to think that it was yours. Or he was just mocking you. He knew you weren’t stupid.

“You think you can?”

The leather belt came down on your ass, to the same place he’d slapped before. You made a note about checking out that bruise later.

 “You’re only giving me reasons to spank the shit out of you.” He said, dragging the belt across your ass, before touching the curved part to your pussy. Once it was gone, you waited for Dexter to hit you there too, but the blow never came.

“Let go of the headboard.”

Your brows furrowed, but your confusion quickly disappeared when he hooked the belt around your neck, yanking you upwards, your back against his chest and his clothed cock nestled between your ass cheeks.

You subtly ground against him, making him purr into your ear, which made you smirk. He gripped both ends of the belt in one hand, while his other arm snaked around your waist, his hand slipping under your tank top and squeezing your breast. The way he pinched and tugged on your nipple made you buck into him with more force, and he reciprocated, grinding against you, giving in to his own pleasure. Then his hand disappeared from your body and you heard the sound of him spitting into his palm, before he brought it to your pussy. As if you weren’t completely drenched. He knew you loved how disgusting the thought was. How lewd you felt when he did that.

For him, this was nothing compared to the things he did during his free time.

Then without a warning, he released one end of the belt, causing you to collapse face-first into the bed. He unbuttoned his khaki pants and pulled his cock out before grabbing your arm and turning you on your back.

You finally got a good look at him - strands of hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes dark framed by lashes that looked like he'd used an eyelash curler (something you envied him). You admired him. Not just for his look, though that part was obvious. He knew he had women turning their heads in his direction. But they didn’t know the brilliant mind beneath it all. He was so clever, so undeniably smart, and that was what truly excited you. That a neat man with a compartmentalized brain like his could get so messy when it came to sex. Like now, all sweaty, his cock leaking onto the sheets. Some of the precum probably landed on your cunt too. The thought alone sent another wave of pleasure building deep in your abdomen.

He leaned down, his tongue flicking into your pussy in one swift motion before crawling over you and capturing your lips in a kiss, making you taste yourself on his tongue. His hand slid to your neck, his thumb pressing firmly against your pulse point, making you aware of how fast your heart was pounding. You moaned into his mouth as he applied a touch more pressure for a split second, giving him the chance to slide his tongue deeper into your mouth. You sucked on it, tasting the tanginess that he'd collected from your lower lips.

Without warning, with just a sublte shift of his hips, he was inside you. A low moan escaped him as he felt the tightness of your walls, and you let out a soft whimper at the stretch. He didn’t move at first. He kept kissing you and his hand slid down your body, squeezing your boob again, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Lowering his head, he wrapped his mouth around your sensitive peak, sucking gently on your tit. Your fingers tangled into his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp, pulling him closer.

His teeth grazed your sensitive nub, sending a jolt through you, and in one fluid motion, his arm snaked beneath you, lifting and sitting up as he pulled you onto his lap. He started thrusting his hips into you, holding you in place, his cock gliding effortlessly along your slick walls.

Leaning forward, his lips found your other breast, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your nipple before his mouth opened wide, taking in as much of your soft flesh as he could. You arched against him, your back curving as your hads pressed his face closer, your head tipping back in ecstasy.

He kept on fucking you, hitting that sweet spot inside of you that made you dizzy. He drove his cock into you, quickening the pace, a sign that he was getting close. His arms around you tightened and then suddenly, you felt a sharp pain originating in your breast and going straight to your pussy, making you clench around. He was fucking you hard and deep, and when you looked down, you saw him still latched onto your tit, his upper lip covered in crimson.

You felt the sting from the way he was sucking on you, and when he finally removed his lips from your breast, you saw red drops dripping down your breast, the blood leaking from the bite marks where his upper teeth sank into your skin. You were mesmerized by it, and you wanted more. You pushed his face back against your sore nipple and Dexter surprisingly didn’t argue. He licked the blood off you and sucked again while ramming into you. Your body shuddered, and finally your third finish was brought on by a couple of additional thrusts of his hips. Then he laid you flat on the bed and chased his own release. You pulled him up by the chin, meeting his lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you hard and fast until he spilled inside of you.

Once you both came down, he was lying on top of you. You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him affectionately, because you were so content that he was there with you.

But you were yanked out of your dreamland when he rose to his feet, making your brows furrow.

“That was only three,” your tone couldn't be more confused, as he headed to the bathroom.

“Yeah, but I need to shower and pick new clothes to wear. Can’t go to work with your cum all over my pants.” He came back to the bedroom with a smile on his face, as if he just hadn’t fucked the shit out of you. “Last one’s on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes. Make yourself cum before I leave. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before disappearing into the bathroom.

Asshole. He knew you’d lost the ability to make yourself cum shortly after you’d started sleeping together. But luckily, you had your stash of toys that might help you with your problem.

With the roll of your eyes, you rolled over and reached into your nightstand, but in that moment, he peeked from around the corner.

“Oh, and your hands only.”

“What? That’s not fair!”

His face dropped again.

“You want to tell me what’s fair and what isn’t?”

You slammed the drawer shut and fell on your back, your body bouncing on the soft bed.

“Good girl. And no cheating. I’ll keep the door open. If I so much as hear something else that isn’t your fucking scream, I swear you’ll have to work your ass off to make me let you come ever again. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

You hadn’t done this in a long time. It almost felt unnatural. But despite that, your fingers dropped to your clit, and you began pushing yourself over another edge. Or at least you tried. But it was pointless. You tried to squeeze your wounded breast to get that rush going, but it didn’t have that effect this time. It only made you sweaty.

He managed to finish his shower before you made yourself orgasm, obviously. When he entered the bedroom with a towel around his waist, he looked at you with feigned pity.

“Aww… Don’t tell me my baby needs a manual to get herself off.”

“Dex, come on. You know I can’t make myself orgasm,” you tried to reason with him, but he wasn’t going to budge.

“I can’t do two things at once, I’m only one person,” he argued, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “This is for your own good. I gave you an opportunity to make it to four before I have to leave. It’s not my fault you’re not capable.”

You huffed, bringing your fingers to your pussy again, stuffing them inside yourself and trying to fuck yourself, but again, to no avail.

He even laughed at you, and when you opened your eyes, you saw him already with his work bag slung over his shoulder, hands casually tucked in his pocket. You’d lost.

“Fuck, I wish you could see yourself. So desperate. It’s like your world has been destroyed.”

“It kinda has.”

He came to your side of your bed where you were still lying with your hand between your legs. He leaned over you, brushing the hair that stuck to your forehead and placing a soft kiss there.

“Take that as a lesson. You shouldn’t take a bait if you can’t handle the hook.”

And with that he turned on his heel and left, leaving you wrecked and messy, the most agonizing four weeks of your life just now beginning.

a/n2: i'm thinking it's kinda more vanilla than i intended it to be, but oh well... thank you for reading!!

[sosa2imagines]

Are you mine? Part 3

Warning- Little angst, fluff.

It was just past dawn.

The sky was blushing with faint streaks of peach and silver, the morning air sharp with cold.

You hadn’t meant to open the door, you just needed fresh air. A moment of stillness before the ache behind your ribs reminded you of everything you lost.

But the second you stepped outside barefoot, hoodie tugged tight around your frame, you froze.

They were both awake, sitting on the hood of the car like statues of regret.

Bucky was cradling a thermos between his hands. His eyes snapped up the moment he saw you, and the breath left his lungs. Steve stood immediately, wincing slightly from the healing claw marks across his ribs. His bruised face looked worse in the light, one eye still half-closed, his jaw scraped and tight.

All three of you stared at each other, no one moved.

You didn’t expect your voice to work when you finally spoke, but it did, “Why are you still here?”

Bucky swallowed hard, “Because you’re here...” Steve’s throat bobbed. “And we’re not leaving. Not unless you tell us to…”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of your hoodie, “I left,” you whispered. “You could’ve moved on. Let it go...Cassidy?”

Steve stepped forward, carefully, as if any wrong movement would break the spell. “We don’t want to move on.” Bucky took a single cautious step, still keeping distance. “We want you! To hell with Cassidy!!!”

You looked away, blinking fast. “You already had me. And you let me be forgotten...”

That made Bucky flinch visibly and Steve’s jaw clenched. They didn’t argue. They didn’t deny it.

Steve took a breath. “You’re right. We did. And we’ll never stop being sorry for it.”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the pain behind the blue. At the dried blood in the corner of Bucky’s mouth. At the bruises they didn’t even try to hide.

And the coffee. The notes. The car.

Day after day.

“You stayed…” you whispered.

Steve nodded. “Because you’re worth staying for.”, Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “We don’t deserve a second chance. But we’re gonna keep showing up until we do.”

Silence stretched between you again, but this time, it didn’t ache. You didn’t move closer, didn’t smile and didn’t cry.

You just whispered, “Okay…” and turned around.

Left the door open behind you and Steve and Bucky followed.

Not into your heart.

Not yet.

But into the first moment of something real.

The days passed, not easily though, they dragged. Some heavier than others. Some so quiet it hurt.

You didn’t bounce back and you didn’t crawled back.

Bit by bit, there were days when the sight of them in your periphery made your chest tighten. When Steve’s soft voice felt like salt in a wound. When Bucky’s eyes so full of guilt and tenderness, made you want to scream.

But then there were moments.

Moments when Steve cooked breakfast and burned the eggs so badly even Logan snorted. Moments when Bucky, still aching from his healing wounds, grumbled through washing dishes and almost dropped a pan.

You didn’t laugh.

Slowly, steadily, piece by piece, you started to feel like yourself again.

Logan, ever the protective older brother, watched with cautious eyes as you laughed for the first time in weeks. As you smirked when Steve burned the eggs one morning, and as you rolled your eyes when Bucky tried to charm his way out of washing the dishes.

It was late when it happened.

The kind of late where the stars were loud and the woods had gone still.

You sat on the porch steps, a blanket around your shoulders, the mug in your hands gone cold. You hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

Bucky sat beside you, quiet, not touching. Steve leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest, watching the trees like they might give him answers.

“I need you to hear me…”

Both men turned immediately.

Your voice wasn’t loud, but it was steady.

Bucky sat straighter. “We’re listening.”

You stared at the trees. “When Cassidy started showing up, I didn’t say anything at first. I told myself I was overthinking it. That I was being dramatic. That you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed, while your fingers curled around the mug. “But then you started cancelling dates. Forgetting things. Laughing with her the way you used to laugh with me. And every time I came into the room, it felt like I was interrupting something.”

You turned to look at them now, your eyes tired, but burning. “You made me feel invisible.”

Steve opened his mouth, but you lifted a hand to stop him, “Let me finish.”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

Your voice shook, just a little. “I would go to sleep next to you and still feel like I was alone. I would hear you talking to her and wonder what I did wrong. I started walking around the compound like a ghost, trying not to be in the way…”

You blinked, tears threatening but not falling. “And the worst part?” you whispered. “You didn’t even notice I was breaking. Not once.”

Bucky dropped his head, his hands clenched between his knees.

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to punish you. I left because I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I was becoming smaller just to fit into the cracks you left me in.”

Silence. Painful and dense.

Steve finally spoke, his voice raw. “You have every right to hate us.”

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly. “That would be easier.”

Your eyes found Bucky’s. “But I’m not ready to forgive you. Not yet. And I don’t know when I will be.”

Bucky nodded slowly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “We understand,” he rasped.

Steve stepped closer, lowering himself onto the step below yours, so he had to look up to meet your gaze. “We’re not asking for forgiveness,” he said. “We’re just asking for time.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then nodded. “Time is all I can give you right now.”

And Steve, the man who once thought he was strong enough to carry the world, let out the most fragile breath of relief you’d ever heard.

After that night on the porch, things didn’t magically fall into place, but they shifted.

Steve and Bucky didn’t press. They didn’t talk about forgiveness. They just worked.

They helped Logan chop wood, hauled supplies from town, fixed the creaky porch step that had been splintering for months. Steve cleaned around, even the drainage like it was penance. Bucky learned how to cook Logan-style stew, thick, over-seasoned, and strangely comforting.

Logan didn’t say much, but the grunts grew less threatening. And once, you saw him nod at Steve as he passed him a toolbox, it meant more than a full conversation.

There were still bad days.

Days where your chest felt too tight, your patience too thin. When they smiled too easily or sat too close, you flinched.

One afternoon, after Steve made some offhand joke about movie night, the words ripped out of you before you could stop them. “It won’t work.”

The porch went quiet.

Bucky was closest. He stood from where he’d been tightening a hinge on the screen door, his brows drawing together. “What?”

You backed away a step, blinking hard. “This. You and Steve. Trying to be better. It’s not going to fix anything…”

Bucky swallowed hard, but stepped toward you anyway, “I’m trying, Doll…”

“I know. And I see it. But that doesn’t change what you did.”

“I’m not asking it to.”

You crossed your arms, pain curling in your chest. “Then why are you still here?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, holding you so tightly you could feel his heartbeat through your hoodie.

“Because I love you,” Bucky whispered into your hair. “And I will never, let you believe you’re not worth fighting for again.”

Your hands stayed frozen for a moment, then slowly, they fisted in the back of his shirt.

You didn’t sob. Didn’t speak.

But you held him back, and that was enough.

That night, for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you fell asleep near them.

You were on the couch, curled into the corner with your head against a pillow, the fire crackling low.  You didn’t mean to drift. But the warmth, the silence, the steady hum of their presence, not too close, but not far lulled you.

When your breathing evened out, Bucky looked over from the armchair and stilled. Steve, stretched out on the floor in front of the hearth, lifted his head to look at you.

They didn’t say a word,  just watched.

And when your hand slipped down slightly from the blanket, fingers grazing open air, Steve gently reached up and placed your hand into his.

You didn’t pull away, didn’t stir.

And for them still bruised, broken, aching, that tiny gesture?

Felt like a beginning. You were on the porch, curled up in one of the old chairs, knees drawn to your chest beneath a blanket. The wind had turned colder, whispering through the trees like ghosts that wouldn’t let you sleep.

Your mind wouldn’t quiet.

Memories played on repeat, Steve’s laughter with Cassidy, Bucky’s distracted silences, the way you’d shrunk smaller and smaller without them noticing. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself.

And then you heard it, the porch boards creaking under familiar boots.

Logan.

He stepped out without a word and sat in the chair beside you, a fresh beer in his hand, a bottle of water in the other. He passed the water to you and you took it.

Silence stretched between you.

Then softly, he said, “They’re trying.”

You didn’t look at him. “I know.”

He took a long sip, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ve seen people beg before. Seen people fake redemption to get what they want. That’s not what this is.”

You glanced over, “They’re still them. Still the ones who let me break...”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. But they’re also the ones bleeding to fix what they shattered. The ones splitting wood with broken ribs. The ones who haven’t taken a real bed in weeks just to be near you, just to prove they won’t abandon you again.”

You were quiet, but your grip on the bottle tightened.

Logan leaned back in his chair, sighing. “I’m not telling you to forgive them, bub. That’s not my call.”

He turned his head toward you. “But I am telling you to look at what they’ve done. What they’re doing. And ask yourself, is this worth something?”

He reached over and gently brushed your hair back from your face and kissed your forehead. The gesture was so soft, so achingly warm it undid something in your chest. “You don’t owe them anything,” he whispered. “But don’t throw away something real just because it hurt once.”

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t cry.

You just leaned your head slightly toward his shoulder and whispered, “I’m so tired of hurting.”

He rested his hand gently on your back.

“I know, Bub,” he murmured. “But maybe it’s time to start healing.”

It was quiet the next morning.

Too quiet.

The kind of stillness that didn’t scream anymore, but waited.

You stepped out onto the porch as the sun broke over the trees, golden light spilling across the cabin steps. Your blanket was wrapped loosely around you, your hands tucked inside. They were already there.

Not on the car this time. But seated on the porch steps, facing the forest, their backs straight despite the exhaustion still carved into their bodies.

They heard your footsteps, but neither of them turned around.

Not until you whispered, “Hey.”

They both looked over, and the expression on their faces made your chest ache.

Hope. Fear. Love.

“I need to say something,” you said, stepping closer.

They stood slowly, carefully but kept their distance.

You stopped a few feet in front of them, the rising sun painting soft light across their bruises, their bandages, the worry lining their faces.

You took a breath, “I hated you…” you said, voice raw. “For what you did. For what you didn’t see. For making me feel like I was replaceable…but I never hated you because I love you…”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Steve’s gaze dropped to the porch floor.

“But I also saw you try,” you continued, a tremble in your voice. “Every day. Without pushing. Without demanding. Just… showing up.” You swallowed. “That meant more than you’ll ever know.” You stepped forward, just one step and looked between them. “I forgive you.”

Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide, blinking back tears. Bucky’s lips parted, like he didn’t trust what he’d heard.

You nodded. “Not because it didn’t hurt. Not because it’s forgotten. But because I’m tired of carrying the weight alone. And because I still believe in us.”

They didn’t speak at first. Then Steve stepped forward slowly, eyes locked on yours. “We swear to you, Doll…what happened? It’ll never happen again. Ever.”

Bucky followed, voice thick with emotion. “No one, no one will ever take your place. You are it. Always have been.”

Steve took your hands, gently. “We were blind. But never again.”

Bucky rested his forehead against yours, voice low. “You’re everything. We’ll spend forever proving it.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, tears finally slipping down your cheeks, not from pain. But relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt steady.

Home.

And when they wrapped their arms around you, one from each side, you let them.

Because you knew this time? They’d never let you go.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale, his shoulders sagging in relief. Steve reached for your hand, hesitating for a split second before lacing his fingers with yours.

You let him.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt right. It wasn’t instant. You didn’t just fall back into place like nothing had happened.

No, this time, you started fresh.

As friends first.

You three rebuilt the foundation, step by step. Of course it required Steve and Bucky to take permission from Logan, who threaten that next time the consequences will be non-healable and Natasha who threaten to send them in a dark place.

Steve asked about your missions, truly listening. Bucky made sure to never let a day pass without checking in on you. You teased them again, sparred with them, laughed with them.

And one night, as you sat between them on the couch, watching some terrible action movie, Bucky casually draped his arm around your shoulders.

You didn’t push him away.

And Steve, on your other side, glanced down, a soft smile on his lips as you leaned into them both.

It wasn’t just the way things used to be.

It was better. Stronger.

Because this time, they knew what they had almost lost. And they would never take you for granted again.

The couch was too small, the floor too cold, so eventually the three of you ended up where you belonged, in the bed. Together.

Not because you needed sleep.

But because you needed them.

The light was low, the room warm, your breathing soft and even. It wasn't anything intimate, but more like being grateful and just feel each other.

You lay tangled between them, your back against Bucky’s chest, his metal arm draped protectively over your waist. His flesh hand held your thigh, anchoring you there like he never planned to let go again.

Steve lay on his stomach, face turned toward you, fingers tracing slow, tender patterns along your bare arm.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home.

“Did you know,” Steve murmured, his voice laced with sleep, “that I couldn't function anymore...”

You blinked, turning your head slightly. “What do you mean?”

He hummed, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “After you left… I couldn't breathe...I felt weak, you are our strength, our everything doll...”

Your throat tightened.

Behind you, Bucky’s lips pressed against the nape of your neck, warm and reverent. “I never stopped looking for you, Doll. Not really. Even when we knew where you were, I felt like we lost you...and this seperation period was worse than any nightmare and torture...me and Steve never want to live that ever again...”

Your fingers curled around Steve’s, squeezing gently, “I felt lost too...” you admitted softly. “But… not anymore.”

Steve kissed your shoulder, his touch lingering like a promise.

Bucky’s grip on you tightened, like he could physically hold you against any pain, any memory, any threat.

“We’re never letting you go again...” he whispered, voice low, fierce.

You turned slightly in Bucky’s arms, shifting to face Steve now, your hand rising to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, eyes half-lidded with love.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because we are right where we belong...”

Steve smiled, eyes shining as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And as Bucky pulled you closer, one hand stroking your hip, the other curled protectively around your belly, he whispered soft, unintelligible things into your skin, words he couldn’t speak fully, but you felt every bit of them.

And you knew, this bond between you three?

It wasn’t just fixed.

It was unbreakable.

Part 2- ✅

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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As you all can see, I tried to tag everyone but the tags don't work well, sorry 🥲❤️

[n0rmal-cat]

Siren singer x taxi driver reader- part 2

[for harpy person, are we talking like a night bird? Like an owl or crow? Or just any]

Reader sat in their boss's office, "I’m sorry, Reader, but it looks like we have to let you go.”

“You're firing me?! For what? I couldn’t have possibly done anything that bad!” they ask confused.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have to explain why we fire people,” the boss replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, you do! This is so unprofessional!” Reader slammed their hands down on the table.

The boss stood up hastily. “Now listen here, Reader, we don’t want to call security.”

Grumbling under their breath, Reader left the room. They had suspected this would happen all along, all because of that insufferable man. But why had they been offered $1,000 in compensation? Asshole.

Reader didn’t believe their job application had been that bad. Surely they could find a position at a fast-food restaurant or something similar, but that hadn’t happened. No one seemed willing to hire them.

They slumped down on their couch. "I guess I could talk to my parents?" They really didn't want to, though...

The ring of their doorbell startled them and made them jump, "Jeez!"

"Don't be the landlord, don't be the landlord,"  they whispered, crossing their fingers as they made their way to the door.

As they opened it, they collided with the chest of a man. “At least take me on a date first, dear,” he joked, a cocky grin spread across his face.

They recognized that voice anywhere, "you!" They stumbled back, "you got me fired!"

His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, and he had sunglasses on

“Oh, gasp! You got fired? How terrible,” he pouted playfully.

"Yes, I got-...did you just say gasp?"

"Enough about me, let's talk about you," he stepped into the apartment . “So, it’s come to my attention that you don’t have a job, yes?”

Reader blocks him “You can’t just waltz into my home like this. And yes, I do have a job!”

“Ooooh, delightful! I was thinking about what you said, and you’re absolutely right I should get a personal driver, you” 

“Excuse me? Wait, are you actually some rich guy?” Reader eyed him warily.

“Yes, and apparently an asshole as well,”

Reader paused for a moment, momentarily caught off guard before snapping back to reality. “No, you?!”

“Yes, you see, you intrigue me. I’ve never met ‘anyone’ who doesn’t like my voice,” he said, the last part sounding almost like a growl, made even more apparent when he bared his teeth slightly.

"i highly doubt that, and no i refuse, you're the one that got me fired and for a petty ass reason nonetheless"

“Oh, okay, I see how it is. But…” He lifted Reader’s chin, forcing them to meet his intense gaze. As he spoke, a mesmerizing mixture of blue and green mist escaped his lips, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose to reveal his striking blue-green eyes.

“Did you vape before coming in here?” Reader blurted out.

"W-What?" He looked genuinely shocked. Suddenly, he squeezed Reader’s face in his hands, frustration flaring in his eyes. “What is wrong with you, human?” he glared at them, fully showing his teeth now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Reader struggled against his hold.

“Unless you, gasp!” He opened Reader's eyelids with his fingers to peer inside them.

“Let go of me, you idiot!” Reader shouted, mortified.

“I swear to God, if you try to take my turf… oh, okay, good not a siren,” he said with a smile, finally releasing them.

Reader pushed him away, breathing heavily. “I’m going to call the cops on you!”

“Fat chance they’ll do anything, sugar. Now, let’s get straight to the point, you're my new driver. There’s no room for argument unless you’d prefer to stay unemployed.”

Rubbing their temples in frustration, Reader groaned, “What are you talking about? I can find a new job!”

"No you can't i made sure of that. i did say I was a siren that's why I need to have you, why don't you fall under my spell dear tell me."

"Siren?" That did sort of make sense, his fanbase was a mindless mob, wasn't it? "Really?" they asked, confused.

"Yes, really, I mean what human could have a name like mine?" he said smugly.

"yeah 'silver midnight' is a shit name"

"No, it's not!" he composed himself.

"So tell me, would you rather leave all this junk behind and come with me, or do you want to take some of this crap with you?” He gestured around the apartment casually.

"Are you gonna be paying me the same as the check?"

"That depends, are you going to be a little smart ass the whole drive" he crossed his arms like they were the problem.

"Maybe pay me more."

He puffed his cheeks "get in the damn car and well see how many zeros i add on"

[wonderjanga2]

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six (Here)

TW: mentions of cannibalism and rotting and disfigurement. Though, this is our zombie story so I’d be surprised if it didn’t have that stuff.

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Six

Damian Wayne POV - After School, the Third Month into Zombification

Damian was waiting for [Name] outside of their school. It was by this point that he was firmly sat on the fact that something was wrong with you. He hadn’t seen you in days. Literally days! Maybe even a couple months.

Were you avoiding him?

Throughout the past months, he hasn’t heard your steps throughout the manor. Throughout the past months, he hasn’t seen you in your usual spot in the living room. Throughout the past months, he hasn’t seen you and Alfred together. Throughout the past months, every single time he goes into your room and waits for you to come home, you don’t. (Damian had a habit that whenever he was feeling neglected, not that you knew he was feeling that, he would wait for you in the darkness of your room and then, although it was accidental on his part, scare the shit out of you when you turned the lights on)

Were you using the cameras to avoid him? He’d need to ask Barbara.

Anyways, as stated earlier, Damian was waiting for you at your school. He knew that today you had soccer practice, so currently he was sat on a bench outside of the girls and boys locker rooms, waiting for you to come out. His foot tapped the school’s tiled floor impatiently. You still hadn’t come out yet. The only people leaving the locker rooms now were stragglers who’d taken extra long for whatever reason. [Name] was punctual and polite, they didn’t seem like the type to dillydally for this long.

Did something happe—

“Aren’t you a little young to be here, sonny?” A robust woman dressed as a coach, probably the soccer one, interrupted his thoughts as she walked over.

Sonny?

“Yes, ma’am, but I am waiting for my sibling. They play soccer here.”

“Then you probably missed them. Unless they’re somehow still in the locker room.” The lady placed her hands on her hips, the whistle around her neck gleaming in the low quality, fluorescent lights. “Who’s your sibling anyways?”

“[Name] Wayne.” Damian answered dutifully with a bit of pride. What? Was he supposed to be ashamed that you were his sibling?

“I thought [Name] quit.” The coach raised a brow. “I mean, while the whole speech they gave me didn’t exactly say it outright, they haven’t showed up to practice in a long while.”

“[Name]… quit?”

What?

“Oh yeah, sweetie. They quit everything.” She said casually with a shrug of her shoulders. “Or so I heard from Lenny. He’s the basketball coach. “They didn’t tell you?”

Damian was irked at being called “sweetie” and wanted oh so badly to chastise her for calling him that. Instead, he focused on the fact that you quit everything and didn’t tell anyone. Not even him. The Robin shook his head. “[Name] didn’t mention it at all. Does Father even know?” He muttered that last part to himself.

“He doesn’t?” The coach looked thoughtful before she sighed heavily. “Y’know, it was really sudden too. Listen, you should call your father and either have him or someone else pick you up. I think I’m going to talk to the principal about this. It never made sense to me that an honors student, best of the best, a student like [Name], suddenly went cold turkey for no reason.” She paused for a moment. “Did anything traumatic happen recently? Specifically something in the family? They mentioned something about you guys.”

Damian could think of a million things that happen to his family on the daily that could be classified as traumatic to the average person.

“No. Not that I can recall.”

Damian left Gotham Heights alone, but not without a smile.

Why, you ask?

Well, he thinks he finally knows why you’re gone all the time.

See, when people in Damian’s family suddenly stop participating in the crusade to cure Gotham, it’s either because they physically cannot fight anymore or they don’t want to work with Damian’s father anymore (whether it be as a sidekick, or in general) and branch off to become their own hero.

Now, granted, you never worked with the Batman in the first place, but…

You’re obviously a vigilante now too!

No wonder you’re gone all the time! Damian hates to make a pun of all things, but you must’ve skipped straight to leaving the nest! You’re probably out in Gotham in your own cave, with your own gadgets, and your own suit.

It must be that!

Why else would you suddenly leave?

Comm-link Conversation Between Tim and Barbara - Unknown Time/Date

“Oracle?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking… [Name] knows about us, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, [Name] knows about us, right? Like, the bat-stuff?”

“Yeah? We told them.” She paused for a moment. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, I wasn’t there for it, but I’m sure someone did.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes? Come on Tim, why would we, let alone Bruce, slip up on something like that?”

“I…” Tim paused to sigh. “Okay then.”

Marco Lopez (Mr Lopez) POV - A Week Before the Heist

For the past six months, two teenagers have been coming to Gotham City’s Jail. Once a month, they bail out a single prisoner, and without fail, every single time, that prisoner never shows up for their court date.

The first time they came in for their monthly ritual, the two had made quite an impression. After all, it’s not every day two teenagers bribe you bail someone out of jail. They didn’t seem to have anyone in mind either, just whoever he recommended, so that told Marco that they were here to bail out family either.

Throughout the next few days after that incident, he wondered why they went through all the trouble for that. What was the point? He forgot about them by the time the week ended.

The next time he spared them a thought was when they came in for the second time. A month had passed since then and he was a little surprised when they came in. He didn’t think they’d come back. The girl asked if they could do the same thing they did last time while the other one slid him two hundred bills instead of one. He complied because of course: Bribery.

At the end of that visit, the one who keeps slipping him bills tossed a “See ya later alligator!” over their shoulder. That was what told him this would be a weekly, more likely monthly thing.

Marco was right.

Since then, they’d come once a month, bail a guy out and then leave, of course giving him some money during the process. It was during the fifth month that he actually asked what was going on with the two and their ritual.

//Flashback//

“We’re a part of a reform agency, didn’t you hear?” The more unsettling one of the duo piped up with a grin. They had a hand on his shoulder. The two of them were looking at his computer again.

“Well, yes, but which one? Is it also a crappy agency? I mean, none of your guys show up to their court dates.” Marco spoke, as he typed on his computer, pulling up the guys who posted bail.

“I suppose it is.” The girl one shrugged, arms crossed as she looked at the screen.

“I guess we kinda suck at reform, huh?” The unsettling one elbowed the girl who shot them a glare. He was thankful for the elbowing as it took their hand off his shoulder, but just a few moments later it was placed back there.

“You didn’t answer my first question.”

This, for some reason made the unsettling one somehow grin wider. They seemed like they were about to say something, but the girl smacked their shoulder before they could.

(You were going to say some stupid shit.)

“Randy’s Rambunctious Reform.” The girl said with a straight face as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous name he’d ever heard.

//Flashback End//

She had most definitely bullshitting.

Terry ???????? POV - A Week Before the Heist

Micheals was bailed out a couple days ago. Terry for some reason, instinctually knew that was the last he’d see of the guy.

He’d heard some whispers from his cellmates of some guys never appearing again whenever they get out. It’s probably cause they hightail it out of Gotham. Now, Terry knows a guy, who knows a guy, who knows another guy who eventually spilled the beans on the oh so generous people giving criminals a second chance.

A chance to get the hell out of Gotham.

Terry’s buddy told him that these same two people would show up once a month and crooks would disappear in a snap. Micheals had apparently gone with them too. The guy hadn’t been seen since, probably up in Mexico chilling on a beach sipping a margarita like a bitch. Either that or he was dead.

What? It’s Gotham. Giving criminals a free ticket out for no apparent reason is extremely sketchy.

But it is nice to know there’s someone on the side of the common thugs for once…

Bruce Wayne - A Week Before the Heist

Now this might be hard to believe, but Bruce actually dislikes entering the police precinct of Gotham. He likes the roof, he likes Gordon, but he doesn’t like the inside of the building. Yet, unfortunately, that was where he stood right now, going over the details of a case with Gordon.

They had recently been a group of cultists running around. They’d set up shop in a little seafood place and used it as a front while they mostly did their actual cult stuff in the back.

Mostly being the keyword here.

They were selling clams that contained a disease to customers as a dinner special. Ruby Red Ones. They’d done this with the hope that they would transform these people into the servants of the God they worshipped.

On the singular night they had that special, they’d sold it to three people, or at least that’s what the cult leader said. Bruce and the others had tracked down two out of the three. An old man and a college girl. Both had rotted to disfigurement and gone crazy, losing themselves to their illness.

It turned out that the college girl lasted longer due to the fact that she killed her roommate and ate her. The old man hadn’t gotten to kill anyone.

Now, while it was good it was only three, and that two out of the three couldn’t reach havoc anymore, the fact that the third one wasn’t appearing was extremely concerning. There had been no records of anyone rotting or becoming aggressive. Nothing.

This meant that whoever had been changed is getting a regular food source of human flesh. this person was likely skilled in killing, or at least knew how to pick out their victims, as there’s been no news from media.

Not to mention, most of the wait staff died in the explosion. (Did Bruce mention that the place exploded as he jumped out a window with the cult leader tucked under his arm?) And guess what? The one waiter that did survive, Peter Micheals, was bailed out of jail and hasn’t been seen since.

Bruce was going to look at the footage later to see who exactly bailed him out. Was it the remaining members trying to stop out any loose ends? He’d find out later.

For now, they needed to track the zombie down.

Catwoman - The Night of the Heist

While robbing Gotham’s museum for its latest cat related item, the last thing Selena expected was to run into two idiots wearing Power Ranger masks. Or rather, one idiot. She assumed it was a girl because she was wearing the pink mask, and everybody knows the pink rangers were the girls.

The girl has been in the plague exhibit, tucked in a corner, behind the rope lines, reading some big, dusty old book. Selina could tell the girl was an amateur based on the fact that she’d gotten behind her and stood there for several moments. Selina even ended up having to make her presence known.

“You’re trying your hand at thievery?” Selina asked, looking over the girl’s shoulder. It looked like a picture book, although the pictures were slightly disturbing.

The girl jumped and whipped around.

“Or not?” Selina murmured as she spied the phone in the girl’s hand. She was likely taking pictures of it then.

“I… uh…” The girl stammered.

“Relax. I’m not the Batman. I’m not going to ruin your fun.” Selina fought a smile at the visible relaxation of the girl when she let the words leave her mouth. “But you should probably get going. He’s likely to be here soon.”

That made the girl tense right back up again. She shoved her phone in her pocket and gave Selina a quick thanks before ducking away and running out of the exhibit.

“Red!?” The girl yelled, her footsteps getting further and further away.

Did that mean she had a partner or Red Robin was here?

A lot of delusion and misunderstandings in this one, huh?

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry @nyra-42 @horror-lover-69 @chemicalwindexbottle @sadslasher13 @mintynilla @otakusimp1 @1abi @exactlynumberonekryptonite @ceramic-raven @depressed--therapist @nisarelle @justannie18 @time-shardz @dandelion-delusion @capcryooo @tenswife @klutzymermaid

[arkofangels]

Designated Driver

Pairing: James “Bucky” Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: When Sam calls you during a late-night romcom rerun, you already know something’s wrong. Turns out Bucky’s had one too many and refuses to leave the bar unless you come get him—because, in his drunken words, you’re the only one he trusts to “carry him home.” 

You’re halfway through the third act of a raunchy romcom—something loud, ridiculous, and just inappropriate enough to make you snort, when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Sam. You sigh. That can’t be good.

“Hey,” you answer, already rubbing your eyes.

“Hey,” Sam says, but he’s not laughing, which means he’s either pissed or nervous. “I need you to come get Bucky.”

You blink. “What?”

“He won’t get in the car unless you come. Says, and I quote, ‘my girl’s the only one I trust to carry me home.’”

Of course. Of course he did.

You hang up with a sigh, slipping into some old sweatpants and one of Bucky’s worn shirts. You grab your keys and head out, not even bothering to change out of your house clothes.

When you get there, they’re in the back corner of some small bar Sam insisted on trying. You spot them instantly. Sam looks tired and done with it all. Bucky’s sprawled in the booth like he owns it, flushed and loose-limbed, metal arm slung over the backrest.

“Knew you’d come,” he slurs as you approach, giving you a lazy grin that melts your whole damn heart.

“Hey, Buck,” you murmur, nudging him. “Time to go, baby.”

He turns to look at you—and stops. His gaze drags over you slowly. He lingers on your face, the hem of your shirt, the slope of your collarbone. His eyes darken like storm clouds and he smolders.

“Jesus, doll,” he breathes, standing up with only a slight wobble. “You look incredible.”

You laugh—until he pulls you in for a kiss that nearly knocks you off your feet.

It’s hot and messy and desperate. His lips crash into yours with no preamble, his tongue sliding against yours, one hand gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You lose yourself for a moment, fingers twisting into his jacket. The bar disappears around you—no music, no clinking glasses, no Sam loudly clearing his throat.

Then you feel it—his hand curling gently but firmly around your throat, like he’s reminding himself you’re real.

You pull away with a gasp and glance at Sam, whose face is buried in his hands.

“Oh my God,” you mutter, untangling Bucky’s hand from your neck. “Sam, thanks for calling. I’ll get him out of here before he gets a public indecency charge.”

Sam doesn’t even blink. “Please do. He was about to turn this booth into a buffet—with you as the main course.”

You shoot him a look, cheeks burning as Bucky sloppily kisses your jaw.

“You need a ride?” you ask.

Sam lifts his beer. “Nah. I’m good. But maybe wipe his mouth first—He’s been yelling about how perfect your tits are and I’m starting to believe he’d write sonnets if he could spell.”

You finally wrangle Bucky out the door, all six feet of lovesick super soldier leaning heavy against you. You open the passenger door and he stumbles in with a grin.

“You’re gonna regret that tomorrow,” you tease, buckling him in.

“Never,” he says, slurring slightly. “Why would I regret ‘loving the most beautiful woman on Earth?”

You lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek, slow and sweet, your heart swelling at the way he melts into it.

Yeah. You’ll deal with Drunk Bucky anytime.

[robin-evry]

What about twst Yuu is like The Herta from hsr?

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀!𝐘𝐔𝐔 🪄🪞🔮

Esteemed Genius Society #83, human, female, young, beautiful, attractive. It's said that she lives in the far edge of the Cosmos, almost never leaving. Sounds like her appearance this time... must be for some issue that requires a personal touch, right?

Credits towards the artist

Is highly interested in twst, imagine herta!yuu studying in their lab and suddenly a black carriage appears in their vision and teleports them towards another universe.

How amusing, when they walk out of the coffin and realize the area they're in isn't the same universe they immediately burst out laughing finding this situation amusing, which means there are other universes proving herald hunch theory over the imaginary tree is correct meaning there are other worlds outside of their universe. A way to expend their knowledge.

another universe where there's no nous meaning they have grasp over knowledge that nous doesn't have even excess due to being in another universe, feeling them with excitement.

Herta!yuu has no interest in going back home, they have more knowledge to discover in this world and plus if they want to they can go home at anytime.

When the mirror declared them as magicless, herta!yuu would be a little offended but still understand they are in another universe with a different set of rules and structure.

And Crowley brought them towards ramshackle, herta!yuu give Crowley the most disgusted look ever towards him that even manages to scar him mentally, HOW DARE HE PUT A GENIUS LIKE THEM INTO SOMEWHERE SO INHATEBLE.

Overnight the ramshackle was turn into a castle perfect for a genius like them as well instead of resting, herta!yuu immediately went straight into the Library studying the world and its magic. They manage to understand and excel in the magical system as well as understanding highly complicated magical structures to the point manage to reverse engineering spells.

They by far manage to learn the entire NRC education just within overnights even the ones that most developed mages in the world lack to understand, so during at class they realize, they already learn about this and so they don't need to learn about this again. So herta!yuu after one class literally skip school for the entire day to focus on much more complicated topics.

They visited Sam shop and asked whether or not he got some scraps laying around that he wishes to get rid off and good thing he has some willing to give away in return herta!yuu gave him a manuscript that could sell over a million thaumarks.

Similar towards back in their universe their manuscript would carry millions towards billions worth due to it carrying highly advance research that no one has ever managed to enter it or solve it. It's wanted by many kingdoms and students, Crowley would try to negotiate with them to give him some of their manuscript but was usually met with rejection and ruggie would try to steal one but since herta!yuu rarely go to school it's hard so he tried to get close with the first years so if they ever went to visit herta!yuu he would manage to snatch one. As well as having a large collection of ancient magical artifacts they use for studies and if they find them boring will put them on displays or use them in the ridiculous ways, the first years was gagged when finding one of those artifacts being used as mixer some of this artifacts could also be auction as well destroy the school if use it wrong.

Alright back towards the scraps from Sam, herta!yuu use those leftovers to create their signature puppets to help them manage their studies as well attend school in their place. This could lead to moments where others are unsure if they're speaking to the real herta!yuu or just another puppet.

they rarely exert effort unless something truly interests them. They often sigh and say, "Ugh, do I really have to do this?" before eventually solving a problem in record time.

The ramshackle has an army of puppets that have different duties, some fill in herta!yuu attendance at school meanwhile helps them manage their research, some function as servants and babysitter for grim. Idia are by far curious about their puppets and want to study them but don't know how to approach herta!yuu.

Many students seen herta!yuu as an enigma, rarely appearing or never even once appear towards school only using puppets believing that they have better things to do. The smartest student in nrc that never ever once made an appearance physically because they have better things to do.

And even when herta!yuu make an appearance they will always be accompanied by puppets making sure their needs are taken care of, food, water and more and when kalim ask them why would they use puppets, herta!yuu response with saying that puppets are more efficient as well not carrying the burden of humans. As well finding themselves more capable than others.

The teachers have a love and hate relationship with them, trein and Vargas wish them to physically attend classes without using puppets as well as manage to find ways to outsmart them for crewel sees herta!yuu as a genius no doubt but finds them mostly focus on themselves than other other people

Herta!yuu prefer not to socialise with people they prefer over themselves rather than people who would socialize when the person isn't even the same level of intelligence as you causing them to have complications towards interaction.

They are also very blunt and if they find things uninterested they just usually drop it not giving effort, they lack understanding over emotions due to them always choosing logic, they have never once panicked. Not during Overblots, not when lost, not when Grim sets something on fire. "Screaming won’t solve the problem. Calculations will."

During kverblot Situations herta!yuu slowly claps and says, "Oh wow, another dramatic transformation. So original." before actually stepping in to help.

Vil absolutely hates to despise their behavior of laziness or valuing other things, as well as very bitter due to their natural beauty and when he asks why would they not thrive for betterment herta!yuu response with "I'm already perfect what else do I need to improve ".

[bewitched-hours]

Forsaken | Elliot x Cryptid!Reader

I had this idea after talking with a friend about what kinda cryptids we'd wanna be but hopefully it works and although I was tempted to make a yandere or at least killer version, I decided to stay tame for now lol (^▽^)👍 (As a side note, I don't usually proofread my own writing so forgive me for any spelling mistakes)

The reader will be referred to by they/them for this one!

Despite what you looked like, you weren't corrupted.

You weren't even a normal Robloxian most of the time. Instead, you were a Cryptid. Or a Monster, as some liked to put it.

You had thick black fur that made you blend in with the shadows and a pair of red eyes that had a gentle glow to them. With a pair of furry antennae and a large fox-like tail you kept strangely well groomed.

You were a quiet creature, able to roam cautiously unless you manage to get ahold of your Robloxian self. It didn't stop you from looking off to others but most seemed to buy the whole "Birth Defect" story you had made up.

But at night, you allowed yourself to roam as your true self. Sometimes you even enjoyed scaring some kids that were being too loud for your liking by whispering ghostly threats into the air and using the shadows to give them a sense of danger whenever they found your red eyes watching them.

Sure, it made you a bit of a threat to most but it's mainly children that fear you since you never showed yourself to adults. That way, your stories could be shrugged off as nothing more than hallucinations and children's tales.

But your favourite nighttime activity had to be when you would terrorize a particular man at his work place. He intrigued you ever since you first met him as your Robloxian self. You had been hungry but didn't dare to go hunt since there were people around and he was the only one noticing. He gave you a whole pizza and a bloxy cola and talked with you as you ate. It felt... Nice.

He didn't even seem to mind the fact your voice was a bit messed up. You were still a Cryptid after all and not good with sounding normal at all. Sometimes it even felt painful to try to speak.

Naturally, you begun visiting him in your true form after his shifts. He was naturally terrified since even on all fours did you manage to at least be on level with his chest. He had been convinced you would tear him to shreds but his frozen up state made it possible for you to show that your claws weren't meant to be a threat to him and the more you visited, the more he started to understand and talk to you.

You obviously didn't answer but you showed him that you understood him and did your best to communicate without words. Even when you started accompanying him to his home and making sure he got through the door before you'd disappear again. How lucky that his routes were never busy at such hours.

You were quite upset when he stopped showing up to work. You were worried that he'd quit but even sniffing around his home, his scent was so faint as if he had moved just days prior.

Was he sick of your company? Did something go wrong? Was he kidnapped while you weren't watching him?

Well, that last one proved to be true when you suddenly opened your eyes to find yourself inside a large cabin. There were others gathered around you which made you quite timid as you never had so many eyes on you at once but they seemed equally confused and scared of you.

You didn't blame them but some tried to comfort you, noticing your shaking figure and panicked stance. You weren't showing any signs of aggression and they seemed to understand that at least. They just took it as an invitation to explain your situation...

Which you only half-listened to...

You were about to run when a familiar scent had caught your attention and your head practically snapped towards its source. Confusion outweighed the fear at this point as the survivors watched you stalk away from them for only a moment before a raspy voice quietly called out from deep within you.

"Elliot..." You could only get out his name before your vocal chords made you shriek a little out of pain. You shouldn't even really be able to talk but couldn't care less when you saw his figure come into view and seemingly recognize you.

"It's you..." He'd quietly remark, slowly approaching you as your wagging tail told him all he needed to know right now. You were happy to see him again. And he was oddly happy to see you too.

You didn't even notice the others checking out your role as you practically smothered Elliot with affection like a dog who missed its owner. He couldn't tell if he found it more cute or strange.

"Heh, guess you got yourself a tank there, Elliot." One of the survivors remarked, showing Elliot and you your stats and abilities.

It was clear you were able to take hits and your attack was pretty good too but in return you weren't really fast or good with your claws... Obviously...

But your abilities did pique your interest.

For one, you could simply teleport to the nearest survivor or behind the killer while in contact with a shadow. It might prove useful if you want to protect someone(Elliot) or land a surprise attack.

Your second ability allowed you to mimic voices. You weren't sure why you were given such an ability but perhaps it was to distract and pull attention to yourself. Although, you could just as well shriek at killers if you wanted to. Oh well, it gave you the ability to talk so why complain?

But your third ability was to... Spit Acid??? Apparently if would make the killer nauseas and with luck, they hallucinate an ominous darkness envelop them with your read eyes shining onto them threateningly... Neat-

But you could care less about that right now. What mattered more to you was Elliot. Your favourite. You weren't even trying to hide it.

Even during rounds you made sure to stick by him as much as you could and protect him the most. The other survivors weren't exactly thrilled but it wasn't like you only protected Elliot. The other survivors got their fair share of protection too since they weren't really all that bad to you.

Though, you definitely took more to Elliot and the Killers hated when you worked together. With Elliot healing the other survivors and you attacking and body-blocking to make sure the killers had little chance of getting him.

But when he was dead? Oh, you did not go easy. You'd go fully feral on the Killer and try to practically(or literally) claw their faces off. Killers learned quickly to be on guard around you.

But when you tried to turn into your Robloxian self in front of Elliot for the first time?

It was painful. You were shrieking from the way you could suddenly feel bones shifting. It never hurt like this before but you figured it was because at that point you'd been in your regular form for months. At least it seemed to have been months. It was pretty hard to tell time in this purgatory.

But Elliot held you. He was there to reassure you that you wouldn't hurt him on accident with your body jerking around like a feral cat in a cage.

And you were grateful. The cage of his arms did ease your worries and you happily snuggled against him, somehow being smaller than him in this form now. Did he grow or did you shrink? Whatever...

And today was one of those times where you carried him gently with your teeth by the collar of his shirt like a cat. With you standing in your Cryptid form, you had to obviously duck for the doorframes but you luckily still fit in the cabin overall.

"Alright, there you go..." He muttered softly as you turned again and used him as a pillow. You were tired and just wanted to rest now. It had seemed the Spectre allowed you all to just take it easy for now.

You've also been training to talk a lot more with everyone. Your voice was finally able to take on a semi-normal sound without pain and you were more than happy to use it. Even if you were still limited to short phrases.

"Warm..." You sighed softly, feeling something inside you warm up as well when your hair was suddenly being groomed.

Elliot seemed to enjoy brushing your hair for whatever reason but you didn't mind. It felt nice and you even let him brush your fur from time to time. The gentleness he put into it and the feeling of the brush on your scalp or your skin felt oddly soothing. Like you could fall asleep right then and there.

"Is it too warm or good warm?" He asked with a slight chuckle, though you shook your head. That's when he stopped brushing to get your attention.

"Sorry, what did you mean with warm then?" He was patient, going back to brushing your hair as you just stared into his eyes. He knew you were gathering your thoughts to speak.

"Feel warm in my chest..." You murmured, oblivious to this feeling. You didn't understand it but figured Elliot might be able to help.

"In your chest..?" He seemed to catch on quickly, a dusty pink spreading over his cheeks as he stopped brushing again.

"I feel specially warm around you..." You let your tail wag a little, watching him get flustered. Did you say something wrong?

"When... When you say that, where is the warmth exactly?" He sounded unsure, sitting up with you still on him. But now you could move back a little on his lap as you pointed at your chest, where your heart is.

Elliot grew silent at that, his cheeks flushed red as you had basically just confessed to him without realizing it but he needed to check one more box before he could be sure...

"Do you have any dreams or imagine anything about me involuntarily?" He asked hesitantly, leading to you thinking for a few minutes before nodding as your own cheeks began to gain a dusty pink colouring.

"I like to think about us having a nest..." You muttered in admission, knowing you never had a nest of your own before but knowing how birds do it. You were confident you could make it work like the birds do.

That seemed to be all Elliot before he tried to muster a soft but weak smile and gently held your chin, making your heart race and your mind question itself.

"Would it be okay if I taught you how to kiss then...?" Was his final question, making you remember how Chance once told you about 'romantic vs platonic affection' so you wouldn't do anything stupid on accident.

Yet, you couldn't get your eyes away from his as he hovered mere inches before you, making you feel so light and fuzzy inside. You just nodded, almost feeling like you were in some sort of trance that wouldn't allow you to speak before feeling him gently part your lips and kiss you. Even now was he being gentle, treating you like a fragile doll that threatened to shatter from any wrong moves.

But once he pulled away, you were both the same shade of red in the face and staring at each other like nothing else mattered. "I think we're both feeling the same..." He chuckled lightly, noticing as you subconsciously held one hand over your chest and began caressing his face with the other.

Of course, you noticed it too but he didn't seem to mind so you decided to ask why you felt this way.

"It's called love... I'm not that good at explaining it but it's a natural feeling, don't worry..." You listened intently as he rambled for a bit, sneaking in compliments towards you all while you were considering asking the other survivors about this strange new feeling.

But before you knew what had come over you, you pushed both of you back down on the bed and went back to cuddling peacefully. Elliot took it as his cue to shut up and continue brushing your hair until you fell asleep in his arms and he made a mental note to teach you more about relationships when you woke up...

I admit I got a little carried away with this one because I love Cryptids/Non-Human creatures being intelligent and stuff o(≧▽≦)o Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!